Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2018 02:07:58 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 23

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter  23

by  Donny Mumford


Walking from the parking lot closest to the Quad I'm puffing on my Marlboro
cigarette looking at Connor who doesn't see me yet. He's sitting on the
steps of the Quad doing something with his laptop. As I get closer I
confirm that, yep, that's a mouse under his eye with a butterfly bandage
next to it. Those two outliers stand-out like crass neon lights on his
otherwise innocent-looking, pale-complexed pretty-boy face. When I'm five
feet away from him, I drop and then step on the cigarette butt and, forcing
a smile in my voice, say, "Yo, Connor, whassup, boy?" Glancing around
quickly I see no Neanderthals in the area... hot shit, Stosh didn't come!

Looking up, Connor gives me his beautiful smile while quickly moving his
backpack and laptop onto the step next to him so he can jump up,
exclaiming, "Hi, Dylan, thanks for meeting me!" We hug in a regular
fashion, a quick hug, and then he nods at his laptop, saying, "Um, I was
just getting a head start on work I need to do for Monday," as if he needs
to explain to me why he has his laptop out.

I mutter, "Uh huh," and he goes, "Omigod, you look awesome, Dylan. I like
your haircut," and he tentatively touches my shoulder, but only for the
briefest moment. I'm like, "Oh, haha," my fingers touch my head as I'm
muttering, "It's, um, well never mind, but thanks." Then I bend over
picking up his backpack, saying, "Let me help you with your stuff." Damn
though, we're acting kinda awkward with each other and I think it's because
Connor's acting nervous although I can't imagine why.

He gets his laptop off the step and I drape one of his backpack's straps
over my shoulder, asking, "Do you wanna get something to drink in the
Quad?"  He nods his head, "Sure," and we walk up the steps exchanging
grins. Yep, Connor does seem nervous. Inside, after exchanging a few normal
chit-chat type questions, like, "How is everything going? Do you like your
professors this year?" and that sort of thing we drop Connor's stuff on a
small table. Looking around at the raucous college students, I'm like,
"Crazy in here, huh?" Connor grins and nods his head over-enthusiastically,
as I ask, "Well, what do you feel like drinking, Connor? My treat... you
stay here and make sure no one, um, borrows your laptop."

He argues, "No, let me treat, Dylan. It's so nice of you to spend time with
me." Oh man, 'so nice of me to spend time with him?'... that is simply
ridiculous. I smile, saying, "Please, humor me, Connor. What can I get for
you?" He shrugs, "Um, black coffee would be good, um, if you're sure you
don't mind." Seriously?

As I'm in line getting his black coffee and a Coke for myself I'm thinking
about the rough life Connor endured all through high school. I mean him
living in that horrible neighborhood with his drug-addled Mom on
welfare. He had zero luck in his life and until finally, he caught a break
with the man who hired him to work that summer. A married man who saw the
wonderful qualities Connor possesses and was so impressed with him he
co-signed for Connor's college loan during freshman year. Then the man had
a heart attack and died. That ended any chance of Connor getting a college
loan for his sophomore year so he joined the Army. Damn, I gotta stop
thinking about the hard-luck shit that's been Connor's life and concentrate
on what a positive-thinking and hardworking guy he is, and how he never has
a bad word for anyone.

Carrying our drinks back to the table I'm trying to think those positive
thoughts but I can't get Connors roommate or boyfriend, or whoever the fuck
he is, that Stosh asshole, off my mind... and I can't overlook the mouse
under Connor's eye or that fucking bandage next to it. I'm sure he'll say
he ran into a door or some such shit, but I'll bet anything Stosh hit him.

Sitting down, I'm like, "So, you drink your coffee black now, huh?" and
then I chuckle, adding, "No sugar or anything like I recall you used to
pour into your coffee in great quantities freshman year?" He goes, "Um,
well, when at home I got used to drinking coffee this way and then at
college the cream and sugar was just there so I got used to that, um, using
it since it was free. Stosh thinks black coffee is the way it should be,
um, drunk or drank... haha, I don't know which is the correct word. Ya
know, if you need to drink it at all. He drinks it sometimes but usually,
it's tea..."

Not wanting to get too deeply involved in that discussion, I say, "Yeah?
Huh! Well, I guess black coffee's probably, um, not as bad for you that
way, or... Christ, I don't know. How ya doing anyway?" Now he's got me
acting nervous too. He nods his head, "I'm good, thanks for asking."

Oh man! I go, "Now that I think about it, I guess lots of people drink
their coffee black." He goes, "Yeah, I guess," and then at least one of us
has the good sense to move off this bogus topic as he asks, "How's your
brother doing? He was always so nice to me." Nodding my head, I'm like, "Oh
Christ yeah, Chubby's doing great! He's gonna get his master's degree."
Connor acts excited, saying, "That's fantastic! What's his major?" I shrug,
"Um, I don't know, but, um, not to pry or anything," and I sort of half
point at his eye, mumbling, "I can't help noticing that little mouse under
your eye there, Connor. Um, and that, um, I think that's called a butterfly
adhesive thingie next to your eye. What happened, did you run into a door
jam or something...?"

Briefly touching the bandage next to his eye, he shakes his head and says,
"No, I didn't bump into anything. Stosh smacked me a little too hard
Tuesday night. I deserved it though. When he saw his ring had cut me he
took me right down to that walk-in clinic off Route 114. I think he got
scared about how much I was bleeding. I knew all that blood was because
it's a facial cut and the face has lots of blood. Just think how much blood
you get from a broken nose, haha, not that I've ever had one and I hope
you've never had one either." Omigod!

He misinterprets the expression of rage on my face as he says, "No,
no... I'm fine! It wasn't that big a deal. I knew the cut wasn't anything
serious and I tried telling Stosh that but he was really worried. I knew it
wasn't any big deal because we learned about facial cuts during my Medic
training." My expression was rage against that sick-fuck Stosh. I can't
hide that I'm pissed off and say, "No big deal? What the fuck do you mean?
and he's like, "It was a cut. The nurse at the clinic merely cleaned it up
and put the butterfly bandage on to close the cut instead of a couple of
stitches." A couple of stitches?

I'm boiling inside and not trusting how my voice will sound so I just shake
my head a little. Connor asks, "You know that walk-in clinic, right? The
one down past Burton's restaurant. They were very efficient. Have you ever
been in there?"

Shaking my head slowly again, I drink some Coke trying to calm down before
mumbling, "Stosh slapped your face, you say?" He nods his head, "Yes, but
don't get the wrong idea, Dylan. That's very rare; he hardly ever does
that. And, as I said, I deserved it." Is he fucking serious? He told me all
that as if it's nothing unusual, certainly nothing to hide or be
embarrassed about. Jesus, what should I say? Oh jeez... Connor's gotta be
feeling uncomfortable that I'm not saying anything but I'm so stunned and
pissed-off about it and... he doesn't see anything wrong with that?

He takes a deep breath, clearly uncomfortable because I'm not saying
anything, so he finally says, "The coffee in here is really good. Have you
tried it yet?" Nodding my head, I manage to mutter, "Uh huh, I had a cup
with you and, um, 'him' last week, remember?" He goes, "Oh yeah, that's
right." And yeah, that fuck, that Stosh fuck-head, got us all black coffees
that day as I recall. I hate black coffee!

