Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2018 12:36:15 -0400
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 29

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS JUNIOR COLLEGE YEAR

Chapter  29

By  Donny Mumford

Hearing Robby say, "Up and at 'em, babe," my eyes immediately pop-open and
I'm once again back into what I believe is the world of reality. I could be
wrong about that though; perhaps the dream world I was in is actually
reality, and this is a dream... or nightmare, depending on one's point of
view. And, so what if it is? There's nothing to be done about it except go
along with the program.

In my awake-state there's chemical and electrical activities in my brain
that immediately amps-up significantly making me instantaneously aware of
certain things, to wit: I slept at Rob's again last night, this is Monday
morning the first day of July and there's a Fourth of July holiday this
week, and happily there's nothing significant 'pending' in my life that I
need to panic about... and so I can feel calm. Things eventually worked out
okay last Saturday night at that gay club and we all got home safely, and
then Chubby had my back Sunday morning taking care of almost the entire
Sunday brunch himself, and I then after brunch I had the common sense to
sleep most of the day so I was in good shape when Robby picked me up for
dinner and this latest sleep-over. All those things occurred to me within
two-seconds of waking-up. Ha, how 'bout our fucking brains, huh? There's
nothing for me to worry about, so I mutter, "G'morning, Rob, how'd you
sleep, boss?"

Rob's standing naked next to the bed grinning at me while pulling the
covers down as my brain is flashing more information into my consciousness
about Rob's and my awesome lover's sex last night. Yes, that's still giving
me this warm feeling all over. And, wow, this is shaping-up as a very good
summer! Rob goes, "I had a fabulous night sleep, especially with you next
to me."  Nodding my head, I go, "Are you saying you knew I was sleeping
next to you while you were sleeping?" He pulls on my arm, saying, "That
question is too difficult to think about right now. C'mon, get up, we need
to get ready for work."

Uh huh, all of a sudden my alert state of mind lets me down as I realize a
downer: Oh fuck, I need a shower which means that God-awful hall bathroom
again. See, all consciousness isn't of a positive nature 'cause shit-storms
are part of reality too. Rob's dried cum is all over my ass and the back of
my legs from last night and I simply can't go to work with that! I was too
tired to care about it then, so now I again see the mistake of putting
things off. If I just forced a little gumption out of myself last night and
took a five-minute shower the dried-cum problem would be behind me instead
of in front of me. Balls to procrastination!

Letting Rob pull me up, I step off the warm bed and into the chill of the
air-conditioned bedroom, mumbling, "I need a shower." He goes, "You should
have join me in the shower last night. " I'm grumpy now, "Yeah, yeah, I
know." Fuck, I'm not as perky as I thought I was when I woke-up. Adjusting
my boxer shorts, I'm like, "Are you done with the bathroom?" Smirking, he
asks, "You mean the hall bathroom?" and I snort out a laugh, muttering, "Is
there another bathroom?" He goes, "You could use the bathroom off my
parent's bedroom." I go, "Not funny, Robby!"

He rubs my head, "Go ahead and take your shower while I decide what to wear
for work today. I'll be in to shave and whatever else in a few minutes."
Nodding my head, resigned to my fate, I get my toiletry kit and clean
underwear and then casually peek out the bedroom door. Hmmm, there's no one
in sight but I can hear faintly someone talking. It's impossible to tell if
the unintelligible talking is coming from the master bedroom or the kitchen
because one is directly over the other. Taking a chance that it's coming
from the kitchen I open the door and takes four large steps to the bathroom
door and then I'm safely inside. "Click," goes the lock on the door and
then I realize Rob will be coming in, so, "Click," goes the lock when I
unlock it. Fuck!

After getting the shower running I sit on the toilet and take a good piss
but there's nothing in way of number-two happening, not that I expected
that there would be. I mostly need to be home for that. In the shower, I
admit this fucking hall bath at least has a very good shower even though it
is in a bathtub. The water pressure is awesome and so is the extra shower
head; a handheld one. I like Rob's bath gel too: Dove MEN +CARE, plus the
same brand shampoo. I'll probably buy both the next time I need bath gel
and shampoo. Ha, I'd bet the ranch, if I had one, that Rob's Mom bought
these toiletry items for him. He's babied like that by his Mom. I'll
probably be in-charge ofbabying him with stuff like buying bath gel and
shampoo and every-other-fucking-thing when we're married. No problem
though. Actually, I've never felt more positive about Rob and I eventually
getting married. I've felt like this way for the past month-or-so.

While drying myself Rob comes in, saying with a grin, "I half expected the
door to be locked." I go, "Don't be absurd, why would I lock the door?" He
chuckles, "I heard the lock 'click' twice." I snort out another laugh,
muttering, "I'm busted."

Standing next to each other at the sink we brush our teeth. Done with that
Rob wets his face and then spreads shaving cream. He passes me the can of
shaving cream without saying anything. Glancing at the short blond whiskers
on my chin and the sparse ones on my upper lip I decide that they are not
cool-looking at all! I'm happy to shave them and restore my baby-face that
so many people have commented on over the years. Staring at myself, and
then glancing at Rob's reflection in the mirror I think for the fiftieth
time that I much prefer his 'looks' over mine. While spreading shaving
cream on just those two areas, my upper lip and my chin, I say, "Okay, I'm
admitting before I even ask that it's gonna be a creepy question, Rob, but
I'm seriously interested in your answer. Um, do people tell you how
good-looking you are all the time?" He goes, "No! I'm usually with you so
people don't notice me; they're too busy being astonished at how beautiful
you are." I go, "I'm fucking serious, Rob!" He washes off remnants of
shaving cream and, grabbing a towel, he mutters, "So am I, babe."

It takes me thirty-seconds to shave and, even though I'm less than
satisfied with Rob's cursory reply to my question, I realize that trying to
pursue a serious response from him could be misinterpreted as me fishing
for compliments, which he's all too willing to give. It's almost impossible
to self-evaluate your own 'looks' with any degree of accuracy anyway; me or
Rob. Yeah, I'm sure of that considering that a lot of men go
out-of-their-way to fuck themselves-up, making themselves look as goofy as
possible while thinking, 'This is a cool look'. Duh, no it isn't, dummy!
I'm referring to things like neck beards, shaved heads with a long beard,
tattooed faces or necks, and piercings that make one's skin crawl, plus
those other misguided fools who rock nineteen-eighties hairstyles and think
that's cool. It wasn't even cool in the eighties, asshole! Oh my, why do
things like that upset me?

Oh hell, I could go on and on with ways guys fuck-up their appearance but
Rob interrupts my musing, saying, "Bring your beautiful face to the bedroom
with you, Dylan, we need to get moving. It's getting late." Walking back to
the bedroom, I'm like, "Goddammit, Rob, using the word 'beautiful' demeans
me! Men are not beautiful and it pisses me off when you say it." He looks
at me, holding his arm out toward the bedroom door as an invitation for me
to go in before him, mumbling, "Well then I apologize, Dylan, I'll never
use that word again."

Going into the bedroom I decide to drop this subject entirely because I'm
losing ground with every comment I make. I think Bill Belichick's catch-all
phrase is appropriate, 'It is what it is'. That's a way of not saying
anything at all, actually. Putting on my socks I decide to move on as if
that conversation never even happened, by saying, "Wednesday is the Fourth
of July, Rob. Are your parents having a swimming pool cook-out again this
year?" He shakes his head, "No, not this year. The McGregers across the
street are doing the cook-out. They've invited neighborhood families. I'll
try to avoid that affair as much as possible. It'll be primarily older
married folks"

I've got a light blue dress shirt buttoned-up the front and I'm pulling on
the slacks of my blue suit, asking, "What'll you do on the 'fourth' if you
don't go to that cookout?" He looks at me grinning, "I'll go to whichever
cookout you go to." I chuckle, "Well, that's awesome! Mom's fiancé
is having a cook-out at his condo so that's where we'll be going." Rob's
buttoning his shirt, muttering, "Good to have that settled, huh?" He stops
and looks at my suit jacket, asking, "Where'd you get this suit, Dylan? It
must have cost a couple of thousand dollars. Maybe more. This designer is
famous." Oh shit. That's right! This is the suit Willie bought me two-years
ago. I don't think I've worm it since then until I started wearing suits
earlier to work this summer. No one noticed it before. I frown, "Oh, it was
given to me by my friend. Second hand, ya know?" He goes, "That Willie
what's-his-name guy?" I nod, "Yeah, a long time ago. C'mon, you said we're
late."

That was embarrassing, kinda. I hope no one else notices it's an expensive
suit. I wouldn't have noticed myself! I'm back thinking about the Fourth
and ya know, Rob's never had to give a shit about things like what to do on
the Fourth of July. As a last resort, he's always been able to hook-up with
whatever his family decides. And in earlier years he actually wanted to
attend those cookouts because neighborhood kids were there too, and when he
was older he could also skip out of his family cook-out to take a better
invitation from a teammate in high school. Not now though because we're out
of high school and the neighborhood kids are grown and don't do much family
cook-out stuff anymore. We've never done it, Chub and me. It's like our
Moms have always worked on holidays because they needed the time-and-a-half
pay, so Chub and I never knew what to do to celebrate the 'fourth', or any
holidays for that matter with both Moms jumping at the opportunity to work
on all the holidays. We managed though. Chubby always thought of something,
usually getting us in trouble, but it was fun just the same.

Combing his hair, Rob goes, "What do you think about me letting my hair
grow out?" I ask, "How long are you talking about?" He shrugs, "Not real
long. I was thinking I'd go with the basic hairstyle I had before meeting
you." I go, "Hey!" as he chuckles, adding, "I'm thinking of a professional
'look' for the business world. That's planning pretty far ahead I guess,
but.... I mean, next year at this time I'll be a member of the full-time
working-class-world... for real!"

I don't know, but somehow that seems insulting to me! I go, "No shit, and
so will I! Are you inferring this trendy haircut you've given Danny and me
is fine for us, but not for you?" He squeezes my chin with his thumb and
forefinger, going, "For now, yes, you cute thing you!" And then, more
casually, he adds, "It's summer, babe, and you look fucking awesome with
that haircut. Anyway, why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?" I
go, "I'm not! Just saying..." He goes, "Next summer is going to be a
totally different scenario for all of us," and he quickly adds, "As you
know as well as I do."

Putting a cool tie under the collar of my dress shirt collar, I'm thinking,
'Jeez, did I just think, 'cool tie? Ha, not too long ago 'cool tie'
wouldn't even enter my mind.' Tucking in the tails of his dress shirt, Rob
mutters, "I'm merely trying to think like a junior executive. I wanna try
different 'looks' over the next couple of months. But, please, please,
please don't make a big deal out of that because it's a very, very minor
detail for now... a tiny little detail. Okay?" Fuck tiny details!

Tying my tie, I go, "You don't realize when you're doing it, but you
definitely get condescending with me at times. I forgive you because you
don't know any better, but I'm just saying it's another tiny detail you
might want to work on." He goes, "That hurt my feelings, Dylan. If I act
condescending towards you, then you're right... I need to seriously work
hard at not doing that because I swear to God I don't feel there's anything
important in this world that I'm better at than you. Me being condensing to
you is very fucking unintentional on my part. I do not think I know it all!
Not about anything, quite the contrary! I've got nothing to be condensing
about." I mutter, "My mistake, Robert. Good answer, by the way! Jesus,
you've certainly got your shit together lately! I can't catch you in
anything, can I?" He laughs and says, "Let's concentrate on being a team
catching others doing, um, shit like being condescending." I nod, "Yeah, a
team, you and me. Watch out world!"

Pushing the knot tightly up against my neck so Robby can't find fault with
it this time. A tight tie-knot is only a temporary inconvenience anyway as
I'll be loosening it as soon as I get to work. So now we're both dressed
for work excepts for our suit coats; his nice suit coat and my
two-thousand-dollar one... ha ha! That damn Willie!  We're standing
together looking in the bureau's mirror, still fucking with our hair. I
don't have much hair to comb except the hair in front. The purple dye is
out of my bangs and they look better up and over to the side a little;
better than they did before Mrs. Parks instructed Hayden how to cut
them. Making sure the shorts hairs on top of my head are all combed forward
I can't see any way Rob will find a fucking thing to correct.

As we're putting on our suit jackets, he mumbles, "Let me fuss over you a
little bit, Dylan." I stand here rolling my eyes and keeping my smart-ass
thoughts to myself. Rob checks me out and smiles, "You are so fucking
perfect this morning!" And then he can't resist pulling my suit jacket a
little bit forward, saying, "The suit collar of your twenty-thousand-dollar
suit coat was sagging in back and not against the back of your shirt
collar." I grin, trying not to laugh at him, and he grins back, muttering,
"Brat." He kissing me, saying, "I love you! Let's get some breakfast."

Carrying my backpack by its straps and my clothes from yesterday in my
other hand with my toiletry kit under my arm, I follow Rob downstairs. In
the kitchen, we find his Mom cracking eggs into a frying pan, saying, "I
heard you boys coming downstairs so... in go the fried eggs. Is over-easy
okay this morning, boys?" I look at Rob hoping he'll say something like,
'Sounds great, Mom. Thanks!' but instead he ignores his Mom's question and
mumbles, "Did Dad leave for work already?" She goes, "Five minutes ago, but
oh my! You two handsome young gentlemen are looking good this morning!" Rob
sarcastically mutters, "Jesus, Mom, that doesn't make either of us feel
awkward at all!" She makes a 'face' and Rob asks, "What are we having with
the eggs?" He pours coffee and then looks up, asking me, "Don't you want to
run your clothes and stuff out to the pickup?" I'm like, "Oh, sure," and as
I go out the door, his Mom says, "To answer your question, I've fried some
breakfast link sausages to go with the eggs and there's English muffins in
the toaster. If you want I can..." but I don't hear the rest of what she
can do for her young Prince, 'if he wants', because the door closes behind
me. Jeez, a good breakfast every morning, and prepared for me no
less. That's awesome! Something totally new to me for sure!

