Date: Fri, 8 Sep 2017 11:45:45 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER Chapter  1

DYLAN'S  SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS JUNIOR COLLEGE YEAR

Chapter  1

by  Donny Mumford

It's Thursday,  May 16th, and all the pop-quizzes,  reports and papers,
study guides and exams for our junior year at  college have been navigated
successfully. Nothing more to do here  so Chubby and I are in the Jeep heading
home for summer break. We  don't do a lot of talking and we don't even have
the radio on. Silence  doesn't bother me at all when I'm with Chubby. Maybe
he's doing what I'm doing  which is thinking back to some of the trials and
tribulations I ran  into during junior year at Merrimack. And sure, I realize
'trials  and tribulations' is redundant but it's a saying so, ya  know.

There were some experiences this past  semester that tested my patience and
endurance, but mostly during  my junior year there were many more good times
than bad. In the  future we'll probably reminisce about those good times but
for now I'm glad  to be done with all of it, at least for the summer.

There's  a very old song by Paul Simon with lyrics that go something like,
'When I  think back to all the shit I learned in high school, it's a wonder
I can  think at all,' which pretty much sums-up my feelings about college at
 the moment. Hell, I felt this same way after freshman and sophomore years
too, so it's nothing new. And like past years... come September I'll
probably be looking forward to another year of college  life.

An hour  after leaving North Andover I drive off route 128 onto route 9
getting  close to our hometown of Framingham, Massachusetts. Chubby sighs and
breaks  the silence, "Home sweet home, huh bro?" I go, "Yeah, Chub,
everything is  familiar and yet it seems new too." He goes, "I was thinking how this
is  likely the last summer break we'll ever have in our lives." I mutter,
"Well, next summer, right?" He's like, "Afraid not Dylan. Instead of a
summer break after senior year we'll be starting our lives as working  stiffs
which will likely last for forty-some years at which time we'll  retire
wondering... what the fuck was that all about?" I'm like, "Shit  happens and then
you die." He snorts out a laugh, "Uh  huh, that too." I'm like, "We may be
getting ahead of ourselves a little bit  though."

Idling  at a red light Chubby looks over at the car next to our Jeep,
saying, "That's  us, Dylan, many years from now." I look over and see a man about
 eighty-years-old behind the wheel of a late model Mercedes. He's alone in
the  car with his mouth moving, apparently talking to himself. I mumble,
"Huh, well I hope we can afford the Mercedes at least." He laughs, "Yeah,  but
certainly not a white one like this old fellow has." The old guy does a
jack-rabbit start when the light turns green and  almost rear-ends a car doing
a slow right-hand turn into a strip mall.  Tires squeal as he slams on the
brakes. He's yelling and red in the face blaming the  other driver. We
chuckle and Chub goes, "I'm thinking we'll probably be  cooler than that when
we're eighty-four."

Passing  the Natick Mall, Chub goes, "Seriously though, after this summer
we're  never going to have another summer off until we retire." I mumble,
"Yeah I  guess, unless we become school teachers." He goes, "Actually, when you
think  about it, we don't have this summer off either... we'll be working."

Nodding, I  mumble, "The last summer we actually had off was after our
sophomore year  of high school. Damn, and we didn't even realize it would be our
 last carefree summer for like fifty years." Chub goes, "That's the sad
truth, we  started working during the summer after junior year in high  school
and we've been going to school or working ever since. Wow, that  blows!" I
chuckle, "Poor us." As I'm driving around behind our condos, Chub's  like,
"I've never felt 'poor us' in my life," and I go, "Me neither,  Chub."

While  I'm parking at the garage our Moms come down to greet us. They must
have  been watching for us to turn into the alley. We get out of the  Jeep
smiling and then there's all the normal hugs and kisses. Our  moms are like
identical twin sisters and I say that even though one is tall  and the other
short, one light-complexed and the other  olive-complexed. Differences in
appearance yes, but they're twins  personality-wise with their enthusiasm and
always with a positive  outlook about everything; bubbly and excitable as if
they're loving life...  and Chub and me. It's almost impossible to be
pensive or 'down' around our  Moms. They make us feel very special and their
excitable energy is  contagious. While the Moms talk at the same time telling us
about having dinner  together tonight we all get our arms full of stuff and
take it up the  basement steps to drop everything on the sofa. Then it's
downstairs again for  another load with Chubby and me trying to get the Moms
to relax, "We'll unload  the Jeep. You guys don't need to help." No use
telling the Moms that  though.

Finally everything  is out of the Jeep piled either on the sofa or on
living room chairs.  We're sorting out what's Chub's and what's mine so we can
take Chub's up to  his and Tris' condo. Most of this stuff is Chubby's because
a lot of my  things are in Rob's pickup. The unloading and sorting is only
a ten-minutes  activity and then we all settle down with sodas for us guys
and cups of coffee  for the Moms. Sitting around the kitchen table we're
exchanging recent  experiences and having a few laughs along the way until the
Moms need  to get ready for their waitressing jobs. It's only three o'clock
but it takes the Moms up to an hour-and-a-half to get ready for  work.

While  the Moms start doing that Chub and I are on the balcony smoking a
cigarette  feeling good that the hassle of moving back home is mostly over.

Taking a  deep breath, looking down at the alley, I ask, "Do you have any idea
what you'll  be doing next year at this time?" He goes, "You mean what kind
of job I'll  be looking for?" Nodding, I say, "Yeah, or maybe you'll take
some time off  before looking for a job." He shakes his head, "Nah, I don't
know what I'll be  doing and, while it's getting closer to the time I'll need
to give that  some serious thought, that time isn't here yet. Not for me
anyway." I go,  "Good, it's nice to know I'm not the only one who doesn't know
what  I'll be doing."

After  our smokes, Chubby goes up to his place to put things away and I do
the same in my bedroom. Hell, I'm thinking: never mind what I'll be doing
next summer at this time, I don't know yet what I'll be doing  this summer
since it's not a foregone conclusion I'll work for  Dickers & Son even though
that would be my easiest path to a summer job. I'm  already basically hired
there and if I want the job all I need  to do is fill out some papers
online. Rob and I discussed this subject  yesterday and I suppose we'll be
discussing it some more.

When  Mom leaves for work, I take a call from Rob who tells me he's coming
over with  my stuff. When he gets here Chub helps Rob and me bring the rest
of my  belongings to my bedroom where we pile it on my bed. I'll sort
through it later  but I already know most of the clothes are heading for the
washing machine. The  three of us decide we need a beer so Chub drives us to
Cody's Bar in downtown  Framingham. We've passed this bar many times in our
lives but this is the first  time we've ever ventured inside. The bar qualifies
as a dive I suppose as  it's old and smells of beer, hot dogs, and spicy
mustard. Hot dogs  are pretty  much the extent of the cuisine offered at
Cody's. After we  pass the 'carding' ritual we order draft beers and click
glasses toasting, "The end of our junior year." We talk about that  instead of
what we're going to do this summer. That's mostly because Rob  and Chub know I
haven't decided what I'm going to do for work and it could be  awkward for
Chubby if Rob and I discussed that  situation contentiously.

During  our second beers two friends of Chubby's from high school, Chris
Johnson and  Matt Barnes, come through the door. There's some back slapping
and one arm hugs  between Chubby and the two guys and then Chub introduces me
and Rob. I've met  both guys before but neither of them remembers me. Matt
didn't go to college and  instead works for his father's auto dealership.

Chris is a  nice-looking black guy who's going to a college in New York. Chubby
dated  one of Chris's younger sister a few times. They exchange outlandish
tales  from high school and then one of Chub's friends buys a round. Well
okay!
As Chub  and his friends continue catching up on each other's lives, Robby
asks me,  "Do you want to get together tonight?" I go, "I'm not sure, I mean
I'd like  to except I've got dinner with Chub and our Moms tonight," and
then,  looking at my watch, I mumble, "In about an hour actually, if you can
believe that. We need to eat early because of the Moms work schedule. After
dinner I'm not sure what Chub has in mind." Rob says, "Huh, my folks  and I
are going out to dinner too, but maybe afterward we can hook-up." I ask,
"Your 'rents won't mind if you dine and dash on them?" Rob makes a  'face',
muttering, "You're right, I probably should spend time with them  tonight but
how about if I come over to your place tomorrow morning. Would  that be
okay?" I go, "Of course it's okay. Wait a second, I thought you  were getting
right into your work schedule." Rob makes another 'face', saying,  "Yeah, Dad
wants me at the office tomorrow, but not until after lunch." I  give him a
grin, mumbling, "Well then, we'll have the morning together,"  and Rob goes,
"And tomorrow night we're going to the movies, right?" I nod,  "Tomorrow
night, the nine o'clock show. Absolutely."

A  little later Chub pats my shoulder, saying, "We better get going, Dylan.

I need  to shower before dinner." I nod and get the bartender's attention
so I can buy a  round for Chris and Matt. We bump fists all around and the
three of us leave.  Chub wants to drive again so I share the passenger seat
with Rob getting  goosed in the process. Back at the condos Rob gets in his
pickup, "See  you tomorrow morning, Dylan," and I'm like, "Yo, wait a second,"

and go  over to him, "Give me a kiss, boyfriend." Rob glances at Chub who's
punching in  the code for the back door. I go, "He doesn't care if we
kiss," and we do a  sweet kiss on the lips. I say, "Ooooh, that was nice, Rob,"

and he smiles,  "Right back at you, babe," and then he drives off with a
smile on his handsome  face. Ever since  my 'talk' with Rob things have been
really good between us, not that they  weren't pretty good before the 'talk'.