Whatever, I've gotta say something so I go, "Excuse me, but I'm missing
something here, Connor. Um, that prick, Stosh, smacked you so hard across
the face it gave you a black eye and a deep cut that was gushing blood, is
that what happened?" He nods, "Uh huh, yes. But, I'd lost my cool and
disrespected him. There's no excuse for that and I got what I deserved. I
apologized about ten times on the way to the clinic 'cause I felt like shit
for saying what I said and, you know, causing all the fuss and seeing Stosh
so upset. Stosh kept saying... 'Why did you make me do that, Connie?' He
was almost crying he was so upset."

Nodding my head slightly I'm thinking, is he shitting me? Maybe, so I force
out a sarcastic laugh then, and say, "You're breaking my balls, right? It
didn't happen like that. Seriously, how'd you get the black eye?" No one
could be this blasé about getting slapped so hard... no, give me a
break! Connor's breaking my balls with that story... haha, I love it!

Grinning, I'm looking at Connor waiting for the punch line. He looks away
and shakes his head and then, Omigod, a big round clear tear rolls out from
the corner of his eye and leaves a wet trail as it goes down his
cheek... and then two more tears follow. My grin turns to a look of shock
as, without wiping at his tears, he says, "I already told you what
happened, Dylan. Can we talk about something else now, please?" Wiping at
my eyes because I feel ready to cry myself, I go, "Yeah, I guess we
better. I don't want to say something I'll regret." Why didn't he just
fuckin' lie about the black eye? Everyone else on the planet would have!

Neither of us says anything for an hour... no, it just seemed like an
hour. It was maybe five seconds but I can't make myself talk about
something else, so I ask, "How often does that happen?" He shakes his head
twice, and I go, "C'mon, Connor, just between you and me." Shrugging, he
takes a deep breath and then says, "I've been thinking about this since
Tuesday knowing I'd need to tell you the truth because I can't lie to
you. So I told you the truth and now I'm asking you as a friend to trust me
that it's not as big a deal as you probably think it is. I just shed a tear
or two but not for myself. I shed the tears because I know how badly you
feel for me, and nobody else does, but I don't want you to feel bad for
me. You don't need to feel bad for me."

After a few seconds, I say, "Can we go outside? I need some fresh air." He
nods and we get up leaving our almost untouched drinks on the table. I
bring his backpack and he carries his laptop as we walk outside and then
down the steps, walking like zombies over to the area where benches
surround a nice landscaped area. Dropping his backpack on a bench I light a
cigarette and hold the pack out to Connor who shakes his head, mumbling, "I
had to give up smoking... um, and that's a good thing, right?" I don't need
to ask who made him give up smoking, but he's right, it is a good thing.

Exhaling smoke I realize I don't know where to go with this
conversation. Naturally, my first inclination is to tell Chubby and Robby
about this and then the three of us would light up Stosh's ass so bad he'd
leave town. That's the way we've dealt with nasty situations in the
past. Yeah, with an illegal violence of one kind or another. That's
immature behavior though, as well as being against the fucking law. Connor
quietly says, "That's all the bad stuff I have to tell you, Dylan, and
there's plenty of good stuff about Stoshie I could tell you too." I say,
"I'm so sure. Tell me some?"

He reaches over, asking, "Can I have a drag? It's not healthy but I miss
smoking. I'm weak I guess... like Stosh says." Handing him the cigarette
and lighting another one for myself, I mutter, "Stosh says that, does he?"
I'm so angry my head's gonna explode! Connor takes a deep drag off the
cigarette and then says, "Can we sit down?" Nodding my head, we both sit
and then I ask, "What are these good things about him that you can tell
me?" He looks me in my eyes, saying, "Please don't be upset, Dylan. I'm
fine, really!" NO, you're not! I try for a smile saying, "You're way better
than fine, Connor, but not like you mean. What's the good stuff?"

Dragging on his cigarette again, he goes, "Well, for one thing, Stosh pays
for our living expenses. He pays almost everything really, and he has from
day one. I was able to save every penny of my Army pay and therefore I had
enough saved to take advantage of an early exit program to the Army
Reserves that Dodger told me about." Exhaling smoke away from Connor, I
mumble, "That's pretty good, yeah. What else?" He takes a deep breath and
then smiles at me as he's putting his hand on my shoulder, saying, "I'm so
relieved it's over. I hated that I needed to tell you about my black eye
but, like I said, I couldn't lie to you. Oh, I already said that, didn't
I?" Maybe he can't think of another 'good thing' about Stosh so he pivoted
back to that.

I go along with his train of thought though, "Jeez, Connor, why would you
be nervous about telling me anything?" He goes, "Because I don't want you
to think badly of me. I care what you think about me more than anyone else
in the world. You're the best friend I ever had... the only best friend I
ever had." What? Everybody I know liked Connor in high school and here at
Merrimack too, so I don't know why he'd say that. But it's not important
and, obviously, he hasn't told me any other 'good stuff' Stosh is supposed
to have done for him... so maybe Connor being able to save up his Army pay
is all the 'good stuff' there is to tell about.

Probably I should let it go at that but I don't. I'm like, "And the other
'good stuff' this brute does for you?" He chuckles nervously and then goes,
"Well, that was the super-major one, yeah... haha. I thought there was more
but... Oh, here's another important one, Dylan. It's kind of corny though
and I feel pathetically-needy admitting it, but, um, since meeting Stosh
and moving in with him I've felt like I was part of something... almost a
family, ya know? Do you know what I mean?" His hands are fidgety and he
can't sit still.

Plus, he asked me that with such pleading for understanding in his voice I
could cry for him. I murmur, "I know why that would be important to you,
Connor, yeah." He goes, "Every day I had a place to go after work where
there was a dependable person happy to see me and then every night we had
dinner together and Stosh wanted to hear everything about what I did and
how I was doing and everything like that, you know?" I'm like, "Yeah, but
before that, you shared an apartment with Dodger. Wasn't that just as
good?" He goes, " Omigod, living with Dodger was awesome. I love him but he
was always doing stuff and while he tried to get me to join him I felt out
of place. He was so, um, popular and I felt like I was dragging him down,
ya know?"

Oh balls, I wanna go lie down someplace... or scream! I mean, this is so
fucked!

Being his friend though, there's no place for me to hide, so I say, "Yes, I
know what you mean but, um, you've settled for far less than you
deserve. Do you love this assho..., um, Stosh?" Connor looks truly
startled, like the thought never crossed his mind. He goes, "Love him? Um,
well no, not at all. We're, um, sort of helping each other out as
compatible, well not exactly compatible... Um, our relationship is... hmmm,
how should I describe it? Well, um, as I said, we like each other and help
each other out." I shouldn't snoop but I do anyway, mumbling, "Nothing like
a sexual arrangement, is that what you're saying?" He looks away again,
blushing this time... dark red blush on his pale face. I go, "That's none
of my business. Don't answer that, Connor. I had no right asking..." He
shrugs and mutters, " No, if I can't talk with you about things, I can't
talk with anyone. Ah, well, when Stosh wants it, yeah we do have sex of,
um, his choice."

