Date: Sun, 4 Mar 2018 16:03:08 -0500
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 26

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter  26

by  Donny Mumford


After Saturday's baseball practice Danny's driving me to Dodger's townhouse
for a quick stop so I can take his mail inside for him. I barely remember
the way but when I see the Frederick's Plaza on route 30 I know where we
are. Dodger and I had some beers in Frank's Tavern once. It's only one of
six-establishments in the plaza; a Dunkin' Donuts shop is one of the other
shops which is convenient for Dodger who's a big fan of their coffee.

The new road is near the firehouse and when Danny turn onto it we see the
huge construction site hidden from route 30 by a forest of trees. It'll be
a picturesque setting when completed and surrounded by the lucky trees that
escape the bulldozer. Unfortunately, there will probably be a billion
mosquitos in the hot nights of summer as the huge reservoir is a few
hundred-yards behind the hill at the back of the site and then part of this
site was once marshlands. I didn't notice any mention of mosquitos or
marshlands on the billboard picturing the idyllic completed project.

At Dodger's townhouse, I find some packages on his front stoop. In his
mailbox are a couple of smaller packages along with some junk mail. Danny's
sitting in his idling Volkswagen as I unlock Dodger's front door and take
everything inside. I won't snoop even to the degree of looking closely at
the packages. Actually I'd rather not know what's in these packages
although I'm not sure exactly why I feel that way. It's just that
Dodger... oh, I don't know.

Everything gets put on the kitchen table and then after a quick look
around, assuring myself all is well and that no one's broken in and stolen
the flat screen TV, my work here is done. Nice place and it still has the
new paint and new carpet smell. The way a new car has it's distinct new-car
smell. Locking the door behind me I'm relieved to get this favor behind me
for now.

Getting back in the car, I mumble, "Thanks, Danny. I promised to do this
for Dodger and now it's off my mind." He drives away, mumbling, "Fuck, if I
knew it was for him I might not have brought you over here." I go, "Yeah,
you would have because you're a good guy. Plus, Dodger and Rob have
reconciled, I told you that. Robby would want me to do this little favor
for his brother." He shrugs, perhaps not so sure about that.

To change the subject, I ask, "Ya wanna get some lunch? I skipped
breakfast." He nods, "Yeah, I didn't have anything for breakfast
myself. Wasn't sure I could hold it down, but after running around at
practice with all the fresh air in my lungs, plus the Tylenol I took this
morning I'm feeling okay. Where do you wanna eat?" We decide on Friendly's
because the grease associated with a fast food restaurant probably wouldn't
be a good idea considering the delicate condition of our stomachs. On the
way, I text Dodger and tell him how many new packages came in the mail:
seven, plus I assure him all is well at his townhouse. Naturally I get no
text back, but Chubby's like that sometimes too.

Okay, realizing I'm gonna need to deal with a certain pain-in-the-ass topic
sooner or later, I go, "So... um, last night you were asking me to reassure
Hayden that his gay affectations are not annoying to me. Is that about the
gist of the matter?" Danny glances at me, "Yes, that's it exactly and
thanks for remembering. You're a good friend to help me with this, and I'm
serious!"  Nodding my head, my heart not really in it, I go, "So, we agree
Hayden should keep his act down to say the level it was at when I first met
him at the movies a month ago. Is that about it?" Danny looks at me
grinning and saying, "You just summarized beautifully what I took
half-an-hour to get at last night in the bar." I mumble, "Alcohol
challenges us all, Danny." He nods, looking serious and then says, "It's
not an act with Hayden, ya know. Hayden's affectations, as you call them,
are him being himself doing his, um, swishy stuff for lack of a better
description. I don't know a better word for it, but don't put him down for
being himself, okay? I don't like when guys do that."

He's right of course. I go, "I wouldn't dump on Hayden or anyone else for
being themselves. Bottom line: as far as I'm concerned Hayden should be
himself, period!" He nods, "Yes, and now you need to tell him that." I go,
"Yes Sir, I will." He drives of route 30 and onto route 9 for a minute and
then, at a traffic light he looks over, "I didn't mean that as an order!
Are you mad, Dylan?" I shrug, "No! Absolutely not. You're totally right,
honestly!" He goes, "Fuck, you are so nice!" Shaking my head, I mutter,
"Not always I'm afraid. Sometimes I'm not as nice as I'd like to be."

Friendly's is at the end of an upscale strip-mall that Danny enters at the
opposite end for some reason. He carefully drives though the various
parking lots to the Friendly's end of the mall dodging people who are
pushing shopping carts and giving us the finger whenever Danny dares to
drive within twenty-feet of them. These assholes will switch from
pedestrians to drivers themselves in a couple of minutes and then people
will be giving them the finger. As a pedestrian, you hate drivers and when
you get in your car you hate pedestrians. Human beings blow!

Danny parks near the Friendly's restaurant which is, like I said, on the
far end of a large groups of stores that includes Kohl's, Market Basket,
Payless Shoes and six others. There's lots of parking available on the
other side of Friendly's and almost none available on the mall side. Also,
it's a little past one-thirty in the afternoon so the lunch crowd has
thinned-out considerably and inside Friendly's the hostess greets us with a
pained-smile and sits us at a table immediately.

All types of people are eating here: there's the haggard moms with
screeching five-or-six-year old children who clearly have way more energy
than their mothers. Where the fuck the fathers are is anybody's
guess. Golfing is a good guess. Then there are some older couples grumpily
eating their clam chowder pissed-off that they've gotten so old, and
teenage girls of various ages in giggling contests in between gulping down
large burgers and fries adding inches to their already fat asses. Plus
there's the usual group of young, loud-mouthed teenage boys making
disgusting burping sounds on purpose and sticking French fries in their
noses making each other laugh... disgusting! And then the other
middle-of-the-road customers not causing anyone any trouble. In other
words, from toddlers to great grandparents, that's the cliental for
Friendly's.

We're at a sticky table-for-four near the windows. Looking out the dirty
window mostly what I notice is that the parking lot's badly in need of
repaving. Across the aisle from us are booths all along the inside wall. I
hate booths. Danny, sitting across from me is grinning again causing a
passing thought to flicker past my brain, to wit: does his face ever gets
sore from cheerfully smiling or grinning all the time? The hostess
reappears and drops two sticky oversized-menus unceremoniously on the table
mumbling an insincere, "Welcome to Friendly's," and then she takes her
over-worked skinny body back to the front of the restaurant to await
whatever comes next for her.

Danny looks at the menus and then at the hostess who's quickly walking
away, and he brightly says, "I like this place!" I shrug and he opens his
menu, adding, "They have the most delicious-looking pictures of food in
these menus!" I haven't touched my menu yet as Danny looks at a few
pictures and goes, "Have you noticed that the food when it's served never
lives up to these high-gloss pictures." I go, "A metaphor for life, my
friend." He looks puzzled by that, so I move on, asking, "So, whaddaya feel
like having for lunch today, Danny?" He's turning the plastic-covered pages
and goes, "Oh, fuck! I see what I want right off the bat. They have a Clam
Strips Platter with fries, cole slaw and tarter sauce." I laugh out loud,
muttering, "Yeah, riiiiight!" and then, glancing up, realize he's serious,
so I go, "Oh, yeah, that sounds, um, interesting. Hmmm though, I'm inclined
to go with one of their ten-burger-platter offerings. Now if I can only
discern what's different between the ten." Danny reaches across the table
to grip my wrists, seriously saying, "You can get a burger anyplace,
babe. Try one of their platters why don'cha." Shrugging I go, "Yeah, okay,
but I'm definitely buying our lunch today. Just want you to know right from
the start. It's my treat and no arguing about it. I owe you for drinks the
other night and you've been driving me around for two weeks now, which I
thank you for."

He does argue against me buying lunch but then we get interrupted by the
waitress. She's twenty-something-years-old with lackluster hair, an almost
non-existent nose. She's also unfortunately got a two-wide mouth in which
she's giving a small piece of gum quite a workout. "What are you gonna
have, boys?" Danny confirms he was serious about the clam strips when he
orders that for lunch, plus a glass of milk for his beverage. I get my
gagging under control, and go, "I don't know. Um, how about the Country
Chicken Tenders platter and a large Coke?" She goes, "Was that an order or
are you asking about the Chicken Tenders platter?" Omigod! A smart-ass
waitress, what fun! She snaps her tiny piece of gum, a Chiclet perhaps, and
I realize I'm up against a superior mind so I meekly mumble, "It was my
order," and I give her a nasty stare which bounces right off her. Wonder
Waitress! After three more deliberate cracks of her tiny piece of gum, she
picks up the menus and takes off without a friendly word. And we're in a
Friendly's restaurant!

I go, "Did you happen to notice how many calories your clam strips platter
has in it, Danny?" He shakes his head, "No, how many?" I couldn't believe
it when I read it in the ingredient section so I'm kind of grinning because
it's so ludicrous. I'm like, "According to the menu it has a mere
fifteen-hundred-and-fifty calories, plus the calories in the milk, ugh!" He
ignores the high calorie amount and responds to my 'ugh', by asking, "Don't
you like milk?" I shrug, "In a milk shake or ice cream, yeah. Or with a big
bowl of Froot Loops." He goes, "I drink milk whenever I can."  Why doesn't
that surprise me?

Danny asks, "How many calories in your chicken tenders platter?" I snort
out a chuckle because I have little room to smirk at the calories in his
platter. I go, "A little over a thousand. Friendly's has some big balls
listing the calories though, huh?" He goes, "Maybe there's a law that
requires them to list that information." I mutter, "Undoubtedly! Ya know,
ever since the pilgrim landed they all got right down to the business of
making laws and there's been law-makers from then on, all frantically
writing new laws. That's been going on for four-hundred-plus years
now. They've come up with a law about any and everything you can think of,
and then some." Danny looks serious, "How do you know it's been
four-hundred years?" Never sure if he's putting me on, and usually finding
out he isn't, I grin, mumbling, "Just a guess, buddy."

Our drinks arrive and from the condensation on the outside of Danny's glass
of milk it looks cold. Warm milk, well gag me with a shovel, ya know? I
suck on my straw getting a lot of ice cold Coke down my throat to help
offset the dehydration part of my hangover. Danny drinks milk like he
drinks beer: gulp, gulp, gulp, leaving the milk mustache on his top lip
that six-year-old boys made famous. I smile at him because I'm still
'crushing on him, and because I like him a lot even if he is a few screws
short of a hardware store.

Waiting for our lunch I hear a giggle and feel a presence so I turn to my
left and there's an overly-buxom chunky cheerleader-type teenage girl with
traffic-stopping torpedoes stretching out her sweater, severely testing the
resiliency of the material. My best guess, going by the size of those
Gerber Servers, this girl is anywhere between fourteen and seventeen. Danny
frowns moving his head toward the windows and away from the torpedo as if
he's worried she might fire one of those guns off. She giggles again
covering her mouth with a hand that has five rings; one on each finger and
another for her thumb. Danny and I are now both frowning at her as she
twists her torso to look back at the booth containing her three
girlfriends, who are all sucking on the straws of their drinks either
looking embarrassed or mischievous; it's hard to tell which. Our chunky
cheerleader's lung-protectors couldn't keep up with the centrifugal force
of her fast torso swivel but struggle to catch-up and now threaten someone
other than Danny and me. Her bra must contain some heavy metal.

Turning back to us, the cheerleader flutters her obviously false eyelashes
and giggles again and again covering her mouth, before saying, "I'm sorry
to disturb you, but my friends," and she does another torso swivel to point
her over-sized tits at the other three giggling creatures in the booth she
came from, and then, swish, go her guns catching up with her body, her
sweater looking tired and maybe about ready to give up the challenge. She
goes, "I lost a bet and so I'm here to ask if you two are brothers or
fraternal twins?" Danny's frowning so hard his eyebrows almost touch over
his nose like he can't believe this intrusive person from another tribe. He
blurts out, "Go away!" and I snort out a laugh and slap the table. Perfect!
And then manage to say, "Danny, please!" The chunky cheerleader is standing
here unaffected by Danny's request. Yeah, she's standing but at the same
times she somehow appears to be in constant motion.

The girl has beautiful big bright-green eyes but alas, like so many, her
long pointy nose is letting her down big time! Having had experience with
members of this tribe up close and personal, I mean, get serious, one of
them tricked my boyfriend into getting her pregnant. With that experience
behind me, I take the lead and go, "Which one did you guess, brothers or
fraternal twins?" She hunches her heavy shoulders and acts like she doesn't
want to tell me, and then goes, "I guessed you're just brothers, not
twins. That's what I told them," and then another torso twist with her
big-boys lazily following slightly behind the rest of her. I go, "Well
you're correct!" Pointing across the table, I go, He's Danny Tuesday and
I'm his little brother, Mickey Tuesday. We're with the carnival that's
set-up at the Framingham common." She's excited now, "There's a carnival in
town?" Danny's eyes are slightly bulging as he moves them back and forth
from me to her, depending on whose talking. I go, "Yes, that's correct."
She's says very fast, "You're both beautiful," and almost slips and falls
on her ass turning quickly to leave us. She regains her footing and stalks
back to her booth, triumph that she'd guessed correctly.

