Date: Fri, 27 Apr 2018 21:02:41 -0400
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 34

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter  34

by  Donny Mumford


Rob and I do some cleaning-up in the pool house. Nothing major, just
picking-up beer and soda cans and cleaning the barber equipment,
straightening the chairs, sweeping a little, and stuff like that. It took
five-minutes. Rob looks around and then mumbles, "Yeah, I guess that's good
enough, thanks for helping, Dylan." Then, with a grin, he puts his hand
behind my neck for a squeeze; I hunch my shoulders enjoying pleasant chills
down my spine. With the palm of his hand still lightly holding me at the
back of my neck, as if he's worried I might drift away, Rob flicks off the
lights and we walk outside.

The outside light over the pool house door is off too so there's only
moonlight and the edges of light from the backdoor light fixture
illuminating Rob. He's looking coolly-handsome and confident as
usual. Smiling at me, he mumbles, "Just you and me now, huh, babe?" and his
hand pulls my head over for a kiss on the lips. In my youthful gay-days I
thought kissing with a guy was the ultimate affirmation of my
newly-discovered gayness and it was like dangerously thrilling. To this day
I still think kissing with another guy is an extremely sexy thing to
do. Holding hands with another guy... same thing. In other words, showing
affection like heterosexual couples do.

It was Willie Worthington who first showed me the exoticness of boys
kissing and holding hands. He taught me, or should I say exposed me, to
lots of things most of which have stuck with me to this very day. I'm not
at all sure of the timeline but I know there was a time, maybe going back
to the nineteen-fifties, when males kissing on the mouth was thought taboo
in America. Whatever, gay men do it routinely in this part of the
twenty-first century, so tough-shit to those who maybe still find it
off-putting...

Yeah, Rob looks sexy in the moonlight. He's let his blond hair grow-out
from the time he was recuperating from appendicitis. The haircut I did for
him using only scissors was his last haircut so far, this summer. Anyhow it
looks good and his casual confident expression with those pretty,
bright-blue eyes looking right into my almost identical ones gives me
goosebumps. Rob's hair is just about as long as it was the first time I
ever spoke to him. I'd worked up the nerve in the latter part of our high
school junior year to invite him to write for the school newspaper. I can
still see some of the youthful cuteness in his face that got my dick
squirming that afternoon so long ago. Yeah, he still has a little of that
youthful cuteness he had as a seventeen-year-old shy boy, but mostly he's a
handsome young man now.

Christ, back then we were both pathetically shy and of course I hadn't a
clue, never gave a thought, that Rob was gay and sexually active with his
brother and Danny. Not that I was a friend of Danny's back then. Sure, I
knew of him because he was one of the cuter boys in my class. It's just
that I was so intrigued by Rob Dickers that even cute-Danny was only a
peripheral interest during my youthful gay-boy-watching days. Even before I
knew I was gay I was always intrigued by cute guys. Unfortunately, I never
thought to ask myself why I was so interested. Maybe I thought everyone
watched cute boys, like it was the natural 'order' of things. Duh!

When I was awakened to my gayness finally, I'd stare at Robby in class some
days and almost spontaneously cum in my pants. It was a mammoth crush I had
on that star baseball pitcher. I had to have known somewhere in my brain I
was gay but the concept never formed into an accepted reality until Carl
forced it down my throat... the idea I was gay that is, and then his
cock. Or was it the other way around?

Squeezing the back of my neck again, Rob asks, "Will you, Dylan?" I frown,
mumbling, "Will I what?" He goes, "What I said earlier. Will you stay with
me the rest of the summer?" Oh man, he was serious about that? Yeah, I
kinda thought he was although I was thinking maybe there's a chance he may
have been jerking Danny around because Danny was supposed to stay with Rob
last summer but bailed-out in less than two-weeks. His for reasons for
doing that I've never been able to exactly pinpoint 'cause I'm not real
good at interrogating a friend... or lover in Rob's case. It's my opinion
everyone has a right to their secrets. I have mine...

Standing here in the moonlight with Rob's hand holding the back of my neck,
almost possessively, I take a deep breath trying to think what I should say
to Rob's proposition. I mean he's become very much like the fantasy 'lover'
of my gay teenage years, the person I've always hoped he would be. In many
ways it happened organically, seemingly overnight and on its own, plus I've
adjusted my fantasy expectations quite a bit as well. Ironically, after I
told him we need to abandon all our silly timetables and rules about when
we'll do this or that, and what our roles should be, that he somehow
morphed into my ideal partner and lover. I've vacillated over the years
about the degree my 'perfect lover' should be in-control, in-charge of
us. I've changed my mind about that any number of times and, Jesus, how Rob
put up with me all this time I can't imagine.

And now after all the twists and turns we've been through Rob's ended-up
just about perfect. Not real bossy, very accommodating and deferential to
me, but at the same time with a calm confidence about himself. Nothing
wishy-washy about Rob, not at all. It's like now he doesn't need to be
right all the time and his ideas don't need to be how everything is going
to be worked-out. He's matured into an almost perfect lover and friend on
his own and probably would have done so quicker if I hadn't constantly
tried to mold him into my view of perfection.

But still... me living full-time with him? I'm smelling the back of my
wrist trying to think what I should do or say about that. It seems on the
surface as an unnecessary move, but yet sensible in many ways
too. Realizing the back of my hand is at my face I rub my nose like I had
an itch, mumbling, "Um, what do your parents think about that?" He grins,
saying, "If that's your only concern I'll take it as a 'yes' you'll be
staying with me. You know damn well my parents enjoy you staying with
us... and I've told you why like ten-times. They've told you why too so you
already know how welcome you are." Hmmm, yeah, they say Rob seems much
happier, less grumpy, when I stay over.

He takes his hand away from the back of my neck to give me a hug, excitedly
saying, "It'll be so awesomely perfect, babe." We start walking toward the
back door as he adds, "Of course you'll want to tell your Mom first. You
know, explain how this is convenient for work, which it obviously is. We're
fifteen-to-twenty minutes closer to the office from my house than yours and
I won't need to be driving back and forth to your place. Well you can
explain it to your Mom better than I can." While going inside the house it
all of a sudden it occurs to be that both of Rob's parents are home. Oh
fuck, are we going to talk with them about this?

In the kitchen, like he often does, Rob opens the refrigerator and stares
into it without actually wanting anything. Glancing over at me as I'm
leaning against the kitchen table, still trying to decide what to say, he
goes, "We should probably start bringing some of your things over tomorrow
after baseball practice." Smelling the back of my hand again, feeling
trapped but maybe in a good way, I go, "Huh," and he asks, "Do you want
something to eat or drink?" Shaking my head, I finally manage to mutter,
"This is happening too fast for me, Robby. I do enjoy staying here with you
of course, but let's not make any final, um, arrangements right this
second, okay? Give me time to think about things. I might be forgetting
something that, um, I need to think about or, ah, consider or something."

Closing the refrigerator door, he comes over to me and gives me another
hug, murmuring, "Sure, okay," and right then Mr. Dickers walks into the
kitchen. He snorts a chuckle, saying, "Oops, sorry to interrupt. I'll just
be a second refilling my nightcap, boys." Robby lets go of me, and says,
"Dad, we're discussing Dylan spending the rest of the summer with us, like
I spoke about with you and Mom the other day." His father is drinking red
wine tonight. There's a bottle of Kendall Jackson Grand Reserve Merlot on
the counter that he picks up and pours some into a wine glass, muttering,
"Ah yes, our VIP summer guest." Turning to me, he goes, "Dylan, we're happy
to have you stay with us," and he chuckles again, obviously
half-in-the-bag, asking Rob, "Was I convincing, son?"

Huh, I'm not sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere, or a little of
each. Whatever, I manage to say, "Thank you, Sir, but we, um...," and he
says, "Oh, Rob, seriously though, I meant to mention to you at dinner about
that McFee contract." Rob goes, "Its Macafee Corporation, Dad." His Dad
mumbles, "Whatever the f-ing name is, it's simply not what we're looking
for... well, come into my office for a second and I'll lay it out for you."
And then to me, "Excuse us for a minute, Dylan." Rob says, "Go on upstairs,
babe. I'll be right up."