Oh, double-balls! I go, "I don't need details," and Connor mumbles, "I
don't believe you'd want to hear the details, you're right." Ya know what?
I want to break something. Pick up something and break the shit out of it
throwing it on this fucking flagstone walk BANG! SHATTER! BOOM! I'm so
pissed-off I can't fucking see straight!... He said, 'whenever and whatever
Stosh says'. That implies Connor doesn't want to do 'whatever and
whenever'... and, oh fuck, Connor's right, I don't want to know any more
about that.

I'm seriously trying not to, but I must look pretty angry because Connor
tries lightening up things by grinning and saying, "Plus, I just thought of
another good thing... I get free haircuts," and he rubs his hand over his
skin-head haircut. I go, "Ha! Yeah, I guess," and Connor goes, "Stosh got
me up early this morning to run the clippers over my head telling me I need
to look good for my meeting with you." I go, "Excuse me for being frank,
but what a ginormous asshole he is for saying that... for thinking that!" I
touch his head, adding, "And he thinks this is a good look for you? And
those fucked-up cheap Army glasses!" Connor shrugs, "I know. You're right!"

Another awkward silence for a couple of hours, I mean a couple of seconds,
and then Connor says quietly, "Mostly, Dylan, I'm desperately hanging on to
life as best I can right now. I have a plan though. I need to get my
college degree and then I plan on shedding everyone in this world I've
known so far, every horrible experience I've struggled through... except
for you and Dodger. That's if Dodger will stop calling me a dipshit for
being with Stosh," and he actually laughs like he means it. I realize I've
been smelling the back of my hand again, so I take my hand away, mumbling,
"Don't ever, um, shed me, Connor." He looks serious as he goes, "Never you,
Dylan! I'll never forget you the rest of my life..."

God, I've never known anyone or heard about or read about anyone who
appears to handle adversity as well as Connor does. It's like he lets it
roll off his back... or something. Inside though he's gotta be a fucking
mess! Inside his head, it's gotta be a very different thing...

Trying to match and encourage his lighter mood, I say, "Well, thanks for
not shedding me," and I grin but he leans over and hugs me really tightly,
murmuring, "You saved my life our junior year of high school, and without
you even knowing it. I never told you but I was on the verge of thinking
life wasn't worth the trouble until you befriended me. You'll never know
how much it meant to me that you cared about me." Still hugging me he
kisses my cheek and then sits back.

Well, holy shit, I'm not qualified to handle this situation. I don't know
what to do or say about a number of situations I've been finding myself in
lately. Blowing out my cheeks and then letting a lot of air out slowly, I
go, "I didn't know you were, um, that troubled in high school, Connor."
Then, looking at him, I add, "You hide it so well but it makes me want to
cry thinking about how tormented you must have been back then. I wish from
the bottom of my heart that you'd realize how special you are!" He blushes
and then murmurs, "Thank you. I don't hear that too often," and then a
nervous chuckle before he adds, "Like never."

I'm stepping on my cigarette butt so Connor drops his butt too and steps on
it. He had like two puffs off of it. He stands and says, "Well, I need to
meet Stosh. He told me I shouldn't waste too much of your time." I get up,
saying, "Please don't tell me anything else that cretin says, alright? It
just upsets me and makes me very angry. I don't like him! Listen to me,
Connor... you can move out of his apartment today and live with Rob and me
for free. You don't need him!" He goes, "Oh, no... I couldn't do that. I
hope I can see you next week though. Would that be okay?" Nodding, I go,
"Yeah, absolutely. We definitely need to talk more. Um, I'm being honest
with you, um, I gotta say that person is wrong for you, Connor." He says,
"I have plans, as I said," and I go, "Oh man, what I said was a gross
understatement. No one smacks someone across the face because he perceives
some slight. No-fucking-body does that! No normal person."

Connor puts his laptop in his backpack and then puts his backpack on,
saying, "Stosh isn't as bad as I must be making him out to be. But, as you
said, we'll talk more. I feel invigorated after talking with you
today. This was so, um, so wonderful... talking with you, Dylan, um..." and
another huge tear rolls out of his eye, and then one comes out of his other
eye. He goes, "I'm such an ass. Sorry for the tears! You already know I'm
too emotional but, damn, it's been so wonderful seeing you and knowing
we're on the same, um, you know, the same campus." He wipes his eyes with
the heels of both hands, saying, "These tears are happy ones that you care
about me... really! I always feel good and, um, safe with you. Thank you."
I go, "Jesus, I don't know what good I did. I love ya, bro, and well, we'll
talk." We hug and he points to the left, saying, "I'm supposed to meet
Stosh over at the chapel and I'm late so... um, bye, Dylan." I go, "Bye,
Connor," and he takes off running with his backpack bobbing up and down on
his back. I watch him as he runs faster now.

He's out of sight quickly but I stare at where he was for a few seconds and
then when I turn around I'm scrunching my face wanting to scream 'FUCK!'. I
feel so impotent that I can't do something to help him. I don't scream out
loud though, just in my head because there are students all over the
place. Goddammit, life isn't fair! That poor bastard... oh man, I'm
depressed. But what can I do?

Sighing, I wander back down behind the Quad and then cut across the Rogers
Center's parking lot heading down to the sports area behind the
dormitories. As I walk slowly I'm conjuring up in my head what I'd like to
do to that asshole, Stosh. It's a waste of time and energy, of course, and
I know that... and it's stupid and immature fantasizing about doing
horrible things to him and I suck for doing it but I feel so useless. The
truth is, what can I actually do to help Connor? Is there nothing I can do?

I hate to think that, but maybe there isn't anything to do except be here
whenever he needs a friend to talk to. That Neanderthal asshole, Stosh, has
Connor on such a tight leash, metaphorically speaking, Connor won't even be
able to make friends here at college. I hope the tight leash is
metaphorically speaking now that I think about it. And, Connor was worried
about being late meeting that fuck? Christ, he 'allowed' Connor fifteen
minutes with me? I'm getting myself all worked up again... dammit!

Oh man, I shake my head hard trying to clear it as I walk past the ice
hockey rink. Hopefully, the wrong person doesn't stop to talk to me right
now because I might bite somebody's fucking head off in my present
mood. What a fucking downer that was... and Connor's luck is still sucking
big time! If it weren't for bad luck, he'd have no... blah, blah, blah...

As I'm getting closer to the ballpark I see there's a group of guys talking
and goofing around outside, including Specks, Danny's roommate. I assume he
was recruited by Danny to help with Rob's mentoring attempt at getting Carl
to hit college-level curveballs or whatever the fuck they were doing. That
seems so innocent and carefree when compared to what Connor needs to deal
with.

Rob sees me and waves. He starts walking to meet me with his shadow, Carl,
right behind him. I need to force myself to look and sound normal. Why
bring everyone else down? Carl and Rob are wearing new Merrimack baseball
team caps and smiling. I go, "So, Carl, can you hit college curveballs
now?" He goes, "I don't know about that, but I can hit Rob's," and he grins
as Robby hits Carl's arm, muttering, "Asshole," and we all do a quick
hug. Rob tells me, "Carl's right though, my curveball sucks. I had it
working last summer though, didn't I?" I nod, "You said you did, yeah. I'm
not what you'd call a curveball aficionado but it looked pretty good to
me."