Danny chastises me, "She was annoying but don't make fun of her, Dylan.
Poor girl, but why do they think we're brothers?" I shrug, "Probably
because we have the same haircut. It's pretty much the only thing we have
in common except our height." Now that she's gone and Danny feels safe,
he's leaning out slightly and looking down at the girls' booth, muttering,
"That was weird. Does shit like this happen to you a lot?" I shake my head,
"No, it must be you." He goes "Bull shit, just yesterday it was that
J.J. character and today that girl." I don't know what to tell him because
I don't know myself. Yeah, why do these odd confrontations happen to me?
Fortunately, our waitress has arrived with our twenty-five-hundred-plus
calorie lunches so I don't need to have an answer for Danny.

Putting it mildly, Danny's right, the food doesn't taste nearly as good as
it looked in the pictures, but Danny, like Robby, is a determined eater
just the same and he easily works his way through the clam platter with the
aid of another glass of milk. I lose most of my appetite smelling the
strong fishy smell of Danny's clam strips. Such is life sometimes, but I do
get to glance at Danny quite often as he's chowing down. I need to admit to
myself that he does look cool with that haircut. Maybe I do too. Fucking
Robby, could he be right again?

Leaving most of my platter, explaining earnestly that I wasn't as hungry as
I thought I was. Danny listens to that lie of mine while eating three of my
chicken fingers. He finally agrees it's okay that I pay the bill, but with
a compromise that he leaves the tip. Then I hesitate before heading to the
front to pay the bill because Danny's tip is approaching, but not quite
reaching, eight-percent of the bill. Hmmm? Oh fuck it, the waitress sucked
anyway. We just won't be coming in here again any time soon. Danny sees me
gawking at the poultry tip he left, asking, "What's wrong, Dylan?" Smiling
at him, I go, "Absolutely nothing. Let's go," and that's what we do,
stopping at the cash register on our way out to pay for the wildly
overpriced and over-caloried meals. I'm not a complainer, not just for the
sake of complaining anyway, but when it's appropriate, which it is an
alarming amount of the time, I feel obliged to mention when something sucks
and this lunch really sucked!

In Danny's car he turns toward me and goes, "Here's my confession,
Dylan. Since baseball practice I've had the strongest urge to fuck you so
hard your eyes pop out of your head." I don't know what to say to
that. Certainly not 'Finally!' So I say, "Gee, really? That's, um,
flattering, Danny. And, minus the eyeball thingie, I'd love to do buddy sex
with you. Let me call home, although I'm positive my Mom's out." Yeah, one
Saturday a month she takes off from work and her and Tris usually go to
lunch and then shop. What else!

Mom answers my call and I can hear lots of background noise telling me
she's in a restaurant. I guessed that from the clinking of silverware and a
lady, a waitress for sure, explaining to someone what kind of sauce comes
with shrimp scampi. Ignoring that, I go, "I didn't see you this morning,
Mom, and just wanted to say I hope you and Tris are having a great time on
your day off." She says, "Sweetheart, thank you, we are, but please refrain
from drinking all my orange/mixture drinks. I buy the OJ exclusively for
you, Honey. You know, so I'll have my special juice mixture. Okay,
sweetheart?" Huh! I guess my note wasn't an 'Awww' mom's moment after
all. She's pissed, or as pissed off as Mom's capable of getting, which
ain't a lot. I apologize and then she overwhelms me with her apologies for
coming on too strong about the juice. I find out the twins are taking the
Moms to Foxwoods again for a show and some slot machine gamboling and then
another over-nighter which I'm sure is what's mostly behind going on the
trip in the first place; at least as far as the twins are concerned. Mom
and I say goodbye on awesome terms after I accepted her last eight
apologies for her even mentioning the juice fiasco.

I tell Danny, "The coast is clear. Let's make our next stop my place and
we'll visit my bedroom." Danny goes, "Oh man, I'm excited! We'll get naked,
right? I don't get a chance to get naked for sex hardly ever." I go, "Yeah,
okay, good idea." And it is too. I feel excited myself and consequently I'm
over enthusiastic, saying, "Nothing like afternoon extemporaneous sex!"
Danny goes, "Technically, is it extemporaneous if we've just planned it?"
Way to go, Danny! I mutter, "No, not technically."

I get him to park behind the condo and we go in through the garage door
with Danny saying, "Um, you're sure your Mom's out for the day.' Ha, I'd be
asking for that same reassurance if we were going into his house for
sex. Hell, I seek reassurance from Rob every time we're planning some sexy
fun at his house. Sexy fun! Yeah, I like that way of putting it because sex
is fun, and a whole lot more too. Yeah, what's more fun than sex? I can't
think of a single thing.

Looking over at Danny, whose driving is slightly on the dangerously
aggressive side, but mostly I can't help smiling to myself at his excellent
profile. He's probably never given his 'looks' much of a thought although
he's very nice-looking with cuteness now mostly only from his grin and
really-nice smile. I'll bet as a fifteen-year-old he was so cute you'd want
to ruffle his hair, or pinch his cheek, or tell him `You're cute as a bug's
ear', any of which would probably result in him telling you to go fuck
yourself and then try doing you harm or harming the dog you're walking, or
both. Yeah, that's a difficult age, fifteen.

Danny has no blemishes of any kind that I've noticed on his face or body,
and I've seen him naked a couple of times and I've checked. His skin is
smooth and especially sexy where the skin is covering his many muscles that
are smooth and rounded rather than overly obvious and sharply defined like
body-builders. I personally find exaggerated body building repulsive; male
and especially female body builders... gag me with a barbell! I don't
necessarily mean the guys or women who do the body building are repulsive
per se, their bodies are what's repulsive... as in grotesque. They might
very well be awesome people other than that. 'Other than that,
Mrs. Lincoln, how'd you like the play?'

Danny's hunky shoulder are sexy too; and no, he's not the slightest bit
grotesque. Overall he has an A+ body without a single piercing or
tattoo. Sort of a flashback to guy's in the fifties and sixties
maybe. Yeah, when did tattoos become so prevalent anyway? In my lifetime?

We're sitting in Danny's idling Volkswagen and I suppose tattoo-less Danny
is waiting for me to get out, while I'm thinking about my first tattoo. It
was a 'Dylan' tattoo because I couldn't think of anything else to tell the
scary mother-fucker who did the tattoo. I got it in that shop on the
boardwalk three or four years ago. The Mohawk Man's Barbershop and Tattoo
Parlor. What an experience that was! Holy shit! Without me even asking for
it, Mohawk man, a huge gruff and scary-looking man with a long Mohawk
hairdo, gave me a truly authentic Mohawk haircut too. Yeah, my scalp was
completely shaved-shiny except for the strip of hair down the middle of my
head, and he didn't leave much of a strip either.

Oh man, that's a scary but yet exhilarating memory. I was in the deepest
sexual trance I've ever been in my life. When that big scary ape was done
scalping and tattooing me, handling me like I weighted twenty-pounds, he
fucked me with abandon. Wow, what a fucking animal! And he had one of the
biggest, fattest, hardest cocks ever on a human. Done fucking me, his cum
gushing out of my ass, he spanked me really, really hard and then sent me
on my way like a little kid, which is how I felt; a smacked ass little kid
with an authentic mohawk haircut and a stinging tattoo high on my right
arm. Regressed me in age through his dominance and I felt too young to have
a tattoo and was mad he didn't give me a lollypop after my Mohawk
haircut. Mommy! Jesus, ha ha, that was probably the most submissive I've
ever felt in my life! I actually tried working-up the balls to go back to
his shop that summer for another spanking and fucking, but I was younger
and stupider than I am now. Omigod, what a vacation in Wildwood that was!

Danny interrupts my musings as I'm unconsciously poking my junk, asking,
"Shall we get out, Dylan?" I go, "What's that? Oh, we're here! Of course,
let's get out." Damn, I'd never have the balls to go into that Mohawk shop
now. Back then everything intrigued me. Holy shit though, did I ever have a
climax for the ages, and Mohawk man knew it too. My ass was sore for hours
after I left his shop, and I mean both from that hard spanking and
especially the fucking. Quite the memory, huh? Whoa! "What's wrong, Dylan?
Aren't you going to punch in the code?" I look at Danny, "Yeah,
sorry. Those chicken fingers were playing havoc with my stomach there for a
second." He shrugs, "You hardly even touched your lunch." I punch in the
code and we go in with me saying, "I'm good now, Danny. Let's go upstairs."

As we're going up the stairs, I say, "I just wanna tell you, Danny, and I'm
sincere about this, no joking around... I'm really happy we've become
friends. And just so you know, I think you're a really good guy and I like
you a lot. Wish I'd been smarter and followed up on your offers of
friendship in the past." Looking serious, he gets his arm around the back
of my neck pulling me against him, saying, "I don't know anyone else who
would be a big enough person to admit something like that, Dylan, and I
appreciate it a lot," and he kisses the top of my head." Fuck, I don't know
anyone who is as affectionate as he is! He might misinterpret my meaning
though if I told him that, so I just put my arms around the back of his
waist giving him a hug, returning some affection. He mutters, "Uh oh, this
is gonna be hot, huh, Dylan?" I mumble, "I hope so."

We go upstairs and he turns right at the hall, remembering where my bedroom
is from the last time he was here. It's the only other time he's been here
but I hope to make it a more frequent event moving forward. In my bedroom,
he says, "I hope this isn't rude of me, but would you mind if I wash my
mouth out in your bathroom, and maybe borrow some mouthwash? Ya know,
there's a lingering fish taste in my mouth." I nod, "No, I don't mind!" I
go in the bathroom with him to take a piss. He goes, "Okay if I take a piss
next to you?" I chuckle, "Are you kidding? Of course you can."

We fish out our almost identical dicks and hold them in place with a couple
of fingers and a thumb, pointing our peckers at the open toilet bowl, and
we're all set for step two. All we need to do now is think in our brains,
'release the piss' and two piss streams hit the toilet water at the same
time. The brain has some mysteries still uncovered by scientists. Normally
I don't like to piss in public bathrooms when strangers are at a close
urinal, or even in the lavatory with me. It's a 'thing' I have, but with
friends I can piss into the small opening of a can of Coke standing next to
said friend while doing it... if need be, ya know? That'd be some kind of
emergency situation obviously.  It's just that in public places, with
strangers nearby, sometimes I can't prime the pump to get started, which is
why I always go for a toilet stall if at all possible.

Done pissing we wash our hands side by side as I ask, "Would you like to
use my toothbrush?" He laughs out loud shaking his head, finally saying, "I
never know what crazy shit you're gonna say next. That's a good one!" I'll
take that as a 'no', so I use my toothbrush while he cups handfuls of water
to rinse out his mouth. Many handfuls of water get sucked into his mouth
and then extensive gargling takes place before he spits out the water and
does it all over again. After a while I'm beginning to think he's never
going to stop doing that, and consequently I'm positive I'm going to scream
although I never actually do it out-loud, only in my head giving me a
slight headache. At least a dozen mouthfuls of water get slushed around in
his mouth for like ten-seconds each before spitting it out and doing it
again. I'm done brushing and rinsing while he's on his fifth mouthful of
water. I use some mouthwash too because Danny's foreplay involves mostly
making-out. Hey, and that's not a complaint!!  I'm looking forward to it
although normally there's only rough making-out, if any, associated with
true buddy-sex. Danny's apparently rewriting the book on that though.

I've dried my hands and face by the time he's ready for the mouthwash. He
wipes the opening of the mouthwash bottle with his hand, making me grin,
thinking, 'Oh, he's one of those, huh?' After three elaborate rinsing with
the mouthwash he begins rinsing his mouth out with water again and does it
three-times. By now I leaning up against the wall with my arms folder over
my chest grinning at how meticulously he does everything and, yeah, I'm
also looking at his ass a little bit too. After he vigorously washes his
face, he appears to be done cleaning. I hand him a fresh hand towel with
him mumbling, "Thanks, babe." After he dries his hands and face completely
he tosses the hand towel in the sink and takes my hand, smiling and saying,
"Let's have some sexy fun." I go, "Alright." I couldn't help but notice
Danny hasn't picked-up on many of Rob's neatness habits. Rob would have
folded the towel in half and placed it neatly over a towel rack. I tend to
be more in the Danny-camp with things like used-towels.

I gotta say, once Danny's ready there's no hesitating. He's far from
promiscuous, but when the mood does hit him Danny's very sure of himself
and he moves things right along. Pulling me by my hand back into the
bedroom, he goes, "Ah, bedroom sex! What could be better, huh?" I nod,
kinda anxious now as I'm definitely feeling my arousal for him
building. He's an exceptional side-sex-buddy and I guess I don't understand
his reluctance to do more of it. I'd blame it on lack of opportunity except
I've given him a number of opportunities that he's pasted-up on... one way
or another. Last night for, example, he pasted-up the opportunity by
getting too drunk, and that's after saying we'd definitely have buddy-sex
last night. I've given a thought that maybe it has something to do with me
personally except he's so complimentary about our infrequent sex together
that, unless he's an awfully good liar, I have to believe it's not me he's
reluctant to have side-sex with. Excellent liar... there's an oxymoron if
I've ever heard one. In any case Danny being a good liar would contradict
everything else about him, so I don't think that's it.