After dropping my stuff in the pickup I'm back inside with the breakfast
progressing nicely, and without any additional awkward moments. After
eating quickly, with a kiss on the cheek and a quick 'Thanks, Mom," from
Rob, he goes, "Let's go, babe." I'm like, "Thank you very much,
Mrs. Dickers; the breakfast was great!" and we're out the back door on our
way to work. It's a very hot day and hotter still because of the suits
we're wearing but I'm getting used to that by now. Rob asks me for details
about the Fourth of July cook-out at my future step-father's condo, but I
don't know any details except to be there one o'clock on Wednesday. Mom is
staying with her boyfriend Tuesday night to help prepare the food Wednesday
morning. Any excuse will do to sleep over I suppose.

At the traffic circle in downtown Framingham, Rob goes, "Oh, before I
forget. Tomorrow night Danny and I want to watch the basketball games at
the Natick complex. Do you wanna come?" I shrug, and he goes, "We know guys
from our high school baseball team who formed a team and we wanna see how
good they are. Root them on and support them, ya know?" I go, "Tomorrow
night, huh?' That's my Tuesday night date with Marty West, so I go, "Jeez,
Robby, I've been at the Natick courts three-times already this summer so
I'll pass on tomorrow night. Give you a night without me hanging all over
you." He frowns, "You don't hang all over me although you're welcome to do
that if you want." And that's the end of that conversation.

Huh, I thought he'd try persuading me to go. I've actually been trying to
come up with an excuse to not hangout with our little gay group tomorrow
night. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes things have a way of working out
okay on their own. Probably for Danny and Rob too, now that I think about
it. I just gave them an open invitation for buddy-sex. That's unless Hayden
screws it up for them. In either case I'm okay with it. Rob and I have had
the best sex ever recently, plus I'm not the least bit worried about Danny
stealing Rob from me. For one thing Danny doesn't have any interest in
doing that, and for another thing he couldn't do it even if he did have an
interest, which he doesn't. Ha ha...

Rob drops me off at the normal spot in the back parking lot. We bump fists
and then, as he drives off, I decide to have a smoke before I start the
work-day. I mean, get real, it's forty-five minutes before the work-day
even begins. Rob likes to get an early start but I don't see the benefit of
that, certainly not in my position anyway. Also, it occurs to me that as
much as I enjoy almost everything about spending the night with Rob, there
are a couple of draw-backs. For one I need to eat lunch in the cafeteria
the next day, which is expensive. I also really do miss having dinner with
Chubby. Mostly though sleeping over has been good. I still can't say I'm
completely comfortable, but more so now than I used to be. The benefits
outweigh the negatives and I'll leave it at that for now.

At the closest picnic table I drop my backpack, take off my suit jacket and
lie it over my backpack, and then loosen my tie before lighting a
cigarette. A cigarette after coffee and a good breakfast like
Mrs. D. prepares makes for one of the best smokes of the day. When I'm
halfway through my nicotine 'fix' a small group of female employees come
out the back door for a smoke and while they're chattering up a storm they
drift over towards me. I'm unconsciously backing away as one of them, an
older lady with a hideous long ponytail of stark-white hair and buck-teeth,
says to me, "Are you seriously the expert from our health care provider?" I
go, 'Excuse me for mentioning this, Ms. Buck Teeth, but your white-hair
ponytail is offensive-looking but yet you're flaunting it in everyone's
face. No-one likes your horse-tail of white hair!'

No, I don't say that. I smile, saying, "No, I'm not an employee of the
health care provider. Dickers & Son hired me to simply be available to
explain and answer any questions relating to the new benefit package and
how it's improved over the previously one." She lights a long cigarette,
exhales like a man through her nose and mouth at the same time, asking,
"You're not still in high school, are you?"

My lip might have curled a little on its own, but before I can respond to
that insult her pudgy friend goes, "Grace, you're not funny, you're crude!
Why do you say things like that?" and then to me, "Ignore her, Dylan. My
friend from Accounting, Rachael Snyder, told me you're a very intelligent
and conscientious young man and you do a wonderful job of explaining the
new benefits." I force a smile, "Thank you. Well, I better get to work."
White-hair exhales a large expanse of smoke, saying, "I was just breaking
your balls, kiddo. I'm sure you're very good at your job." I can't think of
a response without the word 'cunt' being part of it, so I simply pick-up
all my stuff and nod my head walking slowly to the back door.

Does she think she's cool, do ya think? There are bully females too I
guess; not just male bullies. Women bullies are even more unfair when you
think about it. I mean what can you say or do as a come-back when it's a
female? Almost anything will get thrown back in your face as an
inappropriate thing to say, or do, to a woman? Best to take the high road
and let her think she's humorous and cool; cool as a big wet dog turd at
the edge of someone's lawn.

My morning goes like it usually does, which is to say; it's okay. It's the
repetitiveness of my job that I need to fight. I'm repeatedly reinforcing
the concept to myself that it may be the hundredth time I've gone through
this material, but it's the first time for each employee I interview. I
need to remember that.

Later, meeting Rob for lunch in the cafeteria I'm disappointed to see he's
with an older man wearing a dark suit with lots of dandruff on both
shoulders. That's where my eyes are drawn as I try not gagging while Rob
goes, "Dylan, meet Arnold Rothstein. He's a representative for Kramer
Industries. They provide our company with quality earth-moving equipment
rentals. Arnold, this is my good friend, Dylan Newman." We do a cursory
hand-shake; his hand is very moist. As I'm rubbing my hand on my pants he
nods at me, mumbling, "My pleasure," and then turns his back to me, saying
to Rob, "There's nothing I can do about it. As I've told you, we need two
machines from the generator set; the pumps and pipe layers. You guys
fucked-up by not renewing the leases on time."

Pushing our trays down the cafeteria line, Rob's like, "I know you don't
think the leases were renewed, and I'm not blaming you, but our records
show the renewal papers were sent ten-days ago." Arnold says, "I called my
girl from my motel this morning and she doesn't have that paperwork, Rob."
There's an odd smell coming off Arnold. And what'd he just say? He made a
phone-call to 'his girl'? What century is he working in? Arnold not only
has ruined this lunch for me with his dandruff shoulders and off-putting
odor, but he may have ruined a week's worth of lunches unless I can get his
personage out of my head. I know this was a last-minute working-lunch for
Rob or he would have warned me off. Now he glances back at me with a pained
expression on his face, like, 'Sorry, Dylan!'

Hmmm, I need to eat so I force my mind to think of something pleasant, like
a beautiful beach with a half-dozen cute eighteen-year-old naked boys
grinning their cute grins. With that in mind I think maybe I'll try today's
hot-meal special. It's a hot turkey sandwich made with hand-carved turkey
and includes 'real' mashed potatoes, gravy, gray green-beans and coleslaw
for $9.99.  I added the word 'gray' to the string-beans because I just
spotted then in the steaming tray and they haven't been green since an hour
before going into a can sometime earlier this century, or the last
one. Arnold and Rob get packaged ham-and-cheese sandwiches and bags of
potato chips. Arnold has black coffee to go with his sandwich and Rob gets
a fountain Coke. I never understood coffee with lunch.

Eating our lunch at a table for four, Rob and Arnold struggle to be civil
as they go back and forth about a missing lease while I'm realizing the
hand-carved turkey, while it may have been hand-carved, was not carved from
a turkey. It was carved from a formed 'log' of processed turkey consisting
of different parts of that bird squeezed together with a binder of some
kind, and quite a bit of the mysterious binder too. The texture is not like
carved breast meat from a turkey like you might have on Thanksgiving; not
even close. Also, not to be negative, but the so-called 'real' mashed
potatoes are actually 'real' dried or dehydrated potatoes often called
'instant mashed potatoes'. They're kinda like 'real' mashed potatoes except
not exactly. Same for the canned turkey gravy; it's sort of like turkey
gravy but not really. Most cafeteria foods suck!

I eat very little and then, covering most of my uneaten lunch with a paper
napkin, as if the napkin just casually fell like that, I excuse myself
after ten-minute. Rob's giving me another pained-apologetic 'look' so I try
smiling nicely and then make a face at Rob, one that Arnold can't see
trying to convey to Rob my sympathies about his lunch getting fucked-up by
Arnold. Rob, the poor guy, already has to deal with that Arnold person and
he doesn't need to worry about me.

When dumping my lunch in the trash I'm picturing in my head a
ten-dollar-bill being dumped in there. I might as well have walked right to
the trash bin and thrown a crumbled-up ten-dollar-bill in there. I save my
Coke though, setting it down at the vending machines, I can get two
six-ounce bags of Lays potato chips for a dollar-fifty each; no, that's not
a rip-off at all! Taking the chips and my Coke I go to my 'office' to eat
and drink my 'lunch' in private. The only thing I've found sort of okay in
the cafeteria so far is the over-priced burgers so I'll stick with burgers
when I need to buy my lunch at work.

Done my first bag of chips I get a cellphone call. It's Marty West checking
that we're still on for a dinner date at the Beef & Ale House tomorrow
night. He didn't say, 'Dinner and sex date' but that's what he intends and
I'm like ninety-percent sure I'll be okay with that too. Variety is the
only thing missing this summer for me... sex-wise I mean. That and real
dominant sex. The sex this summer for me has been awesome but confined
almost exclusively to Rob and occasionally, very occasionally, Danny. As
for Hayden, he and I did it so long ago I can't remember when it
was. Dodger was awesome the three-or-four-times we had sex but he's in
California now and except for toilet sex at the gay club with Tomas, that's
been the totality of my side-or-buddy-sex this entire summer. It's variety
I'm mostly missing this summer and variety used to be a main part of my
side-sex.

Anyway, that's where I hope Marty comes in. We confirm he'll pick me up at
my place at six-thirty sharp. He wants to make it an early night because he
needs to drive into Boston early on the 'fourth' to buy lobsters, which are
part of the Fourth of July cookout he's attending. Fancy cookout! He says,
"Oh, before I let you go, Dylan, is there any word from your, um, friend
about when he might give me that cool haircut?" Oh jeez, I forgot about
that. I say, "Oh yeah, um, let me get back to you, Marty. It'll probably be
some time sometime this week if that's okay." He mumbles, "Yeah, that'd be
great except is there any way he could do it tonight or tomorrow night so
I'm rocking that hairdo on the Fourth?" I go, "Um, no, I don't think
so. I'll ask him though and tell you tonight." Huh, Marty had a fresh buzz
cut the first time I saw him, which was like six weeks ago, so I suppose he
really does need a haircut. Damn though, I'd really like to cut it for him
myself except Rob's taken over as the home-haircut-king around here I
guess.



After lunch, I'm during an interview with an anorexic woman from the
Computer Department when I get a cellphone call from Rob. I politely say to
the young women interviewee, "Please excuse me for just a few seconds."
Taking the call, I find it's Rob apologizing for having Arnold with him at
lunch, and as I thought, it was unavoidable situation. A last second thing:
Rob was leaving his office to meet me and his boss catches him in the
corridor asking him to take this guy Arnold to lunch and straighten out an
equipment lease problem. He handed Rob the folder, so Rob goes back to his
office to read it and then two minutes later Arnold showed up. I reassure
him three-times it's alright and that I totally understand shit happens. Ya
know, Rob actually has an unpleasant job at times. I recall him telling me
that problems are directed to him that Management prefers not to deal with,
like maybe it's beneath them but still must be dealt with. It's Rob's job
to frustrate and wear-out the trouble-maker, or better yet straighten-out
the problem.

After Rob's call, I get through the afternoon interviews without a single
complication. Later I'm smoking a cigarette waiting for Rob after work in
the back parking lot. I'm thinking through tomorrow night's date with Marty
and, as often happens, I'm second-guessing myself. Why am I even going out
with him? Oh, yeah, 'sexual variety'. And what the hell, Marty's basically
a good guy and I did 'stiff' him a little bit on our first date by not
coming across with sex. He was nice about it though and also kind of
interesting during that date. Yeah, ironically it was at the basketball
courts where Rob will be tomorrow night.

Interestingly I noticed some hints during our sexless date that Marty just
might have a hidden sort of dominance underneath his polite exterior. Most
of the time he's borderline over-accommodating to me, but there have been a
few instances, particularly during our short make-out that night, that I
detected his propensity to take-charge and lead in sexual matters. I'm
assuming from that he's likely the dominant type and the one who runs
things sexually. Hell, he may even be a true 'dominant' as opposed to the
kinda-sweet-shadow-dominance that I get from Danny during sex. I'm sure
Danny's is more a routine procedure, the way he always does foreplay with
everyone. He doesn't think of it as being dominant though; I'm almost
positive of that. And then there's the fact that Seth and Marty were
boyfriends for a while, which I find additionally intriguing about Marty.