Carl asks, "Where ya been, Dylan? I'd have thought you'd want to help your
little brother hit curveballs." Smiling, I go, "Will you dummy-up with that
little brother horseshit? Someone might believe you," and I try knocking
his hat off but he pulls his head back too fast and I just tip the
bill. Danny yells something so Rob looks back at the group of guys and then
back to me, saying, "Um, babe, I'm gonna get a haircut from Danny now and
then we can have some lunch. I've got baseball practice and then I thought
I'd take a shower and head home tonight instead of doing that Saturday
morning. Tomorrow's meeting is at eight o'clock so it makes sense that I
spend the night there instead of getting up here at like five-thirty in the
morning. I was wondering though, um, that is I'm hoping, that you might
consider driving me home and maybe spend the night. You'd have the pickup
all day Saturday so you could see your Mom or whoever and then we'd drive
back together early Saturday night. Whaddaya say?"

Before I can answer, Danny comes up behind me and gets his arm around my
neck pulling my head over, saying, "Your boyfriend is getting his haircut
now. Do ya wanna watch?" I go, "Why would I wanna do that?" and he shrugs,
"I don't know... you might learn something about barbering." Shrugging away
from him, I go, "Jesus, Danny, I'm surprised your hat still fits your
head." To Robby I go, "Yeah, I'll do that with you. We'll be back Saturday
night to do something here if we want." Robby goes, "Awesome, Dylan! Mom
asked me to ask you. Aw, she misses you I think." I go, "Who can blame
her. Hey, is Dodger back from California?" Rob nods, saying, 'Yeah, maybe
he'll come for Saturday night dinner." I go, "Good deal, that'd be
awesome!" Danny goes, "Hey, what the fuck? Are you saying you're both going
home tonight?" We all start wandering up toward dormitory row; to Danny's
dorm specifically, as Rob says, "Yeah, big deal. We'll be gone like
twenty-four hours. Tomorrow you'll be busy in your barbershop anyway."

Before Danny can reply to that, Specks catches up with us and as he, Rob,
and Danny talk about something. I ask Carl, "Why are you hanging around us
seniors all the time? You should be making freshman friends." He goes,
"Freshman are boring, plus I like you guys better. Anyway, Rob's my mentor
so you're stuck with me." I go, "You keep hanging with us and eventually
I'm gonna make you eat a hot dog... ya know that don't you?" He chuckles,
"No way!" He's a cute little fucker and I give his shoulders a squeeze. He
leans into me, mumbling, "I wish you and Rob weren't boyfriends..." I go,
"Oh, why is that?" He goes, "Duh, guess why!" Haha! I give him another
squeeze because he's got a tight body that's perfect for squeezing.

Even though I inferred I wasn't interested in watching Danny give Rob a
haircut, I go with them to Danny's dormitory and up to his and Specks' dorm
room. Inside the room, I hop up on the stool that Danny uses for giving
haircuts. Specks is standing in the middle of the room spreading his arms,
saying, "Attention people! All the space behind me is my space. Monday's
space is in front of me to the door so please do not invade my space." I
mutter, "Could you run through that one more time, Specks. It's confusing."
He goes, "Fuck you, Newman," and adds, "I have a one o'clock class and then
I'm on my way home so I suppose Danny will use the entire room including my
space for his freakin' barbershop but for now, stay over there." Danny
mutters, "Don't be such an asshole, Specks," and Specks goes, "ME? I'm the
asshole? You're the one who has a barbershop in our fucking dorm room!"

Danny, of course, is ignoring Specks, saying, "Dylan, would you be so kind
as to get off of the barber stool and Rob, you sit on it." He's getting the
satchel with the barber stuff out of the closet as Rob and I change
places. The stool, by the way, is the same one from the activities room
that Danny 'borrowed' the day he did Carl's and my haircuts. Rob says, "I'm
wicked happy you're coming home with me, Dylan! That's a classy move on
your part, babe. I'm not surprised. " I smirk, "I'm a classy guy," and
Robby goes, "Yes, you are and now I don't even mind spending all day
Saturday in a meeting." I mutter, "Well, that does sound like fun, Rob." He
goes, "Oh sure... I'll need some of your NoDoz." He's full of it; a
business meeting is like a day at an amusement park for Robby.

Specks goes, "You realize that closet is on my side of the room, right
Monday?" He might as well save his breath 'cause Danny's not even
listening. Specks' real name is Carl Hill and even though he's being a dick
now, he's actually an okay guy. It's odd I'd remember his real name since
no one calls him that. Anyway, since he's talking I look over at him and
check him out again. He wears glasses, of course, and therefore his
nickname, Specks. He's an okay looking guy, a little shorter than most of
us. Actually, he's Carl's height and supposedly he's either gay or bisexual
but that's still to be determined I suppose. He's got the normal brown hair
and eyes with a SuperCut regular haircut like many guys have. In Specks'
case, he must have been at SuperCuts just before returning to Merrimack
because his haircut is fresh although Danny keeps telling him he needs a
flattop. What Danny's recent interest in flattop haircuts is all about is
anyone's guess. He just started with that the last month or so. And Specks
isn't buying any of it anyway.

Hell, I like watching haircutting but it'd be awkward watching intently
like I'd want to do with Carl and Specks here so I ask Carl, "Ya wanna keep
me company while I have a smoke outside?" He doesn't smoke but he says,
"Yeah, okay," and I tell Rob, "We'll wait for you at the pickup. Um, I
parked it across the street from the ballpark." Rob waves a hand from under
the barber cape as Danny turns on the barber clippers. Damn, that sound
makes my dick move and I hesitate. Maybe I will stay and watch, but Carl's
out the door already so I only watch Danny run the clippers up the side of
Rob's head one time. Oh man, he's cutting that really short!

Huh, Danny's never been hesitant about how short he cuts our hair. When I
was the barber, I was always worried about cutting guys' hair too
short. Not Danny though, he confidently does it his way. Jesus, my dick
buzzes along with the clippers. Carl goes, "Ya coming or not, Dylan?" Fuck!
I should have stayed and got a haircut fetish buzz going, but I mutter,
"Yeah, I'm coming. Hey, you don't even smoke. What's your hurry?"

Outside the room, he goes, "That's right, I don't smoke but I already told
ya, I like hanging out with you." We walk past the activities room and then
outside to the front stoop as Carl goes, "So, you're going home with Rob,
huh? He told me you live with him; how'd that happen? I mean, if you don't
mind telling me." As I'm lighting a cigarette on the stoop a fat guy who
was talking to another fat guy turns around and yells over to me, "No
smoking near the dorms! We don't want to smell that shit... or inhale it."
I give fatso a glance and then turn back to Carl to answer his question,
"Rob asked me to move in with him and I said okay. That's all there was to
it. Why do you ask? Do you want to move in with him?" Carl laughs and then
mumbles, "You're a riot, Dylan." Yeah, I'm a riot. Connor's still on my
mind big time but I'm trying not to get too down in the dumps about
it. It's one of the reasons I agreed to go home with Rob... get away from
the campus for a while.

We walk down the front walk and across the street to the parking
lot. Leaning against the pickup, Carl goes, "Wow, that's so cool though,
living with your boyfriend! I'll probably never do that." I grin at him and
mumble, "A cute fucker like you? You should have a boyfriend right now." He
shrugs, "I'm in the closet and probably always will be." I'm like, "A
virgin, huh?" He goes, "Noooo! I'm not a virgin! I lost my cherry about
five times." Chuckling and getting smoke caught in my throat, I cough and
then say, "You can only lose it once, numbnuts." He goes, "Yeah, well I've
had some sex. The week before coming to college as a matter of fact." I go,
"Are you a 'top' or 'bottom'?" He mutters, "Um, I'm both, probably."

