Date: Fri, 25 Jan 2019 14:42:34 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter  29

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter  29

by  Donny  Mumford

 It's loud in the apartment with everyone trying to talk over the
music. Heh heh, a damn good thing our next-door neighbors, Bob and Midge,
are at Foxwoods or wherever the hell they said they were going. Anyway,
with the decibel level stupidly high and Carl speaking quietly, I can't
hear everything he's saying. Something about a person named Pat Martinez.

Trying not to sound exasperated, I'm like, "Sorry, Carl, I didn't hear all
of that." He looks over at the guys in the living room, mumbling, "I don't
want anyone else to hear me." I can't imagine how the hell they could!
Blowing out my cheeks and then exhaling in a slightly frustrated manner,
I'm thinking... 'First, it was the drama of Stosh and my friend,
brainwashed Connor with his recently acquired gay affectations, and now
Carl. I mean, any other time I'd be happy to look into Carl's
serious-looking eyes and give him my full attention, the cute little
fucker... heh heh, but I need to finish this freakin' dinner right now...

Looking for Robby to maybe step in here, I glance at the guys in the living
room and see almost everyone moving out to the balcony again. They're doing
it loudly too with guys talking over each other and then I hear Connor's
unfortunate giggly-laugh. Well, I'm glad there's something for him to laugh
about anyway.

Oh man, this dinner party was a dumb idea! My objective was discovering
something useful I could do for Connor and that isn't going to happen. Even
if by some chance I get to have a more personal discussion it'll be
pointless because Stosh is always right there too. Hopefully Rob and Chubby
spend enough time with Connor and Stosh that they recognize what I see,
which is that Connor is in over his head in that relationship. Maybe
they'll have a suggestion as to what we can do to help... assuming there is
something we can do.

Only the two ice hockey players, Carl's snooty roommate, Paul Towers, and
Pony's very nice roommate, Donald Johnson, remain inside with snooty Paul
walking over near me to get a beer from the cooler. He smiles, saying, "It
sure smells good in here, Dylan. Italian is my favorite meal." Huh! That
wasn't snooty. I nod my head, saying, "Thanks, I hope I don't screw it up."
He goes, "I'm betting on you," and he walks back in the living room to sit
in the armchair that's up against the wall. Donald sits on the footstool
and they continue their discussion about, um... ice hockey, I assume.

Turning back to Carl's problem, I'm like, "Who's this person Pat
whatchamacallit you mentioned? Um, and is this Pat-person a guy or a girl?"
While saying that I'm glancing at the guys on the balcony, curious about
who Stosh is talking with and see him drinking his Mexican beer standing
behind Connor who's talking with Chubby. Stosh isn't saying anything but
I'd love to know what Chubby's saying.

Carl backs up near the refrigerator, asking, "Would you come over here in
the corner, Dylan?" Looking over at him I fixate for a second on the
redheaded flattop haircut that he just got a few hours ago. It gives my
dick a twinge thinking how sexy it would have been to do that haircut for
him myself. Looking away so I'm not staring at Carl and maybe making him
self-conscious, I see there are only three of Stosh's Mexican beers left on
top of the other cans. Huh, for a person who rarely drinks 'anything
alcoholic', he sure chugged down those first three beers fast.

Joining Carl at the corner of the kitchen, I'm like, 'Where were we?" He
whispers, "Um, the Pat person is Pat Martinez. He's a guy in my dormitory,
um, and I'm in an athlete's dorm, Dylan... not a co-ed dorm." Nodding at
him again, I'm like, "Uh huh. What was the other stuff you were saying?"
Still whispering, Carl says, "Well, last night I was in the dorm's
recreation room where there's couches and a big TV and a ping pong table
and whatnot. It's where some of us hang out instead of staying in our room,
ya know?" I go, "Sure. What a shocker the college is pandering to the
athletes again by providing special privileges like that entertainment
room." He goes, "Huh?" and I shake my head, muttering, "Nothing. Go ahead,"
so he says, "Well, I've talked with Pat a few times before and it's kinda
weird but what we mostly have in common so far is that neither of us
drink. We're like the only two guys in the dorm who don't like beer or
whiskey. Anyway, we make fun of the guys who act stupid after they've had a
couple of beers. We're all freshmen ya know, so some of the guys don't know
how much to drink yet."

I force a grin and a chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, it must be funny, but what
did you wanna ask me?" He shrugs, "It has to do with Pat." Nodding my head,
I glance at the bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce, muttering, "Uh huh, go
ahead." He says, "Well, it's really embarrassing so I can't tell Rob 'cause
he's my mentor and I don't want him to think... um, anyway this Pat and I
are laughing and then he asked me if I smoked pot and, of course, I have. I
smoked part of a joint once in high school, so I said 'yes'. I didn't want
him to think I was a total dork, ya know? Plus, you and Rob have encouraged
me to make freshman friends, so Pat's a freshman, and..."

Taking a deep breath, I'm like, "Yes, that's good, Carl. Um, ya know I
don't mean to be a dick but I've got to get this dinner finished before
everyone is too drunk to eat it. So, um, could you cut to the chase,
please? What's the basic situation, or whatever...?" He goes, "Well, we go
to Pat's dorm room and smoke pot, um, like three joints I think, or at
least two. Sharing them and we had... oh man, it was fun laughing our asses
off and falling all over each other. This was in his room, ya know?"

Nodding my head, "Yes, in Pat's room." I step away to stir the spaghetti
sauce hoping Carl gets to the point eventually, and why the fuck couldn't
he tell his mentor this? Carl takes a deep breath as he steps over close to
me and says, "Okay... well, I can't remember why exactly, but Pat said, ya
know... um." I go, "It's okay to just blurt it out." Wrinkling his cute
nose, he shrugs and says, "Anyway, it sounded sensible at the time." I go,
"What did? What did Pat suggest that sounded sensible?" Carl whispers, "He
thought it would be funny if I pulled my sweatpants down." I go, "He pulled
your pants down?" Shaking his head and giggling nervously, he goes, "No, he
told me to pull them down... my sweatpants."

I stop stirring, asking, "Did you, um, pull down your pants?" Shrugging and
looking embarrassed, he mutters, "I think I did and then Pat pulled my
underpants down too. We were laughing though, you know? Like a joke and
then Pat asked me if I'd ever been, um... blown. If anyone ever blew me."
I'm nodding while trying not to grin, managing to mumble, "Uh huh, have
you? Has anyone sucked your dick?" and Carl shrugs, "Yeah, I'm gay like I
told you so, whaddaya think?" I shrug now... it's contagious, the
shrugging. He goes, "I mean, well no, I've never actually had my, um, dick
sucked, not exactly. Mostly I guess it was just me and the twins, Roy and
Rick. You know, doing a circle jerk."

I'm opening boxes of spaghetti and dumping them into the big pot of boiling
water... Where'd the twins come from? Carl stopped talking to watch me
until I go, "You and the twins doing a circle jerk. When was that?" He
shrugs, "Oh man... let's see. I guess it was back in middle school." I go,
"You guess? Are you saying that's the last semi-gay experience you had, and
it's actually not even gay, was when you and the twins were twelve and
thirteen-year-old boys sometimes jerking-off together? That doesn't make
you guys gay, and what happened with Pat?" Carl does an elaborate shrug, so
I'm like, "Nothing happened? This guy Pat didn't blow you?" Carl goes,
"That's what I don't know. When I woke up I was in the chair in his room
with my pants around my knees... my privates hanging out there." Jesus, I'd
liked to have seen that 'cause I just know Carl has a ginormous cock. Well,
I don't know why I think that except he's little and it'd be
ironic... never mind that now.

Carl has stopped talking again so I prod him on by asking, "So, forget the
twins! As far as you know nothing happened between Pat and you, right?"
Another shrug from Carl as he's mumbling, "All I know is Pat was gone. I
don't know what he might have done to me when I was out of it." I'm
confused so I ask, "Is that a question? I mean, what are you asking me?" He
goes, "I'm asking how do I know what Pat did to me while I was sleeping?"
Squinting my eyes, I'm like, "C'mon, you're not pulling my chain, are you?"
He goes, "No!" and I'm like, "What did you do when you woke up?" Shrugging
for the umpteenth time, he mutters, "What could I do? I pulled my pants up
and went to my room. I don't know where Pat got to." I'm like, "That's it?"
Carl makes a face, saying, "Yeah, but what I really wanted to ask you, and
this is between you and me, right?" I nod, "Uh huh, whaddya really wanna
ask me?" He makes another face, muttering, "How can I tell if I've been
raped?"

Okay, no guy eighteen or nineteen could possibly be this fucking
clueless. Except maybe Carl. It's like this though: I'd rather assume he's
serious and risk the chance of me being made the brunt of some elaborate
joke, than call bullshit on Carl and find out he's serious thereby hurting
this kid's feelings. I'd rather suffer being the dope getting punked than
risk humiliating Carl and I'm certainly not going to express my true
feelings to him about this whole deal, which basically can be summed up
as... you gotta be shitting me!

As I'm thinking about that, I dump the simmering spaghetti sauce into the
big 'rented' casserole dish, asking, "Um, Carl, would you bring over the
stand to this casserole dish please?" Things are moving along with this
dinner finally. The spaghetti will be done in like five minutes so I need
to get everything set up as a buffet.

When we have the stand set up I light the little Sterno cans under it
hoping they'll keep the sauce hot, then I'm like, "Okay, Carl. Um, here's
the thing, it's highly unlikely Pat did anything to you when you were
passes-out, and you can forget about being raped. You'd know if you were
raped. This guy Pat would need to be the worst kind of perv to play with
your junk when you were passed out, and he probably isn't." Carl goes,
"Yeah, I don't think Pat's a pervert. He seems kinda inexperienced like me,
but how can I be sure? What I needed to know, basically, is do I still have
my cherry? It's embarrassing as all get-out, but I guess that's what I'm
asking you."

Oh boy! I'm doing some fake coughing, covering my mouth as Carl pats my
back, asking, "Are you okay?" Nodding my head, "Yeah, I'm fine, Carl."
Actually, I'm trying as hard as I can to be serious for him, but come on!
Carl keeps throwing me straight-lines that beg to have smart-ass
responses. I control myself though, and ask, "Do you remember anything at
all after Pat pulled your underpants down?" He shakes his head, so I ask,
"When you woke up, did you notice any stains on your pants or your
legs... was your penis sticky maybe?" He shakes his head while giving me a
'look' like I must be out of my mind. I'm like, "Good, um, how about your
ass? Did that feel sticky or wet?" He goes, "No, nothing like that." I ask,
"Well, what did you notice?" He shrugs, "I didn't notice anything. As I
said, I pulled my pants up and went to my room and got ready for bed, but I
couldn't sleep very well. I was embarrassed and, I don't know, I felt
stupid. Whaddaya think, Dylan?" There goes another one of those straight
lines like a pitch right down the middle of the plate.

I'm grinning to myself at the picture in my head of Carl lying there on
that chair with his junk hanging out surrounded by his red/orange pubic
hairs. Oh man! I get Carl to pass me dinner plates from the cabinet over
the counter. I'll use the plates as platters. One for the meatballs, one to
pile the sausages on, and then another for the pork ribs. Our dinner plates
for tonight are the ones we rented. We wanted all twelve dinner plates the
same, plus they're nicer plates than the ones that came with the apartment.

Carl says, "So you don't think I was, um, violated? Why do you think I fell
asleep in the chair though?" I go, "I'm not sure you fell asleep. Here's
what probably happened... and it happens all the fucking time, Carl. You
and this guy Pat must have given off signals that maybe there's some mutual
sexual interest there between you, but when you pulled your pants down and
then Pat pulled your underpants down perhaps Pat, um, made a move on you of
some kind and you, being unfamiliar with a move like that, um... well, you
fainted." He looks troubled, mumbling, "I fainted? That sucks... excuse my
language." I quickly amend that by saying, "Um, that's the unlikeliest of
the possibilities. More likely you passed out from the pot. Yeah, that's
probably it. You're not used to smoking grass. Or, the grass was doctored;
that's a possibility too. Fuck, maybe the joints were doctored with
cocaine, which unfortunately happens sometimes."