As they walk off I look around the kitchen, thinking, 'Why wouldn't I want
to stay here and get served a great breakfast every morning before work. Oh
yeah, after sleeping and making exquisite love with Robby there's this like
gourmet breakfast waiting for me. Maybe Rob and I will have a swim in the
pool after work and then sit down to a great dinner that Mrs. Dickers
prepares for us. I won't need to do anything. Hell, every dinner I've had
here is like a special Sunday dinner. After dinner I can just leave my
plate on the table along with whatever else for Rob's Mom to clean-up. Rob
and I will go off to do whatever we feel like doing. And Rob treats me
special when I stay over, hell all three of them treat me special. I feel
special here! They can't do enough for me, and they actually do act as if
I'm a VIP, like Mr. Dickers said.

Yeah, but why the fuck am I standing here in the kitchen? I start walking
to the hall stairs and at that very second Mrs. Dickers decides to walk out
of the living room and down the hall towards me. I just stand here. Jesus!
I can't catch a break here.

She's smiling though, saying, "Oh, Dylan, how nice to see you. Rob tells me
you're moving in with us. Welcome, and I hope you'll make our home your
own." I go, "Good evening, Mrs. D. Um, we were just, um, it's not
certain..." She pours herself some wine, mumbling a non-sequitur, "Wouldn't
you think Robert would have thought to refill my wine glass too?" I assume
she means Mr. Dickers, I go, "Oh, he, um, Mr. Dickers is talking about work
with my, um, I mean Rob. Ah, in his office, I think..."

She grins at my uncomfortableness while sipping her wine, smiling, and then
mumbling, "Talking about the company, are they? What a shocker that is, ha
ha." I nod and force a snorted-out chuckle. She drops the empty wine bottle
in the trash and then looks at me, saying, "And, Dylan, you better make
sure your Mom's okay with this move, honey." Honey? I mumble, "As I was
saying, I'm not sure about moving in, Mrs. Dickers, um, Rob, um... well he,
ah, sort of invited me but we need to have more of a 'talk' about it. I
think, um..." She pats my shoulder on her way back to her TV show, saying
over her shoulder, "Good luck with your 'talk'! Rob's pretty determined
this is going to happen and you know how your boyfriend is when he makes up
his mind about something." Huh, they're all on-board with Rob's idea; a
foregone conclusion. That's kinda weird. Hey, am I Dodger's replacement?

Confused about what to do, I start upstairs, thinking, 'Yeah, Rob and his
parents are being very nice and Rob id determined obviously, but I can be
pretty fucking determined too. I'm not committing to anything... yet. Rob
cleared this with his parents, which is surprising in a way, but I give him
props for doing that. Oh man though, I still gotta talk to Chubby and then
my Mom. Chub always knows just the right thing to do and he'll tell me
right-out what he thinks. Mom, well Mom will go along with whatever she
thinks I want. She's like that, but then I'll be
twenty-two-fucking-years-old in a few weeks so why wouldn't she let me make
my own decisions? My important decisions are almost always run past my
brother first though, and this one will be too no matter how determined
Mrs. Dickers thinks Rob is.

Flopping on Rob's bed with my hands behind my head I get a goofy thought
and snicker out loud thinking about Hayden telling me to do this very thing
on his bed yesterday; 'Get on my bed with your hands behind your head', or
was it, 'with your legs together'. Something like that... ha ha.. Yeah
well... that makes me think about buddy-sex. That's still in play whether
I'm living here or not. That won't change, or will it? I won't have the
freedom I have now. Yeah except I've been mostly staying nights with Rob
for weeks now and somehow, we both manage to slip-in some buddy-sex. At
least I've managed to... although not often! Certainly nothing like last
summer, but then Rob's never been this committed to our sex life before
and, consequently, I'm rarely if ever horny. The variety I've enjoyed for
the past few years has dried-up now that I'm old and I don't see what
difference it'll make whether I live here or not... or for that matter if I
live in a tent somewhere.

Hearing stomping on the steps tells me Rob's coming upstairs, so what am I
gonna say? I know he'll say something like, 'Tonight, babe, we'll cement
our awesome new arrangement with lover's sex. How's that sound?'  Or
something like that. How did this come about so quickly? I never gave it a
thought before Rob mentioned it a mere hour ago, and now it's a done-deal
in his and his parents' minds. Is it a done deal with me though? Ya know,
the truth is I'll actually be fine with living here assuming Chubby doesn't
comes up with a reason I shouldn't be fine with it; some reason I haven't
thought of. I'm sure some people think I'm a pussy for needing my brother's
approval, but fuck them! I always feel better after checking-in with Chubby
and usually, although not always, I follow his advice.

Rob walks into the bedroom all smiles and then flops on the bed next to me
landing on his stomach. He goes up on his elbows looking down at me but
doesn't say what I thought he might say. Instead he says, "Jesus, babe, I
just scored major brownie-points with Dad. This manager dude at work, Sol
Golden, totally mislead Dad about how the Macafee Corp. thing could
work. Dad had this fucked-up idea about how that deal is supposed to go
down, and I told him..." I go, "Rob, fuck the Macadoo shit! I wanna talk
about me staying with you." Rob murmurs, "Its Macafee," as I continue, "Ah,
I'm not totally committed to 'moving-in', okay? I mean, I'm leaning heavily
in favor of it and I appreciate the offer, I really do! My problem is that
you're just assuming I'll do it without first discussing it with me and I
need a little time to think about it and, I don't know, but it rattles me
that your parents already think I'm moving in and... oh balls, I gotta
think about it, that's all."

I can't tell from his expression what he's thinking as he lightly traces a
finger across my lips, and then goes, "You're right of course, Dylan. I
sprung it on you without thinking. I get carried away when I'm excited
about something, especially when it's about you. Um, didn't I hear you say
you're mostly gonna do it?" Nodding my head, I'm like, "Yeah, probably but
I wanna talk to Chubby first, and I need to fill my Mom in too." Rob goes,
"Sure, I understand that. Hell, I expected you'd need to do that. I mean,
that goes without saying, right? And, um, I know how close you and Jeff are
so obviously you'd want to talk to him. So, like I said, I understand
completely. No problem."

Yeah, well okay then! Don't make fucking decisions for me without
discussing them with me first. I got that across. Rob smiles and gently
rubs up my forehead and back on the top of my head messing my hair,
murmuring, "Someday I hope the first person you think of before making a
big decision is me, but I understand it's still Jeff for now. Um, but
you're just about positive you're gonna be staying with me, right?"

Well fuck, he is a determined young man, and that's not a criticism. That's
one of Rob's good qualities; one of his many good qualities. Reaching up I
get a fistful of his hair, saying, "I think I'll let my hair grow out like
you're doing." He chuckles, "Changing the subject, are we?" I shrug,
muttering, "No, not really, well maybe to catch my breath, yeah." He says,
"Let's get ready for bed," and we both hop off the bed and start getting
undressed.

Pulling off his shirt, Rob goes, "Hey, as far as your hair goes, hell I'm
just your barber and you're my freebie-client, so you tell me how to cut
your hair. I don't decide for you, ya know?" I mumble, "Great that you say
that now, but you did decide about Danny's and my haircuts the last
two-times." He goes, "I don't believe I cut Danny's hair before this last
haircut." Shrugging, I'm like, "Well you decided on my haircut the last two
times" He goes, "No, I did not! I assumed you wanted this hairstyle," and
his fingers go over the hair on top of my head as he mutters, "Hell, you
can get any kind of fucking haircut you want, I don't care! You're the one
always thinking about haircuts." He's a tad put-out obviously, but I also
don't care, sarcastically mumbling, "Yes, I will decide, thank you very
much."