Without any delay, we undress and drop our clothes on my desk chair in a
mixed pile. Danny and me, like I said, are not the neatness guru Rob
is. Completely naked now, not even wearing socks, I stare at Danny's body
and think, 'Holy shit, am I lucky!' Another thing strikes me for the first
time and it's this: with most American boys being routinely circumcised
it's extremely unusual that in our group only Hayden has had most of his
foreskin removed. The other three of us are an anomaly, especially is our
small group of four. I can't imagine another group of four friends that
three would be uncut. In the U.S. you'd think it'd be the other way
around. Also the word 'circumcised' contains the word 'cum' so I don't know
if that means anything. I'm guessing it doesn't. Chubby isn't circumcised
either. Mom and Tris would probably have had it done, not knowing any
better, except for some dumb luck happenstance preventing it. Probably they
didn't have the money for it... Chub and I thank you, Moms, whatever the
reason.

Danny puts his hands on my shoulders, rubbing lightly while saying, "I love
feeling a guys' body and I know it annoys some guys, especially straight
ones, but not you, right?" I go, "Nope, I like it," and he smiles, "I know
you do which is why I do it with you. You like holding hands too! Anyway, I
just basically enjoy the feel of you. Glad you like it." I shrug, "Yeah,
but there's is a time and a place though. I mean it's not appropriate just
anywhere, anytime." He nods his head, "We're on the same page with that,
Dylan. Now, your boyfriend, Rob, he gets annoyed, and.... oops, sorry for
mentioning that. Forgive me." I make a 'face', muttering, "That's alright,
Danny. It's not like I don't know you 'top' him too." He nods, "Yeah, I do,
and I've been doing it for a long time. We bonded through our love of
baseball and then we took it up a level or two, but I've said too much." I
mutter, "You haven't said enough."

Obviously him mentioning another of his side-sex buddies when he mentioned
Hayden last night, and now he's not about to let anything else slip-out
except he just did by talking about Rob like he does from time to time
without realizing it. I find the most interesting thing is that when he
slips about Robby and says something about the two of them it doesn't make
me jealous. I again have a thought I've thought before: I'd love to be a
fly on the wall watching those two have sex, Rob and Danny. Robby wouldn't
want that I'm sure because I'll bet he's a docile 'bottom' for Danny the
way I am. Danny's so nice and unassuming you somehow want to go along with
him. Plus, he's a hot and sexy, nice-looking guy too!

He quietly says, "Please don't think I'm a freak, but I've got another
quirky thing to ask you and I think I know the answer." I'm like, "Oh,
what's that?" He grins and chuckles, saying, "This is kooky but would you
just stand there and let me rub my hands all over you. You've got such a
perfect body. The kind Leonardo da Vinci would sculpt. You know, if you
lived a-couple-hundred-years-ago. I know he'd have somehow found you and
ask you to model naked for him. I'd like to see the statue, let me tell
you!" Huh? I go, "Um, first of all it'd be more like
six-hundred-and-fifty-years ago." He frowns, "Whaddaya mean?" Shaking my
head, "Nothing, I didn't mean to interrupt and, sure, I'll stand here while
you rub your hands all over me. I mean, who wouldn't?"

He snickers, "You're very funny, ya know that?" I go, "No, seriously, the
palms of your hands feel good. You don't do a lot of heavy lifting though
do you?" I'm joking with him because his hands are soft, without calluses
or rough spots, so he's not working construction or lumber-jacking, not
with those hands. Or mine either!  He says, "Yeah, I do heavy lifting at
the dry cleaners for my part-time job. The suits get heavy when I'm
bringing six or seven of them on hangers off the truck at the cleaners." Oh
boy, that 'heavy-lifting-comment went right over his head. I mumble, "I was
just kidding anyway. Truth is the feel of your hands give me chills up my
spine; good ones though, and I've always kinda liked being naked." Big
smile, as he excitedly asks, "Really?" I'm hoping that was a
rhetorical'Really?' because, even for me, this is a little creepy.

He slides his hands across my shoulders, saying, "Your body's just about
the perfect male form, Dylan. Da Vinci would think so too." I go, "Well
look at you, and Leonardo! You with a body hotter than the hubs of hell."
He goes, "What are they, the hubs of hell?" I shrug, "It's just something
to say." He nods, "Yeah? Well my body filled out a lot in junior and senior
year at high school, that's a fact. Also I put on some pounds of muscle
since then by pumping iron. You, on the other hand, have a perfect boyish
frame with proportional muscle definition." I'm like, "Boyish?" but that's
what Rob said too. Danny's like, "Babe, that's not an insult! You just
never had that last spurt where the shoulders widen and the frame firms up
at a slightly larger size. Hell, I'm half the size of some of the guys on
campus and I don't care. So what if you're slighter than I am? There are
lots of guys taller, wider, and thicker than me, not that I'd want their
bodies... no fucking way. The big oafs are totally unattractive if you ask
me. You should be glad and proud of this body you have. Gays, a lot of
them, appreciate a slim taut body like yours." You don't say?

He slides his hands off my shoulders, staring at my body, and for once not
staring into my eyes. He goes, "Really hot biceps, but you've done only a
little lifting? Is that right?" And without me answering, he mutters,
"That's impressive," as if I had answered. I'm grinning to myself as his
hands slide to my chest, "Perfectly-hot pecs too and your abs are tight and
flat. You probably don't know this, but you've got what's called a
rectangle shaped body, the best of all body shapes. It's straight up and
down with good shoulder posture. Your torso is basically flat except for
your great pectorals with really hot nipples, heh heh, and one nipple even
has a sexy ring through it," and he laughs, "Omigod, you're so
cool-looking, Dylan!"

He looks at me like I'm supposed to respond to that somehow. I shrug,
having nothing to add to his commentary as his hand rub lightly down to my
belly button and around my waist to rest on my buttocks. He's grinning
again, asking, "Do I even need to say anything about your ass?" No, not
really but he does anyway. "The ass that a statue should be made out of."
He goes, "Oh fuck," and he squeezes my butt cheeks, muttering, "Not hard
like a gymnast buttocks but perfectly firm, and talk about a bubble-butt,
holy shit!" Patting my bare ass he again makes eye contact, saying, "If you
look bubble-butt up in the dictionary, there's a picture of your ass." Ha
ha... I've never heard that 'look something up in the dictionary' thing
before. Well since yesterday. Danny's pretty much an expert on hot male
bodies though. He learned stuff like 'rectangular shaped bodies' from
reading body-building magazines. Reading those publications I feel is sort
of a flaw in his character by the way, a minor one though.

Chuckling, Danny's studying me closely and rubbing my ass, muttering, "What
a body, and you complained because I said you've retained your boyish
frame! C'mon, it's awesome!" He looks up from my body and goes, "I love
that you're okay with this touch/feely stuff, Dylan. Thank you. I've
studied Hayden's body from head to toe and... oops, I slipped again. You
and me just talk about you and me, right?" I'm like, "Um, not as far as I'm
concerned. Feel free to talk about others as much as you want." He laughs
out loud, "Christ, you're funny! You know very well neither of us talks
about others," and he goes right back to looking at my body. Like he said,
some or maybe most guys would get majorly creeped-out being examined like
this by a friend, but me... I need to picture in my head that we're under a
cold waterfall to keep me from springing a boner.

Bending down a little, both his hands sliding around from my ass to cup my
cock and balls which makes me shudder. He nods his head like he's weighing
my nuts and then he just slightly squeezes them as he says in a
conversational speaking voice, "And these beauties are like twins of mine,
wouldn't you say?" Thinking this is another rhetorical question I say
nothing. Danny looks up at me again, still holding my junk in his two
hands, my dick twitching, "Don't ya think so, babe? Our dicks are like
twins." I nod, afraid to try talking because it might come out as a whining
moan of arousal. Letting go my package, my cock and balls flop down in
position as Danny straightens up and puts an arm behind my waist pulling me
tight against him. I stare at the light freckles across the bridge of his
nose while he looks down. Our private parts are hanging together with Danny
getting a hand around both our dicks and dragging his hand down to the
heads of our penises, and then he feels around down there with a finger,
and goes, "Oh fuck!" He looks up at me grinning, our eyes almost crossing
because our faces are so close, as he exclaims, "I've got you by a quarter
inch!" I go, "Huh!"

He lets go of our cocks and leans down, almost kneeling as he circles my
right leg with both hands and then, dragging his hands down to my knee and
onto my calf, he says, "Perfectly shaped legs too, and with basically no
hair except these almost invisible tiny blond hairs that I can't even
feel." Grinning, I go, "How about my feet?" He chuckles pushing a finger at
my toes, muttering, "Size, um, eight, I'm guessing, and such cute feet I
feel like sucking on your toes." I think about Chubby's foot fetish
wondering if it's faded with time. I go, "You didn't say a fucking think
about my ankles, and my feet are size eight-and-a-half." He stands up
laughing again, muttering," I stand corrected and I'm sorry to say you've
got average, run-of-the-mill ankles." I go, "Boo!" and he holds my head
between his hands and covers my mouth with his. I try kissing back so he
lifts his head away and murmurs, "Let me continue to be in charge of
everything. Is that okay, Dylan?" I nod my head feeling funny in my tummy,
but it's a good 'funny' feeling.

I don't know another way to describe Danny's kissing-foreplay other than to
call it lover's foreplay. It's deep kissing but gently and caring and sweet
and very sexy too, except we're not in love... so what the fuck? I just
don't know what to make of it except it's irresistible because Danny's
doing it. If Hayden or Marty West or Pony or any other side-sex buddy tried
it the way Danny does it, well I don't think there's any way it would work
for me. Danny's the one doing it though and for some reason it seems just
fine. He has a very good tongue in his pink and white mouth. His teeth
obviously being the white part and everything else being pink or clear,
meaning his bright saliva. I've noticed before that he has fresh breath and
clear, sort-of-bubbly, cool saliva. It can't be cool because it's the same
temperature as his and my bodies, but it still seems cool some-fucking-way
just the same. His elaborate mouth cleaning in the bathroom earlier is
appreciated by me now as there isn't a trace of the clam strips.

Our naked bodies are kept together by Danny's arms and hands while one of
his hands is constantly caressing different parts of my body. And then both
his hands are on my buttocks pulling my package against his as Danny licks
my tongue and sucks on my lips. Our dicks are boning up with mine more of a
fifty-yard-dash boning-up penis while Danny's is more the
long-distant-runner boning-up kind of dick. His will probably stayed
boned-up for the entire race if the racing metaphor holds true. I'm hoping
so anyway.

When he pulls his mouth away from mine we both do gasping inhales and then
he drags his tongue across my cheeks to my ear and licks there leaving
behind a glob of spit that makes me hear muffled sounds in that ear. Like
last time we did it Danny slowly backs me up until the backs of my legs hit
the bed and then he lowers me down until I'm lying on my back, my feet
still on the floor between his legs with Danny's partially lying on top of
me, his mouth still on mine kissing and licking until I'm dizzy with sexual
arousal. Just the feel of his body on me is enough to give me nice shivers
all over.

When I went over backwards onto the bed Danny's body for a second or two
wasn't flat against mine and my stone-hard boner had a chance to go where
it wanted to go, which is tight against my belly. On the way there it
lifted Danny's balls for half-a-second, broke free, and is now hard against
me; it's one eye staring up at the two of mine. Danny lifts his head
smiling, and murmuring, "You taste and smell so good I might shoot off
before I get to fuck you." I go, "Don't do that, Danny." He grins, "I'm
kidding, don't worry, babe, I'll take care of you." Again Danny comes up
with an inappropriate response. This one by insinuating he's solely doing
this for my benefit when he clearly said earlier he was horny for me. It's
just a 'word' fuck-up thing that Danny's known for, and not indicative of
an arrogant attitude. I'm positive of that because I've spent enough time
with him by now to know.

Danny looks into my eyes confidently as he licks across my lips. Then he's
nodding his head, I assume encouraging me to continue letting him take
charge of the foreplay and continue doing what I'm doing, which is nothing
except enjoying him and myself. My guess is that Danny is always the one
'leading' during sex with everyone he has sex with, not just me. He's too
comfortable, too familiar with what he's doing for it not to be his normal
foreplay. Although I know he doesn't see it like this, but what he does is
dominant of him. The way he lies on me turning my head to the side so he
can lick and kiss on my neck right under my jaw and around and up to my
other ear leaving saliva there too and then brazenly licking my face here
and there like he's 'marking' me. Dogs do that whenever they're in a new
place. They go around leaving a little of their pee here and there
outlining their territory. Thank God, Danny, as the alpha dog, uses spit
instead. Once again, not surprising myself or apparently him, I have
absolutely no problem with him licking his saliva all over me if he wants
to. And actually that would be super awesome of him to lick my whole
body. It's all quite sexually hypnotizing to me.