Snickering, I give his shoulders another hug but I feel weird interrogating
him, so I stop. Carl waves his hand, fanning my smoke away from him as a
tall, big guy gets out of a Volkswagen and does a double-take looking at me
and then says, "Hey, it's Dylan, right? Dan Monday's buddy?" I'm thinking I
met this guy someplace... he looks a little like an Indian with glasses. I
mean, an American Indian. I point at him, saying, "Yeah, how ya doing?" and
then somehow I remember him and say, "Oh yeah, you were Danny's roommate a
couple of years ago, right?" He nods and holds his fist out so I bump it
with mine as he's saying, "Freshman year. Christopher Straight, nice to see
you again. Um, is Danny giving free haircuts? I heard he was..." Holy shit!
News and gossip fly around this campus.

I nod at the dormitory across the street, saying, "Yeah, he is. Go on
up. It's first-floor, second door or the right. Bring a couple of friends
if you want." He goes, "Hey, thanks. I'll text my roommate, um, did Dan do
both your haircuts?" Carl goes, "Yep, but not today." The Indian nods his
head, muttering, "Huh! Well, thanks," and he crosses the street. I don't
think he was crazy about our flattops... haha! Carl frowns, looking at me,
asking, "I don't think Danny wants to do random haircuts today. I thought
he was just doing Rob's as a favor. He said Saturdays will be his day to do
haircutting. Didn't he say that?" I shrug chuckling, and then mumble, "He
wants to be a famous college barber so I'm just trying to help him the fuck
out." Carl makes a 'face' and mumbles, "I never knew anybody who curses as
much as you guys do." I mutter, "Is that right?"

Two girls go by on bicycles and come to a stop three feet past us. The one
with dreadlocks, says, "Do you boys know where the bookstore is?" Huh, a
couple of freshmen obviously. Before I can say anything, Carl says, "What
do we look like, an information booth?" The other girl gives him the middle
finger and mutters, "Fuck you, twerp," and they peddle off.

Looking at Carl, I'm like, "Oh, a secret mean-streak in you, huh Carl? Was
that totally necessary." He goes, "Girls make me nervous. They were always
coming on to me at prep school and I'd get embarrassed and they'd
laugh. They'd tell their friends and then lots of girls would tease me and
ask me to take them out just to see me blush. The C-word is how I think of
them. So my revenge is... I'm rude to girls whenever I get the chance." I
mumble, "Fuck, that's so... so not cool," but I can't help laughing and
tipping his cap off his head. Carl frowns, picking up his hat, asking,
"What's so funny?"

I'm keeping my eyes on Danny's dorm to see if that guy Christopher comes
out and instead out comes Specks. He sees us and comes over as I'm stepping
on my cigarette butt. He goes, "Can I believe this shit? Some dude just
walked in asking if this is the barbershop? My senior year and I'm spending
it in a fucking barbershop." Taking a page out of Danny's playbook, I
ignore that completely, and ask, "You're on the soccer team, right?" He
nods, "Yeah, why?" I go, "This buddy of mine, he's a junior, has a soccer
player as his roommate. Um, Donald-something." Specks goes, "Don Johnson,
yeah. A cool black dude. He's co-captain and a really good guy. Your
friend's lucky." Nodding, I go, "Good to know. I'll tell him."

Nodding his head at Carl, Specks asks me, "Is the little dude here cool
with alternative lifestyles?" I go, "If you mean is he gay... I think he
is. Are you gay, Carl?" Carl blushes and emphatically says, "Nooo!" and I
smirk at Specks, shrugging and nodding my head at Carl. Specks goes,
"Whatever. You should tell your buddy that Don Johnson is not gay so if
he's of that persuasion, he shouldn't try coming on to Don. Word to the
wise." I go, "Oh he's not gay, my buddy isn't... no more than Carl is. It's
just that he didn't get back to college until Sunday and I was hoping his
roommate was cool with that." Speck goes, "He's awesome, Don Johnson is." I
go, "Good," and Specks says, "Well, I'll check you girls out later. I gotta
meet somebody, see you around campus."

He walks off and Carl's like, "Hey, don't 'out' me to people." I go,
"Specks doesn't give a shit one way or another and neither do most
people. Anyway, you should be 'out'... at college at least." He mutters,
"I'm out to you guys." I pat his shoulder, saying, " You're doing fine,
Carl, and here comes your mentor now." He looks over as Rob walks out and
waves at us.

I'm determined not to be too obvious about checking out Rob's haircut but
he comes right up to me grinning, asking, "So, how'd Danny do?" and he
turns completely around like he's modeling his hairdo. I mutter, "You
seriously need to change barbers." He laughs as Carl frowns, asking me,
"What's wrong with his haircut? It looks perfectly normal to me." And,
actually, it is perfectly normal. It's an average-looking regular haircut
Rob would pay twenty dollars for in any of the five barbershops in town. It
is much shorter on the sides than I'd have done the haircut for Rob, but
that's the style nowadays and probably the way the barbers in the tutorials
Danny watched do it.

Robby laughs and gives my shoulders a hug, saying to Carl, "You're right,
Carl, it does look perfectly normal. Doesn't it, Dylan?" I try not to grin
as I mutter, "I suppose so." I don't want to stare but my first quick
appraisal is probably accurate; it's a haircut no one would think was a
'home haircut' done by an inexperienced fellow student. That fucking Danny
is getting awfully good at cutting hair.

Carl shakes his head slowly, mumbling, "You guys have a secret way of
communicating I guess. Anyway, I gotta take a quick shower before my
afternoon class so I guess I won't see you guys until Sunday, huh?" Rob
goes, "Yeah, stay out of trouble if you can," and they do a quick hug. I
bump fists with Carl and he walks down dormitory row as Robby asks me,
"Seriously, don't you think Danny did a good job. It's a pretty preppy
haircut, huh?"

As we get in the pickup, I mumble, "If you say so," and we both
snicker. But dammit, Danny's blowing-up my contention that I possessed some
sort of special innate ability to cut hair. I thought I was sort of a
haircutting savant or something, but now it seems anyone who spends a
couple of hours looking at tutorial videos can duplicate my imagined
'savant' capabilities. That thought makes me snort out a laugh as Rob
drives us out of the parking lot. He grins, asking, "What?" I go, "Nothing,
it's nothing. Danny did a good job with that regular SuperCut
haircut... that's all I'll say about it." Rob goes, "SuperCut? Whaddaya
mean?" I mutter, "Forget it, I'm joking," and he drops it because Rob's
like most guys in that a haircut is a haircut and not worth more than a
sentence or two of discussion every month or so.

Hmmm, or maybe Danny's a savant too. Oh, yeah, it's extremely likely there
would it be two haircutting savants in our gay group of four? Haha, oh,
fuck me! Yeah, but let's see how long Danny's interest in doing haircuts
lasts. That'll be the test.

