Date: Fri, 9 Feb 2018 11:25:25 -0500
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 23

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 23

by Donny Mumford


Waking-up Thursday morning in bed next to Rob is a treat because on summer
break we rarely get to sleep together. At college, I wake-up in bed with
him almost every morning and that's a very good thing; both the waking-up
part and the being in bed with Rob part. Occasionally I need to remind
myself how lucky I am and not take either thing for granted. The
alternatives in both case is extremely problematic from my point of view.

I stare at Rob for a minute. He's sleeping on his side facing me and
looking very, very good! There's still some of the boyishness in his face
that I remember fondly from four-years ago, but it's fading. He's becoming
an extremely handsome young man though, and he will continue to be a
handsome young man until all of our 'looks' begin changing again at a
certain age, like maybe twenty-five-or-thirty-years from now. That's too
far in the future to even register in my brain so I won't bother thinking
any more about it.

Hmmm, if my wristwatch is correct, and I'm pretty sure it is, it's
five-fifty-nine in the morning and, since we went to sleep only five-hours
ago, I gotta ask myself... why the fuck am I awake? I watch the second-hand
travel around the dial of my watch and then Bingo! Rob's alarm goes
off. His eyes open immediately and he gives me his special smile and then
he hits the button on the alarm and, in a sleepy voice, says, "Hi, babe,
how long have you been awake?" I go, "Two-minutes. The internal clock in my
brain anticipated the alarm." He yawns and stretches with his left arm
going past my head, and then he sits up, saying, "Yeah, I do that some
mornings too; wake up just before the alarm goes off. It's kinda weird how
that happens"

He gets out of bed, and says, "How about if you use the bathroom
first. I'll give you privacy to do your business." Oh fuck, the evil hall
bathroom again! Normally I have the best plumbing ever, regular as
clockwork, unless I'm away from home. Yeah, forget about it then because I
can't 'go' until I'm home again or until I get used to where I'm staying
which takes a couple of days, like being on vacation in Wildwood. I say, "I
don't need privacy, Rob, because I don't need to do any number-two
business." He's taking underwear from a bureau drawer yawning and mumbling
"Well I do, so give me few minutes alone in there and then join me and
we'll get ready for work together." I nod my head, "Yeah, sure, Rob," and
stare at his hot body as he walks naked out the bedroom door.

That's fucking unnatural! I like being naked as much as the next guy but
not in front of my Mom, for chrissakes! Of course Rob probably knows his
parent's schedule and knows they won't be in the hall at six o'clock in the
morning. Still, the slim possibility of me running into one of Rob's parent
as I'm going down the hall to the bathroom sets me off on another tirade in
my head about the absurdity of not having a bathroom attached to every
bedroom.

Yesterday morning when I drove over to pick Rob up for work he insisted
that everything I'd brought with me to wear today be laid-out or hung-up,
and now I'm glad he did. When it's been about five-minutes since naked
Robby left, I reluctantly get out of this cozy warm bed and put on Rob's
bathrobe that he considerately put at the foot of the bed. With my
nakedness covered I grab my toiletry kit and clean underwear and then open
the bedroom door a crack and peek out. Hmmm, nobody is in the hall so I go
out and do four big steps and right into the bathroom. Rob's at the sink
washing his hand, saying with a wry grin, "I left the door partially opened
so you wouldn't need to take the extra time of turning the knob." I go,
"Don't make fun of me, Rob! Most people are the same as me in that they're
not comfortable going to and from the bathroom as a guest in someone else's
house. It was different when we were kids and didn't give a shit about
anything like that, but we're adults now and, um, it's just different. And
every-fucking-body knows that." He's grinning and applying shaving cream to
his face.

I wash my hands and face and then use Rob's shaving cream. I shave very
carefully because if I go the slightest bit sideways this super-sharp razor
will cut my face. Of course, you're not supposed to go sideways in the
first place but I haven't been shaving for very long. We finish at the same
time and rinse our faces, then look at each other in the mirror. Rob smirks
and, with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he mutters, "You look
ten-years younger after shaving." That's just so wrong, but we both snicker
as we rub some of Rob's after shave lotion on our faces. Actually I was
surprised to find my razor in the toiletry kit and I kinda wish it hadn't
been in there because then I'd need to use Rob's razor. I like using his
stuff. Using my own toothbrush, that I knew was in the toiletry kit, I
vigorously brush my teeth and then rinse out before using Rob's Listerine:
Total Care ZERO mouthwash, drinking it from the bottle like Rob did. It's a
minty and refreshing mouthwash supposedly preventing cavities and
eliminating bad breath. I've never had a cavity in my life, but why take
changes.

Back in the bedroom I use my Mennen's Speed Stick Deodorant, the one with
the original scent, for my underarms. We get dressed in suits, dress shirts
with ties, and loafers. I'm dressed first but I'm not going anywhere in
this house without Rob so I watch him tie his tie. With any luck at all his
Dad has already left for work and perhaps this is too early for his Mom to
be up. When Rob's dressed he looks at me and makes a face, saying, "Just
stand there, babe," and he adjust my tie with me complaining, "That's too
tight, Robby!" He says, "No it's not, you can't have the knot a half-inch
down from the top button of your shirt." It's my turn to make a face which
he ignores and then, holding my arm, he goes, "Um, wait another second,
please." He gets his comb out and re-combs my hair, saying, "You only
combed the hair you could see in the mirror, Dylan." I go, "This is way
beyond preposterous, Rob! I'm going to be twenty-two in a couple of months
and this is the first time in my entire life anyone has had a complaint
about how I combed my hair." He chuckles, "I'm just fucking with you,
Dylan! I like fussing over you and I'm probably gonna do it every morning
after we're married." I actually like him fussing over me too, but I don't
want him to know that.

As we go downstairs side-by-side, me carrying yesterday's clothes and my
toiletry kit, I'm thinking we look pretty fucking good. His Mom, as it
turns out, is up and cooking breakfast for us. She says, "Good morning and
oh my, don't you two look spiffy!" Spiffy? Rob makes a 'face' and grumpily
asks, "Is the coffee ready?" and his Mom points at a coffee pot. Rob picks
it up, saying to me, "Take your stuff out to the pickup, babe. I'll pour a
cup of coffee for you." Huh, that's an actual coffee pot they got
there. They still brew a pot of coffee instead of using the much more
convenient Keurig machine. Rob's pouring us cups of coffee as I take my
clothes out to the pickup.

Inside again I add three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to my coffee while Rob
get a pint of light cream from the refrigerator and pours some in my
cup. Tasting the coffee I gotta admit it's very good. Looking over I see a
blue bag of Maxwell House coffee beans so I guess they have an old
fashioned coffee grinder too. Rob mutters, "Sit down, babe," and I cringe
thinking his Mom heard him calling me that... twice. Normally, by now, I
don't even notice Rob calling me, 'babe', but why does he do it with his
Mom right there at the stove, ya know?

Mrs. Dickers scraps scrambled eggs from the frying pan onto two plates that
already have three strips of bacon on them. "Here you go, Rob and Danny,
er, Dylan," and she puts the plates on the kitchen table in front of
us. I've just about had it with this Danny/Dylan bull shit. Could she be
doing that on purpose?

Rob places a paper napkins and a knife and fork next to my plate. What's
the knife for. Does he know something about his Mom's scrambled eggs?
Looking at his Mom, he goes, "So where's the toast, Mom?" and before she
can answer I hear toast pop-up in the toaster. His Mom butters it for us,
if you can believe that, and then slices it in half and puts slices on a
plate that she puts between us, asking, "Should I toast two more slices?"
Rob looks at me and I go, "I'm good, thank you." Picking up his fork, and
without looking at his Mom, Rob mumbles, "No more toast but is there any of
that strawberry jam left?" She gets a half-empty jar of Smucker's
strawberry jam from the refrigerator and puts it next to Rob, who mutters,
"Oh, yeah, good." So that's what the knife is for...

This is so fucked! Rob doesn't do hardly anything and his Mom doesn't seem
to mind doing almost everything... including waiting on him. Chub and I
have done everything for ourselves since we were
seven-or-eight-years-old. Rob's wolfing down his breakfast and, with his
mouth full, he asks, "Dad leave already, Mom?" She says, "Yes, two minutes
before you boys came down." Robby's like, "Eat up, Dylan," and his Mom
says, "Let him have time to eat his breakfast, Robert!" No problem, I
finish fast. Rob's standing as he drinks the last of his coffee, and says,
"Thanks, Mom," and he kisses her cheek leaving a speck of strawberry jam
there. As she wipes her cheek with a dish towel, I tell her, "Thank you,
Mrs. Dickers. It was very good." She smiles, "You're welcome, Dylan. You
boys have a good day," and then I'm following Robby out the door.

Getting in the pickup's passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt, Rob leans
over grinning and saying, "Can't forget this," and he gives me a
quick-as-a-wink-kiss on my lips, his lips still a little sticky with
strawberry jam. I say, "Nice quick kiss, Rob!" as I glance at the kitchen
window to see if his Mom's looking out. She's not. Checking a second time,
I mutter, "Danny will be proud of you for remembering the
quick-as-a-wink-kiss." As Rob backs-up out of their driveway I'm thinking I
should be more tired than I am after only getting five-hours sleep. Rob
must invigorate me somehow. Everything is rush, rush, rush with him. Well,
not last night. That was so sweet!

Rob drives us onto the street a I'm saying, "Wicked good sleep-over,
Rob. Thanks for everything." He says, "Thank you for being a good sport
about doing it at my house. You wanna stay tonight too? My folks are fine
with it." I'm like, "Are you on drugs? They'll think I'm moving in. No
thank you, but you can sleep at my place tonight if you want." Of fuck, I
forgot Hayden is supposed to do that tonight. Rob goes, "The 'rents won't
think you're moving in and they wouldn't care if you did. Remember last
year when they were fine with Danny spending the whole summer with us?" I
go, "I recall something about that, yes." It's the reason I went to Georgia
with Ryan, but I'm not getting into an argument about that. And the primary
reason Danny only stayed with the Dickers for a very short period of time
was he felt uncomfortable the same way I do. Most people are like that, not
just us two. And in Danny's case he had to quit the job too because he
didn't have a car last summer. Plus, he slept in Dodger's bedroom, not with
Rob. Those are facts, not opinion!

I'm like, "How about my suggestion of you spending a night at my place? I
can fix up the sofa for you." He looks at me grinning, and goes, "Fuck the
sofa, but yeah sure, of course I'll sleep with you at your house. How about
some night next week?" I go, "That would be awesome, thanks, Rob." I guess
I didn't need to thank him but I was just glad to see he's being fair about
it. Oh hell, Rob's always fair.