Just recently I was thinking about the general topic of
dominant-sex-partners and decided that me experiencing a heavy dominant
sexual relationship like I've experienced in the past is highly unlikely to
ever happen again. Well, in the first place I'm not currently involved with
a for-real dominant side-sex partner. Ryan was the last one, and I stupidly
kinda sent him packing. Yeah, and I'm partially to blame for the lack of
any kind of really dominant sex-partner of late; meaning the last fucking
year or even longer! It's partially because I don't put up with as much
shit as I used to, which is counterproductive. Even though I'm sure I'd
find it awesomely spectacular being truly submissive to a very dominant
sex-partner I've developed a tighter range of when I consider someone
taking their dominant behavior too far. Ya see though, I really can't be
the one determining what's 'too far'. Not if I truly want to experience a
deep submissive trance during sex.

The concept of being dominated during sex still rings all my bells although
not for any kind of long-range relationship. Once or twice would be good
but then I need to loosen-up and be willing to give in more, you know, the
way I used to if I expect it to work. I need to give a dominant partner
leeway to do his thing, that's if I want the whole old-time sub/dom
experience. Tomas, at the gay club, was dominant but in much the same way
Danny and Rob are dominant, which is to say he had a considerate and sort
of sweet manner about his dominance. Not at all like the dominance I
experienced from the likes of 'early' Willie, or the boys in New York City,
or Ray Reeve or Ryan; unfortunately, they're all in the past for one reason
or another. Anyway, that's all 'in the past' was my conclusion the last
time I gave this topic some thought and it's my conclusion now too. The
hope Marty has what it takes to replicate any of those other guys is
ridiculous. Him being a true-dominant would be totally out of character
from what I expect Marty to be like. I've thought some about it but
ultimately reject reading anything into Marty's and my first meeting in the
Men's Room when he basically showed me his big dick. He's shown an
exemplary pleasant, polite, and even charming demeanor since then.

Tired of speculating and reminiscing about true sub/dom sex, I look over
where Rob will be coming for me and, not surprisingly, here he comes in his
pickup right on time. Stepping on my cigarette butt, I get in the truck and
he goes, "Hi, babe!' and we bump fists. He says, "First thing we need to
do, Dylan, is stop at the tailors to get the pants for your tan khaki
suit. Remember, I dropped the pants off there last week?" I go, "Yeah, but
you mean your tan khaki Brooks Brothers suit." He grins, "It isn't mine
anymore. It's yours now. It doesn't fit me so you've got a hand-me-down
suit from your current boyfriend as well as one from your old boyfriend." I
don't care for the 'old boyfriend reference, and it wasn't a hand-me-down
suit like I told him, but decide to laugh it off and ignore it, saying,
"Instead of you handing it down to Dodger like when you guys were growing
up, you hand-it-down to your boyfriend." Rob says, "Fuck, babe, that was my
parents who did the handing-down to Dodger and nowadays he would be handing
his stuff down to me since he's taller than both of us."

The 'tailor' Rob's referring to works at the same dry cleaners Danny works
part-time at, although we know Danny's not working today. The store isn't
far from work as its located on Rob's side of town, which makes sense for
him. I take my stuff to a dry cleaners closer to my house but Rob claimed
the tailor at his place is excellent. He double-parks across from the dry
cleaners thereby blocking a lane of traffic, and not seeming to
care. Taking his time, he hands me the receipt for the pants plus a
twenty-dollar bill which I give back to him, saying, "Like you said,
they're my pants now, Robby. Why should you pay." He shrugs and takes back
his twenty. Rob hasn't been nearly as tight with a buck since Dodger gave
him the thousand-dollars. I get out and run across the four-lane main
street dodging oncoming cars.

With the pants in a plastic-cover I take my life in my hands running back
across the street noticing that drivers, when finally able to drive around
Rob's doubled-parked pickup, are cursing and red faced. When I safely get
in the pickup Rob grins, saying, "I think I've pissed off some people by
blocking this lane... heh heh. They're blowing their horns at me." No shit!
He's lucky no one has fired a gun at him yet, but he doesn't seem to care
about it. I can't believe it doesn't bother him! Jesus, I'd be a
nervous-fucking-wreck sitting in an idling car blocking a lane of traffic.
Rob doesn't immediately pull away either. He asks, "Did you try the pants
on?" I go, "No! I hurried because you're blocking traffic!" He mumbles,
"Fuck 'em," and then he pulls into traffic cutting someone off as he says,
"Yeah well, there really wasn't any need for you to try the pants on
anyway, now that I think about it. The tailor just took in the baggy
legs. Funny how styles change, huh?" I go, "Uh huh," as I look past Rob at
a driver in a van is giving us the finger and mouthing 'asshole' as he
passes by.

During the rest of the ride home Rob continues in his very good mood
telling me how he was able to produce a receipt for the lease-extension and
thereby leaving Arnold standing there with his dick in his hand and nothing
else to say. It was signed by dandruff-shoulder's so-called 'girl' thereby
sending Arnold off to find the equipment he needs someplace other than
Dickers & Son. And then he's like, "Dylan, don't say 'no' but think about
staying with me again tonight." I go, "What? Your parents will have a fit!
I just had Sunday dinner and spent the night at you house." He smiles. "You
know my parents like when you stay over, babe. C'mon, say you'll stay with
me tonight too." I was thinking earlier it's been over three-weeks since I
took the bus to work and I kinda miss teasing my bus buddy, Ryan. Yeah but
what would I rather do? Tease Ryan or sleep with Rob? Hmmm? Robby says,
"When you stay with me overnight everything goes better for me at
home... and at work. I'm in such a good mood after sleeping with you it
makes things at work that normally are headaches seem trivial. And when you
sleep alone at home, like you said before, you still don't even get to see
your Mom."

Approaching the condo, I go, "Okay, Rob, um, thanks for asking me to stay
another night and of course I'd like to, but first you need to promise
you'll mention it to your parents. I need to be positive it's alright with
them." He goes, "I will. I promise!" God, he makes me feel so special. I
ask, "If they say okay, should I bring my clothes and stuff for work to
baseball practice tonight?" He goes, "Absolutely!" Damn, I really do like
staying with him.

Looking over at Robby's handsomely cute face and his hot body I get the
warmest feeling! Sure he's HOT, but I mean I get the warmest feeling from
how much he likes and loves me. That's hard to resist! Rob goes, "I'll be
back to pick you up at six-thirty for baseball practice. Bring whatever
you'll need for work Tuesday, okay, babe?" Nodding, I go, "Yes, but don't
forget to check with your parents." I'm thinking that Danny drove me
everywhere when Rob was recuperating from the operation, and now Rob's
driving me everywhere and how lucky I am to have friends who graciously are
willing to do that.

Rob parks at the curb below the condos and then looks at me smiling, as he
says, "Thanks for saying 'yes', Dylan. I don't think you know how much it
means to me that you trust me enough to stay with me knowing I'll make
certain everything will be comfortable for you." Oh God, I think he's so
awesome! I quietly say, "Of course I trust you, Rob, but you know it's
never totally comfortable for me. That's mostly my fault though and not any
of your family's fault. I'll get better at this." He smiles at me and rubs
my shoulder, murmuring, "I know," and I go, "I just don't want to be a
nuisance to your parents." He laughs and says, "Trust me, you're not a
nuisance to anybody!" I mumble thanks as this awesome feeling comes over
me... Rob's so, I don't know, so together, such a perfect boyfriend. He's
the perfect partner to have because he actually can take care of
anything. Rob pushes my head affectionately saying, "Awesome, that's
settled then!" and I nod, saying, "Don't forget, check with you parents
just to be sure. Um, I'll be here at the curb waiting, and thank you,
Rob. Seriously, thank you for driving me all over the place too. I really
appreciate it!"  He says, "Well, you couldn't be more welcome, Dylan. I
like doing it for you." We grin at each other and then I lean over for a
quick kiss on his lips, saying again, "Thank you again, and I love you!"

As I'm getting out of the pickup, Rob goes, "So, we're going to your Mom's
boyfriends for the Fourth, right?" Standing next to the pickup with the
passenger's door open, I go, "Yes, I'll try to get some details about
that. And I wanna say, um, Rob, I feel guilty about you driving me to and
from work. Anyway, I actually want to take the bus Thursday and Friday
mornings." He says, "You must know I don't mind driving you... I just told
you I love doing it!!" I nod, "Yes, you're extremely generous like that,
but..." He says, "Oh, and you won't be taking the bus both days! No way,
babe. You're staying with me at least one more night this week."
Hesitating, because I'd like to do that although I really don't want to
intrude on the Dickers for a third night this week. All I do finally is
shrug, mumbling, "Um, certainly not Wednesday night, that would be
three-nights in a row, Rob!" He goes, "Thursday night then."

Man oh man, he's persistent and I'd like to climb right back into the
pickup and make-out with him forever. He gives my dick constant quivers of
pleasure. I'm like, "Are you positive that would be alright with your
parents?" He points at me, "How many times are you going to ask me that?
Will you stop with the parents' concerns already! Jeez! But yeah, Thursday
night, that's a date, boyfriend. Saturday night we're going into Boston for
that dinner-date I promised you too, so don't forget that. Let's
see... tonight and Thursday night, at the very least, you'll be with me,
right?" He's irresistible!

Closing the passenger's door, I grin, "Yeah, I guess. Oh hell, Rob,
actually I love the idea of doing that... you're too good to me though." He
says, "I love you, Dylan Newman," and he takes advantage of a break in the
traffic to pull out into the flow without pissing anybody off for once. I
wave in case he's looking in the rearview mirror and then with a sigh hit
the crossing-street button on the traffic light and wait for the 'walk'
sign before crossing the street and then climbing the steps and letting
myself into the silent condo.

I decide I'll take a shower after baseball practice tonight so all I need
to do now is put some of my clothes from yesterday in the hamper and hang
up the rest. Taking the suit jacket for the khaki suit from the closet, I
hang it with the altered suit-pants. I'm definitely gonna be wearing that
cool suit to work tomorrow! After matching the suit with another light blue
dress shirt that is recently back from the cleaners, I hang a tie over the
pants on a hanger and then quickly change out of my work clothes into
shorts and a T-shirt, which is basically my uniform for the
summer. Uniform? Hmmm yeah, if drunken J.J. was right about his uncle
saying I've made the team, I'll be getting a game uniform at Friday's
practice. No practice Wednesday obviously. Gee, it'll be my first
team-uniform at the advanced age of twenty-one. Ha ha! Well a team-uniform
is something new to me while guys like Danny and Rob have had probably
fifteen different sports' uniforms from little league, summer leagues,
middle and high school, and now college, so it's probably no big deal to
them.

Of immediate concern, however is dinner for Chubby and me tonight. He took
care of brunch Sunday so I wanna do a good dinner for him tonight. Then I
stop and sit on the bed reveling in how Robby seemingly wants me with him
all the time. I can't explain how good that makes me feel; how good he
makes me feel. There's been this change in Rob, and Chubby noticed it too,
where Rob's seemingly relaxed and very comfortable in his own skin. I know
what that idiom means but it sounds weird... his own skin. Who else's skin
would he feel comfortable in? Maybe mine... ha ha.

Picturing Robby in my head makes me squeeze my dick wishing he were here
with me on this bed right now. Rob, he's my 'man'. That's a dumb phrase,
but he is my 'man'. Shaking my head and getting off the bed, I guess I
should call to make sure Chub will even be home for dinner. I call and
while listening to his cellphone ringing I'm holding my breath hoping he
has his phone with him today, and then I hear, "Dylan! My best and most
beloved human on planet earth!" Damn, I can never match Chub's enthusiasm
so I don't try because it would should phony. Instead I say, "You always
make me feel special, Chub. You have a way of seeming excited to hear from
me. I'm just as excited to hear your voice too, but I can't...." He goes,
"I know that, Dylan. Just hearing your voice makes me smile." I go, "Gee,
thanks. Chub, um, are you gonna be home for dinner tonight? I want to
prepare it if you are." He says, "I'll be leaving work for home in fifteen
minutes, bro. What are we having?" Chubby starts work at the Insurance
Agency a half-hour later than I start work so he always gets home later
than me. I go, "I'm not sure what we're having but come down to my place
whenever you're ready." He goes, "Hey, how about that haircut you said
you'd get Robby to do for me?" Fuck! I forgot to ask Robby about Chubby's
haircut too. First Marty's and now Chub's. I wonder if that means anything?
I say, "I'll call Rob when he gets home. See ya soon, Chub."

We 'hang up', which is an old phrase for when people used to have
land-lines and they actually did hang-up the piece of the phone they talked
into. I wonder what that was called? You can see those old phones in the
movies and at your Grandmother's house. Smoking a cigarette on the balcony
I wait ten-minutes to give Robby a chance to get home before I call to ask
about Chub's haircut. When I call and ask, he goes, "Sure! Ask Jeff to meet
us tonight after practice at the pool house. And, guess what came in the
mail today?" I go, "What?" and he goes, "Just in time. It's an Andis-brand
Masters barber clippers, which is the top pick of professional barbers who
do a lot of fade haircuts. I ordered it online after doing yours and
Danny's haircuts." I go, "What about my clippers?" He says, "They're very
useful for taking off the bulk of hair, but then the lighter Andis clippers
make for much easier blending, which is called fading, by the way, plus
they have a lever to adjust from zero to number one." He's getting awfully
knowledgeable! I mutter, "That's cool, Rob, and I already knew it's called
a 'fade' haircut." He says, "Yes, and the latest style of the 'fade' is
called and 'under-cut'." What that? I mumble, "Oh yeah, um, I'll see you
six-thirty at the curb."