He's stripped-down to his boxer shorts by now and, fuck, I can't help
it... I'm always impressed seeing his hot body. "Nice bod, dude." He
picks-up the clothes I dropped on the floor, saying, "Thanks and I'm glad
our arguing about haircuts is over." Taking my socks off, I go, "We weren't
arguing! Um, anyway what'd we decide?" He shakes his head, chuckling now as
he goes, "We decided, like always, that whatever you fucking-want you
get. In this case whatever haircut you want, or maybe you won't get a
haircut... whatever the fuck. It's all 'good' as long as you're happy." I'm
like, "I might get this haircut again and then I might not. I'll let you
know."

Expecting Rob to continue our snippy conversation, he instead says, "So,
how about we start bringing your clothes and stuff over after baseball
practice tomorrow night?" That makes me laugh out loud. And he wasn't
trying to be ironic or funny; he was serious which negated our entire
discussion about me not being decided yet. I go, "Rob! What the hell? We
both just agreed I need to talk with Chubby and my Mom before committing to
staying with you all summer but, be that as it may, you just now bulldozed
over all that and went right back to it being a foregone conclusion." He
shrugs, "I don't mean to assume!" I go, "Yes you do 'cause that's what you
just did, but that's alright. I mean, I'm staying here three or four nights
a week as it is, so it's not a big stretch to assume you're gonna get your
way again." He's grinning, mumbling, "Again? It'll be a first!"

Holding up my clothes that he just picked-up off the floor, Rob smirks,
saying, "There will be a few house rules, ya know." I go, "It's not even
definite yet! Too early for house rules." I assume he's referring to my
discarded clothing as he lays them on the desk chair, so I ask, "Um, what
house rules?" He comes over and puts his arms loosely around my waist
facing me, "Well for one, you'll need to let me make love to you every
night." I nod, "That's a good rule, but be serious. What house rules?" He
shrugs and let's go of me, "Oh nothing, but don't thrown your clothes
around; that maybe could be a rule. That's about it for the rules though, I
guess." I'm like, "Well, I was getting good with that clothes thing
actually. Remember I folded my towel after showering the other day?"

He's looking a little frustrated now so I take hold of his arm, saying
seriously, "I'm wicked flattered you want me to stay with you! And that
your parents are so nice about welcoming me too, really I am! Just let me
go through the motions of talking with Chub and Mom, that's off. Hell, I
wanna stay with you always. Most of the time I want to crawl into your skin
with you; I love you more than anything." He hugs me, rubbing my back,
"Thank you, Dylan, I love you too. I just want us to be together."

We do a tight hug and then, letting go of me, he says, "Okay then, how
about you get your toiletry kit and we'll take a quick shower before
getting to bed. Ya know, it's getting late." Oh fuck, showering together in
the hall bathroom? Before I can say anything, he quickly adds, "Not
together though; I know you don't feel comfortable doing that
here... yet. So, do you don't want to shower first." I go, "You're right,
I'm not that comfortable yet, but I feel okay now about walking down the
hall in my underpants. That's progress as far as the hall bathroom goes,
don't ya think?" He grins, "Oh man, a big-boy-step in the right direction."

I take a quick shower while thinking I really should be flattered that Rob
and his parents want me to be almost one of the family. Talking with Chub
and Mom about it first is more a matter of courtesy than anything else;
it'd be rude to just move away from home without conferring with them.

Out of the shower, drying myself, I realize there is something Rob will
need to agree with though, and it's that three-or-four-days-a-week I'll
want to go home to have dinner with Chubby and I need to be part of Sunday
brunches with my family every Sunday. Those two things are nonnegotiable,
although after dinners with Chub I will return to Rob's. Oh, and Rob can
join Chub and me for dinner whenever he wants. Me eating dinner with Chub
means borrowing Rob's pickup but Rob's never had a problem with me
borrowing his 'ride'. Other than those minor stipulation, unless I'm
missing something majorly wrong with this move that Chub points out, I'm
going to do it. I think it'll be awesome living with Rob and experiencing a
taste of a more traditional family life, one I never had. Last summer with
Ryan's family I do not consider a slice of normalcy because that's an, um,
unusual group. I'll leave it at that. Normalcy or not, I wouldn't change my
years growing-up with Chubby for anything in the world, but we're not kids
now and it's become a different 'world' for both of us...

As I'm brushing my teeth Rob comes in the bathroom and drops his boxer
shorts, saying, "Ya know, babe, there's no reason you can't still have
dinners with your brother, and sometimes I'll join you guys if that's
okay. Plus, Jeff is always invited to have dinner here with us. I meant to
make a point of that when I first started talking about you living with me,
but you didn't give me the chance." I go, "Oh, okay, that's considerate of
you, but you're right... you should have started with that right from the
get-go. Actually, I was just thinking the same thing two-minutes ago. That
plus Sunday brunches at either Chub's place or mine." He hugs me from
behind, toothpaste drooling down my chin, as he's saying, "I'm so happy
about this!" I mutter, "I am too, Rob, but let me rinse out, will ya?" He's
like, "Yeah, sorry," and let's go of me to grab a hand towel that he holds
out. I take it and dry my face and hands, grinning and saying, "I'll
naturally expect to be waited-on by you, and I mean hand and foot." He
chuckles, "Well, of course!"

Dropping the towel on the toilet-seat-lid, I hug him tightly because, like
I was thinking earlier, I'm wicked flattered that Rob and his parents seem
sincere about me be part of their family. I'll be part of it anyway when
Rob and I get married but this experience should eliminate any possible
awkwardness in that regard later. Yeah, my boyfriend thinks of everything!

Rob's a planner and I suppose one of us should be I. We kiss and rub our
naked bodies together. Well almost naked bodies since I'm wearing boxer
shorts. Our dicks immediately begin firming up and then our hands are
rubbing each other's body. I manage to murmur, "No Rob, not in here," but
he has his hands on my butt cheeks pulling our crotches and hardening cocks
together. I gasp as he murmurs, "Yes, in here. My parents are drinking
their wine and won't be coming to bed for an hour. Trust me."

With a hand holding onto my arm, Rob leans over and turns the shower on,
muttering, "A little background noise to hide other sounds, huh?" There's a
big grin on his face as he gets a tube of Vaseline from the medicine chest,
chuckling and saying, "Yes, it's a primitive lube, babe, but it'll work
just fine." Taking his hand off my arm he pulls my underwear down to my
knees and I let my underwear drop to my feet. As I'm kicking them off to
the side Rob squeezes some Vaseline on his fingers, mumbling, "If you'll be
so kind as to turn around I'll Vaseline your rear-end." My stiff dick
tightens further and the lips of my asshole quiver with anticipation as I
turn around bending over and holding onto the rim of the sink. Rob's finger
rubs that slippery substance around my asshole and then his finger goes in
as he grunts, "Omigod Dylan, your ass is so fucking sexy, I can hardly
control my urges." I mutter, "It doesn't appear you even tried, but be my
guest." He's too aroused to respond. With one hand cupping my shoulder the
forefinger of his other hand slides around inside my rectum moving right
over my prostate and then again with me going, "Mmmm, oooh..."

Robby gasps before snorting out a chuckle, muttering, "You get me so
fucking aroused it's like, um, it's awesomely exciting..." His finger comes
out and I glance over my shoulder watching him using the first two fingers
and thumb of his right hand to spread Vaseline on his fat penis that's
already fairly hard. His left hand is still griping my shoulder as Rob
breathes noisily and then the blunt end of his boner's head spreads the
lips of my asshole. The point of his boner isn't a lot wider than his
finger, and then, "Aaaah," from me as the full, swollen head spreads my
anus significantly. There's immediate pain too, but that's nothing new. Rob
coos, "Ooooh, this feels so good," and his left hands tightens on my
shoulder.

The head of his fat boned-up-cock slides slowly but surely past my
sphincter muscle as my back arches and I hold my breath against the burning
from the lips of my stretched anus. It's a delicious kind of pain though,
one surrounded by pleasure as contrasting sensations, pain and pleasure,
duel for supremacy. A million nerve endings are getting involved. Yeah,
well that's what they're there for. I know which sensations will triumph
and therefore long ago I came to grips with the temporary pain, almost
embracing it because I know what comes next. 'Next' isn't here yet though
as Rob's fat boner expands the inside of me and the thought always sneaks
into my head that something's gonna rip in there. It never has though and
it won't this time either.