Good, another sleep-over next week, something exciting to look forward
too. Pony's supposed to be visiting me some weekend, but it remains to be
seen when that'll take place. He was sick one weekend, and then his father
had tickets for him and his little brother to see a Phillies game the next
weekend, and then the family was on vacation for two weeks. So I don't know
when the fuck he'll make it here. It's almost July already, although
there's still plenty of weekends left in the summer for him to get here for
one of them.

Rob drops me off at the back parking lot telling me that he'll text me
about lunch, and then he drives around to park in the front where the
muckety-mucks park. Obviously I'll need to buy my lunch in the cafeteria
because I couldn't very well make a bag lunch at Rob's house. Of course, if
I mentioned it maybe his Mom would get right on it. On second thought, Rob
being waited-on like that by his Mom, I suppose, isn't that unusual. It's
just that I never gave it a thought before, which is why it was a little
bit of a shock at first. Hell, at our college apartment Rob carries his own
weight doing laundry, cleaning the place, and even getting involved in
cooking with me. Not when he's home though...

Absolutely nothing unusual happens during my mornings interviews and then,
true to his word, Rob texts me about lunch at twelve o'clock saying he
can't get away until one o'clock and I should meet him in the cafeteria
then. I'm interviewing employees from the Computer Department this week and
since I have an hour before meeting Rob I ask the supervisor to send over
another employee. A couple minutes later a techie with a ring through his
nose walks through the door. Yeah, a ring through his nose like he's a bull
or something. That offends me although obviously it's none of my
business. It's just that it's hard not to look at the ring lying there on
his upper lip and bouncing when he talks. It's disconcerting, ya know? I'm
looking at the ring bounce when I should be looking in his eyes.

Yeah, Ralph Delvechio, is the techie's name and he's twenty-four years
old. He's as nice a guy as I've met here at Dickers and Son, but that
fucking nose-ring is playing games with my head. And then, looking him in
the eyes is no bargain either because there's piercings in his
eyebrows. Two little barbell type jewelry things are pierced through both
eyebrows. A little ball above and one below each eyebrow and this guy has
wide eyebrows. The skin looks taut around the piercings too. I just don't
get why he'd want those piercings, but then I have a nipple pierced and
maybe this guy, Ralph, might thing that's odd. Different strokes for
different folks, or something like that. He's an easy interview though, you
know with the exception that I had trouble looking at him. I'm guessing
he's used to that by now. Actually his piercing tend to take attention away
from the snake tattoo all around his neck, like it's choking him.

The Ralph interview took a lot outta me, so no more interviews before
lunch. I just hang around in the room until five-of-one and then walk over
to the other building and into the cafeteria that smells like tomato
soup. I get there the same time Rob does, thankfully without Max Renoldie,
his office-mate. Max likes to talk about esoteric shit having to with him
and his job and he's a little bit too enthusiastic about it if you ask
me. Everything is golly-gee aren't I, and everything I'm working on,
awesome! Um, no, Max, you've gotta get yourself off whatever banned
substances you're taking and meet reality!

I don't know what it is exactly but just seeing Rob in this
business/work-place environment makes me feel good. I'd like to hug or kiss
him for some reason. Maybe it's just seeing someone I know after seeing
lots of people all day, every day, who I don't know. I get a nice smile
from Rob but he tells me he's boiling-mad about something
work-related. Something that just happened this morning. It has to do with
that guy, Neal Trenton, the intern who took Rob's job in Westborough when
Rob got appendicitis.

At the cafeteria food line Rob's glancing at a report or something he's got
in his hand, shaking his head like he can't believe what he's reading. He's
distracted so I take a tray from the pile of trays and tell Rob we'll both
use the one tray. When the two men in front of me, one of them wearing way
too much strong cologne almost making me gag, moves on I slide my tray on
the metal shelf leading to the food servers.  Rob mutters, "Babe, if it's
okay with you, order for me whatever you get for yourself. I'll be at one
of these tables close by," and he drops a twenty-dollar-bill on my tray. I
go, "Rob, it's not necessary..." but he already sitting down at a table for
four. The other three seats are empty of course. Gee, I'm sorry he's so
upset.

Well, looking around, I gotta say everything in this cafeteria is looking
shiny clean and disinfected. The menu board overhead claims there's a
hot-meal specials every day, plus burgers cooked to order, and then a
variety of cold sandwiches and salads, all of which hopefully were made-up
today sometime. The hot meal special today is ketchup glazed meatloaf with
mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy, plus a choice of carrots or peas, both
looking suspiciously as though they were very recently in a can. Some
frozen vegetables are almost as good as fresh, like peas or lima beans or
kernel corn, but canned vegetables are one-hundred-percent-of-the-time
never any good with the possible exception of beets.

I pass up the hot meal special of the day ordering a cheeseburger and fries
for both of us, and the fry chef says, "You got it, chief," and I'm like,
"Hey, how'd you know my name?" He laughs as he plops two quarter-pound
patties of frozen hamburger meat on the flattop grill. People are passing
me in line as I wait for my cooked-to-order medium-rare cheeseburgers. It's
not what I'd call a fast process but eventually two cheeseburgers in what
looks like good hamburger buns are put in front of me on paper plates along
with two bags of French fries right out of the deep fat fryer sparkling
with salt crystals. So far so good!

At the beverage counter, I pour us two large fountain Cokes and push my
tray to the register person. She's a black lady with a ginormous ass but a
nice smile and a friendly cheery manner. She says, "Let's see, hon," and
she hits some keys on her register and then says, "Twenty-eight dollars and
fifty-five cents, please." As I'm checking to see if I have the correct
change, she says, "Young sir, are you sure you're old enough to be wearing
a sharp-looking suit like that?" Obviously I'm a little startled by that
unusual question and then she breaks out with a great laugh, saying, "Just
having a joke with you, sir." She has a charming Jamaican accent as she
adds, "You look marvelous today and you're a very good looking young man
too." Hmmm, I thank her for the compliment, or partial compliment, and pay
for our lunches thinking, 'I guess the company isn't into subsidizing the
price of the food here.' Some companies do that for their employees, but
apparently there's a pay-the-full-overprice-policy here at Dickers & Son,
Inc.

Anyway it was sort of a nice compliment from the register lady and I'm
feeling okay about that until, sitting down at the table with Rob, I hear
her tell the next guy in line, a young- looking part-time guy from the
supply room, basically the same shit she said to me and she follows it up
with her great laugh. Huh, it'd be interesting to have lunch here again
tomorrow and see if she changes her act from one day to another. Yeah, but
I'll more than likely stick with my bag lunches. Paying fifteen-dollars a
day for lunch isn't going to happen.

It's obvious to me Rob's still very upset but he eats his cheeseburger and
fries anyway 'cause no matter what his problem is, Rob can always eat. As
he eats he tells me this intern, Neal, is apparently sick a lot and missing
work. It's a legitimate illness of some kind, but it's caused him to get
way behind schedule with whatever work it is he's doing. Rob's boss just
told Rob he needs to get up to Westborough this weekend to work for this
Neal character and catch up on the backlog. Rob says, "Not only wasn't that
job what it was promised to be, and I get the fucking appendicitis and lose
the job to Neal, but now I have to ruin a weekend saving his ass." Sounds
fucked-up to me especially because Robby was taking me on a date Saturday
night to dinner in Boston. So fuck you, Neal!

Swallowing a few fries, I'm like, "Jeez, I'm sorry, Rob." He says, "And
that's not even the worst of it, not by a long shot. I'm to work under this
intern, I'll be working for him in other words while I'm doing his job for
him." I make a face, muttering, "Oh man, that sucks!" Rob says, "Yeah, my
boss said that Neal will train me for a few hours and then he'll over-see
the work I do up there." Rob's vein is flaring at his forehead. It's the
working for the guy that's mostly what Rob's pissed-off about. I don't
blame him. The guy's only an intern for the summer and Rob's been working
for the company on-and-off going on five years now.

Rob holds up a couple of papers that are stapled together, "This is my
itinerary put together by Neal-asshole. First of all, I told my boss I have
fucking plans for Saturday morning and so he talked with Neal, who say
he'll accommodate a late start on Saturday, but I'll need to put in
sixteen-hours somewhere between Saturday and Sunday. The boss tells me this
as if I should be grateful to that douche bag for allowing me Saturday
morning off." The thing he needs to do Saturday morning is baseball
practice, but I'm a little surprised he hasn't mentioned how this work
assignment screws-up our dinner date. Oh fuck, it's selfish of me to worry
about that, but still it was supposed to be dinner in a swanky Boston
restaurant...

He holds up the papers again, "This bull shit work schedule starts with:
Two o'clock sharp meet me in room 365 at the Westborough Holiday Inn." Rob
looks up, "Sharp! He has the balls to tell me that!" I mutter, "What an
asshole he is," as I eat a few fries. Rob reads from the schedule, "I've
cleared it with Mr. Boden that you can share the room with me
overnight. That's so you don't need to drive back and forth, plus before
bed we can kick around some ideas. I don't want you to hesitate thinking
outside the box about how we can prevent this sort of backup happening
again." Rob looks up with an incredulous express on his face like 'Can you
believe this shit?' and I can't help snorting out a laugh and then say,
"Sorry for laughing, but is he serious? To prevent another backup all the
asshole needs to do is show up for work and stop getting sick all the
time." Rob's nodding his head energetically as he eats the last of his
fries. He goes, "Yeah, this would be a laugh riot if I wasn't involved in
it. Neal has what I'm expected to do broken down in thirty-minute
increments, including a half-hour dinner break at seven o'clock. And then
in parentheses, he wrote, 'sandwiches in the room.'" I go, "Jeez, what a
loser! Sandwiches on an expense account."

It's so preposterous I need to struggle not to laugh, and it's awkward too
because I'm not sure what the right thing to say to Rob is. For one thing,
I'm confused about who Rob's boss is. I ask, "Isn't your Dad your boss?" He
shakes his head, "No, only on the special projects like the one you worked
with me on during a break in college classes." I go, "Oh, sorry, Rob. Is
there anything I can do to help?" He softeners his demeanor, "You're so
sweet, Dylan. I wish you could help me, it'd be wonderful working with you
but what you're doing with the benefit thing is considered more important
than what I'll be doing in Westborough being Neal-fucking-Trenton's
assistant." And he yells, "Fuck!" I glance around but no one's pointing
over here or even seems to have heard Rob's rather loud, 'Fuck!' Maybe they
hear it all the time and it's its no big deal by now. I know from firsthand
knowledge that the girls at college say the F-bomb more than most guys.