Huh! Robby's really taking off with his barbering. Under-cut? Fuck it, if
I'm not careful he'll leave me in the dust and I'll be an
out-of-date-barber like so many barbers already are in North
Andover. That's if I can go by the haircuts I see around campus on my
fellow Merrimack students the last three years. I'm not as familiar with
Framingham barbers but I assume they're much like the North Andover ones. I
mean, I've seen guys in the neighborhood with what I call 'Supercuts
regular haircuts' for the past ten-years. Barbers get complacent and
out-of-date as far as the latest hair styles boys and young men
want. Actually, the local barbers probably don't give a shit about it being
aware that a large percentage of boys and young men don't give a shit about
it either. It's all about the cool guys, the ones who do give a shit
though. I'd guess seventy-to-eighty percent of guys just get nondescript
haircuts at a local barber. Haircuts that are mostly boring: not too long
with a part on the left side and usually squared-off at the neck in
back. That leaves maybe twenty-to-twenty-five percent who get different
haircuts like buzz cuts or extra short haircuts and now this latest
style. Hey, be boring, see if I care!

I'm sure Robby doesn't think that deeply about haircutting, certainly not
to the extend I do, and frankly I never anticipated him taking to
haircutting like he has. He certainly wasn't interested in it at all back
in freshman year when he, me, and Ryan tried giving each other
haircuts. That didn't turn-out so good due to lack of interest on Rob's
part mostly. The hell with haircuts though, I need to think about dinner
tonight.

Looking in the freezer I right away see two double-thick pork
chops... bingo! Okay they'll be good defrosted and grilled over high heat
to keep them tender and juicy. In the vegetable drawer, there's fresh
Romaine lettuce so I'll have a Caesar salad and there are always potatoes
in the pantry. I'll start right now making scalloped potatoes. That's takes
a lot of extra trouble but I want a really nice dinner for Chub
tonight. Hey, next time I'm at the store I'm getting lamb chops! After that
leg of lamb dinner at the Dickers I'm finally going to give lamb chops a
try.

Caesar salad is simply crisp Romaine lettuce cut-up with Ken's Caesar salad
dressing, croutons, that I'll make myself, and grated parmesan cheese. The
pork chops defrost in the defrost cycle of the microwave, so they're no
problem, but on second thought scallop potatoes take more time than I have
tonight what with Rob picking me up at six-thirty. Okay, I microwave the
potatoes and cut them into cubes to fry with onion and diced green peppers.

I'm done the potatoes thinking, 'What's next?' when Chubby uses his key to
let himself in. We do a quick hug and I feel his hair is still damp after
his shower. Glancing at his hair I get a twinge in my gut thinking most of
his hair will be cut off by Rob tonight. Fuck! Me not being Chubby's barber
I push outta my mind and start flipping the potatoes so they get crisp on
all sides. I tell Chub he needs to meet Rob and me at the pool house around
seven-thirty for his haircut. He rubs my head, saying, "I'm stupidly
excited about getting this cool haircut you have, Dylan. If I wait much
longer I'll be the last one on the block to rock that cut." We go out to
the balcony to put the defrosted pork chops on the six-hundred-degree
grill. I had all three burners going full-force for ten-minutes and the
grille is as hot as it gets.

I'm like, "You've never been a 'follower' Chub, so why are you so hot to
get this haircut?" He goes, "Because you have it obviously," and I go,
"That's not it. I've had insane haircuts before that you didn't copy." He
goes, "Yeah, I know, but this particular one really is cool, plus Jay James
came to work this morning saying he had an appointment at Misarios' Barber
Salon in town for a haircut and he mentioned seeing professional guys in
sports with a new cool hairdo. I do not want that bird-dog getting this
style first or it'll look like I'm copying him, instead of you."

Shaking my head, I'm amazed how this hairstyle is catching on. Ryan was
ahead of his time without knowing it. And all the stink I put out to him
about his barbering last summer! Fuck, and a year later the fad is
spreading. I'm not saying that Ryan's, or Rob's for that matter, is totally
like the fad. That reminds me. "Um, Chub, my haircut is only a take-off on
the latest fade haircut; the authentic fade haircuts have much longer hair
on top, plus Rob's got new clippers to do it shorter on the sides and
back." Chub says, "Good, but ya better turn over those chops, bro, and yeah
I know about the longer hair on top. I'm telling Rob not to cut any hair
off the top of my fucking head. I'm with ya there, bro!"

Turning the chops over, I go, "Two minutes on this side will do it, Chub."
We eat at the kitchen bar with me glancing at Chub's hair and picturing a
fade haircut on him. Jeez, as if he needs to be any cooler-looking than he
already is. I'm really jealous about him having someone else cut his hair
too! I can't say anything though because if I tried to do the haircut he
wants I'd fuck it up. Dammit! And, omigod, I hope Rob doesn't screw-up
Chub's hair! Jeez, where'd that negative thought come from? Maybe I'm
thinking Rob's never used those new clippers he just told me about. There's
always something for me to worry about in this world!

Chub goes, "Wow, Dylan, this is one scrumptious dinner! Thanks, brother."
We're both chewing-off the last of the tender meat from the bones, which is
something you can do in your own home that you probably shouldn't do at a
restaurant. I mutter, "Thanks, Chub. It did turn out pretty good." We
clean-up the kitchen and then wash our face and hands which got a little
greasy from chewing on the bones like a couple of dogs. On his way out Chub
tells me he'll see Rob and me around seven-thirty. Of course, that could be
eight-thirty just as easily with Chubby.

Dinner with my brother always makes me feel reassured that everything is
okay with my world. That's kinda crazy because we didn't talk about
anything especially important. I guess it's the fact we didn't need to
discuss anything important that gives me a 'safe' feeling. Everything with
us is fine! After dinner Chub left pretty much right away because he has
something he needs to do and I have just enough time to brush my teeth,
throw underwear and socks in a satchel for tomorrow, grab the khaki suit
and the shirt and tie on hangers. What else do I need? Oh, my loafers
and...? Oh to hell with it, I'll use Rob's stuff for whatever I've
forgotten. I put on the baseball cap Danny gave me, grab my baseball glove
and batting gloves, and somehow carry everything down to the curb. I get
there just as Rob's pulling up. Whew!

He has his usual smile for me making me smile back and say, "Thanks for
picking me up, Rob. Did you check with your parents about me staying over
again?" He nods, "Yes, I did although I knew it wasn't necessary. My Mom
was like, 'You don't need to ask. Dylan can stay any time, Robert.''" He
gets out to help me with all my stuff. We get things settled in the
pickup's backseat and he excitedly says, "Hey, I'll bet today's the day you
make the team," and as Rob drives us away I tell him what J.J. told me at
the gay club. Rob looks excited, "Really? But wasn't J.J. roaring drunk?" I
shrug, "Yeah, but he sounded serious when telling me about his uncle, Coach
Benintendi. He made me promise not to say anything to anyone about it." Rob
smirks, "And you didn't until just now." I snicker, "Yeah, don't tell him I
told you, ha ha. Actually, Rob, I'm thinking what he said is true though;
anyway I'm hoping!" We bump fist and then I'm thinking, 'What the hell am I
so happy about? I've already used up all my baseball miracles.'

At the high school Rob parks and changes into his baseball cleats. Huh,
I'll need to buy a pair of those too! Oh hell, I guess I am excited about
being on the team... I might as well admit it. Walking from the parking lot
we see Danny and Hayden talking with three other players. Well I should say
Danny's talking and the others are listening and then they all break-out
laughing. Hayden sees us and touches Danny's arm. He looks over and then
bumps fist with the other three guys and both he and Hayden jog over to
us. As usual Hayden and Danny exchange little hugs with us, saying the
usual rhetorical "Wassup?" Danny adding, "You missed a helluva good time
Saturday night, Rob. Right Dylan?" I mumble, "Yeah, it was a
blast-and-a-half," saying it without a lot of enthusiasm.

There's some general discussion about Saturday night and then Rob goes,
"Well, you guys owe Dylan some money for the ride home, right? Saturday
night's taxi ride home." Danny goes, "Oh fuck, yeah," and to me, "I meant
to give you the money Sunday morning except I was still fucked-up and
forgot. Why didn't you say something?" and he takes twenty-five dollars
from his pocket, a twenty-and-five-dollar-bills. He had it right in his
pocket for this explicit reason. I mutter, "Thanks," as Hayden's frowning
and saying, "Wait a minute. That's too much. There were four of us dividing
up the seventy-five dollars!" Danny grins at him and then pulls the brim of
Hayden's baseball cap down to his eyebrows, saying, "That was to get us to
Framingham and then the meter went on. Right, Dylan?" I nod and shrug, not
intending to press the matter. The taxi was my idea, not there's. Hayden
looks at me, muttering, "You could have driven, Dylan, and saved all of us
the money," but he takes three-ten-dollar-bills from his pocket, "Let me
have the 'five' from what Danny just gave you." I give it to him, saying,
"Here ya go, cheapie," with Hayden muttering, "Cheapie my ass, and where's
that little fucker J.J.? He needs to pay too." Looks like Hayden's taking
over the cheapskate role previously owned by my boyfriend.

Whistles start blowing and as I mutter, "Thanks for chipping-in guys," we
start running to our groups where attendance is taken. Looking around I
spot J.J., who looks over at me smirking and silently mouthing, 'Keep your
yap shut about Saturday night, Newman.' What a piece of work he is! And
nothing even happened between us! I give him the finger and incongruously
he smiles and does a little chuckle. Coach Benintendi's boisterous voice
brings the groups together, coaches, pitchers, relievers, infielders,
outfielders and utility players.

When all us players and coaches are in a semi-circle around Coach
Benintendi, he goes, "No practice Wednesday obviously and then this year's
uniforms are gonna be assigned Friday. I don't wanna hear any shit like I
heard last year about you wanting a special number. Take the uniform that
fits you. The coaches guessed between small, medium, or large for all of
you so whatever the number on it is... that's your number, period!" After
some grumbling, he goes, "Quiet down! There's a logo for Standard Oil on
the left sleeve since they're our sponsor this year and we're grateful to
them." I'm wondering if our names will be on the back. That'd be cool
although I'm trying to look blasé like most of the guys.

He turns and tells the potbelly coach, "Coach Felton, if you'd be so kind
as to show the team this year's uniform." Coach Felton takes a uniform from
a box and holds-up a top and pants. It's very cool-looking, similar to a
New York Yankees' uniform with thin black stripes top to bottom on an
off-white background. He goes, "As you can see there's 'STANDARD OIL
TIGERS' on the front with the small number of the player, and then a larger
player's number on the back along with your name." Oh yeah, our names on
the back! I pretend I couldn't care less as I'm smelling the back of my
wrist staring at the cool uniform. They must be kinda expensive.

Coach goes on, "Like I said, the coaches guessed your size. Let's
see. Yeah, this is a medium size for 'Swanson'". It has the number '7' so
that's your number, Swanson." That's a pretty cool number. I look over at a
nice-looking guy not too far from me who goes, "That's mine. Awesome!" and
the guy next to him, whispers, "Jesus Christ, Dale, don't be so
queer. That's about the tenth uniform you've had in your life." Swanson
goes, "You're the queer, Mark, and everyone knows it." Coach Benintendi
looks over but can't hear what they're saying. J.J., who is standing near
Swanson, gives me a frowning look for some reason. I shrug back at him.

Some final comments from Coach Benintendi about the game, our first game
which is on Saturday afternoon at one o'clock, and then he goes, "We've
still got Friday to practice after which you'll get your uniform." He's
done with what he apparently wanted to say as he abruptly turns and walks
away. There's silence for two-seconds and then our coach calls us over and
reads off the name of the guys who will start practice in the outfield, and
then he goes, "The rest of you take your regular infield position. Um,
except you, Monday. Bring your shadow and come over here for a minute."
Danny nods his head at me and I follow him at a trot. The Coach says,
"Monday, you did good getting Newman acclimated. Nice job, son, but Coach
Benintendi wants him on the team so you're no longer his coach, or whatever
it is you were. Um, Newman, get your ass over to Coach Wells with the other
utility players. And you, Monday, get your ass to second base." Jesus, all
of these coaches could use some generational sensitivity training, or
something. Their social skills are pathetic.

I run over to a short stubby man in his thirties who is talking to four
players, one of whom is J.J. When I run up to Coach, he goes, "Who are
you?" and J.J. says, "That's Newman, Coach." The coach takes a crumpled
paper from his back pocket and looks at it nodding his head muttering, "Oh
yeah, the big shot from Braintree." Looking at me, he asks, "You gonna be
reliable coming all the way from Braintree every day? Don't they have a
team there?" J.J. goes, "Coach, he was a star at Braintree High three years
ago. He lives in Framingham now." The Coach hits my chest with his
forefinger, asking me, "Are you such a big shot you've got Benintendi as
your spokesman, Newman?" I go, "No, Coach," and I glare at J.J. Coach says,
"Well, we're glad to have you on the bench with us. We're gonna take
batting practice first today so," and he looks at his crumbled piece of
paper, "Um, Morgan, you're in the cage first." Morgan, a tall thin kid with
a full beard, jogs to the bat rack as Coach turns to J.J., saying, "You
fill Newman in on what's what."