It's twelve-thirty as we start the short drive to the apartment. Rob goes,
"What do we have at the apartment for lunch, babe?" I go, "I'm not sure but
let's grab lunch at Fuddruckers. We haven't been there yet this year."

In Fuddruckers, standing in line to place our lunch orders we talk to a
couple of ballplayers, one of whom I sort of know. Rob does most of the
talking and it's mostly about what he was doing this morning 'mentoring'
Carl. When we're at the register placing our orders the one guy, the only
kinda good looking one, goes, "Grab us a table, Rob. We'll join you guys
for lunch." Robby goes, "Not today, Mark. My roomie and I need to deal with
some finances." Mark goes, "Oh fuck! No yelling, okay?" and they chuckle.
That's bullshit of course... we have no finances to talk about.

Carrying our sodas, we sit at a table near the back as I ask, "You don't
like those guys, or what?" Rob goes, "They're good guys but I want to have
lunch just with you, Dylan. I'm so, um, honored you're coming home with
me." I go, "Aw, gee. Seriously though, what kind of asshole
significant-other wouldn't support his man?" and Robby grins, "You joke
about that 'my man' shit but I love when you say it because I think you
kinda believe in it. And, ya know, it's so, um, I don't know so dedicated
to me and our relationship and that you're committed to me, or something. I
feel so good about our relationship I can hardly contain myself." I mutter,
"Try."

Looking at him as I drink some soda, I'm like, "Dedicated? Seriously?" He
goes, "Yes, you're dedicated to me and our love affair," and then we both
unconsciously glance around for a second before Rob continues, "And I'm
sorry if that's corny but it gives me chills to know you feel like that." I
shrug and then say, "I should probably goof on you for saying that
corn-ball gooey shit but, even though it was kinda awkward to hear, I won't
goof on it because you're right. That's how I do feel, Robby. I'm
supportive, dedicated, and committed to you 'cause I'm in love with you and
you are my man." He grins, mumbling, "I know I am," and I say, "And, you
know, after all the fun of having our side buddy-sex and all our wild oats
are over we'll still be left standing together above it all." He looks so
serious, saying, "I've always thought that, but for a few years there I
wondered if you'd ever say it as if you really meant it, or say you're in
love with me in the sincere from-the-heart way you've said those things
routinely the past six months or so."

We look at each other for a few seconds, and then I go, "Whew, is it me or
is it getting friggin' hot in here?" He chuckles and then, grinning, he
goes, "Seriously though, it'll be fun sleeping in our own bed tonight,
huh?" Our own bed... but, yeah, it will be nice. I'm like, "Isn't it your
turn to say how much you're head over heels in love with me now?" and Rob
goes, "Oh, you know Goddamn well I am and have been for years," and then
we're saved by the bell. Well, it's actually a buzzer. The little
electronic device they give you at Fuddruckers while you wait for your
order to be cooked. When it's ready, the little device buzzes and that's
what it just did. Rob says, "Sit tight, I'll get it, babe," but I go with
him to help carry everything.

Actually, I am looking forward to sleeping back home, my other home, and
seeing Mr. and Mrs. Dickers too. I'm fairly comfortable with both of Rob's
parents by now and it's helped tremendously that I know they like me. And,
there's always the chance we'll see Dodger too. I'll get the chance to
visit with my Mom and maybe Tris too, so yeah, I'll be happy to go back for
a day and keep Rob company. Plus, I like that Robby asked me and I liked
the way he asked... it's all good.

The food is like we've come to expect at Fuddruckers, which means it's good
if a little pricey and greasy. The good taste of the burgers mostly comes
from the fatty parts of the hamburgers which ain't especially healthy-eats,
but then nothing's perfect. As we're eating I tell Rob an abbreviated
version of my talk with Connor and he gets bullshit-mad about Stosh, but
then what rational person wouldn't? Talking it out, he agrees our days of
taking the law into our own hands are over. We're too old for that now
considering we're almost in the adult world for real now. If it gets worse
for Connor though we feel we'll need to do something. What that 'something'
is, we don't know right now. We'll see, but it'll be something...

On the way out of the restaurant, Rob tells me, "Baseball practice is at
three o'clock today and it'll probably go until four-thirty. Then I'll take
a shower and we can head for home after that. How's that sound?" I mumble,
"Fine. Um, are you going to pack much stuff to take home for just the one
night?" He says, "I'm not taking anything. I've got duplicate toilet things
and clothes at home. You can use and wear my stuff if you want." Nodding I
go, "I'll probably take a few things in a small satchel, but not much."

Rob gives me the pickup's keys and I drive us right up near the ballpark's
entrance, right in the convenient space where the sign says, 'No motor
vehicles allowed'. As Rob's getting out, he stops and looks at me, asking,
"Serious, how'd Danny do with my haircut?" I go, "It's fine, your Dad will
be very pleased." Rob scoffs at that, muttering, "I'm not worried about
that, I just care about what you think." I go, "I don't understand how he
does it, and I hate to admit it, but Danny's a pretty fucking good
barber. Now, if only he'd start doing the haircuts guys ask for instead of
the haircut he feels like doing, then he'll have the whole ball of
wax... so to speak." Robby laughs and says, "I told him I wanted a preppy
trim." I go, "You got a lot more for your money than a trim, dude."

Shrugging, Rob hops out of the truck and, before shutting the passenger
door, says, "Well, I'm looking forward to getting you in our bed at home,
Dylan!" Smiling I nod my head, mumbling, "I like the sound of that." With a
final wave, he starts for the ballpark's entrance. I hear someone call
Rob's name and as I'm backing-up I see the guy who called Rob. Whoa, from
the quick glance I had of him the guy looked hot and sexy. First glances
can be deceiving though. A closer look at that guy very likely will uncover
flaws and a likely one is his nose. Noses fuck-up so many faces. Faces that
would otherwise be okay... or better than okay.

At the Route 114 red traffic light, I send a quick text to Pony asking what
he's doing. I don't know his class schedule yet. If he's done classes maybe
he's up for a 'quickie'. I know I am! 'Topping' is awesomely different, and
Pony has a primo tight ass to 'top'. It's so tight I have to believe his
rectum has hardly been violated at all... and I'd like to correct that
oversight. Also, I'd like another 'go' at talking him out of asking Danny
for a flattop. I'd hate to think Danny's starting a flattop trend. And I
think it'll be overkill for Pony to send his Dad a selfie of himself with a
flattop haircut. He's already won back a significant amount of his parents'
approval and pushing it more might appear as though Pony's mocking
them. I've told him this already. Plus, a flattop simply doesn't go well
for anyone who wears eyeglasses... it just doesn't!

Pony doesn't text back though. It pisses me off when I see guys looking at
their cell phone reading a text and then they blow it off and put the phone
back in their pocket. I guess the texting person wasn't important enough to
get a text back. Oh wait, I'm again getting pissed-off about people I don't
even know... chill out!

Finding a good parking spot for once, I'm going inside our apartment
building when Pony texts back. Oh, he says he's sorry for the delay but he
was on the toilet. Heh heh, I didn't factor something like that into my
rant a minute ago. Of course, if you're on the can you get a pass. He tells
me he has a four o'clock class though so our timing doesn't work out
again. I text him back that I'll be heading home this afternoon and I'll
see him Saturday night or Sunday. I can't talk any sense into him about his
dumb flattop idea in texts messages. So, fuck it...