As I'm using a slotted spoon to get the meatballs from the sauce, Carl
goes, "Yeah, the grass," and then he plucks a meatball off the spoon and
puts the whole thing in his mouth and goes, "Ah, ah, ah... hot!" Can I
believe he did that? With an incredulous expression on my face, I watch him
sucking air into his mouth cooling the meatball and then he chews it and
swallows. He grins and goes, "Yum," and I'm like, "That was meat." He looks
startled for a second and goes, "It was tofu?" I'm like, "God forbid, no!"
then, he's like, "Pretend it was." I nod, "Yeah, that was the only tofu
pretend meatball I've ever made."

He looks a little shaken as he moves his pink tongue around in his mouth
and then says, "That did not happen.," and then, "So, I wasn't raped? What
a relief!" I'm staring into his eyes, still not sure I haven't been 'put
on'. Well, he's either a world-class actor or he's being sincere, which is
troubling in and of itself. Carl goes, "Thanks, Dylan. I didn't think I was
raped, but I wanted to be sure I've still got my proverbial 'cherry'..."
I'm like, "Proverbial? and he earnestly says, "Um, please don't tell anyone
about this, okay? Don't mention the tofu meatball either if you don't
mind." I nod, mumbling, "Okay, I won't."

Biting my tongue not to laugh, I continue transferring the various meats
onto separate plates with everything steaming hot, just the way it should
be. Glancing at Carl, I still can't detect suppressed grins or smugness so
I guess he was being truthful about that preposterous story. Hard to
believe... but there it is. He looks relieved actually. I ask, "Have you
seen this Pat kid since then?" Carl goes, "No, it only happened last
night. That's the other thing I wanted to ask you about. How should I act
when I see him? What should I say to him?" He's still moving his tongue
around probably rethinking his vegetarian status.

I go, "Help me carry these plates of foods to the kitchen table. We'll set
it up like a buffet. Bring those big-ass serving spoons too." He hesitates,
saying, "As a loyal vegetarian, one who may have inadvertently eaten a
meatball for the first time ever, I'm not sure it's okay for me to be this
close to all this meat." I go, "What...?" and then I see him grinning, as
he goes, "I'm kidding you, Dylan." Whew, good to know. I wasn't sure I'd
recognize the difference after that story he told me.

As we carry the plates to the kitchen table, I ask, "Well, do you like this
guy Pat?" Carl nods his head, "Yeah, I think I do," and I go, "Then you'll
wanna tell him something like... 'sorry I crapped out on you last night,
Pat, but I haven't been getting enough sleep lately and that was some
wicked bad-ass pot ya had there'." Carl's frowning as I go, "Yeah,
seriously, Carl, start with something like that and then take a bit of an
aggressive posture. Be on the offense and not defense by adding something
like... 'dude, did you punk me with that pot? Was that shit laced with
cocaine or something like that?' Ya know... and then see what he has to
say."

Carl goes, "Oh, I'm not as cool as you. I couldn't say that. I get the idea
though. It's like I should act as though it was no big deal... and that
we're cool." I go, "Yes, that's it exactly," and he mutters, "I can sort of
handle that part. I mean now that I know it wasn't a big deal for
real. Seriously, Dylan, thank you for your advice. I knew you'd be the
right guy to ask about this." I wonder why he thought I'd be the one to lay
this on? No, I'm not asking why he thought that... I can't handle any more
right now.

I smile at him, mumbling, "Glad it was nothing to worry about, Carl," and
he goes, "Yeah, Pat didn't do anything after I crashed so, no problem." I'm
like, "Yep, that's the idea. Probably nothing happened." He goes, "Oh? Now
you're saying 'probably' nothing happened. But you said a minute ago a much
more definitive, nothing happened..." and I go, "That's what I
meant... definitely nothing happened. Yep, that's what I meant to say. But,
Pat and you need to hook up, dude. What's he look like anyway?" He goes,
"Oh man, he's not as cute as we are; you and me. Pat has nice teeth
though." Jesus, nice teeth is the best he can come up with. I go, "He
sounds, um, interesting." And it just hit me... haha, Carl said 'as cute as
we are'.

Carl follows me around while I get the rest of the meal on the kitchen
table. When he bumps into me the second time I realize I need to get him
doing something. I set him up grating a big wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano
cheese. I don't like grating that cheese anyway because it leaves my hand
smelling funky. Just in time, the guys are coming inside off the balcony
again. This time followed by a cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke.

Ya know, something I've noticed about guys in groups. It's probably
unspoken peer pressure but I find it interestingly odd the way non-smokers
tend to bum cigarettes and share joints smoking their asses off in social
gatherings. Especially when adult beverages are also involved. And at
college, I can't imagine a social gathering when alcoholic beverages aren't
involved... so it's booze, cigarettes and, of course, pot. That goes for
regular smokers and non-smokers alike... a walk on the wild side for some
guys I guess.

As Carl's vegetarian spaghetti sauce is heating in the microwave, I'm
thinking I've finally got everything ready for the dinner. The salad is out
and two loaves of Italian bread with a half pound of butter
so... awesome. Robby comes over reeking of booze and marijuana to give my
shoulders a hug and then a quick kiss on the side of my face, asking, "What
can I do to help, Dylan?" Haha, good timing Robby! I go, "We're all set
boyfriend! Thanks for offering to help though."

Donald is getting a beer from the cooler near Robby and me and, as he pops
the tab on the can, he says, "Hey, I'm curious guys... are 'straights'
outnumbered by you gay dudes at this party? It would be the first party
I've ever been to where I might be in the minority of the gay/straight
variety." Then he laughs, adding, "In another regard, I'm always a
minority." He means because he's African American. Paul chirps in with,
"Yeah, that's right. How many of you guys are gay in here?" Carl says, "Oh,
Paul, that was so rude! I'm disappointed you'd ask that." and Paul, seeming
very un-snobby-like, says, "Sorry. You're right, roomie, that was rude of
me. It doesn't matter anyway, right?" Huh, maybe I've misjudged Paul.

But yeah, how many guys from the twelve of us are gay? Rob and me, of
course, and... and that's it. I mean there are more gay guys here,
obviously, but they're in the closet: Pony, Carl, Danny, and Specks are all
still in the closet. I'm pretty sure Connor and Stosh have some kind of
bizarre gay thing going on so that would be eight out of twelve gay
guys. Nothing unusual about that because us gays tend to drift toward one
another. I tell Paul, "Well, you know Rob and I are gay but I can't speak
for anyone else." Connor says, "Stoshie and I are proud to be gay as well,"
and he does a gay thing with his hands. That's new; I've never seen Connor
do that thing with his hands before. Stosh glares at Connor, and if looks
could kill... I think I'm the only one who noticed him glaring.

Anyway, Paul goes, "So only four homos then." Most of us chuckle, except
Carl who says, "That word is a pejorative one and totally unnecessary
and..." I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Calm down, Carl... he's joking," and
Donald goes, "Yeah us straight guys outnumber you fags although I've never
in my life been to a party with all guys. Where are the muffs?" Chubby
says, "What, you've never been to a bachelor party?" Paul says, "Wouldn't a
bachelor party have strippers? They'd be girls, right?" There's some
bantering back and forth, harmless booze-affected banter about sexual
orientation, most of the gays in the closet keeping quiet. all except Carl,
and he's not even drinking!

To get off that awkward topic I get everyone grabbing a plate and serving
themselves from the buffet. After that, I don't hear another word about who
is gay or who is not. It didn't surprise or upset me that Paul and Donald
joked about the gay stuff because, to me, it shows that they're not uptight
about it one way or another. Actually, most people I've met in my life
aren't uptight about it... or pretend they're not at least. In other parts
of America and some countries around the world, I've read that
inclusiveness is not a priority. I don't live in other parts of America or
other countries around the world though, so I mostly concern myself with
here.

While guys fill their plates Rob and I open the wine bottles and serve it
in plastic wine glasses. There are beer cans and glasses of wine and
bottles of water on the table as we eat. Mostly the conversation consists
of ball busting and telling jokes. Occasionally someone knocks over a wine
glass or a beer can. It happens when guys are reaching for bread or the
salad bowl or grated cheese or hot pepper flakes, or just gesturing with
their hands as they talk. The tablecloth is soon a patchwork of dark red
splotches with pale-colored beer stains mixed in, and then some spaghetti
sauce dots appear on the tablecloth around where we're each eating which
pretty much finishes off the tablecloth. I don't believe even Robby is
gonna be able to return this to the rental store for a refund.

When I was dishing out all the food on platters and various sized serving
bowls I thought I'd made way too much food, but when everyone in various
degrees of drunkenness is going back for seconds I begin panicking that I
haven't made enough! It all gets eaten and then neither Rob nor I, nor
anyone else attempts even a perfunctory cleaning-up. After dinner, everyone
is either taking a piss, getting more to drink or out on the balcony
smoking cigarettes or joints. By ten o'clock, after three hours of imbibing
boozy drinks, there's only one sober person in the apartment and,
obviously, it's naive Carl. I half expected maybe Connor would be sober
too, especially considering Stosh had said Connor isn't allowed to drink,
but that's not the case. I have a feeling from looking at Connor that the
no-drinking rule was out the window a couple of hours ago. I'm guessing
he's had some shots of bourbon to go with a few cans of beer... so good for
him.

Neither Connor nor Stosh has had much to say which in Stosh's case is a
very good thing. I haven't been able to get them in a conversation without
others involved so my hope of butting into their lives is on hold... maybe
permanently. It'll be interesting to hear what views, if any, were formed
by Rob and Chubby tonight about Connor's situation with Stosh. That'll be a
conversation I'll have with them some other time... not tonight!

Anyway, even though Carl is sober he seems as happy as can be conversing
and mingling with us drunks. I have never been able to put up with drunk
guys myself, not for very long. I mean when I'm sober. When I'm drunk I
find most other drunks to be really good company! The exception to the rule
of me not being able to tolerate drunks when I'm sober happened a couple of
times when I've been sober and Chubby's been extremely drunk. Yeah, I liked
helping him out... we were much younger then but those couple of times were
actually very cool. Helping my brother...

Obviously, it makes me feel good that everyone is complimentary about the
dinner and seemingly contentedly full as well. It helped that they were all
pleasantly drunk, I suppose. I've got a glass of wine wandering from one
little group to another both inside, and then outside on the balcony with
the smokers and while doing that I'm overhearing some interesting
conversations, as well as participating in some myself.

On the balcony, Carl's hockey player roommate from Canada, Donald, is
telling us how they always, always, always have a designated driver when he
and his buddies go out drinking back home. Pony goes, "Oh, dude, I know
this guy who, whenever he draws the short straw and has to be the
designated driver, at the end of the night he purposely drops his drunk
friends off at the wrong houses." Then Pony laughs his ass off at his own
story, which is contagious. It is a bizarrely funny thing to do, so we're
all joining in with his laughing. I'm like, "Good one, Pony." Danny
overhears that and, with his clothes reeking of pot, he goes, "Oh fuck, I
was at this frat party last year smoking some really good shit with this
chick from the Islands and I thought I was doing this really cool dance
with her until someone stepped on my hand." We all frown and he goes,
'Yeah, it happened. I somehow was lying on the..." and the aloof, Paul
Towers, goes, "Smoke another joint and tell us more." Danny goes, "Excuse
me, but who are you again?"

I pull Danny aside to avoid any possibility of a confrontation and he goes,
"I'm fine, Dylan. Who's that asshole though?" I mumble, "That's Carl's
freshman roommate from Canada. He probably feels out of place or
something. Just ignore him." We go inside to get fresh beers as Danny's
saying, "But there are beers outside, baby," and I go, "Yeah, but I need to
take a piss too." When I step back I bump into Pony who came in right
behind us. He goes, "Me too," and as Danny's getting another beer Pony and
I go into the bathroom. Standing side by side pissing, I'm like, "How many
joints have you smoked? And, where are you getting that shit anyway?" Pony
says, "Oh man, I like your dick... it's pretty. When the hell we gonna, you
know...?" I say, "Soon, Pony. Who is smoking pot with you?" He goes, "Fuck,
just about everyone. We were passing joints around out there," and he waves
his hand randomly, adding, "You know, most everyone was smoking grass
before we ate."

We both shake our own dicks getting that last drop off, as I ask, "Did you
bring the pot?" He shrugs as he's putting his dick away, saying, "I had
three joints with me but they got smoked fast. I shared and, oh yeah, Danny
had some grass and we rolled a few." I go, "Danny, huh?" We get beers as
Carl's coming inside, saying, "I need some of the Coke now, Dylan." I nod
at the refrigerator and he takes out the big bottle of Coke he brought with
him. As he's pouring Coke into a plastic cup, Pony asks, "Did you at least
try the wine, Carl?"