The stretching of my asshole happens quickly and I only need to hold my
breath for like thirty-seconds. Rob's rubbing both hands down my back now,
his right hand leaving a Vaseline smear on me as I lean-over further
pushing my ass out and gripping the rim of the sink tighter while trying to
keep my grunts of pain to myself while I happily share my moans of pleasure
with Rob.

He's feeling no pain as he exclaims quietly, but excitedly too, "Oh boy,
this feels good, baby!" and he takes a hand away from my back and a,
"Smack!" sound rings out in the bathroom as my butt cheeks stings from the
palm of his hand slapping the side of it and then another, "Smack!" follows
as he thrusts two-inches of hard, fat cock further up my ass. Rob goes,
"Ummmm," and another, "Smack!' sound as the palm of his hand connects
against my buttocks again. Rob smacks hard but its it's because he's
excited, not because he wants to hurt me. Nonetheless I need to reach back
and rub my hot, stinging butt cheek. A grunt from Rob as he does another
hard thrust that gets me lifting up on my toes and groaning, "Aaaah,
Rob..." He leans in against my buttocks, flat against me now that the
docking's complete.

The pain is already retreating as Rob, fully impaling me with his very fat
boner, coos words of affection while he rubs my shoulders, "You're so
perfect, babe. I'm the luckiest guy in the world to be your boyfriend."
More rubbing on my back and shoulders as the totally filled-up sensation
inside me turns completely to pleasure and I sigh contentedly, "Oooooh,
mmmm," and then, turning my head, I quietly murmur, "Yeah, feels really
good, Robby."

The pleasure sensations that I know are pouring off his fat cock get Rob
murmuring, "Mmmm, yeah, Dylan, nothing feels more awesome than this." He
drops his hands to grips my hips while pulling his engorged penis back
until its most of the way out and then with a moan he slides it very
tightly right back up my ass. My back arches again but this time with
pleasure sparkling inside of me. Rob humps against my buttocks a few times
before again withdrawing that slippery fat-log of pleasure but this time
when its pulled back it almost comes out completely. With a low moan, he
adds a little additional backward pressure distending my anus muscles. The
lip-muscles around my anus hold tenaciously to the swollen head as Rob
quietly moans again, "Ummm, nice ass, baby." Anticipation grows in me and,
after a long exhale from Robby, we're into it as Robby begins fucking
steadily and smoothly with me moaning, "Oooh, ooh," with each thrust. Every
nerve ending in my rectum begins screaming delicious sexual pleasure and
after a few more thrusts I go, probably too loudly, "Oooooh, yeah, Robby."

This entire summer there's been an extra intensity to our sex and tonight
is no exception as Rob again is super-aroused. The familiar slapping sounds
begin ringing off the tile walls of the bathroom, "Slapslapslap," and that
has me, for a few seconds, fighting concerns the sounds of us fucking will
be heard by Rob's parents. That concern soon is forgotten however as
instead the rippling sensations of sexual pleasure in my ass overtakes all
other concerns and sexual pleasure becomes all I can think or care about.

Sex to me is the greatest of all physical pleasures and is reason enough on
its own to make life worthwhile even though us humans, on an individual or
worldwide scale, struggle to survive one human-manufactured crisis after
another. The young and healthy among us tend to take for granted the
wonders of our lives but this greatest of all human pleasure shouldn't ever
be taken for granted...  sex makes life worth the struggle.

The further into it we get Rob and I become basically two animals in heat,
not unlike the animals in the animal kingdom. We're all the result of
Natural Selection as a species. A species with a strong enough sex urge to
ensure the continuation of ourselves through procreation. Humans, and
selected other species, evolved from the earliest emergence of life here on
earth 3.8 billion years ago. We come from a form of prokaryotic cells like,
yes bacteria... those fuckers again. They're still with us along with the
other best models of reproducing life in uncountable numbers. Nature's
interest in organisms that can reproduce won out and humans have done a
hell of a lot of that because sex feels good... reproduction is an
unexpected side benefit for lower life forms. Holy shit, it must have
shocked the earliest stepping-stones to us humans when one of the
participant's belly began growing and then... what the hell is this?

Back at the twenty-first century Rob's primary interest during this type of
extemporaneous sex is obviously getting his horny-self 'off', meaning
climaxing. He and I can get 'off' better together than with anybody
else. It's a mutually-satisfying endeavor and frankly one of the reasons
we've endured as gay boyfriends for over four-years now. And that's even
though, culturally speaking, gays are supposed to be more promiscuous than
your average heterosexual couple. That unfortunately can cause break-ups
for many. Not where Rob and I are concerned though.

Sure, we're promiscuous but not to the extent either of us used to be. The
thing being we've always come back to each other because sex is best when
it's between him and me. We've discovered that other sex when compared to
ours is a 'yawn' a temporary diversion meaning diddly-squat to
us. Sometimes I think we have side-sex more from habit than anything else,
although there is a fascination with variety. Whatever, for me the best
side-sex I've ever had is still far back in second-place compared to Rob's
sex.

We have the best lover's sex ever, but our sex tonight is mostly sex for
the fun of it, although sometimes it's also for the need of it. We're been
each other's best option for a long time and even this random fun-sex is on
a higher level than doing it with others because love counts big-time and
makes it better; it just does! This type of sex also brings on fast orgasms
which can be highly thrilling although much too quick... nothing's perfect
though. This sex is like going from zero to sixty-miles-per-hour in a
Porsche 911 in 2.7 seconds... there's an incredible rush and an
exhilarating thrill but then it's pretty much over, BANG!... just like that
and all that's left is catching your breath. Oh sure, the heart's racing
too but basically its already over almost before it begins. Minus the heart
rate and shortness of breath it's like eating a gourmet chocolate from a
box of Godiva and biting into it with a thrilling taste-bud explosion of
deliciousness that's beyond exquisite, but how long does it take to chew a
chocolate-covered caramel and swallow? Thirty seconds or less, and then
it's merely a wonderful memory, but oh what an awesome memory! That's kinda
what this fast sex Rob's and I are into now is like.

Rob's tenaciously gripping my hips and its "Slapslapslap," sounds as he
thrusts, thrusts, thrusts fast-and-hard, his fat boner flying back and
forth in my opened-up rectum. For him his hard boner is electric with
fabulous pleasure vibrations and sensations constantly bombarding his brain
while the movement of that fat boner is simultaneously setting off a
blizzard of pleasure for me as nerve endings in my ass, thousands and
thousands of them, almost overwhelm my brain's pleasure zone. We're both
too quickly into the orgasm-zone where there's no turning back, and neither
of us wants to turn back anyway. I like rough sex and this is a hard
fucking that requires me holding onto the sink, or holding onto something,
because Rob is humping his boner up my ass hard and bumping me forward with
every thrust. It's rough enough to cause one of us to get a nose-bleed if
we were inexperienced with this form of hard fucking... we're not
inexperienced though.

It's a rough, hard, and fast fucking reaching climax too quickly but it
can't be slowed down. Nothing new to me as I was exposed to rough-sex
during my indoctrination to gay sex by the person known as fat Carl. He
cared only about himself and I was merely the vehicle he used to accomplish
his orgasm. Repetition taught me to embrace a hard, fast fuck as it was the
only kind I knew at the time. And then Willie Worthington taught me to
expect it three-or-four times a night. Jesus!

Rob's grinding now and I feel drops of sweat on my bare-back as the
droplets fly from his forehead. The exertion required for this fast
thrusting is significant and then, just like that... he stops thrusting
completely making a whining desperation sound humping against my
buttocks. He's going to blow his load and I'm right on the verge of blowing
my mine too and when I feel his hit inside me I squeal as my climax fires
off taking me to the mountain top of sexual thrills and pleasure, and then
another thrilling shot of cum, and then it's pretty much all over! Nothing
compares to, and no one can describe, the incredible momentary feeling of
pure ecstasy when an orgasm burst into your consciousness. There's some
lingering sensations that buzz around my ass and cock but they fade quickly
leaving me with only a sigh and another memory of a miracle.