The skinny kid, Morgan, gets a bat as J.J. says to me, "Let's go, Newman,
follow me." Rolling my eyes, I follow him over near the bat rack. He goes,
"Coach obviously needs me to take you under my wing a little. It's
different being a utility player than a starter, obviously. We do
everything with the team at practice and pre-game but then game day we sit
on the bench and stay ready to get in the game at a moment's notice." As he
talks I'm watching the guy in the batting cage crunch the first two pitches
over the fence. J.J. say, "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you." Oh
brother!

Taking a deep breath, I look at him and he explains that our utility
players include a bullpen catcher, who is the guy batting now, and a backup
catcher who is on the bench with us." He points, "That guy, the one biting
his nails is the back-up catcher." The nail-biter looks more the normal
size for a catcher as he leans against the batting cage and tenaciously
bites his fingernails. Maybe he's as nervous as I am. J.J. says, "And then
you and I are backups for infield or outfield. That guy over there at the
batting cage, the one holding his hat, the blond guy with the grumpy look
on his face is Toby Cranston. He's the first outfield replacement. He
thinks he should be a starting outfielder so that's why the grumpy look. He
can't play the infield worth a shit, although he's also the back-up first
baseman. You're primarily the second-base backup while I'm shortstop and
third-base because I've got the arm strength to make the throws from there
and you don't." I'm like, "If that Toby guy's disgruntled and isn't a good
back-up first-baseman, why does Coach have him on the team" He goes,
"Because Cranston can hit the shit outta the ball, that's why. He's
primarily a pinch hitter." I go, "Oh." He says, "That tall kid in left
field is our regular first basemen. He's just fucking around in the
outfield now in the off chance two outfielders get hurt." Yeah, whatever...

He goes on to tell me things I already know about baseball and then puts a
finger in the neck of my T-shirt and pulling it to get my attention,
saying, "Another thing, and this isn't up for discussion, after practice
you're coming home with me so I can piss on your naked body in the bathtub
and then I'll fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Don't even try
pretending that doesn't interest the hell out of you." I laugh out
loud. Couldn't help it! It struck me as so funny. I go, "Dream on and, by
the way, you owe me twenty-five-bucks for the ride home Saturday
night. Hayden and Danny already paid me." Her goes, "Why'd you laugh just
then?" I go, "Because I'm not going with you after practice and you're not
pissing on me and you're not fucking me." He goes, "Jesus Christ! Keep your
voice down!" And then he adds, "I've only got like three-dollars on me,
so..." and Coach Wells yells, "J.J. you're on- deck." He gets called by his
nickname, I assume, so the head honcho, Coach Benintendi, doesn't look
around every time one of the coaches call for 'Benintendi'.

I walk over to the batting cage with J.J. as he whispers, "I'll get the
money to you. More importantly you and me are going to get together one of
these nights, Newman. You might as well resign yourself to that." I go,
"You can't pull that boast off J.J." and he says, "Yeah, I know, heh heh,
but in time I'm hoping you'll want to do it," and then he goes to the bat
rack. J.J. doesn't hit any long-balls, but according to the batting coach
behind the cage, he had three hits out of ten swings. He hit the ball hard
every time and some made it through holes in the infield or over an
infielder's head, but not real far. Still, three hits out of ten is a
300-batting-average... so what if he's a singles-hitter, 300 is a fucking
good batting average.

I've got my batting gloves on, another gift from Danny, and I'm holding the
bat Danny says is the right one for me to use. I'm ready for my turn, but
not really. My knees are a little shaky watching pitches from one of the
team's regular pitchers come firing in to home plate. I'm seriously trying
my balls off not to show my nervousness as the Coach bellows, "NEWMAN!" I
go, "Right here, Coach." He nods, "Oh, I didn't see you there. Hit a couple
over the fences so these guys know it ain't no big deal and maybe they'll
hit some themselves." Oh my God!

First pitch is a swing-and-miss by me, and I think, 'Oh no, please Dear God
let me keep my fucking eyes on the ball!' Next pitch I don't swing at, and
the third pitch I just want to make contact. Nothing special, a nice easy
level swing and I hear the aluminum bat go, "Ping!" with the coach
muttering, "Double down the left field line," and he writes something on a
sheet on his clipboard. I concentrate my balls off on the next pitch
wanting to do the easy swing again but with a better follow through this
time, and "PING!" the ball flies high and far just making it over the fence
in right field. Coach says, "Nice one, Newman." I'm ecstatic but my knees
are still shaky. That's the only homer I hit for the next eight-swings but
I get enough contact and another 'hit', according to the batting Coach.

Trying for casual I walk out of the batting cage carrying the bat on my
shoulder. When passing me the next batter smacks my hand, mumbling, "Good
hitting." I feel like I'm walking on air. I feel so wonderful I can hardly
catch my breath. Maybe I'm a natural! And then I let reality in again, and
think: Get a fucking grip, you lucky bastard you! Whoopee, though!
J.J. was watching but wasn't impressed. He brings me back down to earth,
muttering, "I expected you'd hit a couple more homers off these fucking
lollypop batting-practice pitches." I'm so pleased at the one homer I did
hit though I easily ignore J.J. The thing is, he still believes I'm that
fictitious star player from Braintree that Danny made-up.

Coach Well says, "Newman, c'mere a second." I trot over wondering, 'what
now?' He goes, "Hmmm, you're barely tall enough, but have you ever played
first base?" I shrug, "Not really." He goes, "I want you at first base for
like ten-minutes today. I need a dependable fielder at first. That fucking,
Cranston, um, well he's an outfielder primarily and a good hitter. You play
first-base for ten-minutes or so and then Cranston will take over for the
last ten-minutes. Nothing against him but let me see what you've got to
offer." Oh, that's just fucking great!

Swell, Coach Wells will be watching me the whole time. I'm sweating and
then I go, "Coach, I don't have a first basemen's glove," and he calls,
"Cranston, lend this guy your first basemen's mit." My heart sinks as
Cranston comes over and hands me his glove, saying nicely, "I hope you have
better luck with it than I do," and then he asks, "You want me to hold your
glove for you?" I nod, "Thanks," and hand it to him. He seems like a good
guy so I go, "Thanks, Toby." He starts to walk away, but stops and holds
out his hand, saying, "Toby Cranston, nice to meet you." I shake his hand
telling him my name, adding, "Nice to meet you too." He gives me a little
grin and then wanders a few yards away to watch and wait his turn to play
first base.

With Toby and the coach watching I catch everything within reason. Some of
the throws are wild, but Toby wouldn't have caught them either except maybe
he's catch the one that was over my head since he's two-or-three-inches
taller than me. After it seems like a couple of hours instead of
ten-minutes, Coach Wells says, "Okay, Newman, that's enough... um,
Cranston, you're at first base now." I give Toby his glove back and he
gives me mine as we both mutter, "Thanks," and then he pats my
shoulder. Coach tells me, "Your footwork around the bag stinks, Newman, but
then you've never played first-base before. I'll coach you up on that. Do
ten-minutes at first-base each practice. Benny wants an emergency
first-baseman and you're it." Unenthusiastically, I go, "Thanks, Coach." I
guess I feel okay about it. The Coach seems like an okay guy... I'm
assuming 'Benny' is Coach Benintendi.

Nothing especially horrible happens the remainder of practice for me at
second base or in the outfield and then practice is over. No miracles but
nothing humiliating happened either. We're walking to the cars with Rob
saying to Danny, "I've got a haircut to do now for Dylan's brother, but if
you and Hayden wanna stopover in forty-five-minutes-or-so we'll have a
couple of beers and hangout in the pool house." Danny says, "Yeah, okay, I
gotta run home for something anyway. We'll see you around eight o'clock,
but I wanna get home kinda early tonight." They bump fists. Hayden bumps my
arm, saying, "J.J. was just asking me where you got to?" I shrug, mumbling,
"I've had all of him I need tonight." He grins, "Ha ha, I hear ya. See ya
later, Dylan."

Rob and I talk a little about the practice during the short drive to his
house as it's sinking in that, not only am I on the team, which everyone
seems taking for granted, but I think I'll do okay. Not great, but I don't
expect I'll make a total ass of myself. I feel pretty good about
that. Maybe I should have tried-out for the high school team. Hmmm, woulda,
coulda, shoulda...

At his house Rob and I carry some of my overnight stuff upstairs.  Chubby's
not at Rob's yet, but then it's only seven-fifteen. Rob and I wash-up in
the pool house lavatory. He grins at me, asking, "Do you think we have time
for a quickie in here, babe?" I go, "Surely you jest! My brother's due any
minute now." He gives me a hug, saying, "I'm just kidding but, oh man, I
can't wait to see you in the team uniform! The sexiest ballplayer on either
team every game," and he messes my hair affectionately. " I get chills,
grinning and mumbling "Ha, I don't know how sexy I'll look but I'm kinda
anxious to put the uniform on." We hear a car door slam then and, stepping
out of the bathroom I'll be dammed, it's Chubby and he's five-minutes
early!

Chub's got his usual big smile, saying, "Hi guys!" We all do the obligatory
quick one-arm hug with a pat on the back as Chub goes, "Jesus, boys, I
think I'm a little bit nervous! Ha ha, yeah, a little bit nervous about the
haircut. I've got a little pussy action going for me about this I
guess. Yeah, it's just, I don't know, I guess because this is the first
time in memory my fabulous brother isn't gonna be my barber. No offense
intended, Rob." I go, "Rob will do an awesome haircut for you, Chub," and
we do another hug, and just because I want to I kiss his cheek. Chub
doesn't think anything about it, mumbling, "Thanks, bro," and then, "Are
you feeling confident tonight, Rob?" Robby shrugs, "Sure I do, of course,
Jeff."

They slap hands with Rob then taking over, saying, "Hop up on the stool
here, Jeff." Chubby smirks at me, saying, "Oooh, a no-nonsense barber eh?"
He gets on the stool and Rob puts the cape around Chub and then, without
looking at me, he says, "Please don't stare at me the whole time I'm doing
Jeff's haircut, Dylan." I mumble, "Why the fuck would I stare? Jesus!"
Grumpily walking over, I look in the cooler seeing four cans of beer in
tepid water. Glancing back, I see Rob's showing Chubby a pamphlet as
they're discussing his haircut options. Just to be a pain-in-the-ass and
probably because I'm a little jealous Chub's getting a haircut from Robby,
I interrupt. "Yo Rob, we don't have any beer. What the fuck?" Rob ignores
that as he's roughly combing through Chub's awesome hair, which is about
two-inches-long on top and just touching his ears on the sides, and I did
have every intention of watching closely too, that's until Rob said not
to. Fuck!

I go, "Rob, did you hear me?" He picks up my professional clippers and
attaches a third-inch guide to it. Just seeing that makes my balls tighten
up, as Rob goes, "Yes, I heard you, babe. Get three cold beers from the
house, please," and he turns on the clippers. What? He wants me to just
walk in his house and get three beers from their refrigerator? What the
fuck?

Rob pushes Chub's head forward exactly like he does to me and I watch
transfixed as he runs the clippers all the way up the back of Chubby's head
and then in one motions Rob flicks his wrist to the side slightly and a big
glob of cut-loose brown hair lands on Chub's shoulder. There's almost a
hairless trail running up Chubby head where the clippers just cut off all
that hair. It looks bald compared to the rest of the longer hair back
there. My mouth's open as Rob looks over, saying, "Beers, please, Dylan,"
and I shake my head, "Oh yeah, okay," and, with a stiffy in my pants I
force myself to leave the pool house.

Oh fuck, I better not watch or my dumb fetish will get me too
aroused. Damn, but Robby's become so confidently casual about his
haircutting! He acts more like a professional barber than I do. Hell, even
with all my experience I'm always a little concerned I might fuck-up some
guy's hair. Rob apparently doesn't give that a thought.

Outside the pool house, standing under the arbor leading to the backyard,
I'm like, 'I've gonna just walk in their house alone?' Through the window I
see Rob's Mom moving in the kitchen, and then I don't see her but she left
the kitchen light on. Damn! I go to the back door and hesitate and then
knock. Fuck, I'm not just walking in! A few seconds later Mr. Dickers opens
the door. His eyebrows go up like he's surprised as he goes, "Dylan? Why
aren't you at practice with Robert?" I go, "Practice is over," and I turn
to point at the pool house, as if maybe Mr. Dickers doesn't know where it's
at, saying, "Rob's giving my brother a haircut in the pool house."
Mr. Dickers grins slightly and nods, mumbling, "Oh," and I go, "He, um,
wants me to get three beers, um, inside from the, ah, the refrigerator in
the kitchen I guess." After frowning for a second, he steps back, saying,
"Sure, c'mon in, son."

Puffing out my cheeks I walk in and while exhaling, mumble, "Thanks," and
he goes, "You didn't really need to knock, ya know? The doors not locked."
I mumble, "Oh yes, I needed to knock," and carefully walk past him as he
chuckles a little, saying, "No actually, you don't." I point at the
refrigerator, asking, "Okay, if I just...?" He's still chuckling, saying,
"Yes, of course. I'm not sure there are three beers in there though." I
open the door and take out the only two cans of beer in there, saying, "I
don't really need one myself." He's walking through the kitchen carrying
his after-dinner drink, saying, "In the cellar refrigerator, Dylan, there's
plenty of beers. Get one for yourself from down there." He's out of sight
in his office now, so I hold a can of cold beer to my forehead thinking,
'That went pretty well.'