Putting the bottle back where he got it, Carl says, "No. Hey, do you guys
know who Troye Sivan is?" I nod, "Yeah, he's that super cute kid who
sings. He started out on YouTube I think. You know, just like Justine
Bieber did." Pony goes, "Who the fuck are you guys talking about?" and
Chubby comes in and asks, "Where's the Wild Turkey bottle, bro?" I point at
the coffee table. Chub gets the bottle as John Beverly comes in, saying to
all of us, "I gotta drain the dragon," and Chubby goes, "Thanks for
sharing." John Beverly was naturally following Chubby and as he walks down
the hall he says, "Count me in if you're pouring shots."

Chubby's looking around for the plastic shot glasses. I go, "They're
outside, Chub," so he grabs some twelve-ounce plastic beer cups that are
stacked on the bar, saying, "Everybody's in, right?" Carl says, "Um, none
for me." Pony goes, "Hey Jeff, what was that shit you were telling us
earlier? Ya know, about life with its deep meaning." Chubby pours more than
an ounce of bourbon in each plastic cup, muttering to Pony, "I'm sorry, who
did you come with?" Pony steps closer to me, and goes, "I'm Dylan's
friend." Chubby grins, mumbling, "I know that... I'm just fucking with you,
Pony."

Twisting the cap back on the bottle of Wild Turkey, Chub's like, "Well,
it's not the meaning of life story, Pony. It's life's story if you're
referring to the one how we all arrived in this world." Pony goes, "Yeah,
that's the one." Chubby chuckles and says, "I'm a little surprised you
don't already know how that happens, but here goes. It usually starts with
each of our biological fathers ejaculating into our biological mothers. As
you know, there are 40 million to 1.2 billion sperm cells in each
ejaculation, depending on how fertile your biological father was and I'm
guessing your father was on the lower end of that range, Pony, but that's
not a problem because you're here, right? There are ten trillion galaxies
and each one contains ten billion stars. No, wait... that's another story."

I chuckle as Pony goes, "No, I meant the other story about a single cell."
Chubby's chuckling to himself again and then he goes, "Oh, yeah the single
cell story. Well, we all came into existence as a single cell, smaller than
a speck of dust." Pony turns to me, saying, "Yeah, this is the one. Wait
till you hear this." I go, "I've heard it ten times already," and Chubby
grins at me and then says, "The single cell is actually much, much smaller
than a tiny barely visible speck of dust. The single cell we all started
out as was sub-atomic small and invisible to the naked eye. Nearly
invisible even with electron microscopes... that's how small we all started
out...very, very tiny." Pony, as if he's explaining it to us, says, "Jeff's
saying it was micro-fucking-scopic," and we chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, we
heard."

John Beverly's back, "Oh fuck, not that BS story again, Jeff." Chub goes,
"It is not BS, numbnuts... it's a reality of our existence. Amazing
reality." Pony says to me, "I love hearing your brother talk," and Carl
says, "I do too, Pony." Chubby chuckles again and says to me, "Ya gotta
love the children, don't ya?" and then to everyone, "Let's do these shots
now, boys." We flash down the shots and Pony goes, "Shots are better than
beer, right Jeff?" Chub goes, "That's an entirely different story, Pony. I
gotta finish this one first. So, forty weeks after that almost invisible
speck that was all there was of us at one time, there have been at least
six trillion cells that have grown from the original almost invisible one
and then they all get crushed together in the vise of each of our mother's
birth canals and out we pop screaming our asses off. Then... the world
starts in on us." Pony goes, "That's the part I like. When Jeff
says... then the world starts in on us!"

Danny comes stumbling in holding a piece of paper and laughing his ass
off. The beer in his hand tilts and beer dribbles out of his cup onto the
floor as he says, "Listen to this shit. Specks wrote some love poems to
this chick, Pamela. Omigod, these fucking love letters would make a buzzard
feel queasy." Specks charges in and grabs the piece of paper from Danny,
yelling, "Asshole! That's private shit, Monday!"

John Beverly burps and then starts telling us about pickup lines he's used
that he even admits are lame. I don't get it at all, but don't ask and then
John points at Chubby and goes, "And, oh fuck, listen to this. A couple of
weeks ago Jeff and I are trying to find a hot spot in Quincy that some frat
boy asshole told us about the Saturday night before. So we're in Quincy in
the general vicinity, we think when we see this hot babe, or maybe she was
a whore. Anyway, Jeff goes, "Hey," and she comes over to the car. Jeff,
haha, says to her something like... I'm looking for a little action. You
know wine, women, and song and I could do without the song if I had to, so
the whore says..."

Ya know, being high on alcohol helps, but some things just hit me as wicked
funny the way that did, or maybe it's because Chubby was the one who
supposedly said it and I can hear the inflection in his voice when he says
shit like that. Still grinning I'm getting another beer from the inside
cooler when I hear Paul coming in off the balcony, saying to a very drunk
Donald, "Turning and turning in the widening gyre/ the falcon cannot hear
the falconer." Donald goes, "Is that from a rap song?" and Paul huffs,
saying, "No, it's Yeats!" Donald goes. "Oh, I don't think I've heard any
shit of his."

Snickering at the pompous Paul, I go outside to get some fresh air. Most
everyone is out here again so I squeeze between Specks and Pony, who are
sharing a joint and giggling like little kids. Looking back I glance at
Pony's flattop haircut. It's beginning to get that 'soft' look after three
weeks. Actually, that sort of what my hair looked like right after I got it
cut. I insisted Danny do a long version of a flattop. Gee, it doesn't look
especially cool like that... huh.

Sidestepping the pot smokers I get to where Connor's standing next to the
grille keeping warm. He has a can of Bud in his hand. I touch his shoulder
and he turns giving me his sweet-boy smile. He's always had an awesome
smile. He goes. "Hi, Dylan," I go, "Hey, Connor," and then make a 'face'
rolling my eyes at Stosh who's pontificating to Danny, saying, "I was just
explaining this to a guy the other day. There always needs to be
leadership. Personal relationships absolutely require leadership to be
successful," and he rubs Connor's nearly hairless head, then leaves his
hand on top of Connor's head, adding, "I always subjugate my
boyfriends. That's my first order of business, right Connie?"

Danny, who isn't interested and therefore ignoring Stosh, asks, "Dylan, do
you know if it's supposed to rain tomorrow? Does anyone know? We might be
able to play ball in the afternoon." Stosh continues. "It didn't take me
long with Connie here, but there is a right way and wrong way to get on top
of a person." Danny goes, "Uh huh, excuse me and, um, that's wicked
interesting, dude, but do you got any grass on you?" Stosh makes a huffy
sound and then goes, "Of course not," and Danny looks at me and goes, "I
know you don't have any on you, Dylan." I shrug and say, "I think it is
supposed to rain tomorrow." I'm trying not to grin because Danny's working
hard with his 'straight' act even though Stosh, whether he realizes it or
not, just basically reconfirmed he and Connor are gay. Two hours ago Stosh
acted like Connor was crazy when he said they were gay.

Getting no response to his search for pot, Danny goes, "Okay then, I'll see
you girls later," and he slides against the balcony's railing to further
his quest for a joint. Stosh frowns at Danny but doesn't have anything to
add. I was interested in what Stosh said about subjugating Connor and as
I'm contemplating kicking him in the nuts. Stosh looks at me and says,
"Thanks for inviting Connie and Me, Dylan." Oh...

He has a beer, a can of Bud even though he called it 'swill' earlier. I go,
"Well, it's not often I get a chance to see Connor, and..." Chubby bumps my
arm and I say to Stosh and Connor, "Excuse me for a second." Chubby wants
to bum a smoke off me so I give him what's left of my box of Marlboro
Lights, saying, "I've got half a carton in the bedroom, bro. You keep
those..." as Chub starts to say something John Beverly grabs him and starts
whispering something in Chub's ear. Fucking John Beverly...

Turning back to Connor I hear Stosh pontificating again. This time to
Connor, saying, "It's well known... everybody fucking knows this. The exact
quote is, 'Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake'. That's
famous advice from the Chinese philosopher, Confucius, and modern generals
quote it to this very day... that and other things he's said like a
thousand years ago." He swallows some beer and then mutters, "I'm surprised
they didn't teach you that during your two years in the Army." As I'm
giving Connor's shoulder a squeeze, I say to Stosh, "Actually, that's a
quote from Napoleon Bonaparte about two hundred or so some years ago," and
after getting that stab in on the pompous Stosh, I ask, "How you boys
doing? Did you get enough to eat?" Then I can't help rubbing it in and say,
"Oh, I see you've switched to the American swill, Budweiser, Stosh."

Stosh goes, "Better than nothing," and then Connor brightly exclaims, "That
was a great dinner, Dylan! Killer meatballs too!" He's definitely been
drinking and I mean more than that can of Bud he's presently holding. And
just then he sounded like the Connor I remember from days gone by. He was
lively and sweet and full of nice things to say back in the day. It makes
my heart hurt to see him now with this... oh, whatever. I smile, saying,
"Thanks, Connor! I need to confess it was Chubby, um, Jeff who made the
meatballs. I'll tell him you said they were awesome."

Butting into our conversation, Stosh pokes my chest with his pointing
finger and says, "Hey, how come everything you say to me is meant to put me
down?" I'm like, "Whaddaya mean?" He goes, "I knew it was Napoleon who said
that. I was just about to correct myself but you want me to look stupid."
Connor says, "Stop it, Stosh! That's idiotic," and I see Stosh's face get
bright red as he repeats the word, "Idiotic" as if he can't believe his
ears. I go, "Chill the fuck out, Stosh," and then I ask him, "Have you been
smoking the pot I smell out here?" Stosh goes, "Don't be ridiculous," and
Connor winks at me and makes a 'face'. I think that means he's had a toke
or two."

No one is smoking a joint out here now although I can still smell it. I
guess they smoked all they had, whoever 'they' are. Stosh seems to still be
simmering about Connor basically calling him an idiot so to get him
thinking about something else, I'm like, "So, Stosh, how's your job working
out for you?" He goes, "It's okay," and Connor goes, "Dylan, Stosh's job is
going great. It's like coming to Merrimack was meant to be! This job Stosh
has is so much better than his job in Texas. Stoshie got promoted after
only a couple of weeks, so things sometimes work out awesomely like it was
destiny we moved here to North Andover." Chubby appears out of nowhere and
puts a hand on Connor's shoulders, saying, "Oh Connor my friend, nothing in
the universe is preordained. There's only chance and, of course, physics
obviously." Stosh mumbles, "What the fuck does that mean?" and then he does
a double take looking at Chubby and me standing next to each other, adding,
"Oh, you two are brothers, right?" Chubby pats my shoulder, saying, "Yes,
I'm proud to say we are." Stosh looks around as if he's looking for
someone, and then says to me, "I thought that little-redheaded kid was your
brother." I shake my head and Connor goes, "They look alike, I think that's
what you mean, right Stosh?" He shrugs, muttering, "I guess."

Connor tilts his can draining the very last drops of his beer and then
asks, "Can I get any of you guys another beer?" Stosh glares at Connor but
I guess he doesn't have the balls to say anything with Chubby and me here.
Chub doesn't know about Stosh's earlier remark that Connors not supposed to
drink and he says, "Yeah, thanks, Connor. Um, and if you happen to spot
that bottle of Wild Turkey ya might wanna bring that out too. I see the
shot glasses are out here." I see them too... there on the outside window
sill.

Conner starts to leave but Stosh grabs his arm, saying, "What the hell. I
guess I'll have another beer too," Connor mutters, "Sure thing," and Stosh
goes, "And, Connie, get me one of those cups off the bar. It's barbaric
drinking out of cans." Connor goes off on his mission and I wonder again
what happened to Stosh's definitive statement about 'Connie doesn't drink
anything'. Chubby goes, "So, Stosh, you're not barbaric, huh? That's cool,
but I can't help noticing you're going all retro hippie on us with the long
hair and beard and obviously you have a total disregard for what you wear?"
Jesus!