After a nice long shower, I shave 'cause Mr. D. doesn't abide facial hair
on his executives, not that I am one, but I might be one someday. Then I
spend a lot of time with my hair combing it different ways and then decide
to stick with the longish flattop look because if I change to another style
I'll need to explain why to Rob, and I don't know what I'd give for a
reason. I mean, it'd be goofy of me to change because I thought Mr. and
Mrs. Dickers won't like it this way. That'd be weird thinking on my part,
plus Robby said he likes my hair like this and I think he actually means
it.

Okay, my body's clean and I'm clean shaven, plus I'm rocking my
nineteen-fifties ultra preppy haircut so I guess I'm ready to go home for
the night. Too bad I don't have a letterman's sweater I could wear... then
I'd really nail the nineteen-fifties preppy college student 'look', or at
least the movie director's version of the 'fifties' I saw in some old
movie. What was the name of that movie? Damn!

And then on the balcony smoking a cigarette, it hits me. Not the name of
the movie... the fact that I kind of dressed up for the trip home. I've got
on clean, pressed tan khakis with a long-sleeve button-down shirt and
loafers. What am I doing? Am I trying to impress or please Mr. and
Mrs. Dickers? Yeah, I guess I am, and maybe trying to impress Robby
too. He'll like that I thought it's important to look good to go home,
right? NO! That's not right! It's stupid. He never dressed up to go home.

What the hell was I thinking? And then Rob texts asking for me to pick him
up. After texting him that I'm on my way, I finish my cigarette while
texting Chubby telling him where I'll be and why. There's no time to change
my clothes so I'm outside walking to the truck thinking, huh, they do a
nice job with the landscaping here. Then I realize this is the actual home
for most of the residents. College students are maybe ten percent of the
renters. It's also nice weather today too, especially for the middle of
September. Damn, I'm trying to be positive and get feeling good about
everything but it's hard because of that disturbing discussion with
Connor. He's on my mind but I still don't have a good idea of how to help
him. Maybe he doesn't want my help anyway. I mean, he managed somehow
without me for the past two-plus years.

The drive to the ballpark takes five minutes and then I see Robby talking
with Danny. They both come over to where I'm idling in the pickup with my
window down and my elbow on the sill. As Rob's walking around to the
passenger side Danny comes up to the window and says, "Dylan, baby, you're
going home with Rob, huh? If you stayed here we'd have the perfect..." but
Rob slams the door after getting in so Danny changes his sentence in
midstream, going, "So, you like the haircut I did for your boyfriend, huh?"
I shrug, asking, "What were you saying before that?" Danny laughs, ignoring
that and changing the subject for the second time, saying, "Hey you! Don't
be sending guys to my dorm room for haircuts!" I go, "That big goof was
your roommate freshman year." He's like, "I know who he is but the
barbershop is only open on Saturdays."

Smirking at Danny, I go, "Oops, my bad," and Danny goes, "And he texted his
roommate to come over too. What the fuck could I do after he saw me giving
Rob that excellent haircut... what could I say? Because of you, smart guy,
I had to do two more haircuts and I missed lunch." I go, "You want to be
the barber though, right?" Robby asks, "What'd you do, Dylan?" Danny tells
him and Rob laughs out loud, muttering, "I wondered who that Indian was."
Danny mumbles, "Very funny you two..."

Someone calls Danny and he looks back and then goes, "Okay, I gotta go,
there's my man, Moon-man. Um, so I guess I'll look for you guys Saturday
night. Let's go out drinking or something!" and he jogs over to the two
guys who called him. Rob and I exchange smirks as we hear Danny's
exasperatedly saying, "Jesus Christ, Moonie, I told him to tell you it's
Saturdays only. My roommate is pitching a bitch now about me turning our
dorm room into a barbershop!" Chuckling, I put the truck in gear as we hear
Danny saying, "Oh, yeah? Well, I guess if it's an emergency..." We're still
snickering at Danny's dilemma as I drive away. Rob's like, "Danny too
nice. He'll be doing free haircuts whenever anyone with a sob story wants
one."

When we're back inside our apartment Rob goes to give me a hug, but I'm
like, "Hey, you're all sweaty and your hands are dirty. Step back 'cause
I'm super clean." He leans his head over and we do a kiss on the lips and
then I say, "Danny was right when he said we're like an old married
couple." Robby mutters, "Fuck Danny..."

Getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator, Robby says, "You look
really nice, Dylan, but why'd you get dressed up like that? Now I'm gonna
need to dress-up too." I go, "Should I change to raggedy-ass clothes?" He
shrugs, "No, I guess you should wear whatever the fuck you feel like
wearing." He chugs half the bottle of water and then adds, "Actually I
really like how you look, baby. I'm a lucky fucker having you as my
boyfriend!" I follow him into the bedroom saying, "You got that right," and
then I watch him get naked for his shower. He grins at me so I mumble,
"What? Is it so odd I like looking at your naked body?" He goes, "Nope, and
I can hardly wait to get you naked and in bed at home."

He walks into the bathroom as I yell after him, "You better shave," and he
calls back, "I'll shave tomorrow." Huh, I obviously over-dressed and
over-shaved, as if anyone will notice the second part of my overdoing, but
this is the first time I've gone home from college. To my second home, I
mean. I wasn't sure what to wear. No harm though.  Whenever I went to my
real home from college my Mom was never there anyway, so it didn't matter
if I went in my pajamas.

Oh, fuck, that right, I want to pack a few things to bring with me. Rob's
steaming up the bathroom when I go in there to get my electric toothbrush
and Mennen's Original scent stick deodorant from the bathroom cabinet over
the sink. Back in the bedroom, I'm like... what else should I bring? I
stuff underwear, socks, my sneakers, a pack of cigarettes, skinny jeans and
a hoodie sweatshirt for tomorrow in my small satchel. Anything else I need,
like he said, I'll use Rob's stuff. Oh, there's Rob's Astroglide...our
Astroglide. That goes in the top of my little satchel that's now quite
full.

We're ready to leave at ten-after-five. Rob's driving and when we're on
Route 125, he mutters, "Fuck, we're right in the middle of rush hour
traffic. Do me a favor, Dylan. Text Mom that we'll be there in an hour or
so depending on traffic. If that fucks up dinner they can go ahead and eat
without us." I go, "That's a little harsh, don't ya think?" He shrugs, "
She can warm it up for us when we get there." I go, "I'm not going to say
it like that! That sounds rude. You're too abrasive with your Mom!" He
mumbles, "Use your own words then, but that's the gist of it... what I
said," and he cuts around someone who pulled out of a side street almost
right in front of us. When Rob's done cursing under his breath, I ask,
"What's your mom's, um, text number?"

I text Mrs. D. a polite text and she texts right back: 'Dylan, Omigod... my
first text from you, honey. How nice. We won't eat until my boys are
home. Tell Robert to drive safely. Don't speed!' And she adds three
different smiling emoticons. I read the text to Rob and he yells, "Get the
fuck over!" Not at me, he's yelling at a driver in the passing lane on
Route 93 but I was startled at first thinking he was yelling at me. Then he
says calmly, "Oh, that's sweet," meaning his mom's text to me. Rob glances
at me, saying, "She's being really nice because you texted. She likes you,"
and he looks over again and grins this time, adding, "She's happy you're my
gay boyfriend. So am I... haha!" Looking back at the road he says, "No
seriously if it weren't for you Mom would definitely not have taken my
gayness very well." I go, "Really?" Rob's told me that before but I like
hearing it. He goes, "Yes, really," and then he passes a tractor-trailer on
the right and I hold on for dear life, muttering, 'What the fuck, Rob?"