Our boyfriend relationship  is as strong as ever but now it's without
timetables to worry about.  It feels to me like we have a fresher, more stress-free
 relationship and I think Rob agrees.

Chub  and I take showers and get dressed for our dinner 'out' with our
Moms. He  comes down and lets himself in my place and we both laugh at each
other because we're wearing the same super-preppy outfits. Light-tan khakis
with light blue dress-shirts and sleeveless dark blue sweaters with  polished
oxblood-colored loafers on our feet. I mutter, "Always  copying me, huh
Chub?" He says, "What the hell ya talking about? I was  dressed first."

As we  walk down to the basement to go out through the back door to the
Jeep  we're talking about how we bought the clothes we're wearing last fall to
take to college for when we wanted to dress-up. For us this is  pretty much
the maximum we ever 'dress-up'. I go, "Wait Chub, we should wear a  tie.

It'll freak-out the Moms." He says, "While you're getting your tie I'll get
the Jeep warmed up." I go, "No tie, huh?" He shakes his head grinning at me,
"No  tie, big brother." I get in the passenger seat mumbling, "It'd be
cool." I don't  know what made me think of a tie unless maybe I'm thinking I'll
need to wear a  tie if I'm working for Rob. Yeah, except I won't actually be
working for Rob,  not directly anyway. No, it wouldn't be like last winter
when I worked for  him a couple of times. Huh, that's something I probably
need to consider:  tie or no tie, and working for someone other than Rob.

Huh, I need to  think about that.

At the  restaurant, Chub and I endure a lot of well-meaning comments and
fuss from  the waitresses working with our Moms. Some of them have watched us
grow-up from  our preteen years. There's a little too much touching from the
older  waitresses to suit me, but like I said it's all well-meaning and
sincere.  Chubby remembers all their names and charms the shit out of them,
which takes  the pressure off me. Mostly I'm trying to glance at their name
tags  in case one of them says something that's directed at me. I'm doing a
lot of smiling and nodding my head. And, what makes it worse most of the
diners  in the half-filled restaurant are gawking at us and probably wondering...

 what the fuck?
Things  settle down and we get seated. We're eating at five-fifteen,
because the Moms  need to get to waitressing immediately after dinner. They
usually start working  before this to accommodate the retirees who take  advantage
of the early-bird specials. Renny, the owner of the  restaurant, was nice
enough to let the Moms start later today so they could eat  with us. No
alcoholic beverages because the Moms will be working and we  don't have the time
for drinks anyway. We place our dinner orders and while  waiting for our meal
s the Moms exchange glances as they hem-and-haw a little  before telling us
they'll be spending tonight with their fiancés. It's a  sleep over I guess
you could say. There's a party of some sort at the  guys' club that's
supposed to run late. The Moms feel awful they'll be away  our first night home
which is a ridiculous concern on their  part. For one thing, we don't see them
after they get off work and  then they sleep late in the morning. Chub and
I are usually out by the time they  get up.

Anyway,  the Moms sleeping with their fiancés is a perfectly normal thing
for  them to do and we have no problem with it whatsoever. We like the twins
and  don't mind that they're sleeping with our Moms. It takes  some
convincing that we're perfectly fine with it but I think we  finally put their minds
at ease. Plus, they've slept over with  their fiancés before and Chub and I
totally get it! Jeez,  we're not ten-years-old any more. We know how that
goes, probably  better than we should. With that settled the Moms are free to
do their  normal chatter about all matters under the sun. It's fun seeing
them so happy  about, well about everything apparently.

The  food is good like it usually is here and the Moms are good company.

They're so  sweet although somehow they seem naively innocent at times. It's
enough to bring a tear to my eyes. Anyway it's an awesome first dinner of
summer break; a nice way to reconnect and begin the summer. After our
goodbyes, Chub and I are outside mugging to each other and going, "Whew, we  made
it." We light cigarettes and then, leaning against the Jeep, we get a
little maudlin talking about how wonderful our Mom are, which leads  us into
talking about how incredible it is that we're  half-brothers.  Brothers with
different mothers. We haven't ever actually spoken about how it  had to have
happened for us to be half-brothers born  two days apart. I mean the Moms told
us, but Chub and I have never spoken about  it among ourselves because
it's, well to say it's an unlikely  scenario is to greatly understate the
situation. We're quite happy  about it though.

It's  still early so we do what you do when you're twenty-one... we stop at
a bar  for a couple of beers. At the bar we mostly reminisce about our
early lives  growing-up here in Framingham. Feeling really good about everything
we  surprise ourselves by being sensible enough to make an early night of
it. I'm in bed before ten o'clock. It's been a busy Thursday and then after
a  wonderful night's sleep in my own bed I wake-up Friday morning feeling
pretty damn good.

By  nine-thirty I'm washed, dressed, and out on my balcony alongside Robby
drinking  Dunkin Donuts coffees and eating breakfast sandwiches. Rob
surprised me  with a Dunkin' Donut's breakfast this morning. He bought three bacon,
egg, and  cheese sandwiches on English muffins with three side-orders of
hash  brown potatoes, and the coffees. Okay, that's a nice treat but I  wonder
if it's a bride to help me made up my mind to work for Dickers & Son.  It's
like this though, after my 'talk' some weeks ago about no  predetermined
aspects to our relationship I now feel obligated to at  least apply at an
employment  agency. To be perfectly honest my heart isn't really in it but
considering  it was me who didn't want anything 'etched-in-stone' between Rob and
me I  should at least go through the motions of seeking other employment.

And sure, sometimes I paint myself into a corner like this job  situation,
but shit happens. Nobody's perfect.

Rob  tells me I need to decide about his job offer by Wednesday or Dickers
& Son will be forced to fill the opening he's saved for me in  their Human
Resources department. They already have a list of  applicants to choose
from. In business I totally understand that deadlines  are necessary and I've
got no problem with that. I say to Rob, "Believe me, I  understand. I'm merely
going to see what's online and maybe do a few  interviews the beginning of
next week, that's all. It's a money thing too." He  goes, "I can't fucking
believe you're not happy with the deal I got for you  at work." I shrug, "Oh
Jesus, I appreciate it, Rob, I really do. It's  business though, not
personal." He chuckles, "Uh huh, business. You've always  been quite the
businessman." Never too late to start but I don't want to  argue so I let him have the
last word about that. We both finish our sandwich  and Rob splits the third
one in half and then pours half the third bag of hash  brown potatoes in my
half-empty bag.

I'm  still working on the hash brown potatoes when, finished his share of
everything,  Rob's wiping his hands and mouth with a paper napkin, mumbling,
"If you  insist on going job hunting you should at least look professional.

Your  last haircut was almost two months ago, so I'll give you a haircut
before I  leave." I run my fingers through my hair, muttering, "Okay, thanks. I
was  going to ask when you think you'd have the time. " He says, "I'll make
the  time for you, babe. Hey, did you get the tickets for that James Bond
movie  tonight?" I nod, "Well yeah, I already printed-out and paid for the
tickets. It's tonight's nine o'clock show. I wanted to insure we get two
seats  on the end of a row, and I'm in the end seat." He asks, "What do you have
 against sitting next to someone?" I go, "Nothing at all, assuming I know
the  someone." Today is the release date for the latest James Bond movie and
while  the movies are predictable they always have awesome special effects,
and this  current actor playing 'Bond' we think is the best one yet. There
were  some early 'suave' actors playing James Bond in the old Bond movies,
but  those movies had pathetic special effects compared to current ones.

Getting  back to my summer job situation, there's something new I need to
consider. Any job I end-up getting will entail a transportation
consideration; one I haven't needed to concern myself with in  the past. Rob can't be
sure he'll be able to pick me up mornings  or take me home after work because
he'll have an unpredictable work  schedule split between the Framingham
office and the offices in Westborough,  Massachusetts. That's where the huge
project is happening; the one  that Dickers & Son won the bid for
two-years-ago. That project is in  full swing now. And then there's the consideration of
how much the job  pays. The opening at Dicker & Son Inc. pays $500 a week,
which is only a  little over $12 an hour for a forty-hour week. I made more
than  that working for Ryan last summer and Chub's making more per  hour
working for Mr. DiPietro, Mary Jo's father.

There's  bus transportation to and from work that I can take to Dickers &
Son. The bus would leave me off a quarter-mile from the office, so that's
doable  although certainly not ideal. Last night I had a conversation  with
Chubby about usage of the Jeep. There's a bus line that  would drop him off
two blocks from where he'll be working all summer, which  is in the DiPietro
and Costello Insurance Agency's office building. They're  the largest
insurance agency in the state and they even advertise on TV. Chub  says Mr.

DiPietro is going to put him in one of their TV commercials. Can't  fucking wait to
see that. Anyway, Chub and I decided we'll take turns using  the Jeep; one
week I'll take the bus and the next week Chubby will. He was  adamant that I
use the Jeep every week since his bus transportation is so much  better
than mine, but I wouldn't hear of it. We'll take turns. The bus stop  near our
condos is a block up from where we usually park the Jeep on the  street. So
that'll work if I take Rob's offer, but I'll need to see  what my
transportation options are for any other job I might get. This  transportation thingie
is a huge pain in the ass.

Rob  lights a cigarette and then holds out his pack of Marlboro offering me
a  smoke. I take one muttering, "Thanks." After lighting my cigarette I'm
looking down at the alley behind our condos watching two boys bouncing
basketballs as they walk by. One of the boys recently got  that ridiculous
fad-haircut with the hair shaved all around his  head and a big glob of long hair
on top. He's young-looking and really  cute. I wonder if his family just
moved into one of these  condos because I don't recall seeing him before.