So this weekend is ruined for Rob, which means it's kinda ruined for me too
considering there was gonna be a dinner in Boston; not to beat a dead horse
or anything. As we're leaving the cafeteria, I ask, "Would you like me to
come up there for Saturday night, Rob?" He shakes his head, "Thanks, but it
wouldn't do any good, babe. I'll be with this Trenton asshole Saturday
night. Fuck, and we're sharing the same room! Can you believe that?"
Actually I can't. There's something wrong here. I ask, "Is that guy, Neal,
living at the Holiday Inn all summer?" He shrugs, "I don't know. Let's not
talk about it anymore right now. I'll be having a heart to heart talk with
my boss, that's if I ever calm the fuck down. The balls of that intern!"

Walking back to my building I'm thinking this would be a good weekend for
Pony's visit except for baseball practice Friday night and Saturday
morning. After this Saturday there will be actual games the team will be
playing against other teams every Saturday. Maybe I'll even be a bench
player on the team. Wouldn't that be something! Get my own uniform...

The afternoon flies by and before I know it it's four-thirty and I'm just
finishing up with a line-supervisor from the Computer Department named,
Molly Alson, and she was okay except she kept sniffing like her nose was
running. Guess she never heard of blowing her fucking nose. There are a lot
of good people working there, but I like the techies best. They're kooky,
but smart and funny. Well, that takes care of my workday Wednesday, and it
also means another hundred-dollars in my pocket. I text Rob to say I'm
ready to leave whenever he is and he calls me to say, "Fuck it, babe. I'm
ready to get out of here now. I'll be around to get you in like five
minutes. Could you wait at the entrance to the back parking lot?" I tell
him, "I'm leaving for the parking lot right now. See ya soon." Huh, he
sounded much less pissed off.

Poor Robby though. I've rarely seen him as flustered as he was a lunch but
I can see why he'd be upset.  I know he'll go Saturday and somehow make it
work with that intern, and even share the room overnight if he must and
then work Sunday until the job's done. He's conscientious like that. What
he won't do is go whining to his Dad about the injustice of this unfair
assignment, especially the part about taking orders from the intern who,
from the tone of the work-schedule he sent for Rob via email, is either
stupid or he doesn't know who Rob is. Who in their right mind willingly
antagonizes the owner's son and still expects a glowing referral for his
internship?

Rob's right on time and I get in the passenger seat, asking, "Any new
developments on the Westborough fiasco?" Rob goes, "Yes, a number of items
got straightened out. I confronted the situation head-on with my boss. You
know, after calming down sufficiently to think straight and, by the way,
I'm sorry if I ruined your lunch" I shake my head, "You didn't ruin
anything, Rob. I was, um, sort of thrilled to see you. The face of someone
I know and especially because it was your awesome face." He looks over and
smiles, "Thanks, Dylan."

There's an intersection not too far from the office that gets backed-up
because it's a four way stop sign, which is one of the stupidest ideas
anyone's ever had. Anyway, there's a homeless-type guy, a man who looks
healthy enough carrying a cup as he slowly walks up the line of idling cars
tapping on the driver's windows looking forlorn and hoping for a
handout. Awkward doesn't cover the situation when the bum is staring in our
car window trying to make eye contact with one of us. Most drivers pretend
they don't notice him as they fiddle with some imaginary something until
the bum moves on to the next car.

Anyway, that reminds me of a situation a couple of summers ago when I see
this supposedly Veteran homeless guy who's sign reads; 'Begging for food,
not booze, I'm hungry'--. Huh, I've got some money in my pocket so I buy
him a Big Mac and some fries at the McDonalds across the street from where
he's begging and offer the bag of food to him. He opens the bag and I'm
expecting a 'God bless you' like a lot off beggars tend to say when you
drop a dollar in their cup. Not this guy though, he looked me right in the
eyes and snarled, 'Wise-ass' and throws the sandwich at me getting grease
on my favorite jacket. And ya can't completely get a grease stain
out... ever. That's been my experiences anyway. Well, I don't want to paint
with too wide a brush here but I admit the sandwich-throwing-bum has put a
crimp in my charitable inclinations when seeing homeless beggars, of whom
there are many in downtown Framingham. Obviously they want to beg where
there's the most traffic of potential suckers.

We're past the intersection moving again. Hmmm, after waiting for Rob to
tell me what happened, I prompt him, "So, um, what's the latest Westborough
news after talking to your boss?" He says, "Oh yeah. Well, I'm still going
for the weekend but I've got my own room Saturday night and a
seventy-five-dollar per diem." I'm not positive what that is but it sounds
good and I don't want to break Rob's more upbeat mood by asking. He says,
"And, my boss and I completely re-did Neal's work schedule for him. Art,
he's my boss, put a cover letter on the email taking good old Neal down
about a hundred pegs and mentioning, more or less what you said at lunch,
in that there's no need for me and Neal to brainstorm ways to prevent this
backlog in the future. Just get your ass to work five days a week like you
were hired to do, and that will take care of the situation." I ask, "Oh
man, did he say it just like that?" He nods his head, "Yeah, almost word
for word. Art didn't know anything about Neal's snotty email to me. Neal
took it upon himself to send me that preposterous work schedule and Art was
pissed! I also think Art was a little embarrassed that it happened to me
without him knowing about it. He probably thinks it makes him, my boss,
look sort of, um, incompetent in my eyes, ya know?" Yeah, and it's obvious
that Rob's boss, Art, sure as shit knows who Rob is and knows who Rob's Dad
is too. Robby shrugs, saying, "Art was steaming at the unprofessional and
poor judgement shown by Mr. Trenton. Hee hee. "

Huh, he still hasn't mentioned he needs to cancel our Saturday night
date. Oh great, I'll be all dressed-up waiting and checking my fucking
watch every ten seconds before I burst into tears realizing I've been stood
up! When shit like that happens, well it blows!

I'm like, "So you're now okay with this weekend gig?" He shrugs, "I'm not
thrilled about it, no, but I'm okay with it because, in case ya didn't
know, I'm on an hourly wage like you. I'll be getting paid double-time for
my hours in Westborough, plus the per diem, so that's cool."  He might be
on an hourly wage but I'm betting it's not like my hourly wage. I'm not
complaining about that though; I'm fine with my hourly wage. It's probably
too generous actually. I ask, "What are we doing tonight?" Rob goes, "Oh
yeah, Danny suggested we take a swim tonight. The first one for any of us
all summer. Whaddaya think about that?" Shrugging I go, "It's clouding-up
out there, but I don't mind swimming in the rain as long as there's no
lightning." He goes, "Nah, I'm not swimming in the fucking rain. Let's just
say I'll pick you up at seven. Danny and Hayden are coming over and if it
rains we'll play cards and have a few beers in the pool house, or
whatever. Hang out, ya know?"

At the curb below my condo I hesitate getting out, hoping Rob will suggest
coming in for a quickie. He apparently needs prompting again, so I go, "Um,
Rob, do you wanna come up for a while?" He shakes his head, "I can't,
although of course I'd like to. I've got to follow Mom to the dealership so
she can leave her car for scheduled service and then give her a ride home
afterwards." I'm disappointed but don't show it, saying, "I'll see you
right here at the curb at seven o'clock then." He says, "I love ya, babe,"
and as I'm getting out, I say over my shoulder, "Me too, babe," and he
chuckles as he drives away.

Inside the condo I change into shorts and a sleeveless pull-over, put
sneakers on and then texted Chubby. He on his way home and when he gets
here we're gonna go food shopping for a couple of night's dinners and some
deli cold cuts for our bag lunches tomorrow. He wants to buy a case of beer
too and a bottle of Wild Turkey, plus he needs cigarettes. I get a nerve
pain up my back that Chubby insist on buying his smokes in Framingham,
which is a town in fucking taxs-achusetts! I've been trying for years to
get him to plan ahead so when he's getting close to running out of
cigarettes, he buys a couple of cartons in Salem, New Hampshire where
they're half as much money. It's infuriating, but I don't say a word
because it doesn't do any good. The drive from Framingham to Salem is a
little over an hour's drive but he could save a hundred-bucks if he'd buys
two carton which will last him two months or longer.  Or he could tell me
to buy him a couple of cartons when I make the trip up there and he could
save a bundle on that bottle of Wild Turkey too. Oh man...

I'm waiting in the alley when Chubby pulls up with his thousand-watt smile
that makes me smile back and forget about how much he pays for
cigarettes. I get in the Jeep's passenger seat and as he drives Chubby has
a couple of funny stories to tell me. He tells the stories in his excited
lively and funny manner. It's how he emphasizing certain words that makes
me laugh out loud, and then he tries to talk me into going with him and his
friend from work, Jay James, to see the latest 'Mission Impossible' movie
tonight. I want to see that movie but I explain, "We're going for the first
swim of the summer in Rob's pool tonight; rain or shine." Chub goes,
"Yeah?" I ask, "What are you doing tomorrow night?" and he goes, "Oh Jesus,
I've got another date with that crazy dip-shit chick, Wanda Blake. You
remember her, right? We met her at the Natick basketball courts three or
four weeks ago, near the beginning of summer break."

Well first of all Chub met her, not 'we' like he said, but I go, "Oh yeah,
Wanda. Kind of a strange name, isn't it?" and he goes, "Yeah, but then
she's kinda strange herself. In a kinky way, ya know?" Omigod, I don't
wanna know. He goes, "She called me to ask my ass out, not the other way
around. We're going to an engagement party in Boston. It's being held at
the old Ritz Carlton that's now got an odd name. Hey, can I borrow your
dark blue blazer?  It's supposed to be a fancy affair and all that kinda
shit." After shopping for groceries, beer, cigarettes, and bourbon, and
then putting what we bought away, Chub tried on my sport jacket and it fits
perfectly. He also borrows one of my Polo-brand white, button-down-collar
dress shirts and my favorite striped tie. I can't believe I have a favorite
tie now. Six weeks ago, I didn't even have a tie. Chub wanted to borrow my
light gray suit, and that is a killer suit no doubt, but the pants are too
long for him. He has gray slacks he'll wear with the sport coat. And ya
know, when Chubby dresses-up, which is rare, he's looks so fucking cool!
He's so good looking himself too!

We have steaks, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, and a salad for
dinner. Chub grills the steaks, New Your strip steaks, perfectly medium
rare on the gas grill. He had a beer and I had a Coke with dinner; neither
of which are very good for us but life's not perfect. Oh, before grilling
the steaks and while the potatoes were baking in the oven, I neaten Chub's
haircut for his engagement party date. It's kinda rare he plans this far
ahead for something, or shows this much interest in what he wears on a
date. Wanda's kinkiness must really be something! Oh Jesus, gag me with a
tie...