He goes, "This traffic blows." It sort of does, but he's maintaining a
steady seventy-mile-an-hour speed so how bad could it be? We discuss
Connors situation again, commiserating how bad we both feel for
Connor. Robby likes him too and the Dickers even offered their home to
Connor during his 'leave' from the Army. That's what the Army calls
vacations... leaves' plus I think there's another word for it that I
forget. Rob and I decide we'll invite Connor and the asshole for dinner
some night so Robby can get a better idea of what we're dealing
with. That'll be a fun evening... not!

We run into a traffic jam when we're about ten miles from Route 9. That
slows us down but we still get home at ten after six, so that's not bad at
all. I'm carrying my little satchel following Robby inside through the back
door as he's telling me, or actually guaranteeing me that this year's
baseball team will make the playoffs next spring.

When we get inside Mrs. D. isn't in the kitchen, which is a little unusual
for her. Oh, here she comes walking towards us from the family room talking
on her cell phone, saying, "My boys just got here, Marge. I'll talk to you
later." Hugging Robby she gives him a kiss on the cheek as Rob goes, "Hi
Mom. Um, you haven't even started dinner yet? What's with that? Dylan and I
wanna do something tonight after dinner, so for Christsakes...." Damn, that
was just plain rude of Rob! Mrs. D. doesn't pay any attention though as she
says, "Dylan you look so nice," and then she gives me the hug-and-kiss
treatment too. That surprises me because the Dickers are not normally a
hugging/kissing family.

Letting go of me, she exclaims, "You both look wonderfully clean-cut and
just so handsome. Did you do Rob's haircut, Dylan? I love it!" Rob's
looking in the refrigerator, saying, "No, Danny gave me this haircut, um,
and Dylan's too. Mom, are you kidding me? No 'effin beer in here? What the
hell, you knew we were coming home tonight." She says, "Danny's becoming
the best barber among the three of you boys. Don't you boys agree?" Robby
goes, "Is there beer in the basement refrigerator? There better be! "and he
starts for the basement door as Mrs. D. asks me, "What are you boys
planning on doing after dinner?" I say, "I don't know, um, go out I guess,"
and Rob yells up from the basement, "Do you want a Miller Lite or a Rolling
Rock, Dylan?" I don't want either, but I yell, "Rolling Rock."

Mrs. D. is getting potatoes from the pantry, saying, "Marge Barrett and I
were on the phone when you boys walked in and she's telling me how her boy,
Tyler, won't even be coming home from college for Thanksgiving break. Well,
I told her... funny you mention that Marge because Rob and his boyfriend
are coming in the house from college right now... and she has the nerve to
tell me I should appreciate it as if I wouldn't know to do that without her
mentioning it."

I'm standing here looking at the cellar door, wondering...'What's taking
Robby so long?'. Mrs. D. starts peeling the potatoes continuing her
monologue, "So, Dylan, she'd already told me her daughter, who is four
years older than Tyler, never came home from college except at Christmas!
Of course, they go to UCLA on the west coast so that's a factor I suppose,
but still..." and then mercifully Rob's pressing a cold bottle of beer
against the back of my neck. I jump and he hugs me from behind. Then,
chuckling, he's hugging my back against his chest, a beer in both hands, as
he kisses me. Mrs. D. sees that and smiles before saying, "Rob, I was just
telling Dylan," and Robby goes, "I was at the bottom of the steps, Mom! For
chissakes, I heard every word. Tyler, by the way, is and always has been an
enormous asshole. They should be glad he doesn't come home."

He lets go of me and hands me the cold bottle of Rolling Rock which I chug
a third of, as Robby asks, "So, what's for dinner and why isn't it on the
stove or in the 'effing oven right now, Mother?" His Mom cuts the potatoes
she just peeling and then puts them in a pot of water, saying, "Because
your father called to say he wouldn't be home until seven." Rob looks in
the refrigerator again, asking, 'Well, what are we having? I'm hungry." She
says, "We're having pork chops and mashed potatoes plus I was at the
farmers market and got some beautiful corn on the cob that was picked
today. At least that's what the man said. The fresh corn will be available
for only maybe one more week though." Robby goes, "Do not overcook those
pork chops or the corn on the cob. Pork chops get dry and tough when you
overcook them. Right, Dylan?" I go, "Oh, um, what?" and Mrs. D. says, "I'll
fix you boys nacho with the melted Velveeta cheese you love so much. That
should hold you over until dinner." Oh God, I've never understood why
people like that gross concoction.

Rob glances at me and then says to his mom, 'What else you got? Dylan
doesn't like that." He knows I don't like nachos and that horrid Velveeta
cheese but did he need to mention it? She says, "Oh, um, how about if I
make some onion dip? You know, dear, the dip I make from scratch. Oh, and
there's a new bag of Lays potato chips in the pantry." Rob goes, "Awesome!
Call us when the dip is made," and then to me, "C'mon upstairs, babe."
Obviously, Mrs. D. is in one of her more over-the-top manic moods, but it's
preferable over her moody or grumpy mood like she can be once in a
while... not often though. She's been awesome to me, actually.

We take the beers upstairs and into our bedroom where Robby wraps me in his
arms, whispering in my ear, "Ya wanna?" I mutter, "No, Rob! Jesus, we just
got here and your mom's making onion dip. That won't take long." He takes
my beer bottle from me and puts it with his on the bureau and then pulls me
onto the bed with him. He's massaging my junk and kissing my mouth... I get
hard in fifteen seconds. Rob feels my boner and pulls his mouth away
grinning and murmuring, "That didn't take long, baby."

Wrestling me onto my back, Rob pulls my nicely pressed khakis down. I'm not
exactly fighting him off, but I do manage to say, "Let me take my pants
off, Robby. They're not wrinkled yet and I should take off my shirt too."
He hops off me, "Okay, um, did you bring our Astroglide?" As I pull my
pants off, I'm like, "You said you had duplicate stuff here." Unbuttoning
my shirt, I add, "But, just to be safe I did happen to drop that stuff in
my satchel." Robby grins, "You're awesome," and he slides off the bed to
grab my satchel off the floor where I dropped it when he attacked
me. Hanging my khakis on the back of the desk chair and then my shirt over
that, I get back on the bed, saying, "Let me suck your dick. I haven't done
that for, um, days."

He takes his jeans off and lies on the bed with his hands behind his head,
mumbling, "Be gentle and, um, quick because Mom, as we speak, is feverishly
making onion dip from scratch." My fingers go into the slit of his boxer
shorts; the fly actually, and why it's called that... who knows? I could
pull his shorts down but I don't because this way I'm less likely to end up
with a pubic hair in my mouth. Pulling out his heavy cock I get my fingers
around it and pull the foreskin off the head and then do some long licks
across it and then circle my tongue around it. Rob's hand goes to my
head. It's almost an involuntary action to put your hand on the head of the
guy sucking your dick. Everyone does it...

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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