Rob goes, "Omigod! Oooh, ooh, oooh, God," and drops his head against my
shoulder as he humps a few more times in my ass. As he does that it
draws-out some of his creamy cum that quickly losses it's thick creamy
texture. Perhaps it realizes its failed in its mission to impregnate a
female egg, and then loses interest and merely drools down my right butt
cheek, probably shrugging its tiny shoulders like 'fuck it', if it had
shoulders. My eyes were shut during my climax and then my sigh, and now I
open my eyes with a gasp and watch my own unfulfilled-cum drooling off the
front of the sink and dripping onto the tile floor at my feet.

Rob takes a step back pulling his cock out of my ass as he moans, "Oh
fuck... oh shit, that was awesome." Taking a deep breath, shuddering as a
few bonus climate-vibrations skitter around my ass for a second, adding to
the memory. Oh man, I straighten up looking at Rob's reflection in the
mirror over the sink, seeing his grinning face as he pulls on his
dick. Turning, I smile back at him nodding my head and murmuring, "Damn,
that felt good, Rob."

We do a guy's hug and he goes, "Oh boy, I love our sex, Dylan!" Well yeah,
we both got what we wanted from that fun-sex and now it's back to
reality. I hop in the shower with him for a minute to re-wash some of my
body parts, concentrating on the Vaseline around my ass while Rob washes my
shoulder and back where his Vaseline-covered-hand spread some slippery
stuff there. Then as he rubs shampoo in his hair, he says, "That was kinda
rude and rough of me, but damn, Dylan, you're a hottie!" I go, "Always
ready to oblige my handsome boyfriend's sex-fiend-needs." He goes, "It's
you who turned me into a sex-crazed individual." Ha! He started having sex
at fourteen so he can't blame anything on me!

I'm out of the shower drying off again and then pulling my boxer shorts on
again, saying, "I'm gonna get in bed, Rob." He goes, "I won't be long,
babe." Getting in bed under the covers I'm like, "Wow, nice!"
Mrs. D. changed the sheets again! That's the second time this week and I
love crisp, clean sheets and pillow cases. Sweet!

I suppose we'll talk in bed a little more about me spending most of the
remainder of the summer here with the Dickers and I'll talk with Chub and
my Mom, but I can't envision any reason I won't be staying here. Of course,
I've got a week's vacation coming up next month. It'll be Chub's and my
first vacation in Wildwood as twenty-one-year-olds. I mean, starting the
vacation as legal age for drinking so I guess it'll be kinda different from
past years. Chubby and I turned twenty-one at the end of last year's
vacation so it's not like we've never been in a Wildwood bar. Oh good, here
comes Robby now...

                                      ***********************************************************

A MONTH LATER: WILDWOOD, NEW JERSEY

Its a Monday near the end of the first week of August with Chubby and I
sitting at a small table on the outdoor patio behind Gregory's Bar on 24th
street in Wildwood, New Jersey. As often happens with us, we're wearing
basically the same thing: cool sunglasses, baggy cargo shorts, T-shirts
with inappropriate sayings on the front, and sandals. It's almost three
o'clock in the afternoon and we've just finished our first frosted mugs of
beer that cost $6.50 each. Rip off? Ha, we're at the Jersey Shore... of
course it's a rip off.

Chub's working on his pickup-artist technique with our cute, petite
waitress who just brought us our second frosted mugs of beer. As Chubby's
hook-up-lines bomb one after the other our waitress grins, glancing at me
as if she expects me to jump in to compete with Chub. Basically I'm trying
not to break-out in a grin at Chub's frustration as he's getting very
little response from Carla; that's the name of our waitress. Chub finally
says, "Um, English is your first language, right Carla? You're
comprehending the words coming out of my mouth I assume, and realizing I'm
offering you one of the thrills of your life!" She finally laughs and then
says, "You're both very cute," and then walks away with our empty mugs,
wiggling her cute ass. Cute ass for a girl...

This part of the patio is in direct sunlight... and it's hot! The
temperature, according to the weather report on my iPhone, is
eighty-eight-degrees and there's not a cloud in the sky. Our super-cold
beers are going down easily. Watching Carla wiggle her ass over to another
table of drinkers, Chub nods his head, mumbling, "Huh, I think she was
hitting on you, bro." I shrug and mumble, "Didn't notice." Smirking then, I
imitate Chub, "English is you're first language, right?" He goes, "Whaddaya
talking about? My rap was magic, bro! Saying shit like that in my dulcet
tones usually has girls sitting on my lap after a minute or so. That chick
has amazing willpower!" I go, "Uh huh," and Chub adds, "It must be that she
saw we're obviously new arrivals. We've got no tan at all and I guess Carla
goes for the overly-tanned-and-tattooed macho asshole types." I mutter,
"That's probably it, but my money's on you. By tomorrow your magical rap
will have some chick spellbound and you'll have multiple scores before the
week's out." He drinks some beer and then mutters, "Yeah, I like the sound
of that."

Wiping sweat off his foreheads, Chub disgustedly says, "But, Jesus, we've
already lost basically two-whole-days of vacation because of that fuckin'
Jeep. We need a new car!" The Moms and their boyfriends are already here;
maybe at the house the twins rented on 36th street. The four of them drove
here Saturday which is when Chub and I started out too; nine o'clock
Saturday morning. The Jeep was loaded with our vacation stuff, we had a
full tank of gas, and we were most definitely in a South Jersey state of
mind. Fuck though, we didn't even get on route 495 before the Jeep's
temperature gage shit-the-bed showing the engine was overheated.

Smoke or something was coming out from under the hood so Chub pulled over
to the breakdown-lane. We looked at each other for a few seconds before he
muttered, "Should either of us even bother looking under the hood?" I
shrugged at the very idea, saying, "Jesus, I don't even know how to unlatch
it. I think we'd need to pull something in here first." Looking pissed,
Chub shook his head, pulled out his cellphone and called a buddy of his who
works for a Meineke Car Care Center in Natick. Long-story-short, his
friend, Harry Engales, left work and came to our aid. Harry knew how to
unlatch the hood. He looked at the motor and all that other stuff under
there as Chub and I we're looking over his shoulder. Harry said, "Ha,
there's a hole rusted-through the Jeep's radiator," and Chub was like,
"This fucking piece of shit!" Harry said, "For Christ sake, Jeff, this
junker is fifteen years old. You're lucky it's only the radiator that's
fucked."

Anyway, Harry put some coolant in the radiator and then we were just barely
able to drive the Jeep to his shop before the coolant all leaked out. A
replacement radiator had to be ordered and wouldn't normally be delivered
until Monday afternoon but Harry called a friend of his who, as a favor to
Harry plus a twenty-dollar tip, drove the replacement radiator over from
Waltham. I didn't even know who Harry Engages was; still don't for that
matter. Never heard his name before in my life although Chub claims we got
smashed with Harry one New Year's Day four-years-ago.

Even with guys doing favors the car still wasn't ready until six o'clock
Saturday night. Its a seven-hour drive to Wildwood so we didn't see any
sense in starting out then. We spent the night in Framingham and then
yesterday, Sunday, it was raining like a bitch. Chub's Mom texted that it
was gonna rain all day Sunday in Wildwood too so we didn't see any sense in
a seven-hour drive through a tropical storm only to get to Wildwood in the
rain. Rainy days blow at the shore! Instead we hung-out Sunday at home and
then drove down today and here we are drinking beers after a grueling drive
that began during Monday rush-hour traffic back home. We haven't seen the
Moms yet and haven't unpacked the Jeep yet either. We're both a little
pissed-off about the way things are going so far on our vacation.

Lighting a cigarette, Chub asks, "Ya wanna get something to eat?" I mutter,
"In a little while I guess." We're looking out at the picturesque dunes
that begin about twenty-feet in front of the patio. The sand still looks
wet even though the sun has been out all afternoon. On the dunes there's
that weird grass that somehow grows in sand and then there's like
forty-yards of beach with lots of broken shells and stones, and then the
waves of the Atlantic Ocean breaking on the shoreline like they've been
doing for a couple of billion years. The dark-steel-colored Atlantic Ocean
extends out to the horizon and then way beyond it. There's a nice breeze
and that great ocean smell drifting over us and then as always at the shore
there's lots of squawking seagulls floating in the air-currents before
diving down to the beach to walk around looking for left over garbage to
eat.  Like I said, very picturesque!