Sexy-cute face with a very  slim body. It's borderline that he could be eighteen
though. Huh,  interesting. While watching the basketball boys I'm half
listening  to Rob telling me about last night's dinner at Ken's Steakhouse with
his  parents. I nod my head, mumbling, "Ken's rarely disappoints," and then
I tell him about Chub and I having dinner with the Moms. He says,
"Five-fifteen! That's a really early dinner; almost a late lunch." Giving  him a
frowning 'look', I go, "We have working-moms, Rob." He comes right  back with,
"My Mom works too ya know. Um, two or three days a week,  sometimes."

He's  still slightly testy because I haven't committed to working for  him
yet. Well, I wouldn't be working for him per se anyway, but for  their
company. I say, "Yeah, okay, but your Mom doesn't need to work  while our Moms
do. Anyway, last night we didn't have time for cocktails at  dinner so
afterward Chub and I had some beers at a local joint." Rob goes,  "I wish you'd
texted me, I would have liked joining you guys for  a couple of beers." I go,
"I did text you, Rob," and he goes, "Yeah,  after nine o'clock." I shrug and
then smile and give his shoulder  a squeeze, "You're right, I should have
texted earlier but Chub  and I were sorting out how we'll use the Jeep this
summer and time slipped  away. Plus you said yesterday you were gonna spend
time with your parents after  dinner."

This is  actually the first full-day of summer break. I have no plans for
doing anything  except getting reacquainted with the condo and checking
online about summer  jobs. Rob bringing our Dunkin' Donut breakfast was damn nice
of him and makes  for a good beginning to my first day off. It feels
strange after all those  months away being back here in the condo. It feels good
too but Rob's still pouting a little so I rub up the  back of his head,
murmuring, "Hey Robby, I'll most likely be one of your  company's employees, and
even in the unlikely event I'm  not working there you and I will still have
an awesome  summer together." He nods, mumbling, "Yeah, but you really
should take the  job, Dylan. I'd love knowing you were in the same building I'm
working in.  I mean when I'm not in Westborough. We could do coffee breaks
and  lunches together." Ha, it's all about him sometimes, but he's so
fucking good-looking I can't help smiling and putting my arms around  him for a
squeeze. He smiles back and then we do a really nice  sexy kiss that gets me a
little juiced-up. Plus, a couple of minutes ago he  mentioned a haircut so
my dick was kinda jumpy to start with.

Side-stepping  the summer job conundrum, I'm thinking about the possibility
 of having sex this morning, so I go, "You realize my Mom's not  here,
right?" He looks at me beaming, "Really? I thought she was  still sleeping after
working late." I shake my head, "Nope, that's not  the case." He goes, "So
you're saying it's just you and me here right now?" I  nod, "Yep! Mom won't
be showing up until later this afternoon." We grin at each  other as he
mumbles, "Glad I stopped in!" He rubs his nose and goes, "So, um, ya  wanna do
it this morning?" I go, "Always with you, Rob," and  he's like, "I call
topping!" Oh good! That's perfect because for a  while there I was starting to
worry he was liking me doing the 'topping' too  much. I much prefer being a
'bottom' for that boy. I guess some gay  guys don't realize that 'bottoms' get
sexually stimulated in both their ass and  their penis at the same time.

Dummies!
Rob  finishes his cardboard cup of take-out coffee, saying, "Jeez, I'm
stupidly  excited. I thought we'd need to wait until after the movies tonight."

I go,  "Yeah, it's been a horny struggle for both of us not having sex
together for almost thirty-six hours." He snorts out a laugh, "We're slightly
oversexed, huh?" I go, "Nah, it's just that we got ourselves into an  awesome
sexual groove at college and things get to be habit- forming." Rob goes,
"Good for us!" He looks so youthful and, um, clean and shiny.  He's going to
the office later so he's wearing pressed khakis and  a button-up-the-front
shirt with preppy loafers on his size nine-and-a-half  feet. I did a haircut
for him ten-days ago, so he's still okay in that  regard, even for his Dad's
inspection. Hard to believe that was only the second  or third haircut I
did for Rob all junior year. That's of course because of  that barber-butcher
Golden Summers doing haircuts, plus Rob's stupid idea  that getting
home-haircuts from Golden, like a lot of his teammates were  doing, somehow made Rob
just one of the boys even though he's  co-captain of the team. He's
clean-shaven this morning too which is a  shame. I mean his beard has come in
nicely of late and it's soft and  sexy. Still, Rob looks good enough to eat.

Fortunate for Rob he  brought breakfast with him... heh heh.

Leaning  against the balcony railing, I exhale some smoke and ask, "What's
the  latest word about our favorite Army-boys' return?" He exhales a drag
off his cigarette and says, "Dodger should be home next Wednesday,  but
depending on Army procedure for checking-out, or whatever it's called,  he could
be home as early as Tuesday." I'm like, "Oh, good! Is he gonna  work with
you and your Dad?" Rob shakes his head, "Nope. He made it crystal  clear he
doesn't want to do that. I don't know what he's going to do. He  won't say and
my parents are not pleased. Um, you said Army  'boys', plural. You know
Connor isn't coming with Dodger,  right?" I nod, "Yeah I know that."

We take  drags off our smokes as I'm wondering what the fuck happened
between Dodger  and his 'rents. I mean his parents gave him that big homecoming
party after  basic training; him and Connor. Since then there's definitely
been some disconnect. I ask, "Um, I don't want to pry or anything, but  I
think I will anyway. What's the friction between your parents and  Dodger?" Rob
shrugs, "Well, there's friction between me and Dodger too  although we're
not like enemies or anything. He's changed and it's  simply not the same with
him anymore. We used to be so close too."  I'll say they were close; they
were fucking together from early in their teen  years, but I'm not going
there. Rob's answer was so vague as to  be worthless. It didn't tell me anything
about why his parents are out  of sorts with Dodger.

Done  our cigarettes, he asks, "Should we get your haircut out of the way
first,  baby?" I go, "Yeah okay, the barber stuff is in the finished
basement. Do you  wanna do it there?" He goes, "Yeah, that's where we always used to
do haircuts."  Goofy me, but I'm kinda excited about the haircut. I know
it's dumb, but getting  a haircut turns me on a little, especially when done
by certain people and  Rob is definitely one of those certain people. He
says, "Damn, I've got these  good clothes on and I don't want to get hair
clipping on me, so maybe a  better idea..." and I cut him off, saying, "Take 'em
off and wear some  sweatpants of mine during the haircut. I must have at
least one clean pair." He  nods, "Oh yeah, good idea."

We go  to my bedroom where Rob takes off his shirt and slacks, hanging them
neatly on a  coat hanger. I'm looking through my bureau drawers and in the
back of  the bottom drawer I find a wrinkled, mismatched  sweatpants and
sweatshirt. Chuckling I hand then to Rob and he puts them on  and then laughs,
"These are way too small for me, Dylan. We're the  same size." I chuckle,
"We were both a different size in middle school  which is when I last wore
those clothes. I couldn't find current clean  ones." His wrists stick out the
sleeves about three inches and the pants barely  come to his ankles. Still
grinning he's looking at himself in the full-length  mirror on the back of the
closet door. I can't help snickering as he goes, "I  look like a fucking
clown," and he laughs again, then adds, "C'mon,  let's get to it so we can get
to you-know-what afterward."

Walking  down to the finished basement, I'm like, "Don't rush with my
haircut, Rob. Take  your time and keeps the number of 'Oops' down as close to
zero as  possible." He goes, "That pisses me off, Dylan! I've been doing good
haircuts  for you." I go, "Fuck, I'm kidding you! Um, I just meant there's
no need to rush 'cause we've got plenty of time." He asks, "What time  is it
anyway?" I look at my watch. "It's almost ten-thirty. What time do you  need
to be at work?" He goes, "One o'clock but I also need time to  stop
someplace for lunch." I shrug, like, So what's  the problem? and he  mutters, "Oh
hell, we've got plenty of time, you're right. I won't rush  with your
haircut... don't fret about that. I want it to look good just as  much as you do."

As I'm  getting the barber stuff out of the toiletry kit I'm thinking how
it'd be sexy  if Robby shampooed my hair first. He's pulling the stool over
onto the  tile part of the basement near the washer and dryer as I say, "You
should  probably shampoo my hair first. It's easier to cut when it's clean."

I'm next to  him laying out the barber tools on the dryer so he reaches
over and runs his  fingers through my hair, mumbling, "Your hair is always
clean." I go, "Not as  clean as it will be after you shampoo it. You can do it
in the half-bath. I'll  pull a chair in there." He frowns, "We should save as
much time as possible for,  you know, afterwards," and he turns on the
clippers, whining, "C'mon,  Dylan. Let's do your haircut." I'm still pulling the
chair toward the  bathroom and he goes, "Dylan!" and I'm like, "Robby!" and
then I add,  "C'mon, we have time. It doesn't take long."

Letting  out an exasperated deep breath, Rob mumbles, "Okay! I know
everything has  to be done your way so no sense in me arguing." I grin at him and
we go into the half-bath where I set-up the shampooing station. The back of
the  chair is against the front of the sink with the chair's front legs off
the  floor. I put the shampoo, conditioner, and hairdryer on the shelf over
the  back of the sink, saying, "There ya go, Robby, everything you need,"

and then  I take off my shirt and sit in the chair smirking. Rob snorts out a
laugh,  muttering, "Brat." I go, "Don't forget, you need to fold a
hand-towel for under  my neck. You know, for comfort." He does that, asking, "Where's
that little hose  you use?" I point to the hose hanging off the hook at the
back of the door and  he attaches it to the sink's faucet, saying, "It's
not like I haven't  shampooed your hair twenty times before, ya know, when we
shower together."  I go, "Yes, you're very good at it but let's not have a
lot of talking while  you're doing it, my good man." He goes, "Yes, your
majesty," as he turns  the water on.