Chubby leaves at quarter-to-seven and I'm killing time on the balcony
smoking when Hayden calls. He tells me he's waiting for Danny to pick him
up. He goes, "Dylan, we can't do the sleepover tonight because we'll all be
together at Robert's swimming pool, or whatever we end up doing. You know,
until whatever time Danny drops me off and then it'll be too late for me to
borrow my next-door neighbor's car or his brother's motorbike." I say,
"Well fuck it then. We'll do it another time. Maybe over the weekend,
okay?" He says, "Thanks, Dylan. Oh, Daniel just blew his horn," and
apparently that was Hayden's goodbye. When I realize he's gone, I hit 'end'
on my cellphone. Actually I'm relieved he's not spending the night. I'd
rather savor last night with Robby than have Hayden get my sexual juices
boiling.

After my smoke, I pop a stick of Juicy fruit gum in my mouth and take my
time going down the outside steps to wait for Rob at the curb. Halfway down
I feel a few raindrops, and while we do need the rain around here, why does
it need to be tonight? No one will want to swim but I've come to like
playing card for money although I didn't used to. In fact, now I don't like
playing cards unless it's for money. Not big money. Like dime/quarter. Dime
ante and you can bet up to a quarter. It sounds like chump change but play
for a few hours with four of five guys and someone is gonna lose
twenty-bucks-or-so and somebody else will then own that money. Gambling is
fun if done in moderation. That's Danny's favorite word by the way,
moderation.

The rains coming down pretty hard by the time Rob pulls up in the pickup
with the windshield wipers going. I get in fast as Rob's saying, "Oh,
Dylan, you're soaking wet, babe. Sorry I didn't get here faster." I go, "It
just started raining hard the last two minutes, Rob." and then we see a
flash of lightning and then almost immediately a loud clap of thunder." I
mutter, "Scary shit," and Rob drives off, saying, "Lightning and thunder
happen at the same time, but lightning travels faster than the sound of
thunder so it appears as if lightning happened first." I go, "What was
that, Rob?" and we both snort a laugh with Rob muttering, "You ass."

Rain is pouring down now as I mumble. "Obviously I didn't bother bringing a
bathing suit." He goes, "Fuck it, we'll play cards and have some
beers. Hey, there's a new addition to the pool house. Dad bought this cool
official-looking dart board. Thick sucker and it was kinda heavy when we
hung it on the wall in there. Cool looking darts too. There's an
instruction book for how to play different dart games so maybe we can do
some of that tonight too." Huh, that's cool! Looking at the rain pouring
out of the sky I have the random thought that I wish this rain was tomorrow
night so it'd canceled-out baseball practice. I'm pretty sure my luck ran
out Wednesday and I'll probably stink up the place at tomorrow night's
practice. It'll be a long hour for me!

Danny and Hayden are in the pool house when we get there. Closing the door
behind him, Rob asks, "Did you get the beer?"  Danny goes, "Well hello to
you too," and we grin and do a basic hug 'hello' with each other and then
Hayden says, "The cooler's against the wall with a case of Coors cans on
ice in it." Robby goes, 'Well let's have a can. Obviously, we aren't
swimming tonight." I go, "Jesus, look how dark it is outside and it's only
like seven-fifteen." We all look out the window and see more
lightning. Hayden asks, "Is there a lightning rod on this pool hose,
Robert?" Rob says, "I'm called Rob or Robby, not fucking Robert!" Hayden
makes a face, muttering, "I didn't call you fucking Robert, just Robert,
and what about a lightning rod." Danny says, "Cool it, Hayden," and we all
get a can of beer still not knowing if the pool house has a lightning rod
or not. I'm guess it doesn't.

The thing about drinking beer, or any adult beverage, is I tend to smoke
more when I'm drinking. We're allowed to smoke in here so I'll have a
slight hangover tomorrow from the beer, made worse by me smoking too many
cigarettes. Since I know this to be true from experience you'd think I'd do
something about it, but I won't. Robby says, "Right after practice on
Saturday..." and he tells them about his weekend in Westborough. Danny's
like, "Well that sucks the big one. I was hoping we could all go to that
gay club in Quincy, the Green Door, Saturday night. They've got a great DJ
this weekend and we could all watch Dylan dance circles around us." I'm
like, "Hey! What the fuck...?" although that may have been a compliment.

Actually, I'd love to have a whole night to dance with Rob and hopefully
make some headway with his myopic dancing style. He does the same stilted
move over-and-over-and-over without showing any imagination. I definitely
could make progress if I had three-or-four-hours to work with him, and
while he wouldn't admit it, I bet he'd like to be a better dancer
too. Dancing is so fucking cool. A very cool thing to do and all humans in
recorded history danced one way or another. It's in our DNA. I think I'm
right about that. Of course, if Rob wasn't in Westborough Saturday night
we'd be out to dinner in Boston, not dancing at a gay club. No sense
mentioning that though.

Danny goes, "Hey, wait a second! We've got baseball practice tomorrow
night, and it's a Friday night which means a few beers after practice with
the team, and then we won't see you until Monday's practice, Rob. So how
about doing my haircut tonight? It's like a perfect time; we've stuck
inside with this thunder storm." Hayden says, "Don't include me in that,"
and Danny goes, "Nobody is even thinking about you, Hayden, so please be
quiet." Rob goes, "Not a bad idea," and Danny mutters, "And Dylan needs a
haircut too." When did it happen in my life that other guys decide when and
what kind of haircut I need? It started with Willie I guess and that goes
way back!

Rob reaches over and pulls the hairs that have just started growing over
Danny's ears, and goes, "Yeah sure, but where'd you get your last
butcher-job of a haircut?" I go, "Hey!" and Danny goes, "That's not nice,
Rob," and Robby goes, "It's a fucking joke! Dylan knows that." Hayden
mutters, "Haircut talk makes me uncomfortable," and we all glance at him
for a second before Rob goes, "Yeah, okay, I'll do both your haircuts
tonight. I'm really confident too, but I should probably do the haircuts
before I drink too much." Danny chuckles, "Good fucking point," and then
Rob and Danny look at me, and I'm like, "So, we'll go over to my place
then?" Rob spreads his hands and looks around like, 'What's wrong with
here?' It's like a shock to me as I mutter, "You want to do haircuts here?
We always do them in my basement where there's the bathroom and all. It's,
um, everything's there, real convenient. The barber stool and..." Rob goes,
"Look, Dylan," and he pulls over a bar stool that swivels, and has a back
on it, and a foot rest. There are four of them at the bar. For pool
parties, they set-up the bar and stools outside. I'm like, "Well, um, yeah,
that'll work."

Hayden asks, "How long is this gonna take?" Danny looks at him but doesn't
answer, then looks at me, asking, "Dylan, can we bring your barber
clippers, and whatever else Rob needs, here? I mean, would you mind?" and
Robby says, "One set anyway. You have two sets of barber clippers. We could
have a set here and a set at your place so wherever it's most convenient,
um, you know.  Like when you two are due for another haircut, um, we have a
choice, ya know?" His voice petered out there at the end. I'm hesitating to
agree to this as if it's some big deal when it's not. Why don't I simply
say, 'No problem, of course I can leave set of clippers here.' I don't know
why I haven't said that except I used to be the only barber! I started it
and then Sonny gave me a haircut or two, and then Ryan's was the barber,
and at college it was Golden Summers who was our barber, and now Rob's our
barber. And always with my barber tools too, even Golden ended up using my
stuff when his broke. Oh fuck, am I'm being petulant about this?

Getting a grip, I go, "Of course we can have a set of barber tools here,
what's the big deal? We'll have a set of barber clippers and stuff here and
at my place too." Rob goes, "That's what I was saying," and then adds,
"And, um, I'd really feel more comfortable with your original, um,
professional set. The one you bought years ago on eBay." Yeah, well that's
the best set of course, but I don't say anything.

Danny energetically goes, "All for one and one for all, huh guys?" Hayden
swallows some beer, looks up from the magazine he's reading, and says,
"Keep me out of that. I'm not one of the all for ones when it comes to
haircuts." Rob goes, "That's right, you're not in the haircut conversation
so why are words coming out of your mouth. Shut up!" Danny murmurs, "Rob,
please." Ya know what? I'm thinking maybe Rob and Danny should reimburse me
for two-thirds of the cost of the new set of clippers, at least the cost of
the second set. Oh balls, that sounds petty even to me. But when's it gonna
be Danny's turn to be the barber I wonder? Oh fuck, that's petty too. And I
like Rob being my barber but it used to be a personal thing between him and
me. I guess it was Golden who blew that out of the water when he took over
the prime barber spot... and I'm a fucking better barber than him. Well, I
am!

Danny goes, "Dylan, to earth," and I'm like, "What's that?" He grins and
squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "I was asking you if it's okay that
we drive to you house to get the stuff?" I nod, "Oh yeah, sure. I didn't
hear you the first time. Um, I was..." Rob, who I'm guessing is now
thinking he was too pushy, goes, "Or, Dylan, you can bring the other set of
barber clippers, whichever one you think." I suppose I've been acting a
little weird and Rob adds, "I know I'd do better with the ones I, um, first
mentioned but you decide. I'm only saying the professional clippers are
like the one the tutorial instructor uses. Just saying..."

They're all being hesitant, walking on egg shells about this, because I'm
being a dick for not agreeing right away, but I feel a little ganged-up on
here and marginalized when it was me who started the haircutting three or
four years ago. Trying to get my shit together though, trying to be
magnanimous, I say, "You're right of course, Rob, no problem. I insist you
have the ones you get the best results with, and for obvious reasons, heh
heh. It'll be the professional set of tools here at the pool house," and
then for something else to say, I go, "If barber clippers can even be
called tools, ha ha." Hayden again looks up from his magazine and says,
"Researchers claim the stick that Chimpanzees use to get honey from the
cones is a tool, so barber clippers could be called a tool too." We all
look at him for a second and then Danny goes, "Let's go, Dylan."

I nod my head and open the door and we see the rain is pouring down harder
than ever. Rob says, "Hey, wait a second, guys. I think Dodger's and my old
rain slickers are in one of these cabinets," and he starts opening cabinet
doors that run across the back wall. Now I'm getting that weird feeling low
in my belly thinking about Rob giving me a haircut. It's not like he hasn't
done it before, because he has. It's just that I always get this 'fetish
related' feeling in my gut before getting a haircut. It's both thrilling
and scary at the same time... oh, and stupid too!

Huh, I don't know what to call this scary-excited feeling low in my
groin. The exciting part of my fetish is it's sexually stimulating and the
bad part, as I alluded to a minute ago, is it makes me feel stupid. If I
could do away with it I would, but fetishes don't work like that. No one
knows why they have a certain fetish and no one knows how to get rid of
it. Well, I suppose years with a psychiatrist being analyzed three times a
week you'd maybe have a clue why you get sexually stimulated smelling
woman's shoes, for example. Or why you cum in your jeans if they're leather
jeans you're wearing. There are so many different fetishes it boggles the
mind.