Gregory's Bar is down past the boardwalk so there's no grooming or
manicuring going on for this part of the beach. Certainly not like they do
every morning for the beach that fronts the two-mile boardwalk where
lifeguards are provided in selected locations. This part of beach looks
more like it's in a natural state, meaning kinda rough and consequently
only a few hardy souls are braving the shells and sharp stones, all of them
wearing something on their feet so they don't get cut. Flip-flops seem to
be mostly the choice for footwear.

This view is one of the reasons most seashore areas become vacation
destinations. Yeah well... whatever. Looking away I glance at one of the
menus Carla dropped on our little round table when we were seated, and
mutters, "Lots of seafood options." Chub mutters, "Sea food? That's a
shocker." Looking at me now, he asks seriously, "Hey bro, are you getting
sick of working yet?" Dropping the menu, I'm like, "Sick of my summer job?
Um, no, not really. I've got kind of a cushy job although next week I'll be
doing interviews out in the field for workers and what not. That won't be
quite as cushy as having an office in the air-conditioned building, but
I'll have lots of independence being on my own handling the job in any
manner I decide to do it. For sure I'm gonna stretch it out too. I don't
wanna finish before the end of the summer. Keep that $500.00 a week rolling
in until we head off to finish college."

He lights a cigarette nodding his head slightly and then is quiet for a
few-seconds before muttering, "I'm happy for you, really! Personally, I'm
sick of working in an office though. Fuck all the petty politics those
cunts constantly bitch about." I ask, "By cunts do you mean the women or
also the men working in the office?" He shrugs, "Some of each. Not all of
them though, and I don't even know why I care. I'm part-time with only a
few weeks to go after this week. It's just that those people are doing
their life's work. It's frightening to think that might someday be me
too. I don't know, I'm probably mostly pissed about our fucking Jeep."

We talk about money matters for a few minutes figuring how much money the
Jeep is worth as a 'trade-in' on a newer model and then how much of our
summer earnings we can allocate to a newer ride. The main reason for
working summer jobs is to cover living expenses and our general spending
money at college, which reduces the amount we need to borrow. This is the
first summer we're both making more than we actually need for those
purposes and therefore our discussion about some of our earnings going
toward upgrading the Jeep.

Talking about money-matters brings to mind Dodger and the
three-hundred-thousand-dollars he has in the bank. It's just sitting there
collecting a pittance of interest, not that Chubby knows about Dodger's
jackpot. Thinking about Dodger, I go, "Hey, I was talking with Dodger on
the phone just last week. Oh man, he's royally pissed-off at the
Massachusetts' legislatures because those assholes can't get their act
together about the marijuana-bill us citizenry voted for last
election. Those State House fuckers think they know what's best for us
peons no matter what we vote for. Anyway, Dodger's staying in California
until a law gets finalized regarding the legalization of 'pot'. He needs to
know what he'll be dealing with." Chub mutters, "Fuckin' Dodger lives a
charmed life so I'm sure everything will work out well for him. Hell, I
hardly know him now after his two-years in the Army, plus now this long
stay in California with his buddy. Oh hell, I never knew him all that well
in the first place."  Chub's a bit negative at the moment.

He drinks some beer, shrugs and then grins, adding, "I always thought
Dodger was a hot-shit kid though. Jesus, he was something, huh?" Not really
wanting to talk about Dodger anymore, I mutter, "Yeah, I guess."

Finished his smoke, Chub realizes there's no ashtray so he drops the butts
on the stone floor and step on it, saying, "Okay, now I've gotta order some
food." We both look at the menus again and then I motion at the waitress,
already forgetting her name, and she comes over with a really cute grin for
a girl, asking, "Ready to order, guys?" She has perky little tits under her
T-shirt. The shirt has the name, 'Gregory's!' on the front, and gee, she's
a perfect height for Chub too. When she's standing next to our little
table, Chub says to me, "You do the talking, Dylan. I'm not talking to
Carla." He didn't forget her name.

Carla does a girlie smirk at me as she taps Chub on the head with her
little order-pad, and goes, "Aww, why aren't you talking to me?" He says,
"Dylan, tell her it's because she shot down my perfectly attractive offer
of a date tonight." She laughs out loud and goes, "But you asked me to go
skinny dipping with you and I don't think that's a proper first date," and
she looks at me, asking, "Do you, Dylan?" I guess she heard Chub call me by
name, but before I can answer Chub contradicts himself about not talking to
Carla, saying, "Leave my brother out of this," and she goes, "Oh, you're
brothers." She stares at us for two-seconds and goes, "Yeah, I can see that
now that you mention it. You both have the same haircuts too," and she
laughs covering her mouth, like girls do.

Well yeah, we do have identical haircuts. I never followed-through with
what I told Rob after the Fourth of July cookout about letting my hair
grow-out the way Rob has. A week after the Fourth Danny and I got another
haircut from Rob and neither of us, or Rob for that matter, mentioned
anything about a different style. We just sat in the pool-house barber
chair and, without asking, Rob gave us the same haircut we got last time
except he made it like the haircut he gave Chub and Marty West. The one
called an, 'under cut'. Chub got his second haircut from Rob just a week
ago and then Thursday Danny and I got our third 'under cut' haircuts. I
think they look cool, especially now that my hair on top has grown out
more. Seriously, I don't think we'd get a better 'cut' if we went to a shop
on Newbury Street in Boston and paid a hundred-dollars for it. Rob's a
really good barber.

Carla taps her foot, mumbling, "Well what's it's gonna be, guys?" I say,
"Okay, I'll have a cup of clam chowder and the lobster roll... with some
fries." Chub says, "Oh, so this is gonna be a hundred-dollar lunch, huh
bro? Okay then, I'll have the same thing. You tell Carla for me, Dylan,"
and then he looks at Clara and says, "Oh hell, forget it. I already talked
to her and, what the hell, I'm willing to forget the rude way you rejected
my offer to hook-up, Carla. How about if I meet you after work for a walk
on the beach."

See, Chub's persistent! Carla says, "Fine! I get off at six. If you're here
I'll walk on the beach with you, but no skinny dipping." Chub says to me,
"She's clever, that one!" Then, looking at her, he goes, "You saw right
through my plan, but okay, Carla, no skinny dipping." She goes, "You're
cute," and then, "I'll put your lunch orders in." I guess that phrase,
'You're cute', works pretty well for her. I wonder how many times a day she
says it?

I watch Chubby watching Carla walk away wiggling her ass, and then Chub
says to me, "Ah ha! I knew she had the hots for me." I'm like, "Well,
that's swell for you, but what the hell am I gonna do tonight?" He goes, "I
have every faith you'll manage without me, bro."

Huh, I wonder if Charlie's here this week. Oh man, he was an awesome
side-sex kid last summer. Well, he's less than a year younger than me so I
shouldn't call him a 'kid' I guess. It'd be awesome if he's on vacation
this week! Yeah, Charlie with his long, blond, curly-hair that I cut for
him... and he's a fabulous fuck-buddy too... as a 'bottom'. And a lot of
fun to just hang-out with. I suppose it's too much to expect he'd be here
this week, this one week out of the whole summer. So, yeah, what the fuck
am I gonna do this week? I'm too old to do my 'boy-watching' on the
boardwalk. Of course, I'll spend some time on the boards but it'll be
different from past years. My best years, boardwalk-wise, are behind
me. Those teenage years really rocked though!