I can tell that Chubby's already pissed at Stosh's attitude. That was an
outrageous statement though, even for Chubby, so I get ready to tackle
Stosh if it comes to that. Stosh doesn't take offense though. It must be
Chubby's smile and the way he said that insulting remark about Stosh's
appearance, making it sound almost like a good thing. Stosh goes, "Yeah, I
was born too late. I wish to hell I did live through the sixties and
seventies." Chub nods his head, saying, "Huh, really? I always thought that
counterculture bullshit sounded thin. They were stupidly passionate about
abstractions mostly, don't ya think? And then, of course, they were what ya
might call flaccid about human feelings." Stosh goes, "Huh? What?" and
Danny comes over, saying, "I don't think anyone's got any grass left. I was
gonna score some off that bitch that comes on campus every Thursday but her
prices are way too high." I have no idea what he's talking about but he
looks so cute and sexy. I like his longish hair too, now that I'm used to
it.

I'm like, "Well, you know better than ask me, Danny. I'm that rare dude who
doesn't care for pot." Chubby produces a joint from his shirt pocket,
asking, "You mean something like this, Danny?" I see Connor at the sliding
glass door struggling with three beers, a plastic cup, and the bottle of
bourbon so I help him carry that stuff outside.

I don't know what happened to Chubby's joint but no one is smoking it when
I pass out a couple of beers and realize there isn't one left for
me. Chubby's pouring shots for everyone, using the shelf of the outside
grille as a table. I take mine and do a shot and then grab Pony's beer and
chug some of it. Pony hits Chubby's arm and says, "That Wild Turkey is some
smooth shit, Jeff." Making a 'face' I go back inside to get a beer for
myself. There are four guys inside playing a game of liars poker, which I
ignore. I'm trying to figure out how much I've had to drink tonight. Hmmm,
too much but not as much as I normally would have, or as much as everyone
else has had, and that's because I was cooking and dishing out the food in
the kitchen earlier. And that's a good thing!

Danny comes inside and loses five dollars in the liar's poker game before
coming over to me grinning and getting close to me, in my space actually,
as he says, "Your little friend, Pony, talked me into giving him a haircut
tomorrow." Well, fuck, that screws up my plans for a Sunday with Danny. I
wanted it to be like we had last time I got a haircut. I must look
disappointed because he goes, "Aw, you can get that worried look off your
face because I'll get him done first and we'll send him on his way. You and
I will have the rest of the day to ourselves." I didn't know I had a
worried 'look' but now I purposely make a 'face', muttering, "I wasn't
worried! What the fuck ya talking about?" and Danny points at me with his
index finger, saying seriously, "Be at my dorm at high noon. Oh, I might
need to do a few haircuts for my bros from the team too, but that'll be
earlier." I laugh then, asking, "Earlier than noon? Bullshit. You won't be
up by then and you'd be wicked hung-over if you did get up by noon." He
goes, "You'll see, baby," and I go, "We definitely do need to talk though!"
Danny's look of confusion tells me he's forgotten what he told me about him
telling Robby we're in love, which we're not!

I acted annoyed but I like Danny being in my space even though he smells
like pot. Now I'm looking at his sexy mouth and his chin with those
whiskers just at the end. I lightly brush my fingers through those short,
soft hairs at the end of his chin as I say, totally without rancor, "Yeah,
we need to talk so we can straighten out that misconception you have about
us being in a serious relationship. AND, most importantly, the thing you
said earlier about Rob needing to know about us... there is no 'us'. It's,
um, insane to think that." He's just grinning at me, probably not
listening. I swipe the bangs off his forehead with the tips of my fingers,
adding, "Do not say anything to him!" His bangs drop down almost to his
eyes again.

Danny finger combs his bangs to the side and then pats my shoulder and,
continuing to keep his voice low, he says, "Easy, baby. I didn't know what
you meant at first about us needing to talk, but now I do." I go, "Yes,
that's because I just told you what I meant," and he goes, "Don't be
getting yourself all worked up. I'll explain it to you tomorrow." I go,
"I'm not worked up and it's more like I'll explain it to you tomorrow."  He
goes, "If you're referring to what I think you are, I was just making a
suggestion. You know I always go along with whatever you want." Omigod,
what a crock of shit that is!

Danny's doing his purposely obtuse 'routine' again. The routine he told me
he does to entertain himself while frustrating others. Before I can say
more, Specks comes inside yelling, "Look what I got, Danny," and he holds
up a wrinkled joint. Maybe it's the one Chubby had. Danny turns and goes,
"Ya gotta be shitting me," and then he pats my head, saying, "Tomorrow at
twelve. Be there!" and he heads outside to the balcony with his
roommate... a couple of potheads!

After putting a few things in the dishwasher while sipping on my beer, I'm
happy to have some time alone. I can see Chubby holding court on the
balcony again. That makes me grin. It also makes me want to hear what he's
saying so I go outside where I think Chubby's talking about one of the
professors he told me about weeks ago, and it's a funny story. Chub's
saying, "Yeah, the first fucking class I had this year and it's with a
Professor Abbah IbinAbdellah. Fortunately, he was nice enough to write that
name on the whiteboard or who the fuck could spell it. This dude was
wearing a heavy dark tweed three-piece suit and one of those checkered
racing flags on his head. I leaned over to tell this snatch sitting next to
me that this guy might not be from around here. Then the guy feels the need
to explain to us he's our professor. Well, I was pretty sure he wasn't a
fashion consultant. It was like ninety degrees outside the first day of
those stupid introductory classes and he wearing a wool three-piece suit."

There's laughing obviously because us drunks laugh at almost
anything. Chubby's going on with his story but I don't hear it because
Pony's saying in my ear, "I'm getting another flattop tomorrow, Dylan." I
nod, "Yeah, Danny told me," and Pony goes, "Fuck, I wasn't going to at
first but Danny convinced me that I look killer with this haircut. Whaddaya
think?" I go, "It's okay, but I thought you only got the flattop to appease
your dad." Pony nods at someone who bumps his arm and then passes him a
one-inch roach. Pony takes a drag and holds it in his lungs while holding
the roach up to me. I shake my head and he puts his hand behind
him. Someone takes the roach as I hear more laughter coming from Chubby's
group.

Exhaling that offensive smelling smoke, Pony's eyes flutter and then he
goes, "Yeah, he told me you're the only person on the planet who would look
better with a flattop than me." As I'm rolling my eyes, he goes, "And get
this... Danny said I can come over tomorrow as a special exemption to the
Saturdays only for haircuts rule." I go, "Whoopee," and he goes, "He's
making an exception because you and me are close friends." I go, "Oh, huh."

Pony looks wasted, but he's not slurring his words. I guess that doesn't
happen when you're stoned, not to the degree a person slurs his words when
hammered. I hear John Beverly's voice and look over. Pony and I listen as
John says, "Yeah, dogs are awesome but some not so much. These dogs scared
the shit out of me." He's talking to the hockey players. He goes, "They
were these two big German Shepherds, both of them big. They were black and
brown with those long mouths and big teeth outside the fucking drugstore,
both have their leashes sort of loosely around a parking meter. I wanted to
get in the store but I'm not getting near those dogs 'cause they're both
doing this growling in the throats. Ya know what I mean? Anyway, their
owner finally comes out... this big scary fucker of a man and when these
ferocious looking big black and brown dogs see him and stop their growling
at me. They shrank down on their haunches making whining sounds and this
big guy snarls at them in some language. I think it was German but anyway,
the two dogs cringed and squirted urine onto the sidewalk. They were scared
shitless of that guy. I was scared shitless of the dogs and they were
scared shitless of that man! Weirdest thing I ever saw."  Jesus, the
stories are getting more preposterous by the minute.

I go back inside and glance at the kitchen... what a shit-house! Whose idea
was this anyway? The rest of the night I only sip on a couple of beers. If
I hadn't had the three or four shots of bourbon I'd probably feel okay
tomorrow morning... but I did have the shots. More crazy stories and jokes
with guys laughing their nuts off, more drinking shots and beers while
smoking too many cigarettes and then more joints popping up one by one from
somebody... and it's loud and the next time I check my wristwatch somehow
it's approaching one o'clock in the morning. What? How'd that happen?

Finally, the first two guys say their goodbyes and go out the front
door. Then everyone starts leaving although it takes a little
while. Neither Rob nor I suggested they start leaving but we're not trying
to get them to stay either. And I must say they're all very nice about
complimenting everything, so that's cool. The coats were all put on our bed
because we had no other place to put ten coats. Guys are in the bedroom
getting their coats with Rob and a couple of guys saying goodbye at the
door, Connor comes over to me and says, "I'm a little drunk, Dylan," and
then he hugs me around my neck with both arms, his body pressed to mine. I
big hug for two seconds and then he gives me a sloppy kiss on the mouth and
puts the side of his face against mine keeping his arms around my neck as
he says, "This was the best night in quite a while for me, Dylan. Thank you
and please don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing and you know I'm a
survivor."

He lets go of me but kisses me again. I assume Stosh is in the bedroom with
five or six other guys getting his and Connor's coats. Connor goes, "Haha,
I think Stosh is scared of your brother and you. He was very cautious of
what he said tonight." I go, "He should be afraid of us," and I smile,
asking, "You're okay then?" He nods, "Yeah, and you and me are getting
together for coffee this week, right?" I nod, "Any time you text me, I'll
be there, Connor." He says, "I love you. You saved my life and I won't
waste it... trust me please and don't worry about me so much." We both see
Stosh carrying two coats down the hall and turn to him as he says, "I'm a
little smashed but Connie, you can drive, right?" Connor nods and Stosh
pats my shoulder and says, "It was a good time, Dylan. Thanks."

I go, "My pleasure," and Stosh asks, "Ready, Con?" Connor goes, "Yep, I'll
see you next week, Dylan," and they leave. Huh, I want to feel a little
better about Connor but I'll wait on that for more evidence that he's
alright for real. Booze can cover up stuff and it can make us say stuff
that's not exactly always accurate. And Connor's got those gay affectations
from somewhere which puzzles the shit out of me. Maybe I'll ask him about
that during one of our coffee dates.

Everyone is hugging and bumping fists dragging out the goodbyes but
eventually, it's just Rob and me in the apartment looking at the disaster
around us. When I turn off the CD player the silence is deafening. We look
at one another, shrug and then take down the rented table and fold up the
chairs. I'd already cleaned the casserole set-up and put a few things in
the dishwasher, but that's all we do. We both make a 'face' and Rob goes,
"Ah, the hell with it, babe. Let's get to bed." Amazingly, Rob isn't as bad
off as I expected he'd be... we just want to go to sleep. We manage a
cursory cleanup of ourselves in the bathroom and then get in bed. Ahhh, so
nice. No messing around tonight and sleep comes on me quickly. My last
thought is: I'm glad it's over, and my very last thought... no more big
dinner parties!

Sunday morning the ringing of Rob's cell phone wakes me out of a dream. I
know I was dreaming but try as I might, I can't remember it. Robby, lying
next to me, is cursing under his breath. I go, "Are you going to answer
that?" He mutters, "I guess," and slides out of bed as I check my
wristwatch: it's almost ten o'clock and when I move my head it goes boom,
boom, boom! Yeah, but not as bad as some hangover 'booms' I've experienced.

Robby saying into his cell phone, "Yeah, dad, good morning to you too and,
no, I wasn't sleeping! I've got a bit of a sore throat is all. What's up?"
Robby looks over at me and mugs a 'face' at the 'I wasn't sleeping' lie. He
wanders out of the bedroom, saying, "Next weekend, you say? Oh man, um..."
I'm thinking his dad just asked if Rob can work next Saturday. Robby always
says 'yes' and I'll probably go with him again.

Turning over, I pull the covers up to my chin and try drifting off to sleep
but Robby's back, saying to his dad, "I'm sure he will. Yeah, we'll
probably come home Friday night, and.... what?" He listens, and then says,
"Okay, then... we'll come home Thursday night. We don't have class on
Fridays." He's listening again and now I'm listening too because the 'he'
Robby referred to can only mean me. I guess I'm working next weekend. Well,
I can always use the money.

Rob leaves the bedroom again, he's walking in circles, but this time when
he comes back he has a glass of OJ in one hand and three Advil in the palm
of his other hand. He's got the phone hunched between his ear and shoulder
the way he does all the time. Leaning down to me he offers the pills and
juice so I sit up and take them from him. As I drink the juice and swallow
the hangover medication, Rob's saying to his dad, "Sure thing. No problem,
dad... hi, to mom and we'll see you, um, Thursday night I guess. Okay, yes,
we'll try to get there early enough for dinner, sure."