"Here they are," Rob goes, as he pulls out two yellow rain parkas or
slickers. Is there a difference? This rain gear has a hood and they're
jacket-length coming down to only a little below the waist. They're also a
little small for us, but Danny and I get them on, put the hood up and run
down the driveway to his car in the pouring rain. The car's locked so it
takes him a few seconds to get his keys out and the doors unlocked. We jump
inside with our feet and legs already soaked to the bone. Running allowed
the rain to fly in the hood and soak our hair too. In other words, the
hoods were worthless.

Looking down I see my shorts are wet up to my dick. Danny fires up the
engine, saying, "Is it possible to get and wetter than we got running
twenty-fucking-feet?" I mutter, "No, I don't believe it is." He glances
over, saying, "Seriously, babe, this is very generous of you. Not only
sharing your barber clippers but also going out in the rain to get
them. Thanks, man," and he holds his fist over for me to bump with mine,
which I do, giving him a smile, saying, "I was reluctant at first and I
don't know why. We're friends and what different does it make if we do
haircuts at Rob's place or mine. The pool house is even better than my
basement now that I think about it." Danny nods his head, "It's nice of you
just the same, that's all I'm saying and we appreciate it. Well I know I
do." He looks over, "And I'm really into the free aspect of us doing
haircuts ourselves. Fuck the twenty-bucks those assholes charge for me
spending eight-minutes in their barber chair." Huh, I don't think I've ever
paid for a haircut in my life. I've been in a barber chair a few times but
at Willie's insistence, and he's always paid. Oh fuck, there were a couple
of times I shot-off in my pants so hard I almost fainted. Fucking Willie! I
miss him...

As he drives a little recklessly, especially in this down-pour, I ask, "Are
you, um, ya know at all nervous about Rob's haircutting skills?" He grins
at me, asking, "Are you?" I shrug, "Yeah, I'm a little tiny bit nervous
because he has it in his head which haircut we're getting and I'm just
hoping he isn't getting ahead of himself and trying something out of his,
um, skill set." Danny says, "To be perfectly honest, Dylan, I don't really
care. Hair grows back fast. I've never spent a lot of time, as in almost no
time at all, worrying about my hair." I mumble, "Oh yeah? Why's that?" He
shrugs, "I've pretty much always had short haircuts because of playing
sports and, as long as my hair isn't in my eyes, I'm good." I've nothing to
say to that so he adds, "I'm not stylish like you. You always dress just
right and you've got cool guy's jewelry and those cool tattoos and
earrings. Oh, speaking of which, I've been thinking about getting an
earring in my left earlobe. I asked Rob what he thought about it and he
said he's always follows what you do, body piercing-wide, and I should ask
you for advice." Happy to be off the haircutting topic, I chuckle, "I've
got no advice, Danny, but I'll go with you when you get your ear pierced if
you want." He says, "Thanks, I'd like that. I'm kind of too drab,
especially compared to you."

He's a humble one alright. I go, "Well I don't know what to say about me
being stylish except I do care how I look. I'm like you though in that I've
always had very short hair.  That's except for earlier this year when I let
my hair grow out to see what it'd be like. You know, like you did two
summers ago. I didn't like the extra care necessary with long hair. As far
as Rob, or any non-professional giving me a haircut, my only concern is I
don't want it to look glaringly like a home haircut, that's all." He
glances at me, "Oh yeah, I agree with you there I guess, but the haircut
Rob did for you doesn't scream 'home haircut!', does it?" I go, No, not at
all, but you pointed out some unevenness. I guess it's not knowing what
haircut Rob has in mind for us that gives me pause, that's all." He shrugs,
"Whaddaya mean? Rob already told us what haircut he's doing. It's your
hairstyle except a summer-short version." Yeah, that's what he said, but
what does that mean? We're back on the haircut topic though, and I don't
want to talk about it anymore, so I don't say anything. I mean, it obvious
Danny doesn't give a shit about his haircut one way or the other, not
really.

Approaching the condos, I tell Danny to drive around back and we'll go in
through the garage door. He does that and when we're inside we take our
slickers off and shake them with water flying all over the place. He goes,
"Fuck, it's really pouring out there." I mutter, "Your car seats are
soaked, Danny." He shrugs, "They're not leather so I don't see a problem
except for our wet asses." I'm like, "Ya wanna borrow some dry underwear
and shorts. We'll take them with us and change when we get back to the pool
house." He grins, "Oooh, yeah, I'd like to wear a pair of your underwear,"
and we chuckle. I put all the pieces of the professional barber-set in its
toiletry kit and zipper it up and then fold the barber cap, saying, "Come
on upstairs and we'll grab some dry clothes."

Upstairs, as we're walking down the hall to my bedroom, Danny's looking
around, saying, "Really nice place, Dylan. I've never been in your house
before, um, or I guess this is a condo." I say, "Well it's about time you
came over," and he chuckles, muttering, "The invitation must have gotten
lost in the mail. How long have you lived here anyway?" We stop inside my
bedroom door as I think for a second and then say, "Let's see. My Mom saved
up her tips for five or six years and was finally able to put a down
payment on this place like, I think, fifteen years ago." He goes, "Tips? Is
she a waitress?" Jeez, Robby hasn't told Danny jack-shit about me. That's
cool! I nod, "Yes, Mom's been waitressing at the same upscale restaurant
almost as long as I've been alive." He goes, "Ya gotta admire that, huh?" I
nod, "Yes, I admire my Mom a lot and I always have. She's had a hard life
but now she has an awesome, kinda rich, boyfriend and they're getting
married in a year or so."

I'm bending over getting clean boxer shorts out of the bureau drawer. Boxer
shorts because they aren't as sexy as jockey shorts somehow, and Danny
won't feel as weird wearing a pair of mine. As I straighten-up he puts his
arms around me from behind, saying, "I feel bad that every time you hint
around for us to do some friendly buddy-sex together I have an excuse for
not doing it, and believe me it's never that I don't want to do it with
you. I hope you know that." Damn, I like the feel of his body. I go, "Oh
no, I know it's not always the right time and you, um, ya know..." No, he
probably doesn't know because I don't know what I meant by that myself. He
says, "I've told you straight out more than once that it gives me a thrill
that you're even willing to do buddy-sex with me. So, how about a quick
buddy-sex, um, fuck right now?" Holy shit, this wasn't expected at all!

I'm holding two pair of boxer shorts feeling short of breath. I turn around
facing him and Danny, who is Mr. touchy/feely all the time anyway, puts his
hands on either side of my head quietly saying, "Or if you'd rather not,
that's okay too. It's best when we both have the urge." He's very nice
looking in his own way. Because he caught me off guard I stall a second,
asking, "Um, did Hayden show you the picture of your lookalike, Harry
Styles?" He laughs, "You're awesome! Is that your way of saying you'd
rather not do it now? We have the time for a good hard, fast one though, ya
know, and I'd really like to. Um, that is, I think you liked it hard last
time. Am I right?" I nod, "You're right and, yes, I've the urge to have
buddy-sex with you, Danny, but did you see the Rolling Stone picture?"

He grins, perhaps not sure if I'm kidding or not. I'm not sure either. With
his hands now sort of resting on my shoulders and cupping the sides of my
neck, he says, "It'll be super-secret-buddy-sex, right? And yes, I saw the
picture and I guess it looks a little like me and a little like Harry, but
not a lot in either case." I go, "Oh, I thought it was you at
first. Anyway, yes, super-secret-buddy-sex. We don't talk about what we do
privately even with our gay brothers." He smiles, "Exactly! Well put,
Dylan. You have a way with words, don't you? Um, where do you keep your KY
jelly?" and I point to the bedside table feeling a tightening of my dick as
my ass puckers. He takes his right hand away from my neck and opens the
little drawers taking out the container of lubricant and then tosses it on
my bed. I'm kinda paralyzed just standing here as if the casual hold at the
side of my neck prevents me from moving. Leaning his head to mine Danny
does a sweet kiss on my lips and then an open mouth kiss with his arms
going around me.

He's sexy and good looking with his hot, wide-shoulders and slim athletic
body. He smells good too, plus he's a very nice person. Yep, Danny's the
whole package plus I've had that little 'crush' on him for the last week or
so, and right now I'm basically putty in his hands. I let a moan of arousal
slip out from the feel of his body, which he has tightly against mine
during this lover's-like make-out, and he's made himself totally in charge
of it too. He's very caring and gentle, but Danny obviously feels he's the
one leading any sexual activities he's part of. He's never said that he
only does the 'male' role during sex, but I think there's some of that in
him. Sure, he had the unfortunate ass-injury due to Hayden's big dick but
when Danny told me the story, reluctantly, it included 'When I finally let
him try it' meaning it was the first and only time Danny tried bottoming
for Hayden and he always 'tops' Rob. That bit of private information I
pieced together from hints during our conversations the two weeks Robby was
convalescing. So, I believe Danny's an exclusive 'top' and obviously I have
absolutely no problem with that.

He continues his lover's-like making-out, his tongue deliciously in my
mouth. He's another guy with a bubblegum-pink mouth and brilliantly white
teeth so everything looks totally clean and germ free at all times... ha
ha, an illusion, but a nice one to fool myself with. I try kissing back but
this is mostly Danny's show and it's got my dick hard already. He's now
moving me slowly backwards toward my bed never taking his mouth away from
mine. Two, three steps backward and the back of my legs bump the mattress
and I go over slowly onto my back with my feet still on the floor.

I'm lying across the bed side-way with Danny standing, but leaning over to
put his left hand on my chest as if needs to hold me there or I might get
away. I'm not going anywhere!  He looks kind of pleasantly serious as he
lightly massages my crotch with his right hand. There's a bulge at the lap
of his shorts so it's good to know he got aroused during the foreplay
too. My shorts are wet so now my junk is wet too, but even though it's wet
Danny's hand gently groping my package keeps my cock fairly hard. He
unsnaps my shorts with one hand and then leans way over, his head just
above mine, and he does a very deliberate slow lick across my lips and then
rubs noses with me, grinning and murmuring, "You are really something,
babe. One of a kind, and I feel privileged to be doing this with you." I do
half a grin, my eyes wide open enjoying looking at him and, well enjoying
everything about this, um, foreplay-Danny-Monday-style.

The palm of his hand rubs up my forehead pushing my wet bangs, now about
two inches long, up and back on my head as though he wants to see my whole
face. He nods and smiles at something, his right hand no longer massaging
my hard cock but he's now holding it lengthwise in his hand along with a
fistful of my shorts. His head comes down again as I feel a shiver of
submissiveness slide over me and he does another deliberate lick, this time
up the front of my nose leaving it dripping with his saliva. I was the
first one to do that with Rob, first one I'm aware of anyway, and he must
have done it to Danny who has comes full circle to do it to me. His spit is
odorless and feels clean and fresh.