He does little licks under my chin, gently moving my head before doing
it. I keep my head where he moves it as my boner throbs achingly against my
belly. Danny licks along my jawbone again giving me shivers of arousal. I
couldn't be more docile for him as his hips begin doing little dominant
humps against my crotch. He moves my head facing forward again and then
with a soft look in his eyes and a small contented smile on his face, he
murmurs, "You're perfect, Dylan.". Like I said I'm a little hypnotized and
I've slid into a very nice trance so I'm sure the expression on my face
reassures him I'm pleased with everything he doing.

Gently, with a finger under my chin he guides my head back and up again so
he can do more little kisses and licks under my jaw and around my neck from
one side to the other with me squirming some now and stifling a moan of
arousal. His constant little kisses and licks are so tantalizing my stomach
muscles clench and a spurt of pre-cum hits my belly. All of his licks and
kisses under my chin and on my neck remind me of Robby doing this the
morning of the second night I slept with him at his house. The question I
have is: did Rob learn those tender, and yes lover's kisses and licks from
Danny doing it to him? That's not what I want to be thinking about right
now though, and I'm not sure it matters anyway. We all learn things from
others, right?

Danny feels my pre-cum on his stomach and lifts his head to look into my
eyes. My mouth is slightly open, the feel of his saliva around my face and
under my jaw, some high on my neck too is all drying now forming a sort of
Danny-saliva-mask on my face. It's a surprisingly effective way of
establishing who's the alpha dog. Something like that is 'gold' to the
submissive sexual part of my brain. Winding down his foreplay after
fortifying his top-dog status during sex, Danny purposely lets a
crystal-clear sparkling drool of his saliva drop down into my mouth. He's
grinning and then finishes-up his foreplay by doing two quick licks up the
front of my nose to seal the deal. Now my mouth, both ears, and my nose are
all filled with his saliva to one degree or another.

One last alpha-dog gesture though, his hand deliberately rubs the short
hair on top of my head backwards, leaving it standing up instead of lying
flat like his. With a pat on my cheek, he lifts off me and reaches for the
lubricant in the drawer of the bedside table, as he murmurs, "Pull your
legs back for me now, babe." I'm incredibly aroused feeling deliciously
submissive being sweetly dominated, and consequently this delicious trance
I'm in. It's not the deep kind of trances a truly dominant sex partner like
Ryan induced in me, but this is a very pleasant one and my whole body's
limp, except for my aching boner. In short... I'm more than ready to be
fucked. I pull my legs up and Danny delicately pushes lubricant up my
asshole, taking his time and quietly saying, "I could go on licking and
kissing you all afternoon and finally getting both of us climaxing so hard
we'd probably faint but that wouldn't be fair to you. You want to feel me
fuck an orgasm out of you, right?" Squinting my eyes I'm not sure the other
option might not be something to explore, but I say nothing fearing I'll
break the tentative spell Danny's created here.

More lube goes up and around my ass and then, with a gob of lubricant on
his hand he begins stroking his boner tightly, long tight strokes: stroke,
stroke, stroke while looking me in the eyes, a small smile on his lips. He
murmurs, "This is so excellent I can't begin to tell you, Dylan." With each
stroke on his boner the head gets more swollen and the foreskin is now
stretched back almost off the head. His penis might be a quarter-inch
longer than mine when it's flaccid, but boned-up like it is now it's
probably almost an inch longer than my still-throbbing boner that's lying
tight against my belly, the head now lying in a pre-cum puddle.

Stroke, stroke, stroke on his wickedly hard and swollen boner as I stare at
it and continue holding my legs back with an arm around each one. I squirm
on the bed as my asshole's puckering and relaxing, puckering and
relaxing. He puts the lubricant back in the drawer and steps closer to me
with a pleasant expression on his face, saying, "You may think I look calm,
babe, but I'm way past calm," and he gets his hands on top of my thighs
pulling me towards him until my ass is completely off the side of the
mattress. He makes a, "Swwwwooooze," sound exhaling a long breath as he
pushes my legs far apart until I'm like, "Ooow, Danny that hurts," which
fucks-up my trance and it goes 'Puff' and disappears. He seriously says,
"I'm sorry but you need to be doing those exercises I told you about," and
he keeps the pressure on my legs that are both bent at the knees and spread
to far apart.

I make a 'face' but Danny ignores my discomfort and goes, "The exercises
will help you move smoother around second base too. You're a little clunky
sometimes, no offense intended."  He casually takes a hand off my left leg
relieving the pressure for that leg. Pulling his extremely hard boner away
from its uptight position against his stomach, Danny makes a 'face' of
expectation and plugs the head of his hard swollen cock in past my
sphincter muscle and I go, "Oofth," and try squirming but he's got my other
legs pressed apart again, hurting both sides of my crotch. "I go, 'You're
stretching my legs too far apart, Danny. They're almost touching the
mattress."

My complaint has no impact on Danny as he's sucking on his bottom lip
staring at his headless boner, going, "Mmmm, feels good," and then a thrust
and more of his boner disappears up my ass. "Mmmmm," he goes again, and
makes a sucking sound on his lip as sensations begin revving-up in my
rectum and I moan, "Oooh, fuuuuuck." I notice no pain from his boner being
pushed up my ass because the pain from my legs being spread too far apart
is what I'm thinking about. Now that his cock's a good three-inches up my
ass he lets up on the pressure of spreading my legs apart and I go, "Ooooh,
aaaah, yeaaaah, that's good, Danny," and I'm now able to concentrate
entirely on his cock inside me. I squirm as Danny does a final hump pushing
an additional three-inches up inside me and now he's flush against my
ass. Letting go of my legs completely, he murmurs, "Keep them up and apart
on your own, okay, babe?" and then he goes, "Ooooh!" and makes a scrunched
'face' expression as sensations are obviously pouring off his
super-sensitive boner that's tightly encased in my rectum. There's activity
inside my rectum too as it's adjusting to accommodate Danny's awesome
boner.

I feel an ache from my stretched anus but mostly I'm feeling that
wonderfully packed-full sensation inside me. I try tightening the muscles
around my ass to squeeze his hot cock just as he pulls it back making my
shoulders do they're shuddering against the mattress. Danny moans, "Mmmm,
oooh feels good, Dylan." Pulling his boner all the way back until the head
is distending the tight lips of my asshole, he does tantalizing little
pulls as if he's going to pull it completely out, but it stays tightly in
the grasp of my anus muscles. He's breathing noisily and then exhaling
while mumbling, "Here we go," and he begins hard fast thrusting creating
the sounds I expect to hear, "SLAPSLAPSLAP!"  My body's rocking on the bed
with sensations screaming awesomely from my rectum and traveling up to my
belly and circling back all around my groin. Sensational feelings that are
familiar and yet brand new too. Danny does a lover's form of foreplay but
he's fucking in a familiar buddy-sex manner, hard and fast.

I'm rocking on the bed moaning and staring intently at him as he continues
looking at his fast moving cock powered by his fast, smooth moving hips. In
my head I can see what Danny's seeing: his long boner going up my ass and
disappearing from view completely and then reappearing immediately inch by
inch, only to disappear up my ass again just as quickly as it
reappeared... over and over and over.

Danny has his hands on the back of my thighs again, down near my ass,
pushing back and raising my ass a little as he hammers his great boner up
my ass and it feels wonderful! My prostate is in a state of emergency
pulsating like crazy and feeling too good to be believed while the nerve
endings around my anus, stretched perfectly, not too wide but just enough
to send out their delicious type of sexual pleasure. It's like I often
compare it to a bad case of poison ivy between your fingers that you know
you shouldn't scratch because it'll spread but you can't help it, the
itching is driving you mad so you scratch it and scratch it and scratch it
and its ecstasy while you're doing it, and fuck the later
consequences. That's the kind of ecstasy I feel vibrating around my anus,
but in this situation there are no negative consequences because Danny's
cock was naturally selected over millions of years of evolution for the
purpose of fucking and creating pleasure so that the fuck-ee will want to
do it again as soon as possible. Natural selection didn't have in mind this
kind of fucking of course, but screw the small print. It feels so good I
could scream.

A hard fast fucking as it usually does is bringing on a hard fast orgasm
and mine is building at an alarming rate and so must Danny's because he's
tight against me humping against my buttocks getting ready to blow. My cock
does it's final tightening-up, lifting in the air and, with my eyes bulging
out, my climax is on me way past the point of no return. My back arches and
I squeal with a gusher of cum shooting straight up followed immediately by
a second shot even as the first one splatters on the bed with spray hitting
me. All of the second cum-shot lands on my chest as little spurts of cum
drool down my softening cock... and I'm already spent. That marvelous
build-up to an incredible outburst of pleasure is over in ten seconds of
intense bliss. Not Danny's though, he does a whining sound and his body
spasms as I feel a moment of extra wetness and warmth inside me from his
cum stream. And I'm guessing more cum is now shooting up inside me; that's
if I can go by the look of ecstasy on Danny's face... and then it's some
sloppy thrusting before he's pulling out his sex organ and bending over
grabbing his knees gasping in much-needed oxygen.

I'm my usual limp, pleased, and contended self, laying here with the last
remnants of my climax fizzling-out and leaving me in a totally contented
state of mind. Why can't, or won't, Danny do this more often? Damn but that
was good buddy-sex! And I mean from his lover's foreplay all the way
through to climax. No complaints here! When Danny straightens-up again I
see he still has a hard-looking boner. He takes a deep breath, twirling a
finger, saying, "Turn over for me, Dylan."

I'm kinda shocked as I slowly turn over with Danny moving my legs apart and
without any hesitation he pushes his boner back up my ass as I go, "Ahhh,
ooh, aaah," He fucks me not slow and not fast, but steadily with him
breathing through his nose a bit noisily. It's hard thrusting, just not
real fast, "Slap...slap...slap," sounds almost lazily echo in my ears." I'm
on my stomach with the side of my face looking to my left, my toes on the
floor and my spread legs straight out. Oh man, I'm moaning quietly enjoying
immensely the steady stimulation in my rectum. My asshole has already been
stretched the necessary amount so it's a wonderful feeling with zero
pain. The pleasure's coming mostly off my prostate, but it's also
encouraging that Danny's taken our buddy-sex up a level or two
today. Really feels good too!

I'm off the mattress so far, my cock's hanging straight down with the top
side of my boner against the fitted sheet on the side of the mattress. It
feels so good just hanging there being jostled by Danny's hard steady
thrusting. With sexual pleasure, aplenty I make a low moaning sounds
occasionally and glance at my wristwatch on my left wrist hoping this can
go on for a very long time. It's been an awesome seven-minutes of sheer
sexual pleasure so far, and without a pain or hurt of any kind
anywhere. Then I begin feeling my body getting the message and my cock
begins firming up again and the 'game's afoot', as Sherlock Holmes says, or
was it Dr. Watson?

I start moaning as orgasm signal begin reappearing, not that I wasn't
expecting them, and my body begins getting tight all over again. Danny's
gotta be feeling the same thing as he starts thrusting faster and it's
another ninety-seconds of awesome anal stimulation before I'm going, "Ooh
oooh oooh, Danny, oooooh!" With the same climax vibrations shaking my world
and it's deja vu all over again. I begin squirming on the bed moving my
legs as he's thrusting harder and faster making his squeaky sounds until I
lift my ass up, go "Ooooh!" and liquid of some sort shoots straight down
from my now hard cock. It was so pleasant for so long and then, BANG! it's
climax time again. It came on me too quickly to fully enjoy it, but it
still leaves me shaking a little. Danny's against my buttocks now humping
so hard against me he's pushing me back onto the bed dragging my cock under
me until he goes "Aaaah! Umpth, OOOH!" and humps against me again
apparently firing some liquid up my ass, and then he goes slack. No
movement for ten-seconds as he moans quietly and then, seemingly from
nowhere his whole body shakes as a delayed and final reaction to his second
climax. For the second time in twenty-minutes he steps back pulling his
cock out of my ass leaving it wide open with the cool air invading my
bowels pleasantly.

Looking back at him I'm half on and half off the bed so I kick my feet off
the floor and scramble completely onto the bed smearing the cum from my
first climax all the way from my dick to my chest. Danny goes, "Dylan, that
was fantastic... beyond words. I don't know what to say except I simply
don't have orgasm like this with anyone else." Oh really? That's good to
know! Looking at me on top of the bed rustling around getting myself
lengthwise, he asks, "Can I get on the bed too?" I go, "Of course," and he
climbs up on the bed and we both get under the cover. He turns on his side,
grinning, "I feel your cum on me." I shrug, and he puts his arm over me,
adding, "That was so good, babe. Didn't you think so?" Ha, the 'top'
fishing for compliments again! I pump him full of so many compliments he
probably has already forgotten some of them, and I meant most of them
too. It was awesome buddy-sex and I feel great. We talk about the sex for a
couple of minutes complimenting each other and then it's over. True
buddy-sex actually should have been over two-minutes ago, but this is close
enough.