Robby wets  my hair and rubs in shampoo, saying, "Jesus, your hair really
grows fast. I  can't believe I let it go this long without giving you a
haircut. It's over the  tops of your ears." I mumble, "Yeah well, we had two
weeks of finals and then  packing-up to come home, so neither of us gave it much
thought." He does a good  massage on my scalp, saying, "Yeah, but you found
the time to do my haircut the  week before last," and I go, "All my spare
time wasn't spent playing baseball."  He mutters, "Oh, I forgot about that."

It'd be sexier if Rob didn't insist on  talking, but it's pretty sexy
anyway. Good to see he isn't taking any shortcuts  either as he rinses out the
first shampoo lather and reapplies  fresh shampoo, saying, "This is kind of
fun, and ya know what? It's fun  giving you haircuts too. It's intimate. Do you
know what I mean?" I go, "Yes, I  do."

A  minute of silence as his fingers move in my hair and on my scalp. It's
enough to  give me shivers. Maybe Rob feels a little arousal too because with
 his hands full of shampoo bubbles he leans over and kisses the side of my
face, murmuring, "I love taking care of you." That's so fucking sweet! But
of  course I had to insist on the shampoo before he'd do it. He rinses out
the  shampoo really well and applies conditioner and then really rinses my
hair  good this time. He gets a towel to roughly dry my hair. Rob knows what
he's doing as he now gets the noisy hairdryer to finish drying it  while
brushing my hair this way and that. The stiff bristles of the brush  leave  my
scalp tingling. Intimate indeed!
When my  hair is dry enough to make static electricity, Rob jokingly says,
"Let's  start all over and I'll do everything again." I chuckle, "You did an
 awesome job, Rob," and he hugs my shoulders and rubs the side of his face
against mine. I smell his faint after shave lotion which makes my dick
tingle  pleasantly. The entire shampoo took less than ten-minutes but he isn't
finished.  He does an awesome massage of my shoulders and the back of my neck
using his  strong hands and fingers as I go limp as a rag doll. As he
continues  he's saying, "Remember the massages we did for each other that summer
after  eleventh grade?" I nod as delicious sexy shivers slide down my spine.

I  murmur, "Oh yeah, I'll say, and we didn't even know we were both gay
yet."  Rob goes, "I knew I was but I wasn't sure if you knew yet." Well, at
that time  I'd just recently found out I was gay myself, thanks to fat Carl.

I've  never told Rob about that.

When  I'm feeling incredibly relaxed and sexually stimulated, Rob murmurs,
"There, boyfriend, the entire treatment except for the haircut." I sigh,
"Thanks  Rob, that was awesome." We leave the mess in the bathroom for me to
clean-up later and go back in the basement where I sit on the  barber stool.

Rob puts the barber cape around me and I go, "I don't want  the cape," and
Rob says, "Tough, you're getting it anyway. I'm the barber." I  shrug my
shoulders and then decide this is good. The cape gives me a real  barbershop
sensation, so I go, "Okay, if you say so, Rob. You're the head of the
household." He snorts out a laugh, muttering, "Sure I am," as he's combing  through
my hair.

Jesus, I  love being fussed over by Rob!  He sternly says, "I don't want to
hear any  whining from you about me using the thinning scissors. In fact
don't say  anything. I'm fucking in-charge here. Remember I've got the
scissors and  clippers so I'm kinda dangerous at the moment." I go, "Gotcha, boss."

He puts a  hand on my shoulder, "All kidding aside, Dylan, are you okay
with  the haircuts I've been giving you, or do you want me to change
something?" Ooooweee, that was so nice of him it gives me  goosebumps. I shrug, "I
don't know. What do you think, Robby?" Oh shit, I'm  just like all the guys I
give haircuts to. They all ask me what kind of  haircut they should get and
I basically just did the same thing to my  barber. Rob combs through my hair
back to front and then combs my bangs down on  my forehead. They reach just
to my eyebrows. He says, "I like what I've been  doing, Dylan. I'd like to
do the same haircut with a part on the side and  the hair combed over except
a shorter version for the summer. That's what I  think would look good,
especially if you accept my job offer... but that's  still up to you."

All my  ball-busting aside, Rob has been giving me pretty good haircuts and
I'm not  all that surprised either. It's like something told me a while
back that he has  a knack for it. Especially when I'm not trying to get him to
do it my way. He  tries too hard to do it like I say and the results have
sucked in the past.  When he's left on his own and I don't interfere he does a
good job. Haircutting  isn't as easy as it looks, but it's not rocket
science either. It's mostly  common sense and picturing in your head what each
cut will look like  compared to the hairs around it. Well I guess it does
require having a feel for  it too.

Rob  says, "Well, what's it going to be, Dylan?" I say, "I'm not sure what
you have  in mind when you say 'shorter', all barbers seem to have a
different idea for  what that means, but I like your idea of the same style and
I'll go with  your suggestion." He goes, "Omigod, he finally trusts me!  Be
still my heart!" I go, "The drama club is meeting in the next building."  He
chuckles, and goes, "Thanks for your faith in me, baby." The fact is my
haircut fetish was doing most of the talking for me. The words 'short' and
'shorter' always gets a pleasant, albeit a little bit of scary buzzing  going on
in my nuts. Feels scary-good I guess you could  say.

Rob  pats my shoulder, saying, "You're in good hands, young fella," and
then  he puts a half-inch guide on the clippers. He clicks the clipper on and
works with it on the sides and then at the back of my head. The  cut hairs
slide off the clippers and drift down the cape to my  lap giving my balls
another pleasant jolt. Done with the clippers  he uses a pair of regular barber
scissors and a comb to  begin tampering at my neck's hairline. I can't see
what he's doing  obviously but it feels like he's using the
scissors-over-comb technique  correctly. I go, "You don't want me talking, but are you using
a new technique;  new for you?" He chuckles, "Yeah, I wanted to surprise
you. I did what you  suggested a while ago and watched about an hour's worth
of haircutting  tutorials on YouTube and learned a hell of a lot." I go,
"When did you do that?"  He says, "Last night while you and Jeff were having a
good time drinking beers  and forgetting about me." I say, "Hey, I called
you." He begins cutting  again, mumbling, "I'm kidding, but not about watching
the videos last  night."

The  only sound I hear now is the "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," of the
scissors  cutting through my dry clean hair. Many barbers wet the hair before
cutting but  then you don't hear the scissor cutting and I like that sound. The
 steady, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," sounds soon puts me into a nice
submissive trance. It seems like Rob's doing everything correctly and he seems
to be cutting with confidence too so it's all good and I can  safely drift
off into a deeper and deeper very pleasant dreamy  trance as my dick gets
hard. When Rob gently pushes the back of my head with a  finger I obligingly
move my head forward and almost rest my  chin on my chest as Rob murmurs,
"Thank you," and continues cutting. He's  spending a long time on the back of my
head, up near the top now and then  he combs up the hair at the crown
getting a big batch of hair between his thumb  and forefinger; then, holding the
hair up and pulling on my scalp slightly  he cut off the hair above his
fingers, "Scrunch!". He does it again  and again and then combs it up and does
it again, "Scrunch, scrunch," and  by now I'm enjoying the hard boner that's
in my pants, one  that's bulging-up my jeans at the zipper under  the
barber's cape. It's a traditional barber's cape that's  off-white with thin black
stripes.

Rob  takes the guard off the clippers and uses bare clippers to do some
cutting at the hairline and then mumbles to himself, "Good." I think it's
good too. Now he's combing hair up on the left side of my head cutting off the
hairs that stick up from the comb as he moves the comb up the side until my
head  shape starts curving to the top, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch."

Inch-long cut hairs fall in a cascade onto the cape and slide down to  pool in my
lap on top of my hidden boner. The more he cuts the more my dick  quivers in
its hardness  feeling so fucking good it's crazy. Now Rob barely touches my
forehead  wanting my head up and I comply, with him again murmuring, "Thank
you," and  it's so much like the few authentic barbershop experiences I've
had in my life, mostly compliments of Willie. Frankly, it's going so  well
I can hardly believe it's Robby doing the barbering.

The  amount of cut hair that have accumulating at the lap of the cape makes
me  curious about how short Robby's cutting my hair but I resist  picking
up the hand-held mirror  that's lying on the top of the dryer. He's giving me
a very short haircut  although I don't believe it qualifies as an extremely
short one. I tend to think  extremely short haircuts are done using only
clippers. I say that even  though two summers ago, Sonny gave me a couple of
extremely short haircuts using  only a comb and scissors; haircuts done so
evenly they astounded me. Rob's  not motivated the way Sonny was though. Sonny
was dominantly getting  even for me giving him a short burr haircut.

Satisfied  with the shortness on the right side of my head Rob works on the
left side,  which is the side where a 'part' goes. There are many
'Scrunches" before  he's satisfied with that side too. Rob looks all around my head,
muttering,  "Okay, that's good," and then he turns-on the trimming clippers
and outlines  around and behind my ears and says, "I know you don't like the
squared off  back, Dylan, but it goes with this haircut. The tutorials did
it this way and I  am too." I feel him squaring off the hairline in back,
but down low and not up  more than an inch like Golden always did it which
created  the abrupt 'shelf' or 'shingle' look at the back. That's a  terrible
'look' if you ask me.