He ends the call and hops on the bed to rubs my head, saying, "Guess what?"
Putting the juice glass on the nightstand, I mutter, "We're going home
Thursday night so we'll be ready to get up early for work Friday and
Saturday." Smiling, he's like, "How'd you guess?" I roll my eyes at him
like... seriously? He goes, "I didn't have the energy to argue with Dad
about anything. I won't get paid but you will. You'll get paid for two
eight-hour days at fifteen dollars an hour." I'm like, "What? Only
fifteen?" Smirking, Robby says, "Omigod, I know you're worth so much more
than that, baby. I know that, but that stupid overtime report we did
together set in motion a new overtime policy that radically cuts back on
overtime spending." I go, "Boo!" and he asks, "Seriously, do you mind
working with me next weekend?" I shake my head, "Nope. Count me in, boss."

Robby goes, "Oh and, um, please don't get mad at me, Dylan, but we need to
get haircuts before going home. Especially you." I go, "I know that,
Robert! You don't need to tell me that all the time, Daddy. As a matter of
fact, I've already made plans to get a haircut. I'll be at the dormitory
barbershop today at noon. I made those plans when I didn't even know we'd
be working next weekend." Rob's still holding his cell phone, as he
mumbles, "Uh huh, that's so fucking excellent of you. You know what... I'll
call Danny and tell him I'm coming too." Dammit!

He does call Danny and I'm silently pissed-off all over again. Yeah, just
like I was pissed off last night about Pony horning-in on getting a
haircut. I wanted Danny to myself today. What the hell happened to Danny's
rule about haircutting only on Saturdays? That's the way Golden did it last
year and Danny should stick to that this year, I mean after making an
exception for me obviously.

Rob gets off the bed saying to Danny, "Thanks, I can always count on you,
buddy!" I ask incredulously, "Danny was awake?" Rob chuckles, "Yeah, after
his phone rang about twelve times he was, heh heh." Putting the phone on
the desk, Rob asks, "How do you feel?" I shrug, "How do you think I feel?
I'm hungover but it's not too horrible considering everything. The kitchen
and living room are an unbelievable disaster zone though. What level of a
hangover are you dealing with?" Rob goes, "I know what a disaster area the
apartment is because I just walked through it trying not to break my ankle
on the debris scattered around. And, um, I guess I'm not feeling a bad as I
expected. I took three Advil last night and three more this morning."

With a sigh, I get out of bed and look in the mirror. Huh, I'm trying to
flatten my hair with my hand, mumbling, "I'm undecided what to tell Danny I
want for a haircut. What are you telling him you want?" As I'm following
Rob into the bathroom, he says, "The same as last time. It was
good... it'll be my haircut until graduation. Why don't you get the preppy
haircut I get, assuming you don't want another imitation flattop or
whatever that last haircut was supposed to be." I say, "It was a long
flattop. I instructed Danny how I wanted it cut and we compromised. As I'm
putting toothpaste on my toothbrush, I mutter, "And your haircut looks good
but I don't want us two having the same one. Guys will break my balls for
copying you, plus we're too old for something as cutesy as identical
haircuts. We've not twinned boyfriends anymore. I'll ask him for, um, I
don't know yet."

Robby finishes brushing his teeth, rinses out his mouth and says, "You'll
figure something out. Let's clean this place before we shower." I go, "Oh
God! We gotta clean this shit-house with a hangover, that really sucks the
big one!" He walks out of the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, "It was
your party." No shit.

I finish washing and then pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt and begin
helping Rob clean the apartment. Neither of us says a word for the next
forty minutes. When the kitchen is sort of back the way we want it, and we
have the dishwasher running, Rob says, "So, babe, I've been thinking... why
not get a real flattop like your buddy Pony has, and Carl too? I like how
you'd look 'cause it will remind me of you and me five years ago. Also, Dad
and Mom said we looked great after our last haircuts... it never hurts
pleasing the 'rents." His parents, not mine, but I know what he means. It
makes for a stress-free environment.

We're stacking the folding chairs near the door for the guys who will pick
them up as I shrug, mumbling, "I don't know, maybe I'll get the same
haircut I got last time. The long flattop... it's sort of a flattop. The
thing is... I mean, look how funny my hair looks now. It's like two-inches
long sticking straight off my head like I stuck my finger in a light
socket." He says, "Yeah, that why I said you should get a regular
flattop. Jesus, it's only a fucking haircut, not a life or death decision,
Dylan." I whine, "Oh man, a regular flattop like Carl's? I always feel
scalped after haircuts like that." He shrugs but apparently doesn't have
anything more say about it. The truth is I don't care all that much myself
except I'm dealing with this fucking haircut fetish too.

It takes us another hour to finish cleaning. The vacuum noise gets my
headache pounding again so I take two more Advil. Finally done the
cleaning, I'm carrying two trash bags to the basement knowing it's dumb to
agonize about what haircut I should get but it's still on my mind and,
haha, it doesn't help matters that I've got a huge crush on my barber.

Yes, haircuts are mostly traumatic events for me while merely a bit of a
nuisance for everyone else. Hell, for them it's not even that big of a
nuisance because of how convenient it is having Danny the barber right here
on campus... and it's free!

After dropping the trash I hear the shower running as soon as I step inside
the apartment. It's already past noon which is when Danny told me to be at
his room and I haven't showered yet or eaten anything, so I text Danny that
we'll be late and then as soon as Rob's done in the bathroom I take a quick
shower. After that, I find Robby in the kitchen frying bacon and cracking
eggs into a frying pan. He goes, "I'm making us a late fried eggs
breakfast, babe. How about putting some bread in the toaster for me." I go,
"Oh, nice, you're making us breakfast! Sure, I'll do the toast." As I'm
doing that, I ask, "You feel okay?" Rob goes, "Not great, but okay, I
guess. Um, if you don't mind I'd like to get my haircut first. When you
were in the bathroom the coach texted me to join him and other mentors at
the ballpark so Coach can go over film of the freshman's batting
problems. And, ya know, the guys like Carl will be there too."

Hmm, this is good! I ask, "What time do you need to be there?" Rob goes,
"Before two o'clock and this is breaking my balls. I do not feel like
watching freshmen in the batting cage but I gotta go." I'm thinking... Oh,
do tell! An afternoon with my 'crush' Danny just might work out for me
after all! We'll need to get Pony on his way too though. Yes, this can work
out after all.

We take our time eating breakfast and then drive on campus and as we're
walking into Danny's dormitory, I say, "I guess I'll get the same long
version of a flattop I got last time." Rob shrugs. Haha, I guess that
wasn't remotely on his mind. He's like most guys and doesn't feel it's
worth spending much time discussing haircuts. He said I should get a
haircut like Carl's and that's all he has to say about it.

I knock on the door and Pony opens it. We do a regular fast guy's hug. He
still hasn't gotten his haircut so I'm like, 'What the hell?" and we walk
in seeing Danny cutting some other guy's hair, plus there's another guy
sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, obviously waiting for
a haircut too. Danny looks up and says, "Super hangover day, huh?" Robby
mutters, "My hangover isn't too bad." Danny goes, "Sorry to keep you boys
waiting but these two got here first and then, um, Pony". Rob goes, "Well
fuck, Danny! You said... um, I need to be at the ballpark before two
o'clock!" Danny shrugs like... not my problem. Well, this blows!

Pony hits my arm, smiling and saying, "I hear you're gonna get a real
flattop like mine this time?" I grumpily mumble, where'd ya hear that?" He
grins, "A little birdie told me." I snap at him, "Don't fucking worry about
it, alright?" It must have been Danny who told him that. I can't imagine
why though.

Glancing at Pony sitting in the desk chair, it's obvious I hurt his
feelings and he's pouting. Goddammit, I didn't want to do that! I rub his
shoulder and lean over close to him to sort of whisper, "I'm sorry for
snapping at you, I've got a hangover, Pony. Ya know, if I looked as good as
you do with that haircut, goddamn right I'd get the regular flattop like
yours." He adjusts his glasses and mumbles, "You look way better than me
with any haircut." I give the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze,
muttering, "Well, I guess you're right about that," and we both snicker as
he leans against my hand so I give his neck another little squeeze.

Watching Danny cutting that goofy-looking guy's hair I can't help but be
impressed how effortlessly he does it. It's like he's been giving haircuts
for years. Then, after a few minutes' worth of frustration building up in
me about all these guys getting a haircut on Sunday, I ask a bit too
forcefully, "What the fuck happened to Saturday being the haircut day,
Danny?" He's not put off by my aggressive tone. He gives me his friendly
cute smile and goes, "Every Saturday is haircut day, yeah Dylan, but these
guys are overflow that I couldn't get to yesterday 'cause I had to get
ready for a dinner party. I closed up shop early. It was a killer dinner
party though!" I go, "Yeah? Thanks," and he adds, "Omigod though, I got
wrecked from too much weed, babe." Rob, who was looking at a Sports
Illustrated magazine, looks over at Danny, probably because he called me
'babe'.

I check out the guy sitting on the floor and then look away because there's
nothing interesting about him... nothing to see here. He's a little on the
husky side, weight-wise. Nice head of hair although wasted on him.

Pony leans past me to bumps Rob's arm telling him, "Um, Rob." Pointing at
the guy sitting on the floor, he says, "Troy's next and then you can take
my spot. I'll wait." Robby goes, "Thanks, Pony, that's very considerate of
you." Rob and I are standing here like statues so I nod at Speck's bed,
figuring we'll sit on it while we wait. As soon as we step toward the bed
though, Danny goes, "Um, sorry boys, but please don't sit on Speck's bed. I
promised him we wouldn't do that anymore."

Glancing at Danny's bed I see a tangle of sheets and blankets so we end up
sitting next to the husky guy, Troy, on the floor. Rob and Troy bump fist,
muttering, "Dude!" and they talk about a coach named Salone, who's
apparently the pitching coach. After listening to them for a minute it's
obvious that Troy's a pitcher on the baseball team. Neither of them
mentions haircuts, which is why they're here, but they're normal guys and
as I said, almost all guys merely think of haircuts as a routine necessity
whereas I think of them as an experience to loathe and love at the same
time.

Rob doesn't introduce me to Troy, for which I'm grateful. I've worked
myself up into this grumpy mood because of the way today is turning out
so. Leaning back against the wall I'm obviously acting put-out and
pissed-off. No one pays any attention to me being pissed off though so I
only waste energy on that for a minute before becoming fascinated at the
way Danny's cutting this tall blond-headed goofy-looking guy's hair. It's
the haircut style I hate; the one with the fade on the sides and back with
clippers cutting the hair wicked short but then they'll be a mop of blond
hair on top of the guy's head. I promised myself I'd never get that haircut
again and I won't. It's too stupid for words, although I do like watching
Danny cut it for this goofy-looking guy. I admire the way Danny never
hesitates with anything he's doing and, in this instance, that includes
cutting this guy's hair so fucking short on the sides with the clippers
it's giving me a boner watching him do it!

Damn, he's so good at barbering and, yes, Danny's become a better barber
than me and he's way the fuck better than Golden ever was! But then, there
are only a few professional barbers, and absolutely no home barbers, who
are as good as Danny. He's a rare one alright! I gotta give him his props
although applauding seems over-the-top so I keep my admiration to
myself. None of these guys has a clue how hard it is to do what Danny's
doing, so they can't appreciate it the way I do.

Danny finishes with the goofy-looking guy's haircut and the guy gets off
the stool, muttering, "Thanks, Monday. I owe ya, dude," and he walks to the
door where he sees Rob and goes, "Yo, Dickers, whassup? Guess I'll see you
at the ballpark, dude." Rob goes, "Yeah I'll be there with my mentee,
Snowdon. Ain't it a bitch though that Coach calls a meeting on a Sunday?"
Goofy-looking mumbles, "Well, yeah! I'll be bringing my big-mouth mentee,
Arnoldson, who is winning the batting-battle with your boy." Rob goes,
"You're dreaming! Carl hits circles around that clown of yours. See ya at
two o'clock."

All these assholes are ballplayers obviously. Except Pony and me and Pony
wouldn't even be getting free haircuts if he wasn't my friend. The thing is
though, Danny's not only giving ballplayers haircuts but his friends
too... and he knows tons of guys. There are twenty-five-hundred guys at
Merrimack so if he's smart he'll stop making friends immediately. Guys will
take advantage of Danny.