Danny's talking about the Red Sox now and then about our summer league
team, then about a team he was on in middle school. He's a good taker and
I'm happy to listen because I don't feel like talking myself. I thought
we'd take a nap, but my cum's smeared on both of us plus there's Danny's
cum leaking out of my ass and generally speaking it uncomfortable,
especially now that the cum has become cold and sticky. I ask, "Ya wanna
take a shower together?" He's like, "Together? I've never taken a shower
with anyone, but let's do it." During the shower we bathe ourselves but
it's nice bumping into his slippery body now and then. This close together
in the shower stall that was intended for one person, I can really notice
the difference in our builds. I'm happy with mine even if it is a boyish
build the way Danny and Rob said. What the fuck's that mean
anyway... boyish build?

Clean and dry we're back in my bedroom where Danny borrows socks,
underpants and a T-shirt. Some of my clothes are in a different guy's homes
and some of Rob's are here mixed in with my clothes in my overflowing
hamper, and now some of Danny's clothes too. I'm pretty sure we'll never
get everything sorted out completely. Danny and I go out on the balcony
drinking peach Snapple and smoking, not saying much other than commenting
on the weather and the non-view from my balcony. Danny looks shiny-clean
and nice, his short hair is as combed as it can be. like mine, and his
three-day beard, while there's not a lot off it, still looks cool on him
and it's kinda sexy too.

As we're finishing our smokes Hayden calls Danny and there's a grin on
Danny's face as he banters with Hayden before asking me, "Do you wanna come
with me to Hayden's. Him and his two friends from next door, Terrence and
his kid brother, are shooting baskets in their driveway?" I shake my head,
"No thanks, Danny. I've got to do my laundry and I can't put off cleaning
my bathroom and bedroom. It's been like ten-days since I last did it." He
looks like I just said I needed to commit suicide. He's holding his
cellphone loosely against his chest, asking, "Are you joking again?"
There's a frown on his face like he's never heard anything like this before
in his entire life. I'm a little pissed he thinks it's so odd. I go, "Hey,
my Mom works sixty hours over six-days a week so I guess I can help out by
taking care of my own shit without some Mommy-spoiled-friend looking at me
like I'm from Pluto." Omigod, Danny's so apologetic and finally says,
"You're always kidding, Dylan, I'm sorry... I thought..." I'm holding up my
hand, "No, no. It's okay, I'm a little tired. I shouldn't have snapped at
you like that. I'm sure you help your Mom too."

He nods his head unconvincingly, so I guess he doesn't help his Mom, and
then he says into the phone, "Dylan's got stuff he needs to do but I'll be
over. We can play some two-on-two basketball, babe." After exchanging some
terms of endearment with his boyfriend he ends the call. Now he's all over
me hugging and saying he's sorry again and telling me of course he does
things helping his Mom just like me. I'm pretty sure he doesn't help his
Mom a lot, but he has this unbelievable sincerity about him so it's
impossible for me not to forgive and forget, not that's there's much to
forgive. It was just a moment there when I guess I felt embarrassed doing
laundry and cleaning my bathroom. At the college apartment Rob and I clean
conscientiously, Rob being the driving force about keeping the apartment in
such good shape guys that come over marvel at it, accusing us of hiring
weekly maid services. I've always cleaned-up after myself without giving it
a second's thought. Still, I can see other guy's viewpoint, especially
after seeing how Rob's Mom waits on him hand and foot, as the saying goes
for some unknown reason.

I make sure Danny and I are 'good' before he leaves, telling him again what
a great side-sex buddy I think he is. And who can resist compliments? Danny
goes on his way and now I've actually gotta do what I pontificated
about... my share of the housework. After changing the sheets on my bed,
which I change from necessity more often than most, I've got an
overloaded-two-washer-load endeavor ahead of me. While the washing machine
is doing its thing I'm doing the nasty pain-in-the-ass job of cleaning my
bathroom. The sink, tub, shower stall and, left for last the toilet needs
to be scrubbed with a vengeance. I wear disposable rubber gloves while
doing all that, my hands sweating like mad in the gloves but the
alternative is unthinkable. I'm only a germ-a-phobe about selected
unpleasant cleaning jobs. Not about sharing toiletry articles with guys or
drinking from the same can or bottle or sucking dick or rimming a cute
guy's ass. I'm a selective, rationalizing germ-a-phobe of convenience. What
might be unthinkable to many doesn't bother me at all, and what others may
do routinely I need surgeon's gloves to even think about doing.

The bathroom floor is last and once the bathroom is cleaned with me using
the latest germ-killing detergents and bathroom cleaning sprays, all
grossly over-priced but mandatory for peace of mind, I vacuum my
bedroom. Then, using a clean but very old and ripped T-shirt, I use lemon
Pledge to wipe all surfaces leaving the bedroom at least smelling
clean. And then almost every blue moon, although not today, I'll use Windex
on the one window I have in my bedroom. The glass sparkles until the first
rainstorm and then it's dotted and smeared again. Few things are perfect in
this world of ours.

Done the cleaning and with clean sheets on the bed I have a tremendous
feeling of accomplishment and give myself pats on the back. The washer
loads and especially the dryer cycle takes quite a bit of times. In between
emptying and moving washed clothes to the dryer and then much later folding
the dried clothes while the second load is tumbling around in the dryer, I
have quite a bit of free time. I utilize that time to nap on the
sofa. Maybe not intentionally as I put some tunes on the CD player and fall
asleep. Eventually everything is cleaned, dried, folded and put away and
thank God for that.

Okay, I've done my entire ten-day wash as well as cleaned the bathroom and
did what needs to be done in my bedroom, plus managed to get an
hour-and-a-half nap per Danny's suggestion. He says we'll be out late
tonight. It's five-thirty now so I should think about dinner, but after all
that cleaning I'm thinking I need another shower. I take a five-minute
shower in my super-clean shower stall and put on clean clothes; shorts and
another T-shirt while beginning to fill up the hamper again with the
clothes I had on before my second shower. It's a vicious circle, life is.

And now the next order of business is food. No breakfast today and I had no
lunch to speak of, so dinner seems like a logical necessity. Doubting I'll
get an answer, I call Chub's cellphone anyway and get no response which is
the same no-response I've gotten the last few days I called him. Chubby
probably doesn't know where his cellphone is again. Me, I'd be
frantic... where the fuck's my cellphone? Chubby's like... it'll turn-up
sooner or later. The Jeep's parked at the curb so I know he's around. I go
up to Chub's condo and ring the bell and can hear the music he's playing
from out here, so he's obviously in there.

Chubby answers the door holding a can of beer and giving me his special
'happy to see me' smile. As we hug, over Chub's shoulder I see some guys on
the balcony. He goes, "Yo bro! How ya doing?" Yesterday we had an excellent
'talk' but I haven't seen him since then. I go, "Good, Chub, howyou doing?"
He says, "I'm good too, Dylan. I got some of my boys over for a few brews,
c'mon out and say 'hi'." I go, "Sure, okay," and then go, "Oh, Chub, I told
Robby you wanted a haircut like mine and he's so fucking flattered you
wouldn't believe it." Chub's like, "That's wicked cool! I'll get you a
beer" At the refrigerator, he asks, "So, when's he giving haircuts again?"
I shrug, "Soon. I'll set it up for you." He hands me a beer and I follow
him out to the balcony where I see a cooler of beer out there too. Also one
guy, a tall guy, is sitting on the railing drinking out of a half-pint of
Old Grand Dad. That's bourbon.

I pop the top of the beer can as Chub introduces me quickly. "There's Jay
James, sitting on the railing. Dallas Brown, the brother of a hot chick I
dated a few times, and you know Joe Berks, my good buddy from high school
days, and the cute kid is Joe's younger brother, Bobby." I'm nodding at
each one, remembering most of their names because I've met them before,
that is except for Jay who works with Chubby and actually trained him to do
his part time job. I've heard Chub speak of him a number of times.

I go, "Ya know, Jay, that's a two story drop off that railing onto my
driveway below. You'd make a terrible mess for me to clean up." Chub goes,
"Not to worry, bro! Jay was a star on his college gymnastic team,
especially the pummel horse, right Jay?" Jay takes a swig of Old Grand-
Dad, and then says, "Yeah, Jeff, I can still hear the cheers." Somebody
mutters, "How's about you do a double salto with a full twist off the
railing and nail the fucking landing. We'll do the cheering up here and I'm
giving you a score of 9.2 for just attempting it." Joe's brother imitates a
gymnast TV announcer, "Yes! He really stuck that landing, although both his
fucking legs appear to be broken!"

There's some chuckling and then Jay goes, "Maybe I will do it for a 9.2
score." Chub says, "Yo, that'd probably be your best score ever." Joe
mutters, "Bite me, Romero." I go, "Well I'm sober so I'll take the
responsibility of calling 911." Jay says, "I'm leaning towards, Dylan, on
this," and he slides off the railing to stand against it. Dallas, an
awesome looking black kid who's only nineteen, says, "Why don't ya come
with us tonight, Dylan." I ask, "Where ya going, and isn't it kinda early
for front loading?" Chub goes, "No, we're not front loading, bro. We'll do
that later. We're having a few sociable brews and enjoying the weather this
afternoon, that's what we're doing." I mutter, "This afternoon? What time
did you guys start? It almost six o'clock." Dallas answers my 'where ya
going question', telling me, "Joe Berks' friend, Smithy, just got
discharged after three years in the Marines and there's a big welcome home
party for him at the country club tonight." Joe says, "Yeah, and Smithy
told me to bring as many guys as I want. There'll be a shit load of his
family and relatives and he wants some boys to hang with so he can avoid
the friends of his parents and his relatives."

I'm drinking a few swallows of beer so I don't get to respond to the
invitation before Joe's brother says, "Yeah, and there's a wedding next
week too! Open reception at the VFW. Spider Reagan's getting married."
Dallas asks, "Is he marrying my sister's friend, that sausage-jockey with
the potty mouth. What's-her-name. Is it Terry-something?" Bobby goes, "Nah,
he dumped her almost a year ago. And it's not that woofer, Sandy Womax,
either. He's marrying the beaver he knocked-up, and nobody even knows her
name." Chubby goes, "Knocking some hoochie up is no fucking reason to get
married! And at what age? Spider's twenty-two now, right?" It amazes me how
Chubby knows so many guys and girls I've never heard of?

Chub goes on, saying, "Fuck marriage anyway. Okay, maybe it's something you
do in your forties or fifties when you can't get laid anymore.  Plus chicks
start letting themselves go when you say 'I do' and that's the end of all
your options too.  Plus as soon as you pay off the houses you need to give
it to her in the divorce settlement. Lots of divorces happening every
day. Here's an example; you guys know who Nelson Mandela is, right? That
dude had his ass unfairly locked up in prison for twenty-six-fucking-years
which he stoically endured, along with being tortured and whatever the fuck
else. He gets out of prison finally and after six months of marriage with
his wife, he's like, 'I can't put up with this shit anymore!'" Everybody
laughs because it's outrageous in the first place and really funny the way
Chubby said, "I can't put up with this shit anymore.' We're laughing and
feeding off each other's laughter. Chub mutter, "He got divorced. That
should tell you all you need to know about marriage."

The laughing winds-down to snickering and Joe wipes his eyes, asking, "Is
that true, Jeff?" Chub goes, "I don't know for sure. Chris Rock said it
somewhere. And that funny mother-fucker just got divorced himself! Chris
did." Oh man, that was funny! Twenty-six years kept in prison being
tortured, which dealt with somehow, and then after only six-months of
marriage, Mandela goes, "I can't put up with this shit anymore!" Awesome!

I have two beers and then get a text message 'beep' on my cellphone. It's
from Hayden so I use it as my exit excuse, "I gotta go, Chub. You guys have
fun tonight, nice seeing all of you." Jay says, "Ya got some chick texting
you, Dylan? A little pussy in your future maybe?" Chubby says, "Don't be
messing' with my brother's head. He's gay and he don't need no pussy." They
chuckle until they realize Chub's serious. There's a second of silence
until the black dude, Dallas, says, "Some of my best friends are gay," and
Jay says, "Yeah, and some of my best friend are black." I mutter, "Fuck ya
all," and they chuckle saying overly-enthusiastic, 'See ya later, Dylan,"
"Nice meeting you," and stuff like that to prove they don't care that I'm
gay.

I'm smiling going down the steps to my condo. One day after our 'talk' and
the first chance Chub gets he announces I'm gay to prove he doesn't give a
shit that I am. Truth be told not too many guys around my age, in this part
of America, give a shit about that anymore. Those guys were fun but there's
no electricity sparking between them because they're all straight. With a
bunch of gay guys, you always feel some sparks 'cause we're all interested
in guys, and we're with guys. Just something I've noticed.