Rob  examines all around my head again and this time snips off hairs here
and there.  I already feel as though I could cum in my pants and Rob hasn't
even  touched the hairs on top of my head yet. It's a really sexy feeling and
 I squirm on the  stool a little trying to get my boner to rest sideways in
my pants. Rob quietly  says, "Sit still, Dylan," and he grabs my shoulders.

I settle down grinning to  myself at how much I'm enjoying this.

Rob's  finally content with the way he's cut the sides and back and then
combs through the hair on top of my head twice, murmuring, "Like it or not,
Dylan, I'm using the thinning shears. That's what the instructor called
these scissors, by the way... thinning shears." He picks up the thinning
shears and, after closing them a few times, he touches both sides of  my forehead
with his forefingers, saying, "Keep your head up while I'm  doing this."

Then it's, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," with the thinning shears.  He stops to
pull the clumps of cut hairs from the teeth of the shears and comb
dropping both batches of hair in the pile of hair at the lap of the cape. And
then, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," and again he pulls the hairs from the comb
and scissors, saying, "That's enough I think," and he combs through the hair
on  top of my head with little-to-no resistance and adds, "Maybe that
second time with the thinning shears wasn't my best idea." He combs through  the
top hairs again coming away with a bunch of cut hairs in the teeth of  the
comb, mumbling, "It's okay though. Just maybe a little shorter than I
planned on."

I sort  of turn my head catching his eyes with mind, and he goes, "Okay, so
it's a  slight change of plans. I think it'll be even better. I did it the
way a  couple of the instructors did it." I'm not sure what he's referring
to, but I  don't say anything because I'm liking this experience too much to
get into a  discussion about something that can't be changed anyway. Rob
gets the regular  scissors and uses a comb at the crown of my head cutting and
cutting  while explaining, "I thinned it out too much here at the back of
your head,  you know, at the crown. What I'm doing is trying to even it off at
a  half-inch." A few more cuts and he says, "Clippers with a half-inch
guide is  probably a better plan," and he puts a guide on the clippers and runs
it around  the crown of my head and some on the back. Turning off the
clippers, he goes,  "This will be fine. I'll just cut the other hair on top to
match the length at  the crown and taper it longer the closer I get to the
front." Strangely enough I  know what he means. I'm just surprised he does.

Using comb and scissors  there quite a bit of cutting with cuts hairs from the
top drifting down to the  cape and I know I'm positively going to cum in my
pants, but I don't. He  stopped a few seconds before my cock was about to
fire off a juicy  load of jism.

Stifling  a moan I watch him step back to look at my hair. He nods his head
 which I take as a good sign and  then he combs down what's left of the
bangs and cuts, Scrunch, scrunch,  scrunch," the hairs across my forehead
leaving an inch of bangs that he combs to  the side and says, "That's perfect,
babe, no worries. You could even flip up the  front if you want," and he
passes me the hand-held mirror. I feel like I  know what the haircut will look
like before I even look... and I'm not  surprised. It's almost exactly like I
thought it would look with  the exception of the hairs at the crown. They're
cut too short and  stick defiantly up instead of laying over, but I knew
why he needed to do  that. He screwed-up by thinning-out too much there and
hopefully learned a  lesson from that mistake. It doesn't totally screw up the
haircut  though. It just makes it a different one than he intended when he
started. If  I don't comb a part on the side and flip up the bangs it'll be
my old favorite haircut from the past. I've even given a few guys this
haircut last semester.

Maybe  anticipating what I'm going to say, Rob rubs his fingers over the
half-inch  hairs at the crown, saying, "Before you say anything you should
know this is the  same haircut a couple of the tutorials showed. I think it's
perfect for  you. Ultra preppy!" I  nod, saying, "No problem, but how old
were the models who got this haircut in  the videos?" Rob shrugs and then
snorts out a chuckle, saying, "Okay  they were all teenagers, but you look like a
teenager." I go, "This haircut will  help me get served in bars, right?" He
combs my hair flipping up the bangs,  mumbling, "Probably not." I go, "Well
whatever, it's cut okay,  Rob, seriously." He shrugs, muttering, "Gosh oh
gee, I don't know what  to say, Mr. Newman, except thanks." I chuckle, "Nice
job even if it isn't the haircut you intended doing." He looks hurt, "I'm
doing  my best," and I go, "Oh stop it, Rob! You know damn well I fucking
like short hair." He says, "It looks good this way, doesn't it?" Now he wants
me  to compliment his mistake.

Taking  the cape off me, dropping a big bunch of my hair on the floor, Rob
leans  around to kiss my lips, murmuring, "Seriously, thanks for being
flexible about  the haircut, Dylan. I think I was too cocky and over-confident
this time."  Standing up, I go, "I enjoyed the experience but I think I'll
probably keep  the part, and comb the bangs over when applying for a job." He
says, "When it's  just you and me though, babe, do me a favor and comb it
like a teenager.  I almost got a boner combing it like that for you." I go, "A
boner about a  haircut? What the fuck?" He says, "Almost a boner! I didn't
say I got one. I  have fun giving you haircuts. It makes me feel so good when
you say you  like it." I pull his head over murmuring, "I like it," and
then give  him a wet sloppy kiss on his lips. He goes, "Oh, thank you for the
kiss, sir.  That'll be a hundred-and-twenty-dollars for the shampoo and cut."

I'm like, "Put  it on my bill and give yourself a three-percent tip while
you're at it." We both  chuckle as I'm running my fingers through my hair
like almost everybody does  after getting a haircut. Searching for more
compliments, Rob goes, "How's  it feel?" and then we both laugh again. It's not the
haircut either of us  expected, but it's done okay. I think I've finally
found my favorite barber  for the foreseeable future. Rob's minor mishaps
haven't bothered me  too much so far, not when compared to the intentionally
bad haircuts Ryan was  giving me for more than six-months.

Rob  asks, "Should we go upstairs, or...?" and I pull his under-sized
sweatpants down  and then his underwear, murmuring, "I can't wait to go
upstairs."  Sinking  to my knees I mumble, "Here comes the rest of your tip," and
take his cock into  my mouth. Licking all around the head gets Rob squirming
and quietly saying, "It  was almost sexual doing your haircut, but now for the
real thing." I go,  "Uh huh," and suck on the fat head of his cock while
stroking the  shaft using my thumb and two fingers, stroke, stroke, stroke,
getting a quiet  grunt from Rob as he shuffles his feet a little. Pushing more
of his  hardening cock in my mouth and then some more until the head bumps
the top of my  throat. I gag for a second and then push my head forward so
the head goes into  my throat. Rob grabs my head muttering, 'Aaaah." My face
is squished against his  groin with light-blond pubic hairs around my nose,
mouth and chin. He smells  like bath gel.

My  hands grab and then squeeze Rob's butt cheeks as he, with a hand on
either  side of my head, moves my head to and fro, the head of his hard fat
cock  going in and out of my throat while my tongue licks the underside of his
now  hard-as-steel penis. It's a hard fat boner  he should be proud of. I
need to be very relaxed so as not to gag at his  fat cock head plugging in and
out of my throat and being as submissive as I feel  helps me do that. As
his cock fucks my throat it drools pre-cum self-lubricating  it's way. Wow,
it's incredibly sexual and my cock, in-prisoned in my jockey  shorts and
jeans, grows as hard as Rob's.

My  mouth fills with saliva that I mostly can't swallow so it runs out both
sides of  my mouth and drips off my chin drip, drip, drip to drool under my
chin and  wet my neck. Robby's moaning and I feel the head swell so I
expect him to  cum but he steps back letting go of my head and pulling his boner
completely out  of my mouth. It's right in front of me sticking straight-out
 from his groin and wet with my saliva. He gasps, "Oh, mmmm, that felt
incredibly  good." There's a slurp of pre-cum hanging off the head that I'm
about to lick  off but Rob's fist gets there first and spreads it up and down
his boner as  he strokes his hard member making a hissing sound with his eyes
closed and  his head back. Damn, I'll bet that feel good! With a gasp Rob
lets go of his  penis and reaches down to help pull me up. His hard boners
bumping against  mine that's protruding the lap of my pants as I stand in front
of Rob,  who's still taking deep ragged breaths.

As I  stand here a foot from Rob I'm unbuttoning my jeans and then pulling
down  the zipper. After a final deep breath, Rob pulls my pants down to my
knees  while I'm pulling down my jockey shorts freeing my boner to stick up
straight  and tight against my belly. I have no doubt that by the time Rob's
done fucking  me my boner will be sticking straight out like his; not as fat
although two  inches longer. I've got a really good penis even if I do say
so myself. I'm  wiping my chin getting as much saliva off as I can with my
bare hand while Rob  gets behind me, saying, "Bend-over and grab the seat of
the stool, Dylan. I'm  going to spank your pretty ass till it shines." I go,
"Oooh," and bend over and  then Rob spanks me hard with "Smack, smack,"

sounds filling my ears for  maybe a minute with me grunting and trying not to
cum.

There's  no mention of the lube that's under the sink in the half bath, not
for this  dominant fuck. When Rob's satisfied my bright-pink stinging-ass
has been  spanked properly he plugs the head of his cock in and I go,
"Aaaah!"  arching my back and grabbing the stool tighter, dropping my forehead to
the  seat.  More of his pre-cum helped get the fat head past my sphincter
muscle although it was initially a little bit of a shock the  way he just
plugged it in and it hurt. Rob's arms come around and he clasps  his wrist
together against my belly and then humps two inches of hard cock up my  ass as he
moans, "Ooooh, mmmm, fuuuuck this feels good, baby." Thrusting just  the
first two-or-three inches back and forth over my prostate gets me moaning,
"Mmmm, oooh, Robby," as my forehead slides on the stool, so I lift it up
holding my breath at how good it feels.