Troy's next and he gets the same haircut the blond-headed goofy-looking guy
got. He sits on the barber stool and says, "Yo, Danny, how they hangin'?"
and that's it. No discussion about the kind of haircut he wants. Danny puts
the cape around Troy and turns the clippers on and immediately lots of
Troy's brown hair begins falling off his head. It's so different from when
I was giving neighborhood guys free haircuts. With those guys there was
always the whining question, 'What haircut should I get, Dylan?' None of
that whining with Danny as the barber... he gives you the haircut he
wants. I suppose he sort of follows what the guy's last haircut was, only
Danny cuts it shorter... haha. It's kinda funny really because no one seems
to notice or, more likely, they don't care. The dopes!

It takes less than fifteen minutes and Troy's walking toward the door
slapping hands with Robby on his way out. Pony says, "Go ahead, Rob. I'll
wait." It's the same with Rob. He sits on the barber stool, Danny puts the
cape around him and begins cutting Rob's hair the exact way he did the last
time. There wasn't a single word exchanged about it. So Rob is getting a
very short preppy haircut with a part on the side and a cute pompadour in
front. Uber-preppy, plus short, but short hair is mostly in fashion now
anyway. How it got to be the fashion, and so quickly, I don't fucking
know... but it is. Actually, I kinda think Robby looks youthful with that
haircut.

Danny combs Rob's hair the way he feels it looks best and Rob leaves it
like that and then slaps palms with me as he walks by, saying, "We'll text,
babe. I don't know how long this damn video session will last." I mumble,
"Yeah, okay, I'll text you later, Rob." Pony gets on the barber stool and I
get off the floor to sit in the desk chair Pony just vacated. Danny goes,
"How ya feeling this morning, Pony?" He goes, "A little fuzzy," and that's
it for discussion. It's a good thing Pony wants the flattop again because
that's what he's getting. Gee, I wish I could be as blasé about
getting a haircut as everyone else is.

Danny starts right in using a very short attachment on the clippers running
the clippers up the side of Pony's head. The buzzing clippers keep my
fetish running kinda hot. Done the sides and back of Pony's head, Danny's
now spraying that hideous hairspray and brushing Pony's hair up and back on
top using the hairdryer to dry it so Pony's hair is standing up as straight
as it can get. Then Danny cuts the same flattop haircut Pony got last time
and the same one he gave Carl yesterday afternoon.

A haircut is such a simple routine process for most guys while for me,
fuck, it's much more. Christ, right now I'm pushing at my boner and worried
about what I should get for a haircut. Jesus, watching these haircuts I can
hardly catch my fucking breath and my stomach, all the way down and around
my groin, feels all funny and strange, and scary. Getting a haircut is
definitely not a simple routine thing for me!

It takes Danny less than ten minutes to do Pony's haircut and I can still
smell that hideous hairspray now that he's done. Fuck, Pony's haircut looks
so short and spiky with his scalp showing through the wicked short
hairs. No way am I getting that! I'm willing to admit though, I've never
seen a neater flattop than that one. As Danny takes the cape off Pony, he
looks over at me and nods his head at Pony's flattop. I guess he wants me
to critique it so I grin and nod back at him, saying, "Yep, looks awesome,
Danny." Christ, what a sexy barber he is! Haha...

As Pony stands he's feeling how short his hair is like every guy who has
ever gotten a short haircut does. Pony mumbles, "Thanks a lot, Danny," and
then, putting his glasses on, he asks me, "How do I look, Dylan?" I go, "
You look cooler than I think it's legal to be in this fucked-up state,
Pony." Jesus, eyeglasses on a guy with a flattop haircut? Give me a fucking
break! Poor kid...

Pony grins at me, muttering, "Thanks," and then, "Well, I'm off to do some
bowling." My eyes pop open as I mumble, "Bowling?" and he tells me his
roommate, Donald, challenged the first-floor in their dormitory to a
bowling competition. Two five-man teams from each floor. Pony, who's still
feeling how short his hair is, explains, "It's competitive and fun, ya
know? Losers buy the beer. Have you ever been candlepin bowling, Dylan."? I
go, "Huh?" not paying much attention because I'm jittery now that it's my
turn for a haircut. Pony makes a bowling motion with his arm while still
smiling.

Jeez though, Pony's an awesome kid. Um, he's not a kid actually, he just
acts like one sometimes. Nodding my head, I go, "Oh, candlepin bowling!
Yes, I've done that a few times. Have fun, Pony. I'll catch up with you
later... maybe." Feeling real affection for him, I give Pony a hug and he
hugs back tightly. Nice kid. Danny stares at us with the barber cape over
his arm.

Now it's my turn and, holy fuck, no one has a clue. no one could possibly
relate in any way to the turmoil I go through for a simple haircut. They're
lucky they don't need to deal with it or they'd all probably have hair down
to their asses. With this weird scary feeling in my gut, I sit on the
barber stool. I should be pissed-off for real because I had to wait an
hour, but I honestly didn't mind the wait because it was fascinating
watching Danny give those guys haircuts. It's so quiet now with only Danny
and me in the room and the clippers silent for just about the first time
since I got here. I'm gonna say something but I kinda think Danny should be
the one who says something first. He's the guy in charge.

He still has the barber cape draped over his left arm as he's brushing the
cutting blades of the clippers, doing it more aggressively than necessary
if you ask me. Abruptly he puts the clippers down and takes the barber cape
by the edges to shake it. I watch the hair clippings drift to the floor
joining the different colors of hair already on the floor. There's cut
hairs all around the stool I'm sitting on. Blond, brown, and black
hairs... lots of them. No red hairs from Carl's haircut though, so
obviously Danny swept up the hairs after he closed down his dorm barbershop
yesterday.

I'm feeling ridiculously nervous and squirmy waiting for... gulp, a
haircut. Nothing new about that. It's always pretty much the same although
I always work my ass off to appear casually blasé like everyone
else; like I'm a normal guy. Acting casual for me though is fucking
exhausting. I feel weak and scary-excited and nervous, all at the same
time. And especially now that Danny's my barber and he's different, he's so
business-like when he's cutting hair.

Finished shaking out the barber cape, he fluffs it up and lets it settle
down over me and then absently runs his fingers through his hair that's
dropped to his forehead; his bangs are so long they almost reach his
eyes. He finger combs the hairs over to the side where they stay
momentarily before drifting down on his forehead again. Like my own hair,
when I let it grow long that time, Danny's brown hair has a little wave
that's not quite a curl and he actually looks good with long hair. Not
stupidly long though and I normally don't think long hair on guys looks
cool, but with Danny... hmmm.

Oh man, I'm fucking nervous. I feel like a little kid sitting on this stool
with my feet not reaching the floor while Danny's takes his good old time
doing whatever the fuck he's doing. His back is to me now as he fiddles
with the various clippers and attachments. I want to say something but why
doesn't he say something to me? It's so fucking quiet!

Well, why the hell wouldn't he take his time? I'm just another guy out of
probably twenty that Danny's given haircuts to this weekend.  I can see how
it'd become just routine for him. Oh man though, my dick is so tight and
it's sticking straight out. I need to adjust it to the side, which I do
while trying not to move the cape too much because it would be obvious what
I'm doing if Danny turns around.

It's only been like two minutes since I sat on this stool but it seems much
longer because I'm kinda stressed. I clear my throat hoping it'll get him
to say something. Danny nonchalantly walks behind and uses a clip to fasten
the ends of the cape behind my neck and then, putting his hands on my
shoulders he leans his head down close to mine and asks me a totally
unexpected question. He goes, "Tell me the truth now, Dylan... are you
fucking that kid?"

I'm stuttering for a second, "Huh, what? Um, who? Do you mean Pony?" and
then getting under control a little, I go on the offensive, "What the fuck
kind of question is that? NO! He's a friend, that's all. We hooked up last
year doing some running at the track and then working out at the fitness
center. Jesus, Danny!" Needless to say, my dick isn't a boner now. That
question came out of nowhere!

He tightens both hands, squeezing my shoulders and saying, "Good. I'd be
wicked jealous if I thought you were." I start to say something but he
interrupts, quietly adding, "I know, I know, baby, that was unfair of me
because I'm doing it... well never mind what I'm doing 'cause I plan on
stopping. It's just that you're special to me. Well, that's an
understatement... I get jealous as hell thinking you're doing it with him."
I make an embarrassing gulping sound in my throat because I can't think
what I should say to that... and, did he say he was giving up his other
side-sex?

Hugging around my neck now, Danny kisses my cheek, murmuring, "I've told
you this before... but Jesus, I get excited, turned-on actually by how good
you smell. Gawd, you smell so sexy! I can't begin to describe it any better
than that... sexy." He kisses my cheek again and this time his lips stay on
my cheek for like five seconds before he murmurs in my ear, "I love
you. I'm madly in love with you... just so you know."

Holy shit, I'm struggling to come up with some response to that when he
says in a half-joking manner, "And ya know, Dylan, when you're fully my
boyfriend they'll be no more screwing around on the side for you. I won't
put up with that." Well, I need to say something to that outrageous
assumption of his, but before I can, he goes, "That'll be a rule... I'm
gonna be the only one you'll be going to bed with. Just a heads-up, okay?"
I manage to mutter, sarcastically, "Yeah, riiiiight, Danny." He chuckles
and then sighs and says, "I'm so tired, Dylan. When I'm done with your
haircut will you lie with me in bed like you did after your last haircut? I
was hung over that time too."

I'm going to ignore the 'I love you' statement and all that other nonsense
as well. The fact is Danny doesn't even know what being in love means. Oh
man though, when his longish hair was against the side of my face as he was
hugging my neck, his hair had the faintest smell of marijuana and cigarette
smoke in it and, Omigod, that turned me on! Isn't that nuts! He's a clean
guy too so I'm sure he washed his face and hands but didn't take a shower
so the smell lingers in his hair.

Some. but definitely, not all guys' hair fascinates me and certainly
Danny's hair falls into that category... it's all part of the fetish I
suppose. Danny mumbles, "For a change, baby, I do the top first. I need to
break up the routine a little. Get my juices flowing to do this right for
you!" and he gets the hairspray can in one hand and, while he covers my
eyes with the other he sprays my hair with the hairspray for like ten long
seconds. God, I hate that smell! He stops and in a conversational manner,
asks me again, "Will, you, Dylan? Get in bed with me after your haircut. I
wanna cuddle with you and maybe we can nap for a little while
too... please!" That horrible smell of hairspray surrounds me as I mumble,
"Sure, I'll get in bed with you, Danny." He brushes back through my hair
and sprays more of that shit on my hair.

As he's getting the hairdryer off the desk a few drops of the stinky
hairspray drools onto my forehead. Danny turns on the hairdryer and the
forced hot air almost instantly dries the drool on my forehead and then
dries my hair from front to back while Danny vigorously brushes back
through it getting it all standing up as straight as it's possible to
be. He's right in front of me, his thighs against my knees saying something
that I can't hear because the hairdryer is too loud. When I feel my hair
stiffly dry and standing up so straight it feels like it's pulling on the
roots, it must look funny. Two-and-a-half-inch hair sticking straight up
off my head. Clowns-town!

Danny turns off the hairdryer and puts it on the desk, saying, "Christ,
that looks silly, Dylan. Your hair on top is at least two inches long. No,
it's longer than that because it grows as fast as weeds, almost overnight
it sprouts up."

Yeah, my hair has always grown out quickly, nothing I can do about it, or
want to do about it! More importantly, I've been sensing a bit of a dreamy
trance developing as soon as I sat on this stool. I'd like it to deepen so
I don't say anything. I often get in a trance when Danny is doing something
to me that feels good, not that he knows I'm in a trance.

With one last swipe of the brush back through my hairspray-stiffened hair,
Danny mutters, "Look at that hair of yours, baby! Jesus, I could kick
myself in the ass for letting you talk me into that longish flattop last
time," and then he drops the hairbrush on the desk next to the hairdryer. I
prefer swimming in this dreamy sort of trance to my earlier nervous feeling
in my gut so I'm not paying a whole lot of attention to Danny's ramblings
as he's finishing with, "and when you get right down to it, that wasn't
even a flattop, not really. Um, I don't know what it was, but it wasn't an
authentic flattop."