Okay, now it's six-thirty and I still haven't eaten anything. My hangover
is a distant memory but my stomach is growling so I use my keys to the Jeep
to drive to the center of Framingham to buy a large cheesesteak with
sautéed onions at R & R's Sub Shop on main street. I need to
negotiate my way through the traffic circle with cars butting in front of
me but it's worth the extra trouble to get an excellent cheesesteak. R &
R's Italian sub, sometimes called hoagies, are good too so I almost order
both before remembering what Tris always used to say about Chubby. This is
way back when Chub and I were both like four-or-five years old. Chub would
put a huge slice of apple pie on his plate for dessert and Tris would say
to my Mom, 'Jeffy's eyes are bigger than his stomach,' and the Moms would
chuckle. How cute. I thought she was being literal so it had me wondering,
'Jesus, I hope to hell my stomach's bigger that Chub's'.  Kids are so
fucking stupid!

I only get the cheesesteak because I'm not that stupid anymore and I know I
couldn't eat both. Bringing it home I gulp it down with a Coke as my
beverage. The pizza joints around our neighborhood don't do subs anywhere
near as good as R & R's subs. I feel 'full' now, but not especially
satisfied because I don't like eating alone so there's this like 'sense' I
just completed a chore instead of an enjoyable experience. Ahh, poor me!
Anyway, there always seems to be bathroom stuff to do, so I do it: piss,
wash my hands and face, brush my teeth and re-comb my hair. No matter how
short your hair, ya gotta keep an eye on it or it'll go goofy on you. I'm
still good time-wise; it's twenty-minutes before Danny's due to pick me up
at eight o'clock so I'm in the bedroom now wondering, 'Hmmm, what's
appropriate to wear to a gay club? That Green-something club.'

Huh, feeling like a dork doing this, but I call Danny for his advice on
what to wear. I hit his name on my cellphone and he answers, "Dylan, babe,
whassup, dude?" Huh, he referred to me three different ways in that short
interrogative sentence. I go, "Help me out here, Danny. Um, what's
appropriate clothing for this Green Briar gay club?" He chuckles, "You and
names! It's the Green Door Club and you can wear pajamas if you want, or a
hula skirt. There's zero dress code as in 'absolutely no dress code'. Some
guys show up in drag, there's some assholes wearing sport coats and bow
ties, and some with jeans or shorts and others will surprise us wearing a
cardboard box or some aluminum wrap. Anything goes, babe." Jesus people are
so fucked up!! I'm like, "Hmmm, let me put it a different way. What areyou
wearing?"

He hesitates, "You're being serious now, right?" I go, "Yeah, Danny, what
are you wearing tonight?" He says, "Damn, this is so much fun. We're
talking about our outfits for tonight. Hayden would say 'Us girls are
comparing our outfits so we don't clash."  Instead of screaming, which I'd
like to do, I keep annoyance out of my tone of voice, and go, "So what are
you wearing tonight, girlfriend?" He laughs, "Omigod, Hayden would be so
proud of you. Okay, I've just been getting my shit together. I've decided
on a two-sizes-too-large Tommy Bahama flowered shirt unbuttoned to my
balls. Ha ha, just kidding! Unbuttoned halfway down and then some cargo
shorts; tan ones I guess. And then high-top sneakers without socks." Taking
a deep breath, I go, "And you say anything goes, so if I wear a T-shirt and
shorts I'm good?" He says, "Sure, but this is your chance to be flamboyant,
babe. A walk on the wild side." I mutter, "I don't have a flamboyant bone
in my body. Um, well maybe one and it's not even a bone. Okay, thanks,
Danny. Eight o'clock?" He says, "Yep, I'll text when I get there behind
your condo." I go, "Thanks, buddy."

I'm gonna wear what I told him and fuck flamboyant. The reality of it is,
frankly I don't even want to go to this damn gay club. If Rob were going
too it'd be different. They'd be two of us who didn't know what was
happening.  Looking through the pile of T-shirts I own, I settle on a dark
blue one with writing on the front: 'SO FAR THIS IS THE OLDEST I'VE EVER
BEEN!' I don't want anything the slightest bit provocative. And, being
unfamiliar with gay clubs, I'm gonna stick with Danny like gum on his
high-top sneakers tonight.

All my clothes are washed so, what the fuck, I have my choice of
anything. Oh hell, I'll wear this pair of tan cargo shorts even though
Danny's wearing the same thing. On my feet are Nike low-cut dirty-white
sneakers with baggy white socks. So sue me if I'm too preppy for a gay
club! There must be preppy gay guys; hell, I've met some myself. Okay,
normally I always wear Willie's gift of the gold David Yurman cross
necklace, but not tonight. Someone might steal it. Why I think that, I have
no idea but maybe it's a rough crowd. Instead I put on the cool
thin-leather-necklace I bought for myself last summer when I was drunk on
the boardwalk in Wildwood. It has a round Greek Compass Pendant hanging
from it, although I didn't know that's when I bought the necklace. I
thought it was some kind of Zodiac sign. I discovered what it was from a
smart-ass, know-it-all sexy teenager I just happened to strike up a
conversation with on the boardwalk. He was high on a banned substance, but
wouldn't tell me which one. Anyway he commented on my Greek Compass Pendent
and I recall asking him, 'Is that some kind of ethnic slur?' Like I said, I
was drunk.

I don't recall how we struck up a conversation. It was a casual
conversation with him constantly bumping against me, although I don't
believe he was aware of doing that. He intrigued me as a tough cutie with a
potty mouth and a recent blond buzz cut and, frankly, I wanted to suck his
cock in the worst way. I could tell he was gay and I was trying to convince
myself to take a walk on the beach with him until I came to my senses when
one of those asshole boardwalk cops rode by on his bicycle. Anyway we
parted without anything happening. Another missed opportunity I
suppose. Let's see, hmmm, my necklace sort of matches the awesome leather
bracelet I'm wearing, another gift from Willie. No rings on my fingers
tonight, just my earrings; the little hoop ones.

Looking at myself in the mirror I burst out laughing remembering Robby
saying I spend more time in front of a mirror than anyone he knows. That's
bull crap of course, but funny just the same. Wait, I want to show off my
tattoo!  I take off the T-shirt and put on a cool tight-fitting green
sleeveless T-shirt. Well, it is the green-something Club after all. Looking
at myself again and, Holy shit, I never noticed before that I look skinny
in this shirt. Fuck it, this is the opposite of baggy. Go one way or the
other, but don't wear the correct size shirt. You need a correct size suit,
of course, but casual wear needs to be fucked-up a little as too big or too
small for you.

Looking at myself in the mirror again, I'm like: 'Oh screw it, this is what
I'm wearing'. I put my cigarettes in my pocket, take my driver's license
from my wallet along with my money and stick both in my cargo shorts'
pocket, one with a zipper to make it more challenging for pickpockets, and
then stick my secret handkerchief in a back pocket for emergencies. What
else do I need? A pocket comb, even though I haven't much hair to comb. Oh
yeah, Chiclets for my breath as if I even need to worry about my
breath. Well, maybe Hayden will get me in an alcove and kiss an orgasm
outta me. Oh shit, I'm wearing tan shorts that will show a tiny pre-cum
wet-spot like there's a spotlight on it. While I'm looking for a pair of
dark-colored shorts I hear Danny blow the horn in the alley. Fuck!

Well, I just won't cum in my pants tonight. Big boys don't pee or cum in
their pants or shorts, right? This gay club has me rattled a little because
I'm very inexperienced. There was a Key West gay club that Willie and I
ended up in hammocks without our pants waiting for someone to use the glory
hole in the hammock. We waited all of three-seconds before Willie got us
out of there. Yeah, but all gay clubs aren't like that. I've been to, um,
three in my life. Rob and I should probably get out more, generally
speaking. On my way downstairs to the basement I'm patting my pockets, sure
I've forgotten something.

Getting in the car I see Danny's perpetual smile, which takes some of the
shine off of it. Rob and Chubby have special smiles just for me, so they're
special. Danny will give his same awesome smile, admittedly a cute one, to
a zombie collecting money at a parking garage so it's not totally special
when he smiles at me. Well who am I to talk? My first inclination in almost
any situation is to smile. It's usually a good strategy so I smile back at
Danny who leans over to give me a 'hello' kiss on the lips; one of his
quick-as-a-wink kisses. Hey, but this one seemed a step-up from the normal
quick-as-a-wink-kiss. Danny says, "Sweet kiss, babe. Thank you!" What? He's
supposed to do the fast kiss. Did I kiss him? Ignoring that, I go, "Whoa! I
think your shirt's on fire there, Danny!" He laughs, "It is a little loud
isn't it?" I go, "No, it's cool actually. You look marvelous." He grins,
"Tell me more." I go, "Oh okay, um, I'm uber impressed with your buddy-sex
this afternoon. That's all I'll say about that for now though." He goes,
"You say the coolest, nicest shit ever!" Quite the compliment!

The kiss though... Danny needs to make up a pamphlet describing when the
quick-as-a-wink kiss is appropriate. I mean, do you do it if you're
separated for five-hours or do you need to be separated longer. And does
the other party kiss back or do they just act as the recipient? Information
like that would be good to know so we're all on the same page. Damn though,
I think I did kiss him just a minute ago. It wasn't him putting a little
something extra into it, it was me! Yeah, well I'm still 'crushing' on him
and that awesome double-buddy-sex this afternoon didn't do anything to
diminish my 'crush'.

His shirt, a Tommy Bahama style shirt, isn't ever meant to be tucked in,
not that Danny's is tucked-in, it isn't. Those shirts don't have
'tails'. They're the same length all around the bottom, about
half-way-down-the-hips length. Danny's is a size or two bigger than he'd
normally wear and even with his broad shoulders the short-sleeves hang
below his elbows. Like he told me earlier he's wearing tan cargo shorts,
like me, and high-top sneakers without socks. Sneakers without socks, huh?
All I can think of is sweaty feet. Danny asks, "How ya feeling, Dylan?" I
go, "I got an hour-and-a-half nap like you suggested and consequently I'm
feeling good. Um, I'm not sure about this Green Palace though." He goes,
"It's the Green Door Club and it'll be fun. Holy Christ though, you're
gonna attract a crowd with that tight sleeveless shirt you're
wearing... sexy boy!" I'm like, "Really? and he goes, "Fuck yeah, I kinda
feel like jumping your bones again right now myself." I go, "Huh?" and look
down at my shirt. I guess it is a bit sexy with my Greek Compass Pendent on
the leather necklace lying outside the tight T-shirt.

Backing his Volkswagen up and then turning the car around he drives us back
up the alley the way he came, saying, "Babe, that sleeveless T-shit is hot!
That's all I'm saying. Great choice." Oh balls! It's a fifteen-minute drive
to Hayden from my house. Pretty much the same to Rob's or Danny's too since
they live in the same neighborhood development.

During the ride Danny says, "Don't forget your promise to support Hayden,"
and he looks at me, adding, "Think of it as doing me a favor too. You wanna
do me a favor don'cha?" I'm like, "Sure, I'm the favor king," and he goes,
"Hayden will put make-up on both of our faces, but probably not as much as
he'll have on himself. I know you'll be magnanimous about cooperating with
him in that regard because you gave me your word, right?" I go, "Hey, don't
fucking lecture me, alright? If he wants to put some make-up on me I told
you it's okay, it's fucking stupid, but okay. Hell, he did it once already
and I already told you about that." He's quiet for a couple-of-seconds and
then goes. "I'm sorry if I made you mad, but don't show you're angry about
the make-up to Hayden. Be mad at me if you want, but Hayden doesn't ask for
much and he's our friend so let's make this a good night for him. You're
with me on this, right?" I do an exasperated exhale, muttering, "You're
lecturing me again." He drives in silence for a minute and I finally ask,
"Hey, do you mind if I smoke in your car?" Danny says, "Yes, I mind. Please
don't." What's he care about this piece of shit car? A cigarette isn't
going to do this junker any harm. Guess I'm a little uptight about this
entire night.

Another minute of silence and then he says, "We're friends and we accept
each other's quirks. You need to be good tonight though, Dylan, especially
at Hayden's or you'll really disappoint me." I go, "Be good? What am
I... your child? Be good! Jesus, Danny!" He reaches over and grabs my arm,
"Yes, you be good!" and we both snort out a laugh, me chuckling while I'm
still frowning, but I mutter, "Okay, Daddy, I'll be good." He goes, "That's
a good son." I go, "I thought we were brothers. Didn't that over-endowed
hefty cheerleader say we were?" Danny goes, "I was hoping she thought we
were fraternal twins myself." I go, "We're identical twins, never mind
fraternal." So we got past my disgruntled attitude about this dopey
making-up our faces routine. Danny made a joke out of insisting I be
'good'... ha ha. What the hell, whose gonna see me with the make-up on
anyway?

As Danny's parking at the curb in front of Hayden's house, he goes, "Oh,
another thing. Hayden has some washable, very temporary hair coloring for
both of us, so be cool with that too. Like I said it washes out. I promised
Hayden I'd cover all this shit with you before we got to his place because
he's doesn't want a scene." Taking his seatbelt off he leans over rubbing
my shoulder, talking baby talk to me, "So we're not gonna make a naughty
scene and throw a tantrum at Hayden's house, are we?" I look at him,
rolling my eyes, mumbling, "Okay, I won't make a fucking scent, Papa." He
goes, "Underneath all your bad behavior you're basically a good boy," and
he chuckles messing up my hair, saying, "Don't worry, Hayden, will comb it
for you. C'mon. This is supposed to be fun."