Tightening  his hold around my stomach Rob thrust the last of his boner
spreading my  rectum walls until he's snugly against my buttocks and we both
sigh,  "Ooooh." My ass recognizes its favorite  hard cock and adjust quickly
and just like that I feel an exquisite pleasure  sensation flow over me
making my shoulders do their shuddering. Rob humps  against my buttocks while
moving his arms up my stomach to get his arms  around my chest and then he
pulls me up and when he's got my back  tightly against his chest he murmurs in
my ear, "You're too tense, baby. Relax!"  and with a quiet moan I do what I'm
told and lie docilely back against  Rob's chest, the back of my head on his
shoulder. He murmurs, "That's my good  boy," and humps hard against my
buttocks again. I feel more of that awesome  submissiveness drift down over me
and nothing that feels better than  this... nothing!
Rob's  strong arms hug me tighter with his hard penis inside me as he
murmurs, "I got  ya now, baby. Your ass had its spanking  and now my hard cock is
exactly where it belongs." I moan, and go, "Oh  yeah, Rob," and with his
scent swirling around in my head we  could be docked together like this
forever as far as I'm concerned. That  awesomely very-filled-up-feeling in my
backside is something I can't begin to  describe and the fact it's Robby doing
the filling-up is the perfect combination  for me... AND, on top of
everything else there's that  really good dominant haircut experience lingering in my
mind and it's  all so spectacularly sexy a long sigh of contentment slips
out of my throat  without me realizing I was going to do it. Rob murmurs, "I
love giving you  pleasure, Dylan." My eyes are half closed as I revel in the
sexuality of my  latest dreamy trance. Feels soooooo good.

And it  gets better too... Rob withdraws his log of a cock almost all the
way  out and then pushes it right back up inside me making my shoulders
shudder, against his this time. He does that four times, and then a really  firm
fifth time making me moan in sexual pleasure and then I hear the,  "Slap,
slap, slapping," sounds of rapid hard thrusting as pleasure sensations
explode from my rectum, his crotch smacking against my butt cheeks driving  his
cock up my ass hard and fast.  Sensations increase joined now by  incredible
pleasure soaring off my incredibly tight boner that moves away from  my
belly until it's sticking straight out feeling like it wants to stretch  out
further. It's an entire orchestra of sexual pleasure. A continual  barrage of
intense pleasure from uncountable nerve endings and it has me  struggling in
Rob's arms unable to believe how good this feels.

Robby's  breathing noisily in between grunts as his hips keep a perfect
rhythm moving  that fat boner of his smoothly back and forth in my ass until he
lurches  forward, holding me so tightly I can barely take a breath as he
humps against my  butt cheeks and I feel his sharp streak of cum hit inside me
adding a moment of  extra warmth as he goes, "Aaaaaah, ooooh," and humps
against me harder probably  shooting more semen inside me although I don't
feel that stream.

I've  been on the verge of climaxing from halfway through the haircut so
it's a  miracle I held off this long. My boner's been sticking straight out
for the last  ninety-seconds, and now a sizzle of electric shocks covers my
body as I try  humping my hips and then with a squeal, "Eeeeew!" cum blows out
from my  cock shooting straight out four-feet before rounding off into a
dive to the  floor and then again with me unable to even squeal as the second
shot  sizzle from my quivering piss slit almost as far out as the first. My
body's  stiff as a board until the third and fourth shots  of cum shoot out,
little more than squirts, but feeling fabulous anyway. Gasping  a lungful
of air I go limp now, as limp as Robby as we stagger forward a few  feet
together before he pulls his cock out. A rush of his creamy cum  slides out of
my bowels and wets under my ass and down the inside of  my legs. My hands are
on the rim of the stool again as I bend over  breathing deeply. My heart's
racing to beat the band while I'm concentrating on  the last sizzling
vibrations around and inside my asshole as I take a hand off  the stool to tightly
pull on my pud getting drips of cum sticking to the  end of my fist.

"Holy  shit, Dylan, what a great climax!" I let go of the stool and my dick
to turn  around and gasp, "I'll say," and we hug with both of us saying at
the same  time, "I love you." We have a couple of kisses as our breathing
returns to  normal and our heart rates calm down. "Whew, that was hot, Rob."

He's rubbing  his nose, mumbling, "Awful fast climax though, don't ya think?"

I shrug, "I  couldn't take a good guess how long we fucked. Whatever the
length I thought it  was super hot and  sexy, and so are you." We let go of
each other as Rob grins, asking, "Do  you still like your haircut?" and for
some reason we both laugh out loud. It's  silly of course but it just struck
us funny asking that question after  our really hot sex. I go, "What
haircut?" and we chuckle and walk into the  half-bath where Rob helps me clean his
cum off my ass and then he uses a wet  washcloth to clean his now flaccid
penis.

After  pulling our pants up we go upstairs to grab Cokes and then out on
the balcony  for an after-sex smoke. Rob takes a swallow of Coke and says,
"Beautiful day,  huh?" I look around and say, "Yeah, it's a great day," and we
both snicker  because he knows from the way I said that I'm referring to the
fact we just  fucked, and to hell with the weather. We bump against each
other being  in love, which enhances the shared sexual experience a lot. I
say,  "After the movies it's my turn," and Rob goes, "I'll look forward to
that."  Damn, this is a weird thought to have after that great sex but I wonder
if  Rob bottoms for Danny. Oh hell, I know he does. Danny's a 'top' and if
my one  experience with him a couple of years ago is any indication, he's one
helluva  top to boot. Rob probably thinks he's better than me. Rob and I
have a  fairly open relationship but not open enough to questions him about
something like that. And anyway what would I expect his answer to be? He's
unlikely to say anything other than I'm the best 'top' on earth. So that's
another reason for not having conversations about that sort of thing.

Rob  gets serious now and again gives me a sales pitch on why I should
forget about the employment agencies and take his job offer. He says, "I had to
 put my foot down and pull rank with the HM department, Dylan. They wanted
that position filled yesterday... a week ago." I say, "I told you I
appreciate  your efforts on my behalf, Rob, but I just want to see what
opportunities  are out there first-hand." He makes a face and then says, "Yeah, well  I
already told you I got them to hold off until next week." Muttering,
"Thanks,"  I sort of lean against him, and mumble, "I really like the haircut,"

and we both  snicker again and then break-out laughing.

No more  is said about the job. Instead we talk about how we think we did
on the  last two final exams. We already know the results of the first two. I
got a 92  on one and an 88 on the other. In both cases Rob's scores were
two points lower,  so we have some work to do next year if were gonna reach an
overall 3.0 by the  end of senior year. I go, "Let's not talk about college
grades again until  at least the end of August." Rob agrees and we talk
about Dodger and how his  birthday is coming up in a week or so. It was two
years ago, the first week of  work, that Dodger turned eighteen and quit the
job to join the Army. Prior to  his birthday he needed a parent's approval
which he wasn't gonna get. Huh, I  just had a weird thought: Sonny's birthday
is next month too.

I know  both Rob and I feel really good about this morning and we have a
really sweet  kiss when he leaves a little before noon. He's going to stop
someplace for lunch  before starting his first day of work this summer. I
offered to make lunch for  him but he didn't want me going to the trouble. Good
thing too because after  checking I could only offer peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches. Whatever, I  can't help thinking again, 'Damn, this was a good
morning!' I'm in the bathroom  looking at my latest haircut and combing it
over in front and then trying it  with the bangs flipped up. Jeez, I look
pretty good either way... ha ha ha.  Well, I do! What can I say? Rob did a
fairly good job of haircutting. Damn,  good for him; he's actually not a bad
barber at all.

After  chilling-out for a little while I get antsy and, what the fuck, I go
online  to do some Googling about getting a job. There are big job-boards
like  'Career Builder' but I feel more comfortable, since I'm only looking
for  a summer job and not building a career, using an employment agency.

There's  certainly a lot of them. Oh yeah, I'll need a resume too. Fuck, that'll
be a  pain in the ass! Hmmm, it says here I'll likely need to pay the
employment  agency a percentage of what I earn in consideration of them finding me
a summer  job. Well that blows! Some companies pay the fee but not usually
for summer  jobs... hmmm. Reading on I see that the employment agency does
all  the initial interviewing and screening. Then, since they have an
interest  in placing people in jobs, they do a good job of coaching you for a
specific  company and/or position. So they'll help, but for a fee, huh...

Hmmm,  the more I think about it, why should I go through all the trouble
to  maybe make an extra $50 a week. That's if I even get  a job offer,  and
just imagine the humiliation it'll be if I don't. Let me think about this.

If I make a list of pluses for working at Dickers & Son Inc., a job  I've
already been accepted for, and then a list of pluses for  the long-shot
possibility of getting hired by a company I know nothing  about, one that may or
may not pay a little more, it's obvious as hell  that I should take Rob's
offer. It's only because of that fucking 'talk' of  mine with Rob that I'm even
considering subjecting myself to the arduous  task of tackling the job
market, and for a summer job no less. Makes no fucking  sense whatsoever!
Sitting  at my desk I dwell on that for ten-minutes and then says to
myself, 'Self, be  grateful for Rob's offer and thank him for it as you accept it.