I take a deep inhale glad to be feeling sort of hypnotized again. Danny
squeezes my shoulder and I glance at him as he smiles saying calmly, "Hey,
I'm sorry, baby. I don't know why I'm yelling at you." Yelling? I didn't
notice. He shrugs and says, "Hell, I'm the one who sent you on your way
three weeks ago with that poor excuse for a flattop haircut. Never again, I
promise."

Obviously, Danny's one of those people who can mesmerize me! It doesn't
need to be a sexual thing either. Professors and my hygienist and anyone
with a certain manner and voice can almost hypnotize me like this. I
couldn't begin to describe what it is in these people, but I kinda like
feeling this way. And, yeah, some of them are more special, like Danny
who's so good looking on top of everything else. And it's his voice, his
mannerisms, etc...

I'm not sure why he's apologizing but it's a good excuse for me to stare at
him. He shakes his head slightly and then he again runs his fingers through
his long hair getting it off his forehead. Oh man... everything about him
is so sexy. It's almost as though my haircut fetish gets put on the back
burner to make room for my Danny-crush and this dreamy trance.

Done talking, Danny picks up the clippers and turns it on. He gets his
serious 'face' on now that he's getting down to business. Omigod, him being
my barber makes my dick get so fucking hard it hurts! Holding the buzzing
clippers to the side Danny does a big yawn and then gives me his awesomely
boyish grin, saying, "I need a fucking nap!" I don't have anything to say
to that because I'm more than a little 'spacey' at the moment although I'm
trying my best to appear normal.

He gets right in front of me and moves the comb up the stiff hairs above my
forehead. I can smell his minty toothpaste-breath as he exhales. Oh man, I
like that 'look' of concentration on his face, plus the sound of buzzing
clippers is sexually arousing to me. He moves the clippers up near the comb
and at the last second I snap out of my trance and go, "Wait! What are you
doing?" I should have been paying attention for Christ sakes!

Danny looks puzzled holding the buzzing clippers in one hand and a comb in
the other. Taking a step back, he goes, "What do you think I'm doing?"
Oddly, I'm now staring at the clippers he's holding because, well, that
particular one used to be my professional, previously-owned clippers that I
bought on eBay years ago. Fuck, why am I fixating on that? I'm avoiding the
topic, I'm vacillating again about what haircut to get. I thought I'd
decided, but now I'm not so sure. Hearing those barber clippers buzzing
away kinda scared me for a second which snapped me out of my trance.

Staring at me as though I'm a crazy person, Danny goes, "Why'd you stop
me?" I sound sort of whiny, saying, "Well, um, I haven't decided what
haircut I want yet. You don't just start cutting a person's hair without
asking what they want!" No more dreamy trance for me! Danny sort of grins,
like maybe I'm putting him on. He goes, "But I know the haircut you want."
I go, "How could you when I don't even know?"

He snorts out a chuckle and goes, "Don't break my balls, baby. I'm tired."
I turn into all the guys I've done haircuts for in the past. The ones who
always whine to me, 'what kind of haircut should I get, Dylan?' Like them,
I ask, "What haircut should I get this time, Danny?" That is so pathetic of
me! Yeah, I've been in this dorm barbershop for an hour and I never gave
THAT little detail a thought?

Snorting out another bigger chuckle this time, he then says in a very
friendly manner, "Are you kidding me? We had this discussion last
night. You decided you're getting a regular flattop. Ya know, like I just
did for that kid, um, your friend... Pony what's-his-name. You're not still
drunk are you?" Still sounding whining, I go, "I don't remember that.  And,
no, I'm not drunk." He appears amused or confused and then I go, "Um, oh,
wait a second! Now that you mention it I do remember you said something
like that last night but we didn't decide one way or another." He grins,
mumbling, 'Yes, we did," and I go, "It's just that I didn't want to make a
decision last night, and now I've made my decision. Sorry to be such a dork
about this, but... well, never mind why I'm a little discombobulated. I've
decided... ta da!... you can do that longish flattop you did last
time. I'll think of another haircut style for next time."

He flicks off the clippers and makes a 'face', asking, "We're gonna go
through this bullshit again, is that what we're gonna do? What the hell is
it with you and haircuts? You make a mountain out of a... something." I say
forcefully, "It's 'out of a molehill'... and I DO NOT DO THAT!" Then more
calmly, I add, "As a favor to you I went along with a flattop haircut last
time. As a FAVOR...  because you nagged me about it."

I'm sorry to dump on his parade like that, and I've probably ruined our
Sunday afternoon in bed together, but it had to be said. My heart is
pounding a little because I hate to cause conflict, I don't like
confrontation but when absolutely necessary I forge ahead with it. Danny's
not the least upset though. He snorts out another laugh, shrugs, and calmly
says, "Well, first of all, I won't do that long-type flattop haircut for
you, or for anybody else. I did you the favor once, as in one time
only. So, ya know, forget about that... that's not in the discussion, so
what's it gonna be?"

Oh man, I hate hearing that word, 'no'. Shaking his head and smiling, Danny
rubs my shoulder saying nicely, "Jeez, Dylan, I just cut a flattop haircut
not ten minutes ago and you nodded your head like you wanted the same
haircut." What? He waits a second and adds, "C'mon, stop goofing on me,
Dylan. I'm tired, baby." Frowning, I mutter, "I didn't mean... um, did you
think I was nodding in agreement that I wanted the same haircut Pony got?
For chrissake, Danny, I was nodding that you did a nice haircut, you're
very talented but that's too short of a haircut for me... please, get
serious." Danny goes, "No it's not too short! It's the exact length it
should be... every fucking professional in the tutorials says so!"

Not coming up with anything better on the spur of the moment, I fall back
on an old favorite and say, "Fuck the tutorials!" Danny goes, "Yeah, that's
cool. Dylan. Hey, last night you agreed you'd go with my
judgment. Remember? I said I'd do a regular flattop for you and you nodded
your head and it was settled and then we went on to talk about, um,
whatever." I'm the one making a 'face' now as I continue whining, "We
didn't decide on that, Danny... you did." Goddammit, why am I whining?

Danny's making me feel funny like I've turned into a dumb little bratty
kid. It happens whenever Danny starts arguing with me. Not that this is
actually arguing, um, yeah it is I guess.  Oh, I don't fucking know! Now
Danny's acting frustrated and I my hope of today being like that great
Sunday we had together last time are going down the drain because I can't
decide on a haircut.

I mutter, "Sorry, Danny. Don't get pissed, it's just..." He lets out an
exasperated exhale and then puts the comb in his shirt pocket and the
clippers on the desk and says, "I love you, but you know as well as I do
that you need someone making decisions for you. I can do that better than,
you know who, well... better than Rob. There, I said it." Oh man, I don't
want to get into a discussion about Danny being in love with me... not
again! My hangover is hovering around making me too weak right now, too
weak for further confrontation. Yeah, that's what it is... I'm too fucking
weak. That, plus Danny turns me into an immature thirteen-year-old whining
puddle somehow. Not on purpose, and I guess I do it to myself mostly. Fuck!

I'm feeling silly and sort of dumb too. I mean sitting here on this stool
with the barber cape covering most of my body having this lengthy
discussion about a haircut, a simple fucking haircut! And I'm ruining our
Sunday in bed.

Danny spreads his hands like he's open to suggestions, as he mumbles,
"Okay, forget we already dealt with all this last night. What do you want
from me? Tell me the haircut you want and I'll do it... except for that
long flattop that isn't a flattop. It's a joke." Then he ticks off on his
fingers, one at a time, "You can have the same flattop I did for Carl and
Pony, and three other guys you don't know. Or, how about the preppy haircut
I did for Rob a half hour ago, or another choice is the fade that I did for
Troy and Markie...  or do you have something else in mind?" I make a
'face', muttering, "What the hell, Danny, I'm not, um..." He goes, "Oh, and
you've always looked good with a buzz cut. I'll do that for you if that's
something you'd want, or fuck, I don't care by now... let your hair grow
out and don't even get another haircut. By now I don't give a flying
fuck... really I don't."

I go off on a little bit of a tangent, muttering, "Well, actually, I do
need to get a haircut because I'll be in the office working next weekend at
Dickers and Son and it's kind of an old-fashioned business in some
regards. I mean the dress code, or whatever it's called. Rob's dad likes
old-fashioned stuff like wearing suits to work and everyone needs to be
well-groomed and what not." Danny goes, "What's more well-groomed and
old-fashioned than a flattop?" He's right and what's the sense of arguing
with him anyhow? I never win an argument with Danny, plus what I'd really
like to do is jump inside his pants right now and spend some time with his
good-looking dick.

We're back where we started, as I ask, "Well, what haircut should I get
then?" He laughs out loud as he shakes his head a little. Picking up the
clippers and comb he says, "See, Dylan, just like I told you a minute ago,
and this is no criticism of you, but you need someone you trust making
decisions for you, and that's perfectly okay. I don't mind doing that for
you and, in fact, I love making decisions for you. It's no trouble. So,
your haircut will be the regular flattop like I started doing ten minutes
ago." He opens his eyes, grinning like he's waiting for me to agree to the
obvious, and I finally do nod my head in agreement.

Omigod though, now that I've agreed to a real flattop I feel this most
marvelous submissiveness sliding all the fuck over me. Oooh, it's such a
dreamy and sexual feeling like it's creamily oozing into every pore of my
body. It's so awesome! I don't think anyone, including Ryan, has ever
brought on this depth of oozy smooth dreamy submissiveness that Danny just
did. First of all, I'm weak from the stress of last night's dinner party
and I'm tired and still have a bit of a hangover and then there's my
haircut fetish, but mostly it's Danny's voice of authority and just the
patient way he said everything and all his no-nonsense confident
mannerisms. All of those Danny-things and the snuggling against my face he
did earlier and his sweet kiss on my cheek and his hair smelling like
pot... and him not giving a flying shit that it does... and him saying he's
in love with me. Everything together and oooooh, I feel so docile and
loose... every muscle in my body is totally loose except for my iron boner,
which isn't a muscle anyway.

And wouldn't you think there'd be some kind of smugness from Danny? I mean
because I'm agreeing to do what he wanted to do in the first place?  I
expected some kind of snarkiness about me agreeing that he should do the
exact haircut he said he was going to do as far back as last night, but
there's nothing like that from Danny. No smugness at all! I think that's
because he's not the least bit surprised. He expected he'd be doing this
haircut but simply had to wait for me to come around to his way of
thinking. When I did, then he doesn't think any more about it. To him the
solution was obvious and he just had to humor me until I realized he was
right. Maybe he is right...

So, none of that. Danny merely starts the haircut ten minutes later than he
felt was necessary, but no problem. Standing in front of me with his thighs
against my knees again he puts the comb in the stiff hairs over my forehead
and with no hesitation casually moves the clippers along the comb cutting
off the hairs above the comb... the clippers making that hair-cutting sound
as a pile of blond hairs slide from my shoulder down the sloping cape to my
lap. There's no special expression on Danny's face as he pushes the comb a
little further back on top and does the same thing with the clippers. He
does it ten times before he's satisfied he's covered the top hairs on my
head from front to back. Danny mumbles, "Not bad..."

I'd hoped for a more positive appraisal but there's no other encouraging
comments forthcoming... only his 'not bad' comment. See, to Danny, this is
totally a routine matter. He obviously doesn't have a hair cutting fetish,
haha! No, he just likes giving haircuts and I know he believes this is the
best one for me. I don't know why he thinks that, but I know he does. For
Danny this is just one more haircut, his last one today but for me, its
mountains moving and earthquakes of scary excitement and nervousness and
it's also about my hard cock that's beginning to leak pre-cum. Danny and I
are experiencing wildly different emotions; practically none for him while
for me it's a supernova rollercoaster of emotions.

Danny puts down the clippers that used to be mine, and picks up the
clippers Robby bought when he was our barber. They're the trimmer/razor
clippers. Lifting my chin with a couple of fingers of his left hand, he
mumbles, "Keep your head steady for me, baby." Then, with a ridiculously
steady hand, he carefully runs the clippers along the top hairs on my head
from the front to the back clipping off hairs making the hair-clipping
sound again. He's cutting it shorter while making it perfectly even and,
um, flat on top. He moves the clippers to the front and does the same thing
a little further over on my head. I don't know how much he's cutting off so
I don't know how long, or short, this flattop will be when he's finished.