After debating with myself about going to the basement, I decide to do it
because Robby will just insist I do it if I go back with only two beers. I
do not need to go through the knocking on the door routine again! Getting
the third beer from the basement I go back to the pool house. Rob's already
cut all the hair off the sides and back of Chubby's head. Well, more
accurately he's cut it all down to a third-of-an-inch. Now he's using his
new clippers to shave the hair off Chub's right side up about an inch over
his ear. Those new clippers cut right down to the scalp leaving it as
smooth as a baby's, um, belly.

Rob looks up as I hold a beer out to him, "Thanks, Dylan," and then he
gives the beer to Chubby. He pulls the tab on the next can I give him and
drinks three big swallows before putting the can on the bar behind
him. Chubby holds up his hand to stop Rob from doing anything, saying, "I
need a smoke with this beer. Take a break, Rob." Rob goes, "I'm just
starting the fading, Jeff, and I'd rather not..." Chub doesn't
care. Ignoring Rob's protest, he sits-up chugging some beer and then, while
taking out a cigarette, tells us a joke he heard at work. I light a
cigarette and Rob, realizing he can't control Chubby, lights a smoke
himself.

We joke around while smoking and drinking with me glancing at Chub's
unfinished haircut worried that Rob's not going to be able to pull it
off. The clippers he bought are new for Rob and he's using the zero
clipper-blade-setting that acts like a razor. It's removed the sideburn
completely and up about an inch over Chub's ear. Instead of getting aroused
by my fetish I'm concerned more than anything else. I'd hate it if this
haircut doesn't turn out good. Chubby wouldn't think it's a big deal, but I
would! Chub's way too cool to have a fucked-up home-haircut. Glancing at
the side of Rob's face as he laughs at something Chubby said, I'm thinking,
'Do not fuck this up, Robert!'

Done his smoke, Rob puts his cigarette butt in his empty beer can and we
hear a, "Sssss," as the cigarette butt goes out in the beer dregs. Chub
sits back now and uses his can for his cigarette butt too. I take the
cigarette butt-cans and as I'm walking over to drop the cans in the recycle
bin I hear the clippers go back on. Taking a deep breath, I shoot some
darts determined not to watch them.

The constant sound of clippers continues for almost ten-minutes before
Rob's done. Putting the clippers on the bar behind him, Rob says, "Last
chance, Jeff, do you want the hard-part or not?" Hard part? Oh yeah, I know
what that is. Chub mutters, "Let me see that fuckin' pamphlet again." Rob
hands it to him as he looks over at me, saying, "Dylan, I didn't tell you
that the Andis company included twenty-versions of 'under-cut' style
haircuts. This pamphlet came with the clippers." I come over and look over
Chub's shoulder as he taps a picture with his finger, saying, "Yeah, this
one Rob, and don't cut any off the top. Leave it long like this guy in the
picture." Rob takes the pamphlet and puts it on the bar, saying, "Yeah,
well I'm gonna be cutting some off the top, Jeff. Let me do the barbering,
okay?"

Holy shit! Rob's so authoritative! I gotta admire that. Chub backs down off
his previous definitive statement by saying, "Not too much though or I
might need to give you a haircut." Rob looks over at me, saying
sarcastically, "This is the thanks we get for giving free haircuts, huh
Dylan?" I'm like, "What's that?" and Rob goes, "Threats. We get threatened
by our clients." I go, "Oh yeah, Rob. No good turn goes unpunished!" Rob
says to Chub, "Shhh, you, and let me worry about how to do this haircut."

Chub looks over at me for support, "Dylan, what do you think?" and I say,
"Yeah well, I'd let Robby decide, Chub." Chub grins at me, mouthing
silently, 'My brother says let Rob decide.' Holy shit! Did I just side with
Rob over Chubby? I hope Rob doesn't let me down. That haircut better be
perfect!

Rob's already started carefully using the zero clipper-setting to edge a
straight part; a thin one-eight-inch-wide part on the left side of Chub's
head from front to back. That's what a 'hard part' is. Professional barbers
will use a straight razor to manually reinforce the 'hard' part of the, um,
part. It does really looks cool when he's done though. I've completely come
around to agreeing this is a super-cool-looking haircut. The hair below the
part is only like a third-of-an-inch-long which is that's why the part
needs to be shaved in. Done with that Rob picks up the thinning shears and
I hold my breath with my lips parted. I give this the same attention as if
I'm watching a drunk tiptoeing on a high-wire a hundred-feet-up without a
net.

Rob closes the thinning shears a number of times near the crown of Chub's
head making the familiar, to me anyhow, "Scrunch, scrunch," sounds as the
scissors cut through Chub's dense hair. Then only a half-dozen "scrunch"
sounds from the crown to the front of his head. There's a large glob of
Chub's hair in the teeth of the comb and also the thinning shears. Rob
pulls the bundle of cut hairs loose with his fingers and casually drops it
the pile of Chub's hair that's already lying at the lap of the cape. He
then uses regular scissors combing-up batches of Chub's hair and then
cutting off half of it near the back but less and less gets cut off as he
works his way to the front of Chub's head. He combs up Chub's bangs and
they look like they're about two-and-a-half-inches long. Rob just cuts off
only a quarter-inch, evening them off.

Next he combs through Chub's hair about ten-times getting the remaining
loose cut hair as he looks over at me, saying, "You're staring, babe," and
then he laughs, adding, "It's okay, Dylan. As you can see I didn't fuck up
your brother's haircut." I shrug, frowning, "Whaddaya talking about? I
fucking knew you wouldn't," and then realize how tense I am. Rob holds up a
little tube, saying, "They also sent a sample hair gel with the
clippers. Plus, special light oil for the clipper blades that I used on
your set of clippers too and they work even better than before." For some
reason, I frown at that and Rob chuckles while squeezing some gel on his
hand.

Pretending I'm not interested I pick-up a dart and fling it at the dart
board as Rob rubs gel between his hands and then roughly rubs his fingers
through Chub's hair. I'm back to watching them again as Rob comb the hair
on top four-or-five times using a hairdryer to dry the gel and get it all
looking the way he wants. He finally settles on kind of a pompadour in
front, pushed it to the side a little so some of the ends of the
two-and-a-quarter-inch longer front hairs are against the bristly
third-of-an-inch hair high on the side opposite the part. Jeez, that looks
so fucking cool! Stepping back, Rob goes, "That's it, Jeff. Hope you
approve," and he carefully takes off the cape and dumps the cut hair in a
trash receptacle as I stupidly stare at the pile of Chub's hair falling off
the cape.

Chubby gets up doing what everyone does after a short haircut, he feels the
bristly hairs on the back of his head that go all the way up to the crown
where it meets the inch-long hair. The inch-long hairs get longer and
longer the further forward, ending with the two-and-a-quarter-inch-long
bangs that were combed into a casual sort of pompadour.

Staring openly now I'm spellbound at how awesomely professional Chubby's
haircut is. As for Chub, he's looking at himself first in the handheld
mirror and then in the bigger mirror on the wall, saying, "Genius, Rob,
pure genius." Rob's trying not to smile but he does anyway, asking, "So,
you like it, Jeff?" I can tell Chub sincerely does like it. He punches
Rob's shoulder lightly and goes, "Um, what the fuck part of genius don't
you get, Rob?" and he grins, adding, "Yes, of course I like it," and then
he glances at me, and goes, "Not as much as I like the last haircut I got
from Dylan, of course, but this is second best." I make a face, muttering,
"Bull-shit," but Rob catches Chubby's drift about not hurting my feelings
now that I'm only the second-best-home-barber in town, and he says, "No!
Dylan, don't make a 'face' at that. You've been the barber for all of us a
very long time and we all think you're the originator of fantastic
buddy-haircuts, as well as my inspiration." That's over-the-top but what
else can I do except mutter, "Thanks."

Now Chubby's gonna meet some of his friends at the bar in downtown
Framingham; the bar he and I were at not too long ago. He looks at himself
one last time, muttering, "Seriously, Rob, awesome job, dude!" and they
bump fists. Robby's beaming while trying hard for nonchalance, so it's
kinda funny and kinda cute too. Chub and I do a quick hug as Chub asks,
"How often will I need to get a haircut to keep it looking fresh like
this?" Rob goes, "Well, as Dylan always says, the shorter the haircut the
more often you need to get it recut. That's if you wanna keep the crisp
look. Text me in two-to-three weeks and we'll do it again." Chub goes,
"I'll do that." He seems really psyched about his haircut, and it is almost
perfect, I admit it.

When Chub's out the door. I go, "Seriously, Rob, I never thought for a
second you wouldn't pull that off perfectly, and you did." He snorts out a
laugh, mumbling, "You looked like you were waiting to hear the results of a
serious operation or something. Such a concerned look on your cute face." I
go, "Nonsense! I had complete confidence in you," and then laugh, adding,
"Actually I really do have confidence in you... now. Um, ya know, I'd like
to have that exact version you just did for Chub. That so-called
'hard-part', which doesn't look that hard to do, is so fucking cool!" He
shrugs, "Sure, but the important thing to remember doing that is keeping it
in a straight line. I guess I'd say it isn't as easy as it looks to do a
'hard-part'." I go, "Whatever, Mister Braggart." He gets me around the
neck, chuckling and mumbling, "I'll Mister Braggart you..."

Wrestling free of his arm, I'm like, "No, seriously. I'd like that same
haircut." Rob shrugs, "Yeah sure, if you want we'll let the hair on top of
your head grow out to your brother's length. The last time with you and
Danny I did a summer version of that haircut I cut for you the time
before. Now though, if you like your brother's haircut we'll adjust."

I help clean-up by using the tiny brush to clear-out cut hairs from the
barber clippers and scissors while Rob sweeps the random hairs off the
floor. We're just finishing up when Danny and Hayden come in. They're
laughing about something as touchy/feely Danny is naturally giving Hayden a
quick squeeze, both of them talking at once telling us some convoluted
story about Hayden's mother that I don't quite get. Rob and I chuckle
anyway because those two are laughing so hard. Settling down, Danny looks
in the beer-cooler and asks, "No beer, guys?" Robby says, "Um, no. I mean,
not here but there are cold beers in the house, right Dylan?" Danny says,
"Fuck that. Let's go buy some ice and a case of beer for out here." Rob
shrugs, "Great idea, you and Hayden go ahead and buy it." I say, "No, let
me buy the beer. I didn't chip-in last time."

There's some arguing about who will go get the beer and whose turn it is to
buy, but finally Danny insists if I'm buying he'll go get it and he wants
Rob to come with him, saying, "I'm always with Hayden." Hayden goes, "Well
fuck you too, Daniel, um, I mean, Danny." Then he turns to me, asking,
"Doesn't his name, Danny, sound really gay to you?" and he exaggerates
saying the name, Danny... "Daaaaannieee." Danny goes, "Haaaayden... that's
what sounds gay!" and Rob goes, "Oh for Christ's sakes, shut the fuck up!
Gawd, you too! I'll go with you Danny, if only to stop you two from
bickering like nine-year-olds."

Okay, I'm always basically studying guys, and I don't mean only how they
look. I mean everything about them and to me there's something artificial
about Danny's and Hayden's routine right from when they walked through the
door. It almost seemed rehearsed somehow. That's a weird thing for me to
think, I know, but there's something 'up' between those two. I mean, the
way Hayden and Danny exchanged 'looks' when Rob agreed to go with Danny to
get the beer. I don't have a clue what it is, but something about that
seemed contrived to me.

When Rob and Danny leave to buy the beer, with my thirty-dollars in Rob's
pocket, Hayden comes right over to me and puts his arm around my waist,
whispering, "Get ready to be taken care of by me, Dylan. You've been
begging for 'it' since before I went to California and now's your chance."
Pulling away from his arms, I'm dead serious when I ask, "Have you and
Danny been smoking pot?" I'm sincere about that because they came in
giggling and babbling some nonsense about Tinker, Hayden's Mom, and then
Hayden comes out with the insinuation that I've been panting around him
like a dog in heat. He's either been taking a banned substance or he's
delusional. Sure, he's right that we haven't had buddy-sex at all for like
a month, but I've only mentioned it once in all that time. Well, maybe
twice but that's a far cry from nagging...

He frowns, saying, "Smoking pot? "NO! Why would you ask me that?" I shrug,
"All that giggling when you came in and your last idiotic remark about me
being, um, 'taken care of' by you as though you're about to do me some huge
sexual favor." He smirks, "Well the word 'huge' does fit into the
conversation... heh heh." I mutter, "Step away from the bong and
chill-out!" Hayden says, "No, seriously. You know how rarely I get an
opportunity to 'top', and be honest with yourself, you loved the couple of
times I 'topped' you." I make a face, "You can keep your 'huge' reference
in your pants." I'm saying that with a grin, not really angry at him but,
come on... get serious! I'm hardly desperate for sex. Rob and I have been
doing quite nicely, thank you very much.

Moving over to the dartboard I give Hayden another grin, like I know he's
been kidding around and then I throw a dart that barely hits the
dartboard. Basically, the thought of getting fucked by hypnotic-speaking
Hayden and his ginormous boner is very enticing, except I find his
inference that I've been desperate for it, well that's borderline
insulting. Okay, Hayden does and says things most people would have too
much sense to do or say, but I like him anyway. To avoid embarrassing him
about his clumsy suggestion we have sex during the ten-minutes the guys are
off buying the beer, I change the subject, enthusiastically saying, "Well,
not that I'm the least bit surprised about making the team today, bit it is
nice to know it's finally official." That's complete bull-shit of course
and Hayden knows it but I said it to get a laugh from him. He does chuckle,
mutterings, "Liar!" and then comes over to take a dart from my hand. He
lines-up his shot taking careful aim and then throws the dart that sticks
in the wall next to the dartboard in almost the exact spot on the wall he
hit the other night. "Fuck!" he shouts, "Something's wrong with that dart!"