Our cups of clam chowder arrive. As Carla carefully putting the over-full
cups of soup in front of us, she says to Chubby, "I probably should know
your name if I'm going on a beach-walking date with you tonight." Chubby
goes, "You wanna know my name for a beach-walking date? Omigod, you're
pushy, huh? That's, um, getting a little personal." She laughs and I say,
"His name is Jeffrey Romero and he'll be twenty-two this week. So will I."
She says, "Where you guys from?" Chubby jumps in and says, "Miller Springs,
Delaware. Its a sweet little town twenty-miles south of Dover." She goes,
"Well, Jeffrey Romero from Delaware, what do you do? Go to college?" After
he slurps some soup, and he normally never makes a slurping-sound eating
soup, Chub goes, "I work for Meineke as an auto mechanic's
apprentice. Currently I'm just doing oil changes, oh and I sweep-up too."
She mumbles, "I don't believe a word you said. See you a six
o'clock... sharp," and she's off to wait on other tables.

This place is jumping, but that's not the least bit surprising. During most
of the year there are like 5,000 people in Wildwood but during the summer
that numbers swells enormously to 250,000 so every place in Wildwood is
'jumping'! Good city to have a business in during the summer.

Finished his soup, Chub goes, "That girl's a spitfire, that Carla." I
mutter, "She's really cute, bro, but you normally are a, um, a 'tits' guy,
right?" He says, "And a 'leg' and 'ass' guy too. Did you see her legs and
the way she wiggles that cute ass of hers? Primo invitation!" He's probably
envisioning her legs wrapped around his waist while he... no, I don't wanna
go there! I mutter, "I can't say I noticed her legs. I thought her
small-pointy tits were perfect for her overall size though." Chub laughs,
muttering, 'Small pointy-tits."

Finished my soup, I'm like, "The clam chowder wasn't as good as Legal
Seafood's." Chub shrugs, "It was okay and, oh boy, here come our lobster
rolls." Wow, they do a nice lobster roll here. Usually you get it on a sort
of hotdog bun but these are served on some kind of larger roll with plenty
of lobster meat sticking out. Taking a bite, I taste a few spices in the
mayonnaise and there's some small-chopped celery too. Really good but for
$19.99 they should be really good. We eat for a minute and then, after
swallowing, Chubby asks a familiar question, "So, how are things with you
at the Dickers?" During our drive to Wildwood we didn't do much
talking. Not a lot of conversation during the drive because we took turns
napping while the other guy was driving. Yeah, we had too much to drink all
day Sunday at my place. What else are ya gonna do except tie on a load
during a rainy Sunday when you should be in sunny Wildwood by the sea? Of
course, it wasn't sunny in Wildwood either, but that didn't stop us from
bitching all day long about not being here.

Thinking back almost a month, it was the Sunday after the Fourth that I had
my 'talk' with Chub about Rob's proposal for me to basically move in with
the Dickers the rest of the summer. Chub listened to my pros and cons for
that idea, although I couldn't come up with much in the way of 'cons'
except for a vague 'loss of freedom' comment, and then me needing to buy
lunch every day in the cafeteria. Before I started the 'talk' I'd
emphasized that nothing was changing as far as Chubby and me having dinners
together, or our Sunday brunches, and I probably babbled on a little too
long because I felt 'funny' about the move, like I was being disloyal
somehow. Chub patiently waited until I was through and then calmly asked me
something like, 'What's the one big negative in your mind about staying
there?' and all I could come up with was the hall bathroom and buying my
lunch every day. The hall bathroom was already much less of a concern by
then anyway. He laughed and said something about it being obvious I wanted
to do the move. My reasons for not doing it were pathetic.

That hurt my feelings a little bit, I mean the way he said that, so I
emphatically reminded him the whole reason for our 'talk' was for him to
tell me something I haven't thought of as a reason I shouldn't do it. He
very nicely said that I'd already done basically the same thing last summer
on Georgia and as long as I continued with our time together for dinners
during the week, and I'm part of our limited family interaction with the
Moms on weekends, there wasn't any reason I shouldn't do what I wanted. He
actually encouraged me to do it because he thought it would help the
transition for both of us leaving home after graduating. He said we
certainly aren't gonna live at home after our Moms are married next
year. Of course, he also emphasized what I already knew, which was to talk
Mom about it, but that goes without saying and we both know my Mom is going
to support anything I want to do.

So, it was a good 'talk' overall but from the start I never felt Chub would
find anything wrong with me staying with the Dickers. Mostly I simply
wanted to hear him say there wasn't any reason I shouldn't. I suppose there
was always an outside chance I'd missed something that would make it a bad
idea, but I didn't really expect it. Of course, Chub was right that I'd
already done sort of the same thing last summer but for some reason I'd
never connected last summer's trip to Georgia as moving 'out' like I felt
this move was. Chub reiterated that he never felt good about the Georgia
thing and was opposed to it from the start because he said Ryan was
unbalanced and not wrapped-too-tight. Those were Chub's words early last
summer too. It was only because of a bizarre circumstance, namely Danny
supposedly living with Rob last summer, that I went to Georgia in the first
place. I hardly ever disregard Chubby's opinion like I did last year and
then of course he proved right about it in the end. It got kinda ugly with
Ryan for a number of reasons. That is until Chub and Rob made their visit
to Marietta and I got back on a right-thinking track. Soon after that I
left Georgia for good.

So Chub never had a good feeling about Ryan, but his feelings about Rob
have become positive ones. Chub's become fonder of Robby, especially over
the past six-months because of what we both perceive as Rob's personality
adjustment, an adjustment that neither of us can describe exactly. For that
matter, Rob can't either and none of us can pinpoint when it first became
noticeable... it just happened somehow. Of course, I was in love with Rob
before any adjustment so that didn't change, but I've come to 'like' him
even more than before. "Like' and 'love' being very different emotions, in
case you didn't know. You can love someone without liking them all that
much. That seems odd but it's true, and of course you can 'like' lots of
people without being in love with them.

Anyway, to Chub's question of, 'how are things with you at the Dickers?', I
shrug mumbling, "Same as always... good actually, really good." Chub asks
me that question about once a week during our dinners together. I've told
him in detail how well I'm treated and how I like staying there a lot, not
that I see Rob's parents all that much; mostly in passing or for brief
conversations, and then dinner with them for half-an-hour once or twice a
week. Chub already knows all that so today he just nods and goes, "This is
a fucking awesome lobster roll, huh?" I mutter, "Best I think I've ever
had. We gotta come back here a few times this week."

Yeah, Chub never pries into my life when he sees I'm doing great. That's
mostly all he cares about; that everything is good with me. I don't need to
worry about how he's doing because almost always he's doing awesomely. He
enjoys himself and except for that comment about the cunts at the job he's
working with this summer I can't think of anything he ever worries about. I
wanna talk with Chub later this week about his concerns regarding life
after college though. His comment earlier about it was very
un-Chubby-like. Like he said though, it could be simply a carry-over from
the Jeep bullshit.

Anyway, since I moved in with Robby a lot of my clothes and stuff are at
his house and at first it did seem kinda strange living there, kinda
surreal. I think it was especially so because it was absolutely no big deal
to any of them. I don't know what I expected but it was like, um,
nothing. They treated me like I've always lived there. They didn't do
anything special one way or the other. It was exactly like my earlier
sleep-overs days. Mr. and Mrs. Dickers weren't more friendly than usual and
they weren't less friendly, or less or more accommodating. They were
exactly the same as before. It took me a few days to get used to it
actually, although what I expected differently I couldn't tell you.

And then Robby's been his same excited self that I'm there and he was true
to his words about having dinner with Chubby and me at my place, or
Chubby's, two-or-three-nights a week. That's worked out well too because
Chubby and him have grown closer this past month. They'll be
brothers-in-law after all, so liking each other is kinda important. And
Rob's always been a good audience for Chubby anyway, easily laughing at
Chub's funny side. Rob invited Chub for dinner every time he ate with us,
but Chub always has a reason why he can't make it. No problem though. The
entire arrangement of me basically moving-in with the Dickers this past
four-weeks has been pretty much a non-factor for everyone as far I can
tell, and nobody's told me differently, so...