And  the hell with losing face. Who cares anyway?' Nothing else makes any
sense.  I've had some experience working in that office, I know the owner's
administration assistant, Dottie-something-or-other, and I'm  in tight with
the son of Dickers & son!  So what's my  fucking problem? Taking out my
cellphone I text Rob: 'Sorry to bother  you at work, Rob, but I've finally come
to my senses. I don't need five more  days or five more minutes to decide...

I want to work for you this summer. Thank  you for offering me the job.

Love you, Dylan.'  There, that's settled!  Yipes, that's a load off my mind...

and I feel so good now! Damn,  why'd I make such a production out of that?
I'm  walking around the apartment realizing it's not even one day into my
summer  break and I'm already bored hanging around the condo. Well, after
this  morning being so awesome and all and then doing nothing, of course that
would suck by  comparison. I guess I'm waiting to hear back from Rob. Hey,
what if someone  in Human Services ignored Rob, or maybe in spite of him, has
already filled that  opening? Balls! It'll be my fault for dicking around
and not making up my mind  sooner. I shouldn't have told Rob I was looking
for a better offer in the first  fucking place. Dammit.

I don't  get a text back from Rob until two o'clock. A ping from my
cellphone and as  I think, 'It's about fuckin' time', I grab my phone and see,
'You're  hired, boyfriend. See you tonight. Love you, Rob.' Well okay then!
Damn, I  feel relieved. Let's see: four weeks in June, July, and August. That's
a  total of twelve-weeks at $500 a week. Hmm, that's six-thousand dollars
any way you cut it, plus maybe they'll be some overtime at  time-and-a-half.

That's pretty good, although I did make more  last summer. Chub's getting
five-dollars an hour more than me! I figure-out in  my head that that's
eighty-five dollars a week time twelve weeks. Oh Jesus!  Chub will make over a
thousand dollars more than me during the summer.  Good for Chubby though! Even
I knew that twenty-dollars an hour I got paid  last year for the special
shitty-project-jobs was too much per hour. Rob  said it was because no one
wanted to do those jobs.

Fuck it  all! I'm happy and lucky to have a good job. I'll be working  in
air-conditioned comfort all summer instead of sweating my balls off  on the
grass-cutting crew. Lying on the sofa with my  John Sanford book, holding the
book open to my next page, I'm  thinking again about Dodger coming home in
four or five days. I can  hardly wait to see him. Rob says Dodger is a
different person now; different  than he was when he joined the Army except Rob
can't articulate what  exactly the differences are. I'll see for myself. And
I'm seriously  disappointed Connor's not coming home with Dodger. He's
spending the summer  in Texas with his lover, and I can understand that. I mean
he has no home  here anyway. He's been invited to move in with the Dickers or
here with Mom and  me. It's understandable he'd feel super-awkward doing
that. I know I  would if the circumstances were reversed. Connor has no idea
where his mother is  or if she's even alive. That's so terrible for him. My
heart breaks for Connor  but at least he'll be at Merrimack in the fall. He
has the money for tuition  now, so the Army was good for him in that regard.

The number one thing I'm  grateful for about the Army boys is somehow both
of them avoided going  to a foreign land to battle evil. They both became
instructors at Fort Sam  Houston, Texas. Medic instructors, so now when one of
us guys gets  hammered and falls off a bar stool we'll have a medic to take
care of our  injuries.

Interrupting  my musings Mom comes rushing through the front door, saying,
"Hi,  Darling! I'm late again. Tris and I never leave enough time too  get
ready for work." I go, "Hi Mom! Was the party at the guys' club fun  last
might?" She says, "It was wonderful. You should have seen... oh, honey,  I've
gotta get ready for work. I'll tell you all about it later," and she  hurries
into her bedroom. Ha, she's awesome!
I'm  reading my book when, twenty-minutes later, Mom come out of her
bedroom  wearing a bathrobe with a towel around her head. What a bright smile she
gives  me as she says, "Honey, it's wonderful to walk out of my bedroom and
see your  handsome face," and she leans over to hugs me as I partially
sit-up on  the sofa. She smells like lavender bath gel, or maybe it's her
shampoo. She kisses my cheek and gives me one last tight squeeze before  letting
go, as I'm mumbling, "It's awesome seeing you too, Mom." While  making a cup
of coffee Mom's telling me about the party last night and then  about a
woman named Barbara who's retiring from Citizen Bank after thirty-five  years.

I'm not sure if this Barbara was at the party or if she's someone  from the
restaurant, but I'm like, "It sounds like a good time, and..." but  Mom's on
to another story as she puts Equal in her coffee. Everything is  sweetness
and energy and smiles with my Mom and she's just the nicest  person I know.

Never a negative word about anything or anyone. All positives,  full of
compliments, humble and caring. It's exhausting actually to get  caught-up in her
whirlwind.

Taking  her coffee mug with her as she walks toward her bedroom leaving me
holding my  book with a grin on my face. She says over her  shoulder,
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry but I need to get dressed. Tris will  be here any minute
now." Except for Sundays this is a very familiar  scenario around three-thirty
from Monday to Saturday. Mom's always  running-late but always manages to
get wherever she needs to be on-time.  For me it'd be nerve-racking cutting
it so close every day.

A  little later I'm in the kitchen looking for something to eat when Tris
comes in. "Oh, hi, Dylan. Don't you look wonderful! Nice haircut, honey!
You always look so neat and clean-cut." I go, "Thanks, Tris. Robby gave me the
 haircut this morning." She comes over for a little hug, smelling good, and
 saying, "You boys are so talented. My Jeffrey is always bragging about how
 talented his brother, Dylan, is with barbering. Did you teach Robby?" I
go,  "Mostly he taught himself." Mom calls out from the bedroom, "I'm  almost
ready, Tris."

Tris  goes, "No problem, Dee," and then asks me, "Did your Mom tell you
about poor old Mrs. Walters. You remember her, don't you? She used to  live in
the condo three units down from our place with her husband who  sadly
passed away last March." I sort of shrug and she goes, "Well we heard  from
someone at the party last night that she moved to an assisted-living  facility in
Natick. Anyway her dog had to be put to sleep and here's the  thing: she
called me last week weeping and I didn't even realize she'd  moved. Your Mom
and I are going to try getting her mind off, Tinker, that's  the name of that
little dog she adored, by taking her out to lunch  someday next  week." I
go, "Oh, that's nice," and she says, "Didn't you used to walk  Tinker for her
when you were in middle school?" I shrug mumbling, "Um, I'm not  sure," and
she goes, "Cute little thing, but snippy. Tinker didn't  care for anyone
petting him except Mrs. Walters." Mom comes out of the  bedroom looking like
she's going to another party. She exclaims "Oh Lord,  Tris, look at the
time," and then to me, "Dylan, sweetheart, sorry we need  to run off on you like
this." Then to Tris she says, "Oh my goodness don't  we have the most
handsome sons, Tris?" I smile, mumbling, "Jeez, um, thanks,  Mom, I get my looks
from you." She waves at me, "It was your Daddy who had the  good looks, dear,
and the smarts."

They  both hustle down the steps to where the Volvo's parked in the garage.

I hear  them laughing about something, but that's normal behavior for those
 two. Huh, it's eerily quiet in here now. Tired of reading I get  up off
the sofa feeling restless so I text Chubby to see  what he's up to, but of
course my text doesn't get delivered. His cellphone is  'off' or not charged...

again. I should have asked Tris if Chubby was home  except I didn't want to
interrupt her monologue.

Wearing  flimsy sweatpants and sweatshirt I put on sneakers and go out the
front  door and up the steps to Chubby's condo. It's directly above ours.

The front  door is locked so instead of getting the spare key from the mailbox
I ring  the bell. Chubby opens the door wearing only boxer shorts. He goes,
"C'mon in,  bro," and as I step inside Chub says, "Hey, nice haircut,
Dylan. Where'd you get  it?" My hand goes to my hair, "Oh, thanks. Um, Robby gave
me this haircut  this morning. You like it, huh?" Chub goes, "Yeah, but how
did he get so  proficient at haircutting?" I shrug, "He has a knack for it
plus he watched a  bunch of YouTube videos about haircutting. He wanted to
be able to give me good  haircuts." Chub says, "Conscientious boy that
boyfriend of yours. C'mon in  my bedroom while I get dressed. You look good,
Dylan." Chub always  compliments me and it's so nice to hear even though I don't
always deserve  the compliments.

Walking  back to his bedroom I gawk at Chubby's physique. He has a
tough-looking slim and hairless swarthy colored body with  muscular biceps that
budge when he moves his arms. Hard-looking muscles in  his lower legs too. When
you see Chubby fully dressed you think he looks  like a slim nicely built
guy when in fact he's got a hard body and he's very  strong. I saw that last
year when we were all lifting weights three or  four times a week. I go,
"Nice bod, bro," and he says, "Oh yeah?" and he does a  weight-lifter's pose,
then says, "I just got out of the shower two minutes  ago." I nod, "Ya wanna
grab something to eat some place? I missed lunch."  He goes, "Absolutely, I
just got out of bed before taking the shower." Just got  out of bed... it's
almost five? I follow him into his bedroom, which as  usual is a disaster
area.

Negotiating  my way around the many things on the floor I plop down on his
desk chair,  saying, "Dodger's coming home next week. Maybe as early as
Tuesday." Chub looks  around and then grabs a button-up-the-front shirt from a
chair, saying,  "Yeah I know, but your friend, Connor, is staying in Texas.