Hell, actually I do know! It'll be exactly as short as Pony's and
Carl's. Why wouldn't it be? This latest process Danny's currently doing
only takes about two minutes but it's a magical two minutes in my life. I
look right into Danny's eyes the whole time with my rock-hard boner
throbbing. Danny does a little nod of approval to himself and then changes
clippers again going back to the original one I bought so long ago. The
clippers that now get used for cutting off hair in bulk.

Attaching a quarter-inch guide, Danny turns on the clippers and gently
pushes my head a little over to the left and then begins running the
clippers all the way up the right side of my head. Just routine for Danny
and although he obviously pays attention to what he's doing, there's a look
of almost boredom on his face. As I've said, by now it's routine for
him... just doing another haircut, no big deal. To me, it's a huge fucking
big deal!

Now that I'm committed to it, and we're more than halfway done, I'm so into
it I'm wishing we could start all over again. Wishing that this haircut
could last three hours. Afterward, well then I'll think differently but
presently it's all about the sexually aroused fetish and the wonderful
trance of such awesome submissiveness I couldn't begin to describe it.

Danny doesn't talk much while doing haircuts and he does them faster than I
ever could. Finishing up, he's using the trimmer/razor clippers outlining
around my ears and then down the hairline behind my ears. Then he gently
pushes at the back of my head and when I lean my head forward he does what
he knows I don't like; he squares off the hairs at the neckline as he's
saying, "Would you help me out, Dylan? We can get in bed quicker if you'll
sweep up the hair from today's haircuts while I'm cleaning the
clippers. After I do a quick wash-up in the lavatory we can be in bed five
minutes from now. Whaddaya say?" In a deep delicious fog, I mumble, "Sure,
Danny."

Huh, he's finished without a single word about my haircut. Come on, Mister
barber! How's it look? And then he does say something about it. He nods,
saying, "Okay, you look good. No surprise there, haha... you always look
good." He cups my chin with his hand to move my head this way and that
making doubly sure my hair is how he wants it. Letting go of my chin, he
goes, "Don't get huffy about what I'm going to tell you, Dylan. Now that
you're one of my 'real' flattop boys, like the other five, you need to plan
on two weeks between haircuts; no longer than that. Okay? I want you back
in this barber dorm in two weeks. No excuses. Ya see... I want you guys
looking sharp so others around campus will ask you about your haircut. I'm
thinking I'm gonna start charging guys for haircuts. I mean, guys I don't
know... so, you and the other guys I do haircuts for are like walking
advertisements for my dorm barbershop."

Still sitting on the barber stool, I come out of my trance a little and, as
of right now I'm okay with what he said, so I nod my head agreeing with
him, mumbling, "Okay, Danny." I'm out of my deep trance but I'm still under
his spell so if he told me to stand on my head in the hall to prove how
flat my flattop is I'd probably do it. Later it'll be a different story but
I'm still having a wonderful time, unbeknownst to Danny.

 In case he didn't hear me nod, I add, "Yes, Danny, every two weeks." He
chuckles and goes, "Don't make fun of me, Dylan, alright? I'm trying to get
a haircutting business off the ground. Make a little entrepreneurial money,
ya know?" He thought I was punking him when I say 'Yes, Danny' but I
wasn't. I'm feeling almost the same way I feel after sex, docile and
weak... but really good too. The first thirty seconds of my haircut I
almost shot a load in my pants but when I got past that initial rush it was
like experiencing the tipping point of climax through the rest of the
haircut, and that effect comes compliments of my ridiculous fetish. After
looking at myself in a mirror my attitude will probably change totally, but
for right now I'm good, better than good actually...

I go, "I'll sweep up for you, um, should I get undressed?" He goes, "You
mean before getting into bed, not to sweep up, right?... haha." I go, "Yes,
that's what I meant." Danny nods his head, saying, "Well, of
course... you'll be more comfortable if you do. You can wear underpants if
you want. That's all I'll be wearing and, of course, I'll be sort of
wearing you too... haha." After taking off the barber's cape and dumping a
surprising amount of my hair on the floor with the other casualties, Danny
points at a dustpan and brush under the desk as he mumbles, "Thanks for
helping."

He cleans the clippers and comb, then puts all the barber tools in a
satchel. I'm on my hands and knees sweeping the cut hairs into a
pile. Danny bends down and holds the dustpan so I can sweep the hairs onto
it and then he dumps the hair into a bag and then holds the dustpan for me
again. We do this a few times before the last cut hair stragglers are in
the bag. Taking the bag with him, Danny goes, "I'll dump this in the trash
and wash up real fast. I'll be back in a flash. Oh, and I'm gonna buy a
Coke. Can I get you something?" I go, "Is there orange sodas in the vending
machine?" He nods, "Yeah, I'll buy you one. See you in a couple of
minutes."

Just before he goes out the door, I ask, "Where's that handheld mirror?"
Danny goes, "Oh fuck yeah. I'm sorry, Dylan, I should have gotten it out
for you. It's on the nightstand under those magazines. Be back in two
minutes!" I get the mirror out from under a few Sport Illustrated magazines
and look at myself.  Huh, I've looked like this before. Willie took me for
flattop haircuts a couple of times. We both got flattops actually... when
we were eighteen. Robby and me had flattops too when we were seventeen. It
was that first summer working on the lawn cutting crew. Damn, that was a
cool summer. And, Jesus, I don't think any of those haircuts were done with
the precision of this flattop by Danny. He's amazing!

Yep, my haircut is just like Pony's and Carl's. No special treatment
because Danny loves me... haha. Nope, a flattop is a flattop to the
home-haircut barber known as Danny Monday. It is cut perfectly and doesn't
look horrible, but I don't love it. It's just as tight and short as Carl's
and I feel scalped! But then, I knew I would.

After straightening out the bedding on Danny's bed, I get undressed and
crawl into the smallish bed. It's about the same size as my twin bed at the
condo. Wow, the sheets smell like Danny and I mean in a good way. His
pillow, on the other hand, smells a little like his hair... duh! Haha, it
smells sexily of pot and cigarette smoke. I'd probably think it was gross
except its Danny's pot and smoky hair. Snuggling under the covers, I
think... damn, I actually have a flattop for real this time. Yeah, well
it's what Rob suggested I get.

Yeah, Rob definitely encouraged me to go for this haircut. Maybe he was
remembering us way back during that lawn cutting summer too. Ya know what?
I'm gonna tell Robby I followed his suggestion. Brownie points for my
lover-boy. And I know my part-time parents, the Dickers, will love this
haircut on me. My mom never saw a haircut of mine she didn't think was the
best haircut she's ever seen in her life, and the same for my fabulous
brother, Chubby. As for the other flattop boys, Pony and Carl, they'll be
happy I have the same haircut they have. Other than those people, I'm
betting not another human being on the planet will give a flying fuck about
my haircut one way or the other. Oh, wait, except Danny of course, although
I still can't figure out why he cares. And where is Danny? It's been like
ten minutes, not the two minutes he said he'd be.

The last time Danny went to buy us a snack he took twenty minutes to go
downstairs and back. It takes him a long time because he stops to talk with
everyone he meets. With his pretty smile and super sincere attitude, he's
well-liked by almost everyone. Actually, I've never heard anyone speak
badly of him. Well, except for when he seems to get spacey and then there's
his habit of ignoring what he doesn't want to hear. Except for that... no
disparaging words about Danny.

He's back with his shiny just-washed face in less than twenty
minutes. Passing me a can of orange soda he puts his empty Coke can on the
desk. Empty because he drank it while talking with everyone he met along
the way. He says, "Um, Ricky White wanted a swallow of your soda," and he
starts taking his clothes off. I look at the opening in the can,
thinking... is that Ricky's saliva I see? I can feel the can is half
empty. I go, "Who is Ricky White?" Danny steps out of his sneakers and
pulls his socks off and then gets in bed wrapping me in his arms, mumbling,
"Just some guy," and he kisses me, murmuring, "Are you sure we shouldn't
talk to Rob about us. I know what you said last night but I'm madly in love
with you, and I mean to the degree I almost don't wanna have side-sex
anymore, just have sex with you as my full-time boyfriend." Oh man...

I wait a few seconds, pretending I'm thinking about it before I go, "No
talking with Robby though! Not a word because, c'mon, we don't seriously
have anything to tell him. Not really." Danny pulls me on my side, half on
him as he very slowly rubs his right hand up and down my back while still
holding me tightly with his other arm. He nods his head smiling at me and
then says quietly, "Ya know, if you're honestly not in love with me you
seem awfully close. I'm referring to the way you look at me and the way
it's impossible for me not to sense your affection for me. I think you
might be in love with me and you just haven't realized it yet. Sure, it's
only been the last five or six weeks maybe, but it's there... your love is
there. I can feel it." I go, "You're awesome, Danny, but please believe
me... it's not love."

He gives me a 'look' but thinks about what I said for a few seconds before,
seemingly resigned, murmurs, "Okay, from your viewpoint maybe it's not."
Good, and then he goes backward, saying, "But whaddaya say we tell Robby
that, just for the hell of it, you and I were thinking we'd experiment
being a couple, meaning boyfriends, and maybe a little more than just
that?" He can't be serious! He goes, "I'm not an idiot, I know how awkward
it'll be for you guys in the same apartment and all, but I don't like
keeping secrets from my longtime friend, Rob. I told Hayden about us, you
and me, and he said I should go for it. Heh heh, I took that to mean he
wants me to steal you from Rob, but then those two have never been
particularly close."

He hugs me with both arms now and rocks us a little from side to side and
then mutters, "Whaddaya you think about all that, baby?" What am I gonna
say? I could complain about him calling me 'baby', although by now it's
hardly worth the effort because he'll just ignore me and, anyway, it sounds
alright coming from him now. No way can I just blow him off with that 'in
love' stuff because he's too sincere about it. I want to be compassionate
with whatever I say and not treat this like it's a trivial matter because
it isn't to him. So, with renewed conviction, I wrestle around to face him
and he lets me do that. Damn, his mostly naked body feels so great next to
mine. I don't mind the closeness at all... I like it.

But, getting down to business, I look at him and say very seriously,
"Danny, I don't know the words to describe how flattering it is that you
say the loving things you've been saying to me. It's both heartwarming and
a little heartbreaking as well because I can't reciprocate your
feelings. My heart belongs to Robby no matter how corny that sounds. No one
knows exactly why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with, it
just is what it is." He nods his head, saying, "That's so true."

Oh good... so far I'm making sense for once. I continue, "So Danny, this is
honest to God true, my feelings for you have become very special and it's
something I've never experienced with a buddy sex partner before. I love
you as a very special friend and I admire the hell out of you and I'm way
more than just fond of you. There's a kind of love that goes with my
feelings for you and I've only realized that fact lately myself,
BUT... it's not the 'in-love' kind of love you're looking for from me."

He's nodding his head again and then, very seriously he says, "This is
awesome of you, Dylan. To tell me super personal stuff like that. Most guys
would be embarrassed to say deep-feelings shit like that." I shrug as much
as his hugging allows, saying, "Yeah, well I am a little embarrassed about
it actually, but it's true, so..." He goes, "Well, as I said, I think you
might be in love with me but you don't realize it yet. Anyway, I'm very
encouraged by what you just said and I'll go along with keeping our love
affair from Rob, at least until the first of the year."

I smile, saying, "C'mon, Danny! You're more intelligent than you let on. I
know you're not obtuse enough to think what I said a minute ago endorses us
being in a quote-unquote, 'love affair'. Am I right?" He says, "You're half
right, yeah." So, he's in a one-sided love affair. I'll settle for that
now. Also, I'm relieved I don't need to worry about him saying anything
crazy to Rob. It'd be a shame to lose Danny as a buddy sex buddy just
because he said something about a loving relationship with me, and then Rob
asking me not to hook up with Danny anymore. That would be a real crying
shame!

Danny goes, "Good, we're on the same page, Dylan," and he kisses me on the
lips and then mumbles, "Can you get between my legs, baby, and lean your
back against my chest." I'm like, "Ow, you're pulling on my skin," and we
rustle around until I'm sitting on his lap facing away from him like he
wants. Leaning back against his chest now, I'm not real comfortable but
more importantly, I'm not at all sure we are on the same page as he
said. Not the same page but closer than before I think. We're reading the
same book maybe, but many pages apart. That's more like it.

He's apparently satisfied we're in the