I'm draining the last of the beer dregs from my can as Hayden glances at me
with this weird look in his eyes. Bumping against my side suggestively he
reaches over to get his hand on my junk squeezing until I'm like, "Jesus
Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you tonight, Hayden?" He says,
"Nothing! Nothing at all, but we haven't had buddy-sex since I can't
remember when, and it's time." Normally I'd be all for it, especially
considering my recent musings that concluded by me admitting to myself
Hayden comes the closest to creating a true submissive trance in me than
anyone else currently available. I'm not feeling it at the moment because
of my aforementioned sense something else is in play here. I mutter, "I
know it's been too long, Hayden, but I'm not having buddy-sex here with
Rob's parents in the house twenty-fucking-feet away." Looking out the pool
house window in front I see movement in the kitchen; either Mr. or
Mrs. Dickers, and point at the kitchen window, "See them moving about in
the kitchen? Use your head, Hayden!"  Then I go, "Plus, our boyfriends will
be back in less than ten-minutes." He lets go of my nuts, saying, "You were
whining at my house Saturday night that you missed me fucking you, so why
not forget Robert's parents and I'll take care of you quickly now before
our boyfriends get back."

As always, I'm total confused why Hayden's seems such a hottie to me in the
first place, but he is...  so it is tempting. Seeing me hesitate, he adds,
"They won't be back in ten-minutes anyway. I can guarantee that." That
doesn't register as I'm thinking I'd like to suck that big cock of his and
maybe rim his ass until I make him climax. It's partially his fucking
hypnotic voice that registers in my head as enticing. Doesn't anyone else
notice his voice? It's giving me a familiar squirmy feeling. Yeah, as
limited as my side-sex possibilities have been this summer I really should
jump at this opportunity and get into one of my delicious submissive
trances. He can at least replicate a facsimile of a true dominant side-sex
partner. Glancing at the back of the pool house; why not a quick hard fuck
in the lavatory. Yeah, heh heh, lavatory sex; a possible new trend for
me. We could do it in the toilet stall like Tomas and I did at the gay
club.

Grabbing a fistful of my ass now, Hayden says, "You want it from me so
badly, Dylan. And don't lie saying you don't." Something clicks in my
head... again it occurs to me there's something's weird about this. Why is
Hayden so cock-sure we'd have the time? I'm like, "Wait a fucking-second,
Hayden. First of all, I'm the only guy east of the Mississippi who can take
that huge boner of yours up my ass, so don't pretend you're just doing me
the favor. After saying that, I got a question for you. And don't try lying
because I'll know: Did you and Danny come up with this idea of us having
sex on the way over here?" He goes, "Oh, um, what? Oh fuck, how'd you know?
Yeah, it was Danny's idea. I wouldn't have the balls to suggest it. He's
our leader though, and leaders look out for their, um, for us. He thinks
you and I need to get closer the way you, Danny, and Robert are.  Obviously
he doesn't know about us screwing two-times already."

I'm not at all thrilled Danny's deciding when I need to get fucked by
Hayden, or anybody else. I'm not taking it out on Hayden though. Danny and
I need a heart-to-heart talk about him being our so-called 'leader'.  He
may mean well, but this isn't how things work! Trying to think straight
about that, while at the same time the idea is again percolating in my head
about how awesome it would be to feel Hayden's huge cock up my ass. Okay
though, fighting off that attractive aspect of things, I mutter, "You and
Danny think we're doing appointment buddy-sex now? Is that it?" And as I
said it, I'm thinking to myself: 'Why are you fucking-up this opportunity,
Dylan?'

Hayden has me backed-up against the door, leaning on me, saying, "It's not
Danny and me! I told you it was all his idea, but why not forget being
defensive about it and let's just do it, for chrissakes! We'll do it just
like last time." He's making his voice hypnotic knowing I get affected by
it, but unfortunately this is not feeling right to me at all. I slide out
between him and the door, saying, "No direct reflection on you at all,
Hayden, I really liked that buddy-sex with you, um, both times we did it,
but this is simply too weird for me. It's a totally fucked-up idea that the
three of us conspire behind Rob's back for a buddy-sex episode. It might be
a fine point, but you and Danny conspiring to get Rob out of the picture,
and me going along with it is, one too many conspirators, and the one too
many is me!" He goes, "What the fuck are you talking about, Dylan? We now
have only like ten more minutes to do this. Danny can't drag-out getting
beer forever!"

Why should I expect him to 'get' it when it's obviously only me who feels
this idea is over the line.? Danny and Hayden apparently don't see anything
wrong with conspiring three-against-one, or... fuck, I don't know. Trying
to avoid a serious debate though, I grin and go, "Jesus, Hayden, seriously,
dude, it's right there in the buddy-sex handbook; rule 23, subjection 'B',
which reads: When there's a group of four gay buddies who do sex together,
if two of them are in love neither one of those two can join forces with
the other two in a conspiracy to exclude one of the lovers and thereby
making him the odd man out." He looks totally lost, muttering, "What
handbook? And what did what you just said mean?" I ask, "You seriously
didn't understand that?" Hayden goes, "Where's that rule 23 written?" Being
serious now, I say, "Jesus Christ, I'm joking, Hayden! And I'm trying to
get off this topic with a laugh. There's no fucking handbook! Look, it's
simple: I won't gang-up three against Robby about anything." He's sincerely
looking confused, asking, "Why not?" I suck on my empty can of beer and
shout, "I just fucking told you why not! That's not howfair buddy-sex works
among friends."

Hayden throws up his hands, "Fuck it then! You're the only person in the
world who knows how side-sex is supposed to work, is that it? Just you!" I
quietly mumble, "No, I'm the only one on earth who knows how it's supposed
to work for me. It has to happen organically." He shakes his head, asking,
"What's that, a gardening reference now?" I go, "No, in this instance it
means: happen on its own. That's my rule for myself and doesn't necessarily
apply for anybody else, just me. But then, it's my buddy-sex handbook."

He rubs his face with both hands and goes, "Whatever all that even means!
Well, you're the one losing out, Dylan." I quietly say, "I'm one of the
ones losing out, but I've never said never, Hayden. I said I won't be the
third party involved in plans to do something behind Rob's back. Why can't
you understand how that's not something I'd do?" He's pissed, yelling, "I
wouldn't know, Dylan, since I'm not loved by a lover like you two." I try
giving him a hug, saying, "To me you're a hot-tomalley, an uber sexy guy,
but we need to do buddy-sex when just the two of us decide to do it. Not
some arrangement by Danny. It's insulting actually! I mean to me," and then
realize I don't want to try explaining it any further. It is a fine point
because any buddy-sex done by me is behind Rob's back, but we have an
arrangement, Rob and me, and it doesn't include someone planning on keeping
him busy while I have preplanned sex with anybody. It's Rob's and my
arrangement... and if someone doesn't 'get it', tough shit for them. They
don't have to get it, only Rob and I need to.

Fortunately, Hayden finally lets the subject go, muttering, "Okay, you've
said everything in a way that I don't feel personally rejected. You're
rejecting the plan Danny came up with, right?" I shrug, muttering, "That's
close enough, yeah," not wanting to talk about it anymore. He shrugs too,
obviously exasperated but he lets me hug him and then he mutters, "What
should we do with the time we're supposed to be fucking?" I say, "How about
a dart game for five-bucks?" He snorts out a laugh, saying, "Not only do
you reject my offer to fuck you, but you want to steal five-dollars from me
knowing I can't shoot darts worth a shit." I go, "Let's make it ten-bucks a
game then. First one to score twenty." He mutters, "Fuck the dart game."
I'm like, "To make it up to you, and be your friend again, I'll humble
myself and suffer the humiliation of going inside to get us two cold
beers." He says, "It's the very least you could do, if you ask me."

Letting go of him, I ruffle his hair, saying, "Or I could give you a
haircut instead. This is Rob's barbershop so everything I need is right
here." He goes, "Dream on, and do the dreaming while you're getting us
those beers." As I'm going out the door, he yells, 'And bring that fucking
book about buddy-sex back with you too! I need to read that fucker."

Walking to the back door of Rob's house I don't know what to make of Danny
and Hayden setting-up that buddy-sex thing. Me and some guy
extemporaneously falling into a buddy-sex situation, or side-sex situation,
is something that's part of our arrangement, Rob's and mine. Preplanning to
deceive one another isn't though; that's something totally new and not
going to happen as far as I'm concerned. And of course, for the record,
side-sex and buddy-sex are technically two different things, but
every-fuckin'-body knows that anyway.

At the back door, do I knock or just walk in? Oh balls, I walk in because
that way I won't bother either of Rob's parents who would need to answer
the door if I knocked. Scurrying downstairs to the basement I grab two
beers and go back upstairs quietly and almost bump into Mrs. Dickers in the
kitchen, She goes, "Oooh! Oh my goodness." She has her hand on her heart,
"You scared me, Dylan." I go, "Mr. Dickers said not to knock and Rob wanted
me to get a couple of beers." She's pouring white wine, saying, "Dear me!
Um, Mr. Dickers is right though. You don't need to knock, Dylan. But you
know, I do not like Rob sending you on his errands all the time. Tell him,
for me, he needs to get whatever he wants himself next time." I'm sliding
toward the back door, mumbling, "Yes, ma'am, I will," and then I'm out the
door. Perfect-fucking-timing Mrs. Dickers needing to refill her wine glass
the exact second I'm coming out of the fucking basement like a
thief. That's exactly what I expect to happen when I'm wearing boxer shorts
going to the hall bath. Gawd!

Safely back in the pool house I give Hayden one of the beers and then light
a cigarette, and ask, "You said earlier, when your delusional mind assumed
I'd metaphorically jump in bed with you, what'd you mean we'd doing it like
before exactly?" He goes, "Oh yeah. Well not exactly like before. Um, first
of all don't be mad at Danny, but he doesn't think you and I are getting it
on at all. He figured he needed to give me a few pointers about how you
like your sex partner to be the one running the show, so to speak. Of
course, I already knew you like to be submissive during sex, but he..." I'm
a little hot now, saying, "Really? I thought Danny didn't discuss anyone's
buddy-sex with anyone else." Hayden shrugs, "Why the fuck are you upset?
We're a band of gay brothers fighting oppression and sticking together, um,
with a touch of buddy-sex whenever we get the urge." I laugh out loud and
then realize he's serious. Usually that happens when I'm with Danny. Ya
know, I'll think Danny's making a joke about something stupid when actually
he's serious. I go, "Excuse my laughter, but how are we fighting
oppression, and how is it that you feel oppressed in the first place?" He
shrugs again, "I don't know. I thought it sounded cool, that's all. Plus I
like to say 'band of gay brothers'. I always wanted a gay brother," and I
laugh again, but come to an abrupt stop, and ask, "Yeah? Does it have to be
a 'gay' brother? Wouldn't a 'straight' brother be good too?" He says, "No,
I want him to be gay," and I hold back laughing, not sure if he's serious
or not.

We're sitting on two canvas-back director-style chairs with our feet on the
cooler as Hayden talks on in his hypnotic voice giving me this pleasant
dreamy feeling. He interrupts that by reaches over to take my cigarette and
then wets the filter taking a drag. Passing the cigarette back, he says, "I
was so 'up' for fucking you. I don't know, but now I feel deflated or
something." I go, "Me too," and he goes, "You're making fun of me again."
Taking a swallow of beer, I mutter, "I don't make fun of friends,
Hayden. I'm jokingwith you and hoping to laugh with you."

He thinks about that I suppose and then gets up and, holding his beer can
out to the side, puts his other hand behind my head and does one of his
sexily magical one-minute kisses on my mouth with his tongue feeling
awesome licking inside and all around my mouth and then under my
tongue. When he pulls his mouth away I must look like I'm dazed, because I
feel a little dazed. He rubs my head and then roughly pushes it to the side
and sits back down, saying, "That's just a tiny bit of what you turned
down. I'm especially disappointed because nobody has ever appreciated me
like you do and I was looking so forward to us doing it tonight." Exhaling
smoke, feeling my hard dick squirming in my pants, I mutter, "Then don't
make it sound like you're doing me a favor next time! And, um, maybe we'll
do it for real, soon... the right way."

Holy shit though, that kiss was hot and now I've got a boner sideways in my
shorts. He looks at me for a couple of seconds before asking, "Isn't there
anything in your buddy-sex handbook that excuses unconfident guys from
pretending to do a sex-buddy a favor even though he knows it's the other
way around?" Gulping down some beer and then looking him in the eyes, I say
quietly, "There should be I guess. I'm sorry I disappointed you, Hayden,
but I told you why. It's because I don't gang-up with guys against Robby
and no matter how you slice it that's what it boiled down to. Don't you see
that?" He goes, "I see it but don't see the problem." Nodding my head, I
mutter, 'Well you and I will need to agree to disagree about that. Simply
put, don't include me in any scenarios you and Danny come up with if it
excludes Rob." He goes, "You talk funny... scenario. Who says that?" I go,
"You've got a lot of nerve mentioning the way anyone talks..." and the door
opens with Danny carrying a case of Bud followed in by Robby carrying big
bag of ice. Rob smiles and asks, "How you boys doing? Oh, I see my
boyfriend braved the dangerous Dickers' household to get you guys a couple
more brews." I say, "I had to, Rob. Where'd you get the beer, Salem,
Massachusetts?"