Walking up to the house, Danny asks, "Didn't you ever paint your face going
to a Pats game or a high school football game?" I go, "No," and he's like,
"How about Halloween? Did you ever make-up your face like Frankenstein or a
zombie or anything?" I go, "No, I wore a little black eye-mask and said,
'Give me free candy!'" He laughs, muttering, "I believe it."

Ringing the doorbell, he asks, "Are you sure you're even gay?" I go, "Don't
be stupid, Danny. I admit I don't go shopping with my Mom, or have long
girlie secret conversations with her exchanging sex tales, and I don't like
dressing-up or walking in gay parades or wearing make-up or having fag hags
or any of that stuff. And I don't find any of it the least bit troubling
either; go for it if you want to! I don't judge, but it's not me. I
basically like almost everything straight guys like with the exception that
I also like the straight guys' bodies and I like sucking their dicks and
having them stick it up my ass and when I get a chance I like rimming their
cute asses too. Some of them anyway, the ones I find attractive and around
my own age and who I find-out are actually secretly gay. So, you want me to
accept Hayden's, um, extra gayness but you won't accept my, um,
under-gayness, is that it?" He snorts out a laugh, saying, "Don't fucking
lecture me, Dylan, okay?" I mutter, "Oh balls, touché I guess."

Hayden answers the doorbell done-up in gothic black: lipstick, eyebrows,
eye shadow, black stud earrings, black beauty mark on his cheek, and a
black steak of hair coloring in his red hair. His hair is moussed to stick
up on top like he just saw something extremely scary. Oh, his toenails also
have black nail polish sticking out from his sandals. Other than that, he's
dressed much less flamboyantly than I expected, wearing black cutoff jeans,
cut off to just below his significant junk, and a silky-black sort of
dress-shirt with the tails tied in front, the sleeves rolled up to just
below his elbows, and the shirt unbuttoned to his innie-belly-button
showing off his skinny hairless chest. He's also showing off his hairy
calves.  There's a silver-colored chain necklace that hangs between his
pecs with dog tags at the end engraved with: 'GAY' on one and 'PRIDE' on
the other. Nice touch, Hayden!

For a second he just looks at us while he's doing some kind of gay pose and
then he smiles and tries hugging both of us at the same time, saying, "I
love you both, you gorgeous young men." After closing the front door he
looks at me, and says, "Danny already knows this but you don't. I'm wearing
Rimmel London liquid lipstick that won't come off when I do this," and he
reaches up getting both hands behind my head giving me an abbreviated
version of his magical kiss on my lips. It makes a sucking mouth sound when
he pulls his lips off mine. My dick does a cartwheel in my jockey shorts
because I didn't expect that kiss, but I liked it. Danny's got a wry grin
on his face waiting for his kiss which he gets, and for about ten-seconds
longer than mine. Danny grins, joking with Hayden, "You still got it kid!"
and they do a fast follow-up kiss, grinning at one another and then Hayden
yells, "Mom, they're here!"

His Mom comes out of the kitchen with a platter of Buffalo Wings that she
hands to Danny, who goes, "Wow, my favorite." She laughs, "They're not all
for you, bright eyes." There's a couple-dozen chicken wings cut-up properly
into easier-eating sections. Mrs. Parks has taken the trouble to cut the
three-jointed chicken wing into three parts. The useless wing-tip is
discarded, or she could actually freeze them to be included in homemade
chicken stock sometime later. The middle section, called the wingette, is
separated from the meatiest part called the drumette, and those two
sections were apparently deep fat fried and then covered in butter and red
hot-sauce, maybe Frank's Red Hot Sauce. Frank's is the hot sauce with a
commercial on TV where a very old lady says. 'I put that shit on
everything' only the word 'shit' is bleeped-out in the commercial. There's
a bowl of Ranch dressing for dipping on the tray Danny's holding plus
celery sticks to eat, allegedly to cool off your mouth from the heat of the
hot sauce. The whole platter is nicely arranged and so my hats off to
Mrs. Parks for taking the time to do it right. She timed it right too
because the wing sections are still sizzling.

Pointing at me with a wave of her hand, she does a grin that's exactly like
Hayden's, asking him, "Darling, and just who is this incredibly attractive
boy?" Hayden goes, "He's not a boy, Mom! Jesus! Let me introduce you to the
famous Dylan Newman." Famous? His Mom's a very petite woman, shorter than
Hayden, and thinner too, as hard as that is to believe. Her hair is shorter
than Hayden's as well and she's wearing a kind of 'campy' outfit with a
Gypsy look to it. Glancing at her hands I half expect to see castanets. Big
puffed sleeves on her multi-colored blouse that comes only below her petite
tits, exposing most of her torso that's still very tight no matter her
age. She has a black shirt on that reaches halfway down her calves where it
meets high-heeled leather black boots.

She holds her hand out and I go to shake it but she makes a fist so I bump
it, mumbling, "Nice to meet you," and she goes, "Same here." As if reading
my mind about the outfit she wearing, she says, "Excuse my appearance,
boys, but I just got home from work and Hayden insisted I prepare Buffalo
wings for you hot gay boys. Hayden requested hot wings because you two are
so fucking hot!?" and she laughs. Hayden blushes, saying, "Mother! For
Christ sake! Cool it..." She reaches over to him and rubs his back doing
her Hayden-grin, and saying, "So what I'm saying, boys, I haven't had a
chance to change yet after work." Well what the fuck kind of job does she
have that her current outfit would be appropriate? I'm guessing it's not an
office job or working for the mayor's office, nothing like that. Her
make-up is surprisingly subdued though, and I'm guessing, age-wise, she's
still in her forties, but barely. She goes, "Oh, and I bought a twelve-pack
of Rolling Rock beer in bottles home with me from the package store because
my darling Hayden says his boyfriend prefers Rolling Rock in bottles," and
she pinches Danny's cheek. He's seemingly totally comfortable with this
whole scene as he smiles at Mrs. Parks, saying, "Thanks, Tinker." Tinker?

I must haves raised my eyebrows or opened my eyes wide or something because
Hayden giggles and squeezes my bicep, saying, "That's Mom's nickname,
Dylan, and you can feel free to call her that, or call her 'Mom' like my
fag hags do if you prefer." Tinker says, "They're lovely girls, darling,
don't refer to them in that crude manner." He goes, "That's how they refer
to themselves, Mom! Jesus!" He's sounding very 'gay' tonight with his
speech.

Hayden says to Danny, "Take that trey up to my bedroom, please. Dylan and I
will bring up some beers." His Mom does a quirky pirouette of some kind,
saying, "I'll stay out of your way, boys. Have a wonderful time tonight
and, Daniel, you're responsible for seeing that Hayden doesn't get hit-on
too often by the wrong type." He goes, "Sure, Tinker," and he goes up the
stairs with the tray of Buffalo Wings as Tinker disappears into the family
room, or living room... whatever they call it here.

Hayden takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen, saying, "Should we just
bring three beers and come down for more, or take six up with us?" I shrug,
"Let's take three. I like cold beer." He nods and says, "Okay, but you'll
be our runner for the beers, rookie." Oh man, I'm getting weirdied-out a
little and we haven't even left Hayden's house yet, never mind what's
waiting for me at the Green House. As we're walking into the kitchen Hayden
squeezes my hand, excitedly exclaiming, "You look unbelievably sexy
tonight, Dylan! Seriously, dude, I could cream in my shorts at that shirt
the way it shows off your body so perfectly." Letting go of my hand, he
hugs me, mumbling, "I'm getting a boner just looking at you."

Yeah, well it's happening again to me too. Even looking as odd as he does
with his Gothic get-up, Hayden is getting me aroused and giving me a
boner. I'm remembering, barely, what it felt like when he fucked me with
that ginormous cock of his. Sounding whining even to me, I'm like, "When
are we going to get together again, Hayden?" He smiles his big smile,
saying, "That makes me feel very special, Dylan. Finally it's you asking me
instead of me nagging you." When did he nag me? I don't remember that. In
any case he has no answer to my question.

All I know for sure is these two friends of Rob's have jumped into my top
choices for side-sex. Both of them seem very hot to me and I can't help but
wondering if the fact they were Robby's teenage sex-buddies might have more
than a little to do with me being so enamored by the both of them. It's
hard to imagine that's so, but then what else could be the explanation?
Maybe they're simply sexy-hot and that's the whole story. Nah, that's true
for Danny maybe, but normally Hayden wouldn't register as 'sexy-hot' in my
brain; far from it. There's that mysterious something about him that
punches all my buttons though and, dammit, it really sucks we all didn't
get together years ago? Was it just because Rob wasn't crazy about Hayden?
That the whole reason?

Hayden passes me three cold beers from the refrigerator, saying, "Daniel
told me he'll have you go first getting made-up, so maybe you need a shot
of liquor to help you relax?" What a stupid-ass idea! I ask, "What kind of
liquor?" and he takes a bottle from an over-head cabinet and holds up a
bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, saying, "This is a blended Scotch
whisky, not single malt like snobs think is better when it definitely is
not. This is expensive booze but very smooth and should only be drunk
neat." He takes two shot glasses from the same cabinet, saying, "Danny
can't do shots worth a shit but even he thinks this is the easiest whiskey
to do a shot with. Ya know, when you simply must do a shot for some
reason." Huh, Danny was doing shots last night! I wonder why he didn't ask
for this Blue Label booze at that bar last night? Yeah, but I remember this
whiskey being mentioned at the Beef and Ale house that time with
Chubby. The whiskey salesman said it was his favorite whiskey except it was
very expensive which is why the Beef & Ale House didn't carry it, so that
neighborhood bar last night sure as shit wouldn't have it either.

Pouring two shots, Hayden goes, "You'll probably need more than one,"
without me objecting because being drunk is probably the best way for me to
get through this night and maybe even have a little fun. Hayden goes, "This
bottle cost Mom $87.00." I mutter, "Really?" thinking the whiskey salesman
indicated it cost more than that, but he was probably referring to drinking
it at a bar or restaurant. Hayden's lifting his shot glass so I pick up
mine and we lightly tap shot glasses as Hayden's saying, "To us having sex
tonight." I gulp, and then flash the shot down my throat. Huh! I'm not
saying I liked it, but it was the least offensive shot of whiskey I've had
yet. I don't care for the taste of regular Scotch at all but this Johnnie
Walker Blue definitely didn't have that turpentine burn that most shots of
liquor have.

Hayden grins, "Not bad, huh?" Ignoring that for the moment, I go, "Hayden,
for the record, you're much more attractive without all that shit on your
ace." He smirks at me, "Don't hurt my feeling, please, Dylan. What'd you
think about the shot?" I go, "The best I've ever had, but I still can't say
I liked it. Straight whiskey must be an acquired taste." He goes, "Ain't
everything, my sexy friend?" He motions with his finger for me to lean over
a little, perhaps for a whispered secret, but no, he gets his arm around
the back of my neck and does the full-blow version of his magical sexy kiss
that last maybe forty-seconds. In some ways it seemed longer and it other
ways not nearly long enough. During those forty-seconds he used his free
hand to rub my crotch. The kiss and the rubbing produced a startling hard
boner that I grunted at, afraid I'd spurt pre-cum and wet a spot on my
shorts. Goddammit, I knew I should have put on those darker shorts.

I do not spurt pre-cum in my shorts though and thank God for that. Instead
I gasp as Hayden takes his arm away, saying, "That kiss was totally your
fault for looking so irresistibly sexy tonight." He rubs my boner again,
murmuring, "Knowing I can cause a boner on you so easily makes me feel
special. You always make me feel special anyway, Dylan," and he rubs the
head of my boner that's pushing out the lap of my shorts, while meanwhile I
can't catch my fucking breath. Pushing his hand away before I do spurt out
some pre-cum, Hayden pats my cheek, mumbling, "Nobody appreciates me like
you do, Dylan. I'm so thrilled we finally met! Hey, didn't I tell you when
we first met outside the movies that we had a lot in common. Huh, didn't
I?" In a stupor, I nod, "Yeah, you said something like that." Man,
springing that boner felt good! He asks, "Another shot of Blue Label?" I
shake my head, still thinking about that kiss. He puts the booze away and
says, "C'mon, Dylan, Daniel will be sending out a search party for us."

Not really feeling the effects of the shot yet, but still feeling the
effects of Hayden's grope and kiss, I carry the three bottles of beer
following Hayden upstairs. He's carrying a bowl of salsa and chips, neither
of which I'll eat. I'm probably the only person in Framingham who doesn't
like salsa and corn chips. Mostly it's the chips that gross me out. I don't
share that with Hayden however because I'm trying to keep negativity to a
minimum and I'm certainly not wasting some negativity on a bowl of fucking
corn chips. Not when I'll need some negativity for other things tonight, of
that I'm positive. Damn, no matter how I try moving my boner to the side
with my thighs I can't do it. And with three bottles of beer in my hands
there's nothing I can do except follow my boner up the steps and stay
behind Hayden going into his bedroom.