That's the last  I heard anyway." I go, "Yeah, but he'll be at Merrimack in
the fall. I'm  sure of that." Chub steps into a pair of jeans he picked-up
off the floor and,  while grinning at me, he goes, "Ain't it great not having
any dumb-fuck classes  to go to?" I'm like, "Yep. Um, when do you start your
job?" Without bothering  with socks, Chub steps into low-cut sneakers,
saying, "Monday is my first  day. You wouldn't have an extra pocket protector
would you?" and he  laughs. I go, "Ha ha, no, I'm using all of mine." He
snickers and asks,  "Are ya gonna work for Rob?" I shake my head, "No, not
directly for  him, but at his company. I'll be working in the Human Resources
department I think." Chub goes, "What's that, dealing with the employees and
hiring and firing. That sort of thing?" I shrug, "Rob said it's something
about the company needing each employee to sign a new contract or  something.

I don't really know but it's office work and not cutting lawns  that turn my
sneakers green." Chub's dressed and as he pats my back, he  says, "Good
deal, Dylan. We've both been promoted to inside  jobs."

We take  the Jeep to a Beef and Ale house on route 9. It's only
seven-or-eight-miles from  our condos in the town of Northboro, near an entrance to the
Mass  Pike.  I say, "They're taking all the toll booths down on the Mass
Pike.  That's what I read in the paper anyway." Chub mutters," I'll believe it
 when I see it." I go, "Yeah, transponders only for electronic toll
collecting."  We've had that device on the Jeep for a couple of years now but not
everyone does. I'm not sure how not having toll booths is going to  work for
people who don't have a transponder. Inside the Beef & Ale  House we sit at
the bar, already holding our driver's license out for  the lady bartender.

She gives us the evil eye before looking at our licenses.  Chubby's got a
big smile on his face as he goes, "How are you this fine  Friday afternoon,
um, Janet?"

Janet's got  big hair that's an unlikely shade of red, and big boobs too.

So big they're  threatening to burst out of her blouse as her name tag
precariously dangles  from the tip of the left one. Janet cracks the gum she's
chewing, and says, "I'm  doing good, honey, how you doing today?" Chub goes,
"How'd you know my  nickname?" She nods her head grinning at Chub, and then
drops his  license in front of him, saying, "You feature yourself a  hot-shit,
huh Jeffrey?" Another crack of the gum she's  chewing without closing her
mouth. I can see the small wad of gum bouncing  around on her very white
molars. Chub says, "Yeah, that my  other nickname... hot-shit. Mom hung that
nickname on me when I was  only a baby." Janet says, "Diaper related nickname,
no doubt." Chub goes,  "Well look at you girl! You and your quick repartee!"

She cracks  her gum four times while adjusting  her bra that surely is
reinforced with steel.

Chub  goes, "Anyway, Janet, my brother and I will have mugs of draft beer
and I  see you have Yuengling Larger on tap so we'll go with that." She looks
at  my license as, "Crack, crack," goes her gum. She ignores Chubby and,
looking at  my license, goes, "Well damn, Mr. Dylan Newman, that's by far the
best  photo on a license I've ever seen in my  life." Then real quick she
asks, "What's your birth date?" I tell her and  she drops my license on the
bar in front of me and cracks her gum  before saying to me, "Brothers with
different last names, huh?" I shrug and say,  "Yep, very suspicious. Um, and
we'll have roast beef sandwiches  with the beers if ya don't mind." She gives
us a 'look' because she doesn't  believe we're twenty-one, but Chub and I
are used to that by now. Janet  saunters down to the beer taps and takes two
iced mugs from a freezer  unit and pours our beers saying over her shoulder
to a  young-looking guy standing next to a station with steam rising off a
stainless  steel counter,  "Two roast beefs, Markie!" He gets rolls and begins
carving thin slices off the  medium-rare roast beef from a large roast.

Chubby  smirks at me while nodding his head in Janet's  direction,
mumbling, "How long ya think it'll  be before Janet's name tag ends up in one of our
beers?" He means  her tit of course. I snicker because he has a funny way
of saying things, and  he's so fucking mischievously cute I can hardly stand
it. His bright brown  eyes sparkle as he chuckles at his own wit. Chub's
always fun to be with. Janet  sets the mugs down in from of us on round
cardboard coasters.  Frozen condensation on the outside of the mugs slide down to
pool on the  coaster. "There ya go boys. Markie-boy will bring your
sandwiches."  Chub pushes a twenty-dollar-bill towards her and she pats the back of
his  hand, saying, "I'll run a tab for you boys." She's wearing a ring on
every  finger including her thumb. Off she goes, "Crack, crack, crack," to
bellow  out at two guys who just walked through the door, "Frankie! Where the
hell ya  been all week?"

I  glance over and see two guys in their late twenties wearing construction
worker  outfits smiling at her as the guy she called Frankie says, "Yo
Janet, wassup? Danny's freakin 'cah' blew a tire. Cost  'foddy' dollars for ro
ad service." The other guy, Danny, says, "And  we been working in Reveah' all
week anyway." Boston  accents-on-steroids with these two. They sit two
stool away from us and Janet  says, "Beers?" and the first guy, Frankie, says,
"Nah, give me a gin and  'tawic'." Janet goes, "How 'bout you, Danny?" and he
goes, "Give me a  beer and a 'shoota'." Janet says, "Gin and tonic and a
beer with a  shooter of Jack coming up." Chubby quietly says, "Oh, they've
been working  in 'Reveah', heh heh." It's Revere obviously; they refuse to
pronounced  the letter 'R' for some reason.  And ya know, Chub and I  were born
and raised here but we speak American English. How do guys  like these two
get those harsh sounding accents? It's kinda grating  after a while.

Fortunately,  Danny and Frankie aren't much for talking. They're pretty
good drinkers though  as they flash down their drinks. Danny taps his shot
glass on the bar saying to  his buddy, "We had a wicked 'hahd' day so we deserve
another round,"  and they order another round like three-minutes after
their first.  Chub mugs a 'face' at me mouthing the word, 'hahd' as a skinny kid
 with a name tag, Markie, wearing a T-shirt drops two paper plates with our
roast  beef sandwiches in front of Chub and me. He has skinny arms  with
knobby elbows and large hands. Markie reaches behind him and  then drops a jar
of horseradish between us. There's bubbles of perspiration  on Markie's
forehead and his long hair is sticking to it. Mark isn't  cute but he youthful
looking with lots of light-brown hair that I'd  love to give a good haircut
to.

Markie's  perspiration reminds me of a time at the ballpark when a hotdog
vender was  serving hotdogs to a man with his young son sitting in front of
Chub and  me. The vender had two rolls in one hand and was getting hotdogs
out of a  steaming container to put in the rolls. It was like ninety-degrees
that day  and the vendor was sweating so hard every two-seconds a big drop
of sweat would drop off the tip of his nose. A drop landed on one of the
hotdogs he was spreading mustard on. The guy buying the hotdogs wasn't
watching the vender but his eight or nine year old son was  watching and the face
he made as the drop of sweat hit the mustard was  priceless. I was grinning
like mad watching the kid examining the hotdog his  dad passed to him... was
this the one with the big drop of vendor  sweat?
Our  roast beef sandwiches look awesome, but is there some Markie sweat
mixed in  with the au jus? A drop or two of his sweat wouldn't bother me. The
beef is very tender and delicious with or without some Markie sweat. Chub
puts  horseradish on his but I don't because that's mostly what you taste:
burning-hot  horseradish. I prefer the taste of the beef. Excellent sandwich
although  expensive. The beer is almost too cold to drink, so neither of us
have any  complaints. We have two beers and two sandwiches, which is what we
always have  at this Beer & Ale House. Finishing his second sandwich Chub
grins  at me, saying, "Hope we haven't ruined dinner tonight by eating lunch so
late."  I go, "Yeah, we could get in trouble." Ha! That's us acknowledging
that much of  our lives we've decided when we feel like eating and, of
course, there's no one  we could get in trouble with. We mostly took care of
ourselves then, as well as  now.

It's  almost six o'clock on a Friday. My first full day of summer break is
over and...  now for my first night of summer break. I ask Chubby as we walk
to the Jeep,  "What are you doing tonight, bro?" He says, "Oh fuck! I meant
to text you but my  phone isn't charged. Me, Chris, and Matt are thinking
about going to see that  new James Bond flick. Do you wanna come?" I tell him
how Rob and I  already have tickets and he goes, "Holy shit. You mean it
might be sold  out?" I shrug, "It is the first night, Chub." He never plans
ahead. As  Chubby drives us back home I use my cellphone to check on available
seating  and then tell Chub. "The nine o'clock showing is sold-out but
there are  still open seats for the midnight show. Chub goes, "Huh." If his
cellphone was  charged I could have reserved some seats for him. Chub says,
"Well, no  sweat. That'll give the boys and me time for a couple of beers and
maybe shoot a  little pool before the show." I say, "Reserve your seats
though, Chub." He  won't.

Reserved  seats for the movies is a relatively new thing around here. I
like buying  the tickets in advance so I don't need to stand in line, but the
reserve  seat thing I don't like at all. People can buy reserved tickets
right next  to my seats and I don't like sitting next  to strangers. There's
many reasons for that, some of which should be obvious. If  seats aren't
reserved you can choose seats away from others. That's my deal and  then there's
the awkwardness of someone sitting in your reserved seats. What,  you're
going to start a fight over the seats? It's a pain-in-the-ass  basically.

Well,  so far it's been a very good first day of summer break and we've got
almost four  months of this ahead of us, so bring it on...

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

========================================================

Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to
nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous
free story site. Thank you very much.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html