Danny's looking knowingly at Hayden and Hayden shakes his head
slightly. Co-conspirators fail again! I've probably overstated the case to
Hayden but to me it felt like conspiring behind Robby's back and the crazy
thing is, it's totally unnecessary. Robby knows I do side-sex and buddy-sex
and I know he does it, but we don't create intrigue to put something over
on the other, especially in Rob's pool house.

Robby's still very upbeat and on a 'high' from his successful haircutting
earlier and I don't blame him because it's actually remarkable he can do
that difficult haircut. He comes over to me as he's snapping the tab on a
can of Bud, saying, "I think Jeff liked the haircut," and I try not to
laugh at his obvious fishing-trip for more compliments, finally saying,
"I'm so sick of haircut talk," and he laughs hugging my shoulders, saying,
"We reversed roles, baby." It makes me feel so good seeing Rob this happy
and excited about something other than our sex and his job with Dickers &
Son. Danny and Hayden are murmuring to each other when Robby goes, " You
guys know what? We should have a pool table in here! There's plenty of room
for one. I'm asking Dad about that. Whaddaya think, guys?" Then he's like,
"What's wrong Danny. You and Hayden look so serious. Fuck, it's only
eight-thirty. Let's do something!" Danny and Hayden both mutter stuff like,
"Whaddaya mean, we're good..."

We play cards for money while drinking and smoking. Except for some early
weird 'looks' from Danny, everyone loosens up and it's a pretty good time
breaking each other's balls and guys winning pots that another guy thought
they'd won. And then Danny, true to his word, at ten o'clock, says, "I
really do gotta get going. I'm working early tomorrow morning." Hayden
says, "Me too," and Rob asks, "Where is it that you work part-time,
Hayden?" He goes, "At UPS. I'm covering for employees on vacation. Loading
trucks." Jeez, he seems small for that job!

We bump fist and do some cursory quick one-arm hugs and then those two are
out the door. Rob opens another can of beer, asking, "Did you notice
anything odd about the way those guys were acting earlier tonight?" Shaking
my head, I'm like, "No, not really," and to get off that topic, I'm like,
"So let me take a closer look at those new barber clippers you bought,
Rob." I wouldn't do anything with Hayden and Danny that seems like ganging
up on Rob, but at the same time I'm not tattle-tailing that they tried
doing that. Danny meant well but it's misguided in a couple of ways. First
of all, Hayden should have told Danny that we've had sex a couple of times
already and so there's no need to arrange it. And secondly on a personal
level, I don't need Danny arranging anything sexual for me, no matter his
good intentions.  It's insulting and highlights Danny's cluelessness. That
boy's not leadership-material after all. Ha ha... well, he's not! I'll need
to have a 'talk' with him I suppose. Make sure there are no hard feelings
but at the same time infer he needs to leave me out of his future
conspiracies. I'll word it more diplomatically than that though.

Rob's proudly showing me the 'fading' clippers that also are perfect for
doing outlining and thereby making the trimming clippers redundant. Maybe I
better watch some tutorials because I'm definitely a decade behind on
what's happening with guys' hair styling equipment. Hmmmm, me of all people
getting left behind when I used to be the only person I knew doing
barbering. Swallowing my pride, I'm like, "Rob, um, do you think you could
teach me how to do a legitimate 'fade' and that 'under-cut' haircut?" He
grins, "And have you steal my clients from me?" I go, "I'm serious. I'd
like to be able to do it."

As he's putting his new clippers back neatly in the box they came in, he
goes, "Absolutely, Dylan! First though you really should watch
ten-or-twelve tutorial videos. They're only like ten-to-twenty-minutes
each. I'll write out a list for you. That'll give you the concept and then,
like I did, you'll need to practice the wrist clipper motion and we'll do
it together and then... well, I'll get into that during our practical
application after you study the tutorials."  I'm like, "Okay, you be my
instructor, Rob." He gets his arms around my waist and kisses me quickly on
the lips, saying, "That sounds sexy, babe. I love that you asked me to
teach you. And I know you'll be better than me when everything is said and
done. Now though, let's you and me go up to my bedroom, I'm wicked horny to
fuck you." I go, "You have the best ideas, Rob!"

He takes my hand, saying, "C'mon then," and continues holding my hand as he
turns out the lights and then we walk outside. As he locks the door I'm
thinking about holding hands with a guy. It's a favorite thing of mine to
do; I get aroused feeling the palm of Rob's hand against mine. I also have
that awesome weird 'thing'' that Rob's 'my man'. Ha ha, creepy of me and I
did used to think it was 'creepy' when someone like Ray Reeves, for
example, would say it. I don't know though but maybe Rob really is 'my man'
now. I can't imagine I'll ever think of myself as his 'wife' even though
that's becoming a more popular thing for gay couples to call themselves:
husband and wife. I've heard gay guys, men, talk about their 'wife' or
'husband' on the cooking show 'Chopped'. Nothing wrong with that I guess,
but I don't feel like a 'wife' so we'll need to come up with something
else. Would I call Rob my husband when we get married? Nah, I don't think
so. For me it doesn't sound right, but I try to never say 'never' about
anything anymore. Ya never fucking know...

I'm not as mature as Rob but we complement one another having different
strengths, so to speak. I see life more on the 'fun' side and he's more
serious so it evens out. Heh heh, calling Rob my 'man' in my mind gives me
boners. Of course, me getting a boner is never a news flash. Inside the
house Rob calls out his usual generic goodnight to his parents and then we
go upstairs with Rob saying, "I wanna do shower sex with you tonight,
babe." I'm still not positive he ever checked with his parents about this
latest sleep-over, but in either case it doesn't appear his parents care a
twit about it. What's a 'twit', I wonder?

Into his bedroom with us still holding my hand, he goes, "Get the lube for
me, Dylan." Letting go of his hand, I get the lube from the bedside drawer
as I say, "Jesus, Rob, you know damn well I don't want to take a shower
together; not here! We do that at my place when no one's home." We're both
taking our clothes off and Robby goes, "Oh yeah, you're right. Okay, I
forgot you're still uncomfortable here in my house; or as you say... my
parents' house, and you've got a good point there. I won't mention
showering together again unless you change your mind, okay?" I go, "Yes,
but please don't hold your breath waiting for that. I want you among the
living for at least as long as I live, um, plus a couple of weeks longer
just to be safe." Wearing only boxer shorts he laughs at that and comes
over rubbing his hands up and down my back, asking, "What'd you do with the
lube?" I nod to the top of the bedside table where I dropped it. He rubs
noses with me and asks, "Do you have any interest in sucking on my pecker?"
I nod and grin at him and then reach down inside the waistband of his
shorts and hold his cock in my fist, asking, "Is this the pecker you mean?"
He mumbles, "The very one."

Pulling down his boxers I bend forward and suck on his fat mouthful of cock
for a minute making slurping sounds. It tastes good! He grunts stepping
back taking his saliva dripping cock in his fist to stroke it as he's
saying, "Damn, I don't know exactly what it is Dylan, but you sleeping with
me has me horny as a Nun squatting in a cucumber patch." I snort out a
laugh as he strokes, strokes, strokes his uber fat, saliva-slippery cock
getting it hard as a fat rock. As I'm pulling off my underpants he's
grinning at me, muttering, "I'm horny as a rabbit on steroids." I take the
cap off the lube thinking how much I love recreational sex with Rob. Lubing
my own asshole and then swatting Rob's hand away from his throbbing boner,
I twist my fist on his cock spreading lots of slippery lubricant with Robby
going, "Mmmmm, ooooh, fuck, oooh man."

Turning around and bending over, I grip the top of the bureau, my right
hands sliding a little because of the lube. Rob steps up letting out a long
exhale plugging the fat head of his cock right in past my sphincter
muscle. "Aaaah, ooh!" from me and, "Sorry," from Rob. He pushes his boner
up my ass steadily and when tightly against my butt cheeks he lets out a
sigh, "Oooooh," and, leaning over my back reaching under me to take my firm
cock in his fist. I can feel his warm moist breath on the back of my neck
as he begins stroking my cock and humping against my buttocks. Hard humps
as he strokes a granite-hard boner on me and then lifts his hand cupping my
chin to pull my head sideways so he can lean his head down and lick my
lips. He gasps, "I'm so fucking horny, Dylan. Like I said, it's insane
maybe, but you sleeping in my bed, ha ha, in my parents' house no less, is
such a turn-on for me I can hardly catch my breath. I love you so much,
babe."

I take a deep breath, mumbling, "You're my 'man' Rob," and then I gasps and
my face gets red because that's such a corny and goofy and creepy thing to
say. I was going to keep that thought to myself but I guess it's how I feel
for real. Rob smacks the side of my buttocks," SMACK!" murmuring, "I like
hearing that, baby," and he starts a hot and furious thrusting that bounces
the top of my head against the bureau before I straighten my arms out
tightly. Fast, hard thrusting with distinct, "Slapslapslap," sounds that
can easily be heard outside the bedroom door but there's so many awesome
sensations bombarding my brain I don't care, plus I'm making as much noise
as the slapping sounds by moaning unabashedly, "Um, um, um, um, oh, oh,
aaah, Rob, aaah."

Confessing my feelings that Rob's my 'man' gives me a submissive sense
that's so new I revel in it... my 'man' Rob. It's an admission I'm going to
follow through on with every condition he laid out for us two-years
ago. And that's a fact even though two-months ago we agreed to forget all
those objectives and timetables to let things play-out on their own. Well
they've played-out and Rob's my 'man'; I feel it in my heart and brain that
I want him in-charge of everything... mostly everything anyway.

He gets both his arms around my chest pulling me up so my back is against
his chest as he hammers his cock up my ass, "Slapslapslap," with him
grunting and pulling my head around to put his open mouth on mine. I open
my mouth and his tongue goes in and I feel totally his, totally dominated
but in the best possible way. "Slapslapslap," and I jerk my head on his
shoulder as my back arches and I squeal way too loudly, "Eeeeeiii," my hard
boner sticking straight out with cum pumping in spurts and then a hard
stream of cum follows with three quick squirts after that. What an awesome
orgasm!  "Ooooh, aaaah, Rob, aaah!" Gasping now, my head filled with sexual
pleasure, filled with the awesomeness of being Rob's boyfriend and true
lover. Omigod, my body shivers and shakes and then, just like that, I'm
limp and moaning quietly as Rob's thrusting jostles me like I'm a rag doll.

It's, harder-faster, "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds now until Rob breathlessly
grunts, "Hands and knees, babe." I drop down feeling new awesome vibrations
all over me as he grips my hips and thrusts even harder, doggy-style now
and for a full minute before I feel a hot stream of cum shooting inside me
and Robby tight against my ass still humping until my head drops to my arms
on the floor with me thinking, 'Keep your ass up!' which I try doing
although I'm feeling so loose and so good.

Rob finishes with a long loud exhale and a few lazy thrusts in my
cum-filled rectum and then he pulls out with another hard slap on my ass,
"SMACK!" as he chuckles and helps me up. "So, I'm your man, huh, babe?"
Breathlessly I go, "You're my man, Rob," and with me on my feet, limp in
his arms lying back against his chest he kisses the side of my face,
murmuring, "You better watch out, baby, I could take advantage of my new
position," and he chuckles again, obviously not taking me seriously as he
gives me another kiss. I murmur, "Go ahead and take advantage, Rob, you
deserve it after all these years of waiting for me to finally see what you
saw four-years ago." He quietly chuckles, saying, "Actually I'm not sure
what me being your 'man' even means. Being your boyfriend and lover is
enough for me."

I feel his cum running out of my ass as I turn around in his arms facing
him now, saying, "Oh, you've got a lot more responsibility now as my 'man',
Rob. You're in-charge of us, mostly." He smiles, "I can't keep up with you,
Dylan. Didn't you tell me just a couple of months ago you changed your mind
about that." I go, "Yeah, but I changed my mind again," and he kisses my
mouth and says, "Okay, I'll be your 'man' but now you need to take that
shower so I can take mine." I want to say something like: 'You're my 'man'
which means if you want us to shower together in your hall bathroom with
your parents downstairs then I'll obey your wish,' but I can't make myself
say that. Instead I go, "Yeah, I better do that." His smile is so sweet and
I love him so. He's my man I guess for sure because now that I think about
it, I even took Rob's side when Chubby asked me if he should go along with
Robby cutting his hair on top. I said something like, 'Go with what Robby
suggest, Chub'.

Yeah, during the shower I think again that I took Rob's side over my
brother's! That a first 'cause I never take anyone's side over Chub even
though I was right to do it this time. Yeah, but that's an example of what
Rob being my 'man' actually means; sticking by him no matter what. Anyway,
someone in every relationship is number one whether they admit it or
not. The alternative is a short relationship for most.

Yeah, I'll rely on Rob's more mature approach, more responsible approach to
life most of the time, although not always. Rob being the alpha dog in our
relationship is actually a mature decision on my part. I'm so proud of the
way he handles his business for Dickers & Son. That impresses me and is a
good example of Rob's maturity.  Of course I always retain the right to
change my mind. All of us has that right. But, damn, these sleep-overs with
Rob are awesome...

to be continued...

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

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

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a
19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them
out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the
books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.

 Donny Mumford
 
========================================================

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