In Hayden's bedroom, I put the beers down while glancing at the platter of
Buffalo Wings. Omigod, it obvious Danny has been doing a 'number' on those
wings. Hayden jokes about how many chicken wings Danny's devoured already
while I take the opportunity to adjust my boner sideways so it isn't as
noticeable. Happily, Hayden isn't the type to point my boner out to Danny
just for shits and giggles... at my expense. A lot of pricks I know would
do that. Now that my boner situation is more or less under control I'm
thinking some Buffalo Wings is a damn good idea. Danny's fingers and mouth
are smeared in red from the hot sauce as he does his usual smile, saying,
"Tinker makes the best fucking wings ever. They're the bomb!"

Hayden and I take a wing and before we do anything else the three of us
drink a bottle of beer each and finish-off all two dozen of the wings
without once resorting to a celery stick. The bowl of salsa and corn chips
sits untouched for now as the three of us go to the hall bath to wash this
hot sauce off our fingers and mouths but the bathroom occupied by Hayden's
Mom. Hayden looks at us with an annoyed expression on his face, like, 'How
inconvenient!' and then calls to his Mom, "We need to wash up. Can we come
in?" I whisper, "No! Don't be an ass! We don't want to go in the bathroom
with your Mom doing God only knows what!" She calls out, "Sure, come on in,
boys, I'm almost done shaving my legs." Danny goes, "Gag me with a can of
shaving cream," and I mutter, "I'm going downstairs to use the kitchen
sink." Hayden calls to his Mom, "Never mind, Mom, we'll go
downstairs. Don't cut yourself. Ha ha." Can I believe this shit?

We're at the kitchen sink with Danny asking Hayden, "Have you ever thought
about shaving those hairy legs of yours, baby?" Drying his hands and face
with paper towels, Hayden goes, "Of course, and I did it in high school
once. Don't you remember how prickly my legs were when the hairs were
growing out? It was the summer after sophomore year."  Danny mutters, "I
don't remember the size of my dick that far back," and Hayden goes, "Anyway
the hair grew back thicker than ever." Huh, I'd like those skinny hairy
legs of his wrapped around me as he fucks me a new asshole.

It's already quarter-to-nine when we're going back upstairs with new
bottles of Rolling Rock, and I'm asking, "What time do you think we'll
leave for this gay club?" Danny says, "No earlier than ten o'clock and then
after a forty-minute drive we'll still be earlier than most." I think, 'Oh
man! No way do I don't want Danny driving us home. He gets drunk too fast."
I go, "Um, how do you handle the driving-drunk situation, especially after
front-loading and then having drinks at the club too and... it's a problem,
no?" Hayden says, "I won't drink at the club. Think of me as the designated
driver." Bull shit! It's gonna be me who needs to not drink and I've
already had a shot and a beer almost two-hours before we even get to the
damn club. That's problem number one... already!

But no, problem number one is Danny pointing at me and then the chair
Hayden's standing next to, "You're first, Dylan. Get in that chair." I go,
"Why am I always first? You sent me first for the haircut first and now
this." He goes, "It's simple, you cute fucker you, I'm the leader and I say
you're first." Hayden goes, "Sit right here, Dylan. I'll get this make-up
lamp situated," which he now turns on. I sit in the chair, muttering, "What
light bulb is that, three-hundred watts?" Oh fuck, there's some negativity
sneaking out already, and wasted over a lamp! Not good.

Danny picks up a magazine, mumbling, "Please just sit there quietly,
babe. Let Hayden do his magic." Hayden puts a CD in his player, saying,
"This is the Three Tenors' 2010 album called 'Three Tenors... The
Collection'. Do you know that their debut album in like 1990, or around
then, was the biggest selling classical album of all time?" I go, "No, I
didn't know that, plus I've never fuckin' heard of the three tenors," and
then a big voice starts singing in a foreign language, loud! I look at
Danny, who is totally nonplus about everything as he reads a body-builder
magazine and he's starting-in on the salsa and corn chips too. Hayden sees
that and eats some himself and then breathes corn-chip breath in my
face. Jesus! He says, "Sit back, Dylan, and I'll see if I can do the
impossible and make you even more beautiful than you already are." I
mumble, "Cut that shit out, Hayden. It's annoying hearing a word like
'beautiful' in connection with me. I'm a fucking guy!" He mumbles to Danny,
"Yeah, the beautiful ones are often temperamental."

Hayden's leaning close to me stretching the skin above and below my eyebrow
with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while he's using the
tweezers in his right to pluck some of my eyebrow hairs, which is totally
unnecessary as he agreed the other time he messed around doing some make-up
on me. Even if I do say so myself, my eyebrows are perfect as they are. By
the way, eyebrows are an overlooked aspect of a good-looking face. Some are
oddly shaped or too wide or too close together; any kind of fuck-up is
possible with eyebrows which come compliments of the guy's genes. If
they're fucked-up, he's fucked-up. A shame really.

To his credit Hayden doesn't do much plucking but he does use an eyebrow
pencil as the three tenors hit a note at the end of their first number that
the human voice box isn't supposed to be able to make. It gives me
chills. This is the first classical album I've ever heard and at the volume
Hayden's playing it... perhaps this is the first classical album his
neighbors have ever heard as well.

The reason I knew he was using an eyebrow pencil is because Hayden murmurs
the name of each step during his 'make-over', as he calls it. I'm much less
irritated about all this than I should be because I like both these guys a
lot and most of the time, hell, almost all the time we're not doing shit
like this. So it's Hayden's night and what the hell, I guess I'll go along
with the nonsense. I can glance, with my eyeballs way over to the left and
see myself in Hayden's too-bright make-up lamp/mirror. My normal
blondish/light-brown-eyebrows are now dark brown but not wider or more
extended than they normally are. As he's doing it Hayden unnecessarily
tells me he's now using eye liner, um, to outline around my eyes, like the
word 'eyeliner' suggests. Okay, I admit that my eyes look bluer now against
the dark outlined eyes and dark eyebrows, although I'm of the opinion they
were plenty blue enough to start with. Do I complain about any of this and
thereby showing negativity? Nope!

Hayden mumbles, "Now for some Mascara to lengthen just a little your
already impressive eyelashes." As he's doing it, all I can think of is if
that dust or whatever it is gets in my eyes I might lose my shit entirely.
Hayden's very careful though, I'll give him that, as he says, "Oh man,
Dylan, almost every woman on earth would like the features on your face."
He pulls his hand away for a second to look at me, saying, "But you look
one-hundred-percent male so maybe they'd only want your eyes, eyelashes,
and nose and lips." He laughs as I let out an exaggerated exhale catching
Danny giving me a 'look' and silently mouthing the words, 'You promised to
go along with this' and for some reason I snort out a laugh that startles
Hayden. This is so goofy it made me laugh. Danny looks over frowning and
Hayden goes, 'What's funny?" Shaking my head slightly, I go, "Oh
nothing. Something I just thought of," and I tell them Chubby's entire
story about how Nelson Mandela, after handling stoically all those years
being tortured in prison, but then after being married only six-months,
yells, "I can't take this shit anymore!" They both laugh their asses off.

His Mom hears the laughter and comes into the bedroom directly from her
shower, wrapped only in a flimsy silk robe, and as horrifying as it might
be, I don't think there's anything underneath the robe that's barely big
enough to cover even her petite body. Hayden tells her the full story:
after twenty-six years in prison, blah, blah, blah and then, 'I can't put
up with this shit anymore." She laughs a little, but then says, "Your Daddy
and I had a wonderful marriage, Hayden." She gets a little choked-up as I
recall Hayden saying his Dad died when Hayden was like eleven. Danny and I
are solemn as Hayden pats his Mom's shoulder, murmuring, "I know you did,
Mom."

Jesus, if that wasn't awkward enough, his Mom looks at me and goes,
"Hayden, darling, too much, um... I'll do it." Hayden gets up and his
mother leans over me with a tissue and removes something on my eyelashes
and then get an apparatus that Hayden narrates, "She's using an eye-curler,
Dylan." She's so close to me, her tiny robe coming apart and her small tits
are showing. I close my eyes as she closes the eye-curlers on my
eyelashes. Oh God save me! She's breathing in my face the strong smell of
liquor. My eyes start watering as she brushes something off the bridge of
my nose, and for some ungodly reason she won't back-up even a
little. Finally she's pinching my bangs saying to Hayden, "My advice,
honey, only dye his bangs and you'll definitely need to cut on both sides
of them." She hands the eye-curler to Hayden, saying, "You don't want to
overdo it, Hayden. His beauty is in him being a boy. Don't turn him into a
girl." Hayden mutters, "God forbid!" She pats my head and says, "You look
wonderful, Daniel." I say, 'Do you have a problem with names, Tinker? lI I
mean, you obviously have a problem with keeping those tiny tits covered?'
No! I don't say that!  I say, "Thank you, that's very nice of you to say,"
and no one corrects her name mix up. She goes, "I'm so late! Sorry I need
to run, boys, but have fun!"

The rest is a blur as I try getting over Tinker almost sitting on my lap
with her tiny tits almost hitting my chin. I pulled my head back trying to
get away from her booze breath with Hayden's saying, "Sit up straight for
Mom, Dylan." That was a traumatic experience for sure, but I soldier on
with Hayden finishing doing whatever with my eyes, and then he uses a brush
to put some kind of what he calls 'blush' on my cheeks and then he's
meticulous using his, as he calls it, Rimmel London Liquid lipstick 'that
won't get on your kissing partner'. The lipstick is a shade of purple
although he calls it something else. Then he takes fifteen minutes
clipping, filing, and painting my fingernails a color that again looks like
purple to me, but he calls it. '"Off-blue to play off your eye coloring."
Uh huh.

Somewhere along the way I get a dreamy feeling, and again think: fuck it,
let him have his fun. My semi-trance is broken when Hayden says, "This
'Splat' brand washable hair dye will come out usually in one or two
shampoos. A lot of the coloring will anyway." He applies the dye with an
applicator comb. The hair dye is approximately the same purple color as my
lipstick and fingernail polish. Like Tinker told him, Hayden only uses the
hair dye on my bangs. At least that was one good thing she did. No, two
good things. She did the Buffalo Wings too. Way to go, Tinker Bell. Maybe
Hayden would have dyed my whole head if she hadn't said just my bangs, but
who knows?

As he's dyeing my bangs, he repeats himself, "This is only a temporary
liquid hair coloring that will usually wash away in two shampoos; most of
it anyway." Key words of concern are 'usually' and 'most of it', but I'm
actually back into a pleasant trance now, one that I didn't anticipate. All
the fussing and gentle touching, plus Hayden's voice and the fact of him
being two inches from my face for fifteen-minutes at a time it's all become
hypnotic to me, like so many things are.

He's combing my purple bangs down and then fluffing them up and looking
frustrated. Combing then down a third time he mutters, "Mom was right
again," and he takes scissors and cuts my bangs even shorter on the left
side and then the right, leaving the middle the length Robby cut them. Now
when Hayden fluffs then up and pats them to the side, he murmurs,
"Perfect." He's finished and pats my chest, muttering, "You look awesome!"
I don't even bother looking in the mirror, as he says, "And, there's
conditioners in that hair coloring too," patting my bangs over a little
more, he mutters, "So it won't dry out your pretty hair. You were a very
good client, Dylan, and I thank you. All done."

I get up and actually say, "Thank you, Hayden, you're quite the artist." He
says, "You're sweet as always. Ya know, this is what I hope to do for a
living. I'll need specialty schooling after college and then try to get a
job with a studio in Hollywood as a make-up artist." I'm still in a bit of
a trance or maybe partially hypnotized so, to whatever he said, I go, "Good
luck," and Danny gets up and hugs my shoulders, saying, also with
corn-chip-breath, "You were better than good, Dylan." I mutter, 'Thanks,
Daddy," and we both chuckle getting me out of my pleasant trance and back
with the living. I look in the mirror now, and think... 'Oh fuck!'

Like the outfit Hayden's wearing though, the make-up, while fucked-up,
isn't as bad as I expected. Not good by a lot, but not as bad as I
expected. Now if only the hair dye company isn't bull shitting everyone,
and it does shampoo out, I'll survive. But I'm definitely telling Robby
about Hayden cutting my bangs because I'm not taking responsibility for
that. They do look okay this way though, and maybe even better than before
although Rob won't agree.

Sitting in the chair Danny was in I pick up and glance at the body builder
magazine he was enthralled with and immediately decide I'd like to keep the
Buffalo Wings down so I drop the magazine and watch Hayden fuck up Danny's
face as I'm getting bored and we're not even at the gay Green House club
yet! This could be one of those epic nights I'll be trying to forget for
years afterwards...

to be continued...

Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com     donnymumford@outlook.com

P
======================================================

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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