In a way that lick up my nose was an act of dominance and now he uses both
hands to pull my shorts and underwear down to my ankles and, as he picks up
the lube, he quietly asks, "Would you kick one of your feet out of the
shorts so I can spread your legs?" I murmur, "Sure Danny," and jiggle my
right foot until I get it free from the clothes. He gets a gob of lube on
his forefinger and says, "Pull your legs up, babe, and hold them back with
an arm around each one?" This is how he fucked me the other time, telling
me this is how he likes his 'bottoms' to be positioned. I almost snort out
a laugh the way he's so formal about everything, but instead I do what he
says and get my legs pulled back, an arm around each one. He looks closely
at my ass while putting a gob of lube on my asshole and then smears it
around the lips before poking his finger in and rubbing my prostate until I
grunt and squirm on the bed. "All done," he says, and then adds, "Your
prostate is very flat, and that's good."

I am so ready to be fucked by him I'm doing short fast breathing, sort of
rocking on the bed pulling my legs back as tightly as I can. My asshole is
just a little past the edge of the mattress kind of puckering as I quiver
with anticipation. Danny's unzipping his wet shorts and pulling his fairly
firm cock out. He's got lube on his right hand and he begins stroking it
onto his pinkish penis with the darker red head still half covered by
foreskin. His cock gets very hard. It looks like a twin of my dick when in
its natural state, but as he strokes it, shiny with lube now, it expands
and looks larger than mine the harder it gets. He goes, "Mmmm, this feels
good," as he strokes up and down his boner tightly. It's slightly longer
now with most of the foreskin off the head. Danny adjust his position,
lining up the head of his cock and then plugs it right in past my sphincter
and my back arches as I go, "Oooh, mmmm, mmmm."

He sucks on his lips still holding onto his boner, making a face at me by
raising his eyebrows, like he wants to know if I'm good to go. I nod my
head too fast like a dork and he lets go of his cock and puts both hands
under where my knees are bending, my feet hanging down pass both his
hands. Pushing back on my legs and arching my back even more raises my
asshole and then he spreads my legs so wide it's uncomfortable with a small
ache on either side where my legs connect to my torso. I go, "Aaaah," and
he says, "You'll be fine in a second. Just stretching you a little bit,"
and he spreads my legs even wider as his hips push his hard boner all the
way in with one steady thrust and I'm like, "Oooh, oooh, mmm, Danny," and
struggle a little on the bed realizing I'm pretty much helpless with him
spreading my legs apart too far like this, and part of my brain is liking
that fact a lot. The sides of my bent legs are almost touching the bed he
has them spread apart so much, and there's still an aching but it lessens
as muscles or tendons stretch. He murmurs, "This way, babe, I have you
exactly where I want you. Okay?" I nod my head too fast again feeling a
strong submissive cloud drape over me.

Danny gets right into a steady hard thrusting that hurts for
fifteen-seconds and then feels better and better with each thrust. Our
cocks, Danny's and mine, are the perfect size, not too big, but big enough
to give almost pain-free excellent pleasure during anal sex. I know
positively his is all those things. There's the classic,
"Slapslapslapslap," sounds as he smoothly slaps against my crotch and the
inside of my thighs driving his hard boner in the full six-inches with each
thrust. I'm now sure his boner is longer than my dick as my eyes close so I
can concentrate exclusively on the pleasure sensations in and around my
rectum. First of all, I like that it's my 'crush boy' Danny doing the
fucking and secondly, he has a sweet dominant manner in the way he does
everything, and that's an unexpected bonus. He probably doesn't thing
sub/dom sex and so wouldn't know what I was talking about if I mentioned it
to him; not that it matters if he knows he's doing it or not. And lastly,
he's got that excellent cock I mentioned. Excellent for fucking my ass, any
ass for that matter. "SLAPSLAPSLAP."

He's still got a hand on each of my knees spreading my legs even wider
while pushing back too so my back curves and my ass is at the perfect
height for him to pound his cock in and out. The bed squeaks as I bounce on
the mattress from his hard, fast thrusting. The sexual pleasure increases
until I'm doing my unabashed moaning and then whispering his name with my
eyes still closed but seeing his face in my head. My head's going side to
side as I struggle to process all the awesome sensations of sexual pleasure
I'm feeling. My entire body feels like it's shimmering and I can finally
open my eyes now that the pleasure is becoming overwhelming which brings on
a fast growing orgasm that has my shoulders shuddering as I watch Danny's
face scrunching up as he's biting his bottom lip, his eyes only slits as he
deals with a million nerve endings pulsating from his hard penis.

"Slapslapslap," as I moan, "Oh ooh ooh ooh, Danny," and I'm beginning to
think it's possible we're going to climax together. My orgasm has totally
taken over me now from Danny's hot and heavy sex as I whimper at the
feelings of impending climax and my boner moves up from my belly where it
laid hard as stone until now. In ten-seconds it's sticking straight up. If
I climaxed right now it would hit Danny in the face as he leans over me
making his, "Ohh, ohh, ahhh," sounds. He straightens up with his head going
back as he increases his moans, "Ooh, oooh, ooooh," and then it's happening
and he's tight against my buttocks humping against them and blowing his
load of jism up my ass. I feel the initial extra warmth and wetness of his
cum inside me as I squeal, my body jerking wildly with cum pumping up like
an oil well, only my oil is creamy white and only shoots up
three-feet-or-so and then, with my eyes bulging I watch it defy the laws of
gravity for a split second before dropping unceremoniously to splatter on
my stomach even as I'm tightening every muscle in my body forcing out a
follow-up shot of cum that goes up a foot and then another shot follows
that one, all of them splattering on and around my stomach or chest.

I'm a rag doll now, feeling like there isn't a bone in my body as I lie
limply on the bed taking my arms from around my legs and letting out a long
sigh. Danny is breathing loudly letting go of my legs too and they drop
onto the mattress, my feet hitting the floor on either side of Danny. One
big last exhale and he steps back pulling his now limp pecker from my ass,
and again it's looking like my pecker's twin. He says, "Fabulous ass,
Dylan. Oh fuck, was that a great climax! Fuck!" Rubbing the side of my
legs, he asks, "How about you, babe? You good?" Still lying on my back, my
feet on the floor and for a scary second, I almost respond to Danny saying
Rob's name instead of his. The 'babe' thing is throwing me off as I go, "It
was fantastic, Roo-Danny! A fucking awesome ride to climax-town."

Danny has a big smile on his face apparently not picking up on me saying
the beginning of Rob's name, or maybe he did pick up on it and decided to
take it as flattery. In any case he's smiling standing there with his dick
still hanging outside his zipper. He holds his hands down to me and I take
hold of them. We squeeze each other's hand and then he pulls me up on my
feet and hugs me against him, saying, with his lips brushing my ear, "That
was spectacular. And I know I told you this before, but your ass is
magical. It was tightening on my boner. Felt fantastic, and you're totally
awesome too. I'm so happy we can finally do this as real friends," and he
kisses my cheek. It's a sweet and tender five-second smooch on my cheek and
then another compliment, "You're so cool, Dylan! And you know, we do sex
really good together too. You and I seem to have just the right equipment
to get each other off super hot!" He lets go of me, leaving me tingling all
over. This isn't the way buddy sex is supposed to end; it's again too
similar to lover's sex but that's Danny in-charge. I tell him he's an
awesome side-sex-buddy because 'tops' expect complicates about their
prowess. He grins, "You are so fucking nice to tell me that, Dylan, thank
you."

He ruffles my hair and I'm still feeling slightly submissive from the way
he treats me almost, um, almost like I'm his sex protege when the truth is
I have way more experience than him. Moving on, like you're supposed to
with buddy sex, I manage to mumble, "I think we can change into dry clothes
now. Your car is right at the back door and you can drive right up to the
pool house." Looking out the window, he nods, "Yeah, it's still raining but
not nearly as hard. Good idea. We'll change clothes here if you don't mind
lending me a T-shirt too. You shot some cum on mine," and he flicks at the
cum smear that's near his chest. I get out shorts, T-shirts, and socks to
go with the boxer shorts. Danny takes off his wet shorts and then puts his
Johnson back in his underwear and says, "Before we change c'mon in your
bathroom and I'll clean that cum off your ass and legs. Dude, you got me
excited and I fired a lot of cum up there."

We do that, and in the bathroom Danny says, "Oh and thanks for remembering
not to put your legs around me or pull my hair like you did last time." Oh
yeah that's right, he told me not to do that but I forgot all about
it. Maybe I remembered subconsciously. Tonight, I just didn't feel like
putting my legs around him. Lucky I didn't do it.

Danny asks, "How long do you think our sex lasted? Seemed too fast to me."
I shrug, "Yeah, it was pretty quick, but fabulous too. Your sexy hard and
fast humping I thought was exquisite. No bull shit, I mean it, Danny." No
harm in piling on the compliments with hopes it encourages him to be more
willing to do it again sooner rather than later. He mutters, "Jeez, thanks,
babe." I go, "I'm guessing it took no more than five-minutes from first
foreplay kiss to climax." He nods, "That's about right. Good, nobody is
going to notice it took us an extra five-minutes, right?" I'm like, "Oh
fuck no! We're good."

He's one of the more consistently happily-pleasant guys I've ever been
around. He has a little smile on his lips as he gets right into a
meticulous cleaning of my buttocks and legs as I wipe off the cum that
landed on my chest and stomach. Danny's drying my ass, saying, "I'm
definitely gonna need to step up my game now that there's three of you I
need to service, and I've got no problem doing that. It's an honor
actually." He squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "And Dylan, you don't
deserve to be the odd man out and I'm gonna make damn sure you're not," and
he hugs me kissing the side of my head. Maybe touch/feely isn't adequately
covering all Danny's touching, hugging, and kissing, but I'd be a liar if I
said I didn't like all the attention he gives me. And he's sincere with all
his affectionate. It's no act and seems natural coming from him.

After giving him his due with that, sure, I wasn't too crazy about how he
phrased that sentiment about 'servicing' the three of us now. There are so
many better ways he could have said that more tactfully, and not many ways
he could have said it in a worse way. I'll give him a pass on that though
because for one thing, he's not especially brilliant with articulating his
thoughts into appropriate words. It's like he says things sometimes without
thinking how it'll sound when it comes out of him mouth. And two, I still
got a little crush on him and I really like almost everything else about
him, and anyway I understood what he meant. He wasn't bragging or
complaining, just stating a fact in a boyish way without realizing it
sounded arrogant. His tone told me he's feeling really good about our
little gay group of four, so he was being sincere about trying to please
everyone. Actually, that might be his mantra in life: 'I want to please
everyone... oh, and play baseball too'. I'm not implying he's stupid
because he definitely is not, it's more that he's just not a great
wordsmith, and he's almost innocently-open about expressing his
feelings. He's smart about a lot of other things.