My talk with Mom was so sweet. She couldn't have been more supportive. She
had a brief crying jag blaming herself for not being able to provide me a
more normal home life as I was growing up but I went into this rant about
how I couldn't be more proud of her as my Mom and how she's a Mom anybody
would be lucky to have. Stuff like that and then some hugs and everything
turned-out fine. That reminds me, the Dickers are not big huggers. Oh man,
not like my Mom and Chubby's Mom who are both big-huggers and
kissers. Mrs. Dickers is a peck-on-the-cheek type, but not to me yet, I
mean for Rob and Mr. Dickers... so that's good. Mr. Dickers is a
pat-on-the-shoulder-type, but only occasionally and only for something
special. So that works out for me on both counts; meaning Mr. and Mrs.

Also, Rob hasn't missed a Sunday brunch the four-Sundays since I moved-in
with him. That's been especially good because the twin fiancés join
us for brunch most Sundays now and they're getting to know Rob better
too. They actually seem to enjoy talking business with him; Rob enjoys it
too. A lot of business talk and not in a pandering or condescending way by
the twins either. Serious shit, that's what it sounds like to me. So our
families are really getting to know one another.

Also, Rob and me being gay doesn't come up specifically but its alluded to
in subtle ways like always including Rob and me as a couple whenever
discussing things like, 'So, any specific plans after college?' or 'Do you
guys wanna come with us...' whatever.  And other general-type questions
that adult and parental-types tend to ask college students about our
plans. It's like when we were little kids, adult-types would always ask,
'How old are you now?' or they'd say, "my goodness but you've grown!' Now
it's more: 'What are you gonna do after college?' Chub's very evasive of
course, and I do a lot of shrugging but Rob comes right out saying he and I
are getting married and then he'll talk specifics, like about the condo
he's buying for us and about his plans for us working at Dickers & Son and
blah, blah, blah.. It impresses the adult-types no end. Chub and I tend to
roll our eyes, like, 'What the fuck? Who knows...' We're not as organized
as Rob.

My musings are interrupted by an unattractive, surly-looking busboy who
cleans our table when we've finished eating lunch and then Carla's back
asking if we'd like another beer. I go, "Yes, please. Thanks." She hits
Chubby on the head with her receipt book again, saying, "Don't be drunk for
our walk on the beach," and Chubby goes, "Did I say walk on the beach? I
meant walk on the wild side, Carla, but we can do that on the beach I
suppose." Chuckling, she says to me, 'Would you please chaperone your
brother's and my walk on the beach, Dylan?" and then, laughing, she leaves
to get our third frosted mugs of beer. She's pretty cool actually.

The third beer is our last one here. After splitting the bill and leaving
Carla what amounts to a thirty-five percent tip, we say 'goodbye' to her
and then Chub remembers to get her cellphone number. They goof around a
little as I stand here wondering what it'd be like if I were
heterosexual. Would Chub and I be in a competition to see who gets a date
with Carla, for example, or whoever?

We're finally on our way to the summer cottage that's only like four blocks
from here. We drove down close to 36th street looking for a bar and found
Gregory's Bar. The boardwalk begins a few blocks up so we should be no more
than three-or-four blocks in the other direction from the rental house.
Even though we both think we know exactly how to get to the house on 36th
street, we can't find it. We're in the vicinity of where the house should
be, but after fighting the traffic going around the block twice, Chub pulls
over and we both go through our bags looking for the directions Tris and my
Mom wrote out for us. Pain in the ass that our GPD isn't doing what it's
supposed to do!

I'm like, "This is mysterious," and then Chub finds his directions first,
muttering, "It's on the corner of 36th street and Ocean Drive so why the
fuck can't we find it? We drove by there twice!" I ask, "What's the house
number?" He reads it off to me and I go, "I'm getting out and walking down
36th street. We've been getting rushed and hassled by this fucking traffic
on Ocean Drive and we aren't able to look closely enough." Chub looks
confused, asking, "What traffic?" He's never bothered by the traffic around
him, preferring instead to ignore it as if it isn't even there much to the
other drivers' consternation. I say, "Just sit here, Chub, and I'll ask
someone." He shrugs and waves his hand at me. We're both frustrated with
everything, and I mean everything starting with Saturday morning.

Walking through the people milling around on the sidewalk I finally show a
candy store shop clerk the directions and ask if he knows where this
address is? He nods and asks, "Ya gonna buy something?" Asshole! I buy a
half-pound of Jolly Roger Licorice Bridge Mix 'cause like everyone else who
likes licorice, I really like licorice! The old duffer nods his head and
rings-up $7.79 as I bite my tongue to keep from shouting, 'Are you out of
your fucking mind charging...?' but get myself under control. He tells me
there's new construction and we both step out of his shop so he can point
to a temporary sign for 'Beach Alley' which is where we need to turn,

I thank him as I chew on some soft super-sweet licorice and wave at Chubby
to drive down to me. He pulls out of his parking spot amid a cacophony of
blowing-horns and makes his way through a yellow traffic light to pull up
beside me, blocking cars behind him as he asks calmly, "Where is it, bro?"
I point at the temporary street sign, saying, "The house is right on the
fucking beach! It's behind 36th street." With horns blowing from the cars
he's holding up, Chub looks at the directions and goes, "Oh, so that's what
Mom meant by 'Beach alley'." I get in, saying, "Chub, just drive down and
turn onto that road, please. People are going nuts behind you." He
chuckles, muttering, "Bunch of assholes," and we roll forward to a narrow
alley next to four attached stores on 36th street.

Chubby stops on 36th street again and we both look down the unfinished
alley and sees some new houses. Chub goes, 'Sweet, bro! Brand new houses!"
I go, "Chub, pull around the corner onto the alley, please, and let the
other cars get by." He looks in the rearview mirror, and appears shocked,
asking, "Are those assholes blowing their fucking horns at me?" Well yeah!
He mutters, "Jerk-offs," and pulls the Jeep around the corner onto the
unfinished road named, Beach Alley. We drive down the short, newly-made
Beach Alley while looking at ten brand new houses staggered on the beach
facing the ocean.

The alley is like thirty-feet long with dunes on either side with more
dunes in front of the new construction. The alley connects with a gravel
road that runs behind the ten houses. Our place is the first house. The
house numbers are on the garage doors in big numerals.  Chub pulls the Jeep
in next to Tom's BMW. We get out and walk around front and, omigod!... what
a great view! There are lots of dunes and then the sand beach that's very
much like in front of the bar's patio, meaning in a natural state and
therefore not real conducive to sunbathing. The broken shells and stones
wouldn't be comfortable under a beach towel. Walking over the first dune to
get a better look at the ocean we see a 'NO TRESPASSING: Endangered Plant
Species Habitat' sign. Chubby goes, "Somebody got paid-off authorizing
these houses to be built just before the no-trespassing area." I go, "Yeah,
they probably moved this sign about twenty-yards nearer the ocean to allow
for the construction and fuck twenty-yards of endangered plant species or
whatever."

These houses have tons of privacy and a wicked awesome view! They must be
very expensive rentals, but neither Chub nor I even mention it because
we're getting used to our future Step-Dads' tendency to go first
class. There's like fifty-feet between each house and, while the houses are
the same basic format, there are some differences too. Ours has a large
deck fifteen feet off the ground facing the ocean whereas the next house
has a large patio at ground level with a three-foot brick wall around
it. Huh, I like that one better. And what an ingrate I am for thinking
that! Chub goes, "Let's go inside and see our bedroom."

Walking to the back of the house where we parked in front of two garage
doors, there's also a people door. We try it and find its locked so we go
back around front and try the door under the deck but its locked too. Chub
goes, "Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! Nothing is working out for us,
Dylan!" I go, "The Moms would have left a key for us somewhere, or some
means of getting inside" and Chub mutters, "Yeah, you're right." We go
around back again and Chub looks in the BMW as I slowly walk along the
garage doors and then think to try a garage door and it slides right
up. Chub comes over, "That a boy, bro," and we go inside where there's a
door from the garage to a finished basement with a pool table. Jesus,
what's this place is going to be like upstairs...

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

Hey guys, how about making a small (or large, go for it!) tax deductible
donation to nonprofit Nifty. They could use your help covering the expenses
inherent in maintaining a free story site this size. Easy directions about
how to do that on their 'home page'. Thanks!

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