Dressed in dry clothes, Danny carries his wet clothes in his right arm and
I carry the toiletry kit and barber's cape in a plastic bag so it doesn't
get wet. We're gonna run out through the garage and avoid almost all the
rain. On the way downstairs Danny's naturally right next to me lightly
holding onto and giving little squeezes to the back of my neck with his
left hand.  He's doing that so casually I'm not sure he even knows he doing
it. It's giving me pleasant little chills up and down my spine as I'm
reliving that good sex just had. The palms of his hands are so familiar now
after all the touching he does, it's like I expect to feel his hand on me
someplace. Meanwhile Danny's like thrilled, ecstatic, high-as-a-kite and
animated about our sex, so it's not just me who liked it so much. He
energetically goes, "Dylan this was a fantastic experience we had
together. It couldn't have been much better, I don't think." I go, "I'll
second that. You fuck good, dude!" Yeah, I know I tell that to my all sex
buddies because it's usually true.

At the bottom of the stairs, he's like, "Thanks man! You're pretty generous
with your compliments and I appreciate it, I really do. I tried my best and
I thought the whole experience was so much more, um, so much more
fulfilling and even more meaningful than the other couple of times we
shared sex. You're so giving and willing to share your body, sort of giving
it up to me. I was blown away by how, I don't know, how appreciative you
seemed and how thoroughly you seemed to enjoyed the pleasure I was able to
give you." I go, "Yeah, I don't waste much energy holding back moans of
sexual pleasure." He nods, "And sexual pleasure just might be the highest
form of pleasure there is!" He holds onto my arm to stop me from walking to
the door. Looking in my eyes, he goes, "Babe, you made me feel like I was
the stud-man of the year and let me say again, you have a fucking magical
rectum. I can't remember, I swear to God, I can't ever remember climaxing
that hard. I thought my fucking heart stopped. So, I can't thank you enough
for letting me be your sex-buddy. It makes me feel special."

See, Danny's very open about his feelings. There's no way he meant anything
negative by that 'I need to service three of you now' comment. I say, "You
and me, buddy, we do buddy-sex the right way." Now, that right there, was a
little white lie to make a friend feel good. I've had this discussion with
myself before. The discussion about buddy-sex being done without much, if
any real affection, and it should be a little rough but fulfilling for
both. Danny basically does a version of lover's sex with a touch of
dominance that I don't think he's even aware of. So it isn't buddy sex done
the right way like I told him, but it's buddy sex that's kind of refreshing
as far as I'm concerned and we're relatively new to each other so I've
liked it a lot. What's the harm in telling him he does perfect buddy sex
even though he doesn't. Shit, to be honest about it, I told him that
because it's the way I hope he does it next time with me.

Danny goes, "Thanks, Dylan. I think you do it just right too." That's kind
of funny because all I did was go along with whatever he wanted to do. No
wonder he thinks I did it perfectly. No matter, we're both contented and
quite satisfied with each other. We put the rain slickers on again and run
the four or five steps from the garage to the inside of Danny's car, not
getting hardly wet at all. During the drive back to the pool house Danny
and I exchange some smirking glances but don't have a lot to say. We pretty
much already said every positive thing we could think of about each other's
buddy-sex participation. Hey, maybe we should each get a 'participation'
trophy like I got playing Little League baseball that time.

Driving right up to the pool house we jump out and get our asses inside
without hardly a rain drop falling on our heads. Surprising the shit out of
both Danny and myself, we see Rob and Hayden, both with cans of Coors beer,
actually laughing about something together. I expected a strained, awkward
silence. Danny goes, "Oh thank God, I was worried one of you would be dead
by now." Rob goes, "Why the fuck would you say that? Hayden and I get along
swell. Don't we Hayden?" Hayden goes, "Absolutely, Rooober, Robbbert, ah,
Roooo," and they both laugh again as Danny goes, "What the fuck....?".

Robby grins saying, "You can do it, Hayden, show the boys you can adapt,"
and Hayden finally say, "Okay, Roooober, um, Rooo, um, Rob!" We all clap
and Robby goes, "I've been teaching him how to say 'Rob' the entire time
you were gone. I had to hold his cheeks in like this," and he squeezes
Hayden's cheeks with his thumb and forefinger, saying, "Go ahead, Hayden,
say it." Hayden does some fucking around moving his mouth and then goes,
"Rob." Those two are laughing again as Danny and I roll our eyes, but
that's encouraging. Things are heading in the right direction for them
getting along better. Rob's finally at least acknowledging Hayden's an
equal member of the group and Hayden's breaking his self-imposed rule of
calling everyone by their formal first name.

As Danny and I get beers, Robby points at me, asking, "Hey, babe, is that
the barber stuff?" I look at the plastic bag I'm carrying, like I'm
surprised it's there, and go, "Oh yeah, here it is, Rob." And, as I'm
handing him the plastic bag, I mumble, "I brought the set you wanted."  He
grins giving me a one arm hug, "Thanks, Dylan, I feel more confident with
this set of clippers and guides." Looking in the bag, he's like, "Oh, good!
You brought the barber's cape too." Yeah, haircuts in my basement now need
to be done without shirts on my clients. Heh heh, I missed seeing my boys'
bodies.

Rob meticulously goes about setting up his barbershop, positioning the
stool and fluffing out the barber's cape. He's then lining up on the bar
the things he'll be using while Hayden, Danny, and I shoot darts. Shooting
darts should be easier than it actually is. The instructions say we should
stand five-feet-eight-inches away, which isn't all that far but the
bullseye is very elusive. Hayden even misses the entire dart board and a
dart sticks in the wall next to it. He goes, "Oh, shit," and pulls the dart
out looking over to see if Rob saw that. He rubs the little hole in the
wall kind of folding over the wallpaper that split like a little bomb
exploded. Danny and I stare at Hayden like... Really?

Rob says, "Who wants to go first?" Danny and I look over and Rob says, "I'm
all set up." Danny pats my shoulder, saying, "Go ahead, Dylan, you're
first. I need to spend some time with my little best-buddy here and try
teaching him to say, Danny." I hesitate because I've got that like sick,
scary feeling in my balls that I get at the sexy thought of getting my hair
cut. Also, who is Danny to tell me to go first. He smiles at me and says,
"Go ahead, babe," and he doesn't add, 'Do what you're told.' It was almost
implied though. Well what's my problem? Danny's our leader and he seems to
understand that, so I mumble, "Yeah, sure," and walk over to Rob, who says,
"Up you go," and I climb up on the stool that's a foot higher that my
barber stool at home, plus this one has a convenient foot rest too, and
there's a back to lean back on. I admit, the pool house is a better
barbershop than my basement.

Robby fluffs the cape up as he drapes it over me and fasten it behind my
neck. Then he pulls the cape at a couple of places making it hang smoothly
from my shoulders to my lap and over my knees. It's a traditional barber's
cape, an off-white color with thin black stripes from the top down to the
end of the cape. I nervously glance over at the bar seeing the trimmer
clippers and regular clippers lined-up with a quarter-inch guide and a
third-of-an-inch guide. Two of the shorter guides, but he said it'll be a
shorter summer cut. There's a comb next in line, then regular barber
scissors and then the dastardly thinning shears that Robby like to use, and
a few other things but I stop looking and turn my head to look straight
ahead so Robby won't think I'm checking him out as if I'm worried that he
doesn't know what he's doing.

He's attaching the third-inch guide to the regular barber clippers as I
take a deep breath telling myself to act like a normal person who's getting
a fucking, simple haircut... for once. Rob turns on the clippers, and
there's no mistaking the sound of barber's clippers. At the sound, my
shoulders hunch on their own and I sit stiffly, sort of leaning away from
Rob unconsciously. With the clippers running in his right hand Rob pats my
shoulder with his left, saying in a normal voice, "Sit back, Dylan, and sit
up straight, please." I do that and he pushes my head too far forward like
he always does and my chin bounces off my collar bone. Rob leaves his left
hand on top of my head and runs the clippers all the way up the back of my
head to the top, pressing the guide against my scalp. He finishes the cut
with a wrist flick up, the way you're supposed to do it. It prevents you
from leaving a wedge where the clippers stopped. Flicking the clippers up
slightly has a tapering effect to the hair above the end of the cut. So he
learned that from watching the videos and from me trying to teach him how
to do it the past few years.

There's a good chance, if Danny hadn't fucked a climax out of me half an
hour ago, I would probably have cum in my pants when the clippers went all
the way up the back of my head leaving behind a-third-of-an-inch line of
hair. It's not just the shortness of that first clipper run, one that cut
at least an inch-and-a-half of my hair off, it's that Rob's the
barber. Plus, he didn't even ask me, or tell me about the haircut he's
doing. He's just doing it and my submissive tendencies in sexual situations
kicks-in along with my haircut fetish, that is sexual in nature
too. Submissiveness and my haircut fetish combine into a sexual tornado of
arousal in me that has, many times, resulted in me cumming in my pants. I
know it's pathetic but I'm helpless to do anything about it. Danny did
something about it though, without knowing it, with that great fuck a
little while ago.

As Rob continues running the clippers up the back of my head and flicking
his wrist at the top of the cut, the cut-off hair begins piling up on my
shoulders until the pile gets too large and gravity sends it lazily
drifting off my shoulder to slide down the cap and accumulate in my lap. My
eyes open wide looking at the pile of hair and if I hadn't cum in my pants
with the first run of the clipper, then I definitely would have cum in my
pants now except, like I said, for Danny taking care of that earlier. I try
to convince myself to enjoy the haircut and all the sexual vibes it's
giving me, but my fetish is cruel and keeps me in a state of nervous, scary
arousal. Rob is finished the back of my head and he now gently pushes my
head to the right so he can cut the hair on the left side. He quietly says,
"Keep your head over like that, babe." The clipper run all the way up the
left side of my head and the longish cut hairs fall in a shower down the
cape increasing the pile of hair in my lap. Omigod!

After doing the right side of my head he changes the guide to the
quarter-inch one and pushes my head forward again as my cock turns to stone
without the normal sense of impending climax. I'm distracted for a second
by the shouting and laughing coming from Danny and Hayden as they argue
over their game of darts, drinking beer and having fun while I'm now
feeling a little better floating into a nice trance along with my boner.

The trance took its sweet time getting here. Rob's cutting the
one-third-inch hairs down to a quarter-inch now and attempting to blend the
two lengths seamlessly the way the professional do it in the tutorials he
watched for hours. Blending two lengths of hair all around the head looks
easier than it is. He's doing it all the way around the sides and back,
going about halfway up my head with the quarter-inch clipper guide. There's
a mirror on the wall next to the bar but I'd need to turn around pretty far
to see myself. I can't do that without being obvious about it and that
might tell Robby I don't have confidence in him, so I have no idea how he's
doing. One encouraging thing though is I haven't heard his, 'Oh shit' even
once so far, and I've always heard it at least one or two times in every
haircut he's ever done for me. No 'Oh shit!' is very encouraging! When he's
finally satisfied with the quarter-inch barbering, he takes the guide off
and uses bare blade clippers at the back near the bottom of my hairline
doing his wrist flick at the end of the cut. I can feel him doing it and
still I'm not hearing an, 'Oh shit', from him.

So he's tampering the back hairline, which is good... if he can do it. I
almost relax when he's done with the back except he begins using the bare
clippers on the sides now, cutting up about an inch on the side of my head
completely taking off the sideburns. The bare clippers cut the quarter-inch
hairs down to about a-sixteenth-of-an-inch, or basically almost down to my
scalp. I've seen this done online but only tried it myself on guys twice,
with mixed results. They wanted me to do it or it wouldn't have entered my
mind to try it. The results were only fair, like I said, and there was a
line you could see around their heads where the bare clippers didn't
totally blend with the quarter-inch hairs. I can fool myself and hope
Robby's doing it better than I did, but in reality, I'm not
optimistic. What Danny and I were saying earlier comes back to me. The
conversation about us not wanting the haircut to obviously look like a home
haircut. I spend some time telling myself not to make a big deal out of
it. Rob hasn't said hardly anything since he started and I know he's
conscientiously doing the best he can. So I've got that thought to hold
onto, and he's now finished with the bare clipper work and still without a
single, 'Oh shit!' coming from my barber.

When Rob turns on the trimmer clippers it shocks me a little bit. He's
going to outline around and behind my ears? The hair is a
sixteenth-of-an-inch-long so it's possible he can detail with the trimming
clippers, but I would have thought he'd just be content to leave it at the
bare clipper length. I'm actually encouraged he's using the trimming
clippers, that is until he meticulously squares off the hair line in
back. Fuck, he tampered it and now he squares it off. Okay, I already told
myself I'm not going to make a fuss about anything. I'm gonna be cool and
as complimentary as I can be, no matter what.

No one would appreciate me making fuss anyway. I mean, Danny doesn't give a
shit about his hair so he's not going to complain. Well that's probably too
strong a statement. He cares about his hair about as much as most guys do,
but he's not hung-up on it. Hell, most people aren't especially hung-up on
their hair. Sure they like to look okay but the 'okay' can fall into a
seriously wide range, whereas I'm much more discerning. I'm one of the odd
ones with the fetish, in other words.

The clipper work is done and I've got flop-sweat running down under my arms
from tensing-up all the time hoping for my sake, and maybe even more for
Rob's sake, that this haircut is turning out like he planned. He'd be more
upset than me if he screws it up. Rob's been taking his time doing
everything carefully with this style haircut and consequently it's been at
least a twenty-minutes haircut so far and he still hasn't said anything or
even started on the top of my head. He looks fine though! Robby doesn't
appear stressed at all. Maybe everything is going just swell. My boner has
gone down, so I'm feeling more on top of my fetish now.

Rob's got a comb now combing through my hair on top. It must look funny
having basically no hair on the sides and back of my head contrasting with
the thick two-inch hair on top that's a little wavy and dense. The thing
is, if he stopped right now, this is the latest fad haircut that guys pay
big money for. Certainly more than for regular haircuts. I'm real curious
how it looks of course and if I could just turn my head I could see my
reflection off the mirror on the wall there. But, like I said, that would
demonstrate a lack of confidence in Rob, or seem that way to him. Oh fuck,
now he's got those evil thinning shears. I actually considered not bring
them. Not bringing the thinning shears would be insulting to Rob though.

Rob combs up a batch of hair at the crown of my head and closes the
thinning shears near my scalp and then he closes it three more times moving
up what was a two-inch-long batch of hair, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch,
scrunch." He's holding the scissors and comb away from my head a little now
and out of the corner of my eyes I see the big clogs of cut hair in the
teeth of the scissors and an equally big clog of cut hairs in the teeth of
the comb. Robby's pulling the hairs from the comb and scissors dropping it
on the cape. He finally speaks, "Try to keep all the cut hair on the cape,
Dylan. When I'm done I'll take the cape off you and see if I can get the
hairs to slide off the cape into that trash can I brought from the
house. Keep the hairs off the floor if I can." When he spoke the first word
I jumped a little because he hadn't said anything for the longest time. He
didn't see me do that because he's still taking the cut hairs from the comb
and thinning shears. I take this opportunity to casually turn my head and
look in the mirror. Huh, the hairs left at the crown have been reduced to a
ragged stubble with the few two-inch hairs that escaped the four cuts of
the thinning shears. Those few hairs are hanging limply over, like dead
weeds.

He spends the next five minutes using the thinning shears and pulling my
cut hair from the teeth of the comb and shears. It's five minutes of,
"Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," sounds with each close of the thinning shears
pulling on my hair as it's being cut off and my scalp is now tingling all
over. The last 'Scrunches" are saved for my two-inch bangs. He only
scrunches twice on them leaving enough to flip up in front. I'm rubbing
random cut hairs off my face while staring at the big pile of my hair in my
lap.

Robby uses the regular bladed scissors now, combing up what's left behind
from the massive thinning out of the hairs on top and cutting the longer
hairs down to maybe five-eights-of-an-inch, just long enough to lie flat
and forward. The bangs he combs up and cut's down to
three-quarters-of-an-inch. He did it just like that, "Scrunch, scrunch,
scrunch," without hesitating. Two-inch bangs now three-quarter-of-an-inch!
Jesus!

All the hairs on top of my head stay in place which is compliments of the
thinned-out shorter hair stiffening the majority of hair that are now
five-eight-inch-long. This time he doesn't make the mistake of cutting the
hairs at the crown so short that they won't lie down like he did last
time. All the hair on top of my head are lying down towards the front with
the bangs flipped up and then Rob touches them with his fingers so they're
not straight up like a flattop. He says, "There you go, babe. You're good
to go for another three-weeks. Sorry I took so long," and he unfastens the
cape from around my neck and carefully bundles it up to take the cut hairs
to the trash can.

It's over? I'm sort of like, "Um, Robby, is it okay if I look now?" He
laughs, "Of course, you nut. You could have watched the whole haircut if
you wanted to. The handheld mirror is right there," as he points to the
bar. I was too fucked up to notice it earlier. My eyes were on the two
small guides for the clippers. Getting off the stool I'm thinking, 'No
apologies or excuses from Rob. Does that mean it's really good?'

Picking up the handheld mirror I take a tentative look and it's a shock at
first... omigod, look how short the sides are! There's almost no hair left,
not enough to mention anyway. Well a quarter-inch up near the top of the
sides and back, but almost cut down to the scalp around the ears. Huh, and
then all of a sudden, I notice there are no noticeable transitional lines
from one length to another. Rob faded everything perfectly! How can this
be? Now I'm looking in the mirror on the wall using the handheld mirror to
see the back. Looking closely I can see some areas that aren't faded in as
well as other areas, but so what, there are professional sports figures
with haircuts like this they paid a hundred-dollars for, or probably more
and their faded haircuts don't look as good as mine.

I go, "Fantastic job, Robby," and he modestly mumbles, "You've got easy
hair to cut, Dylan." I mutter, "Bull shit. I can't believe how professional
this is. Thanks, Rob, the check's in the mail." he laughs and pats my back,
saying, "You ready, Danny?" He comes over saying, "Nice," to me, as he
walks by, meaning my haircut. If our positions were reversed and I'd seen
Danny's hair as short as mine my eyes would be bugging out of my head. He
just shrugs and says, 'Nice' and then sits on the barber stool without
asking for any adjustments from my haircut to his." Robby says, "Sit up,
Danny, please," and he fluffs the cape over him like he did with me.

Feeling totally scalped I get a beer and Hayden goes, "Jesus Christ, you're
almost bald," as he gets another beer for himself. I say, "Yeah, I am." The
truth is Rob did a great job with this haircut, very professional, but the
haircut reminds me of the ones Ryan was giving me, which leave a sour taste
in my mouth for a couple of reason. But the number one thing about this
haircut, never mind Ryan, is I think it's too short. Too short for my taste
and I like short hair, but the key word is 'hair'. I don't have enough left
on my head to matter. Like I said, many of the hairstylist in the tutorials
do the same short, almost no hair left on the sides and back, but they
leave a lot of hair on top! That's very different from Rob's concept of
this haircut. Sure, I used to think that was stupid- looking, having shaved
sides, almost shaved, and tons of hair on top. But now I prefer it to the
haircut I just got. Yes, I've adjusted my opinion about that. On the other
hand, I'll get used to this haircut and Robby will do maybe two more of
these haircuts, three at the most this summer, and then it won't be summer
anymore. In the meantime I admire his skill. When it's applied to a little
longer hairstyle I'll be happier with it. For now I promised myself to say
nothing negative about Rob's haircutting, so no problem.

Hayden says, "Let me feel," and he rubs the back of my head. He could rub
all over my head if he wants because he can't mess up my hair. It's kind of
rigidly in place thanks to the various short length done by the thinning
shears. Hayden says, "It feels like sandpaper in some places, Dylan." I go,
"How the fuck do you know what sandpaper feels like?" Hayden says, "I had
'shop' in high school," and I mess up his hair and give him a little hug,
asking, "Did you hit your finger with a hammer in shop?" He laughs, then
says, "Yes, all the time."

I hear the clippers turn on and I'd love to watch Rob do this haircut on
Danny, but they'd all think me weird if I did. Instead I shoot darts with
Hayden, who starts fucking around and shooting darts with limp wrists and
talking with an intentional lisp. I don't think it's funny but Hayden and
Danny do for some inexplicable reason. What the hell, I've recently been
fucked very well by Danny so I'm not in the mood to get too upset about
anything. And, being sexually satisfied for the moment, I don't get aroused
when Hayden starts leaning on me and hugging me with his sexy body as he
does when celebrating a good dart throw. We get another beer while Danny's
still getting scalped. Hayden says the rain has stopped completely and the
stars are out. Danny calls over, "Let's go skinny dipping." Rob says,
"Yeah, my folks won't be home until midnight at the earliest."

Hayden takes my hand, "C'mon, Dylan," and I follow him outside, saying, "We
get undressed inside, Hayden. Where would you put your clothes out here
that they wouldn't get wet?" He pulls my head down and kisses me one of his
magical kisses and guess what? My boner's back...

to be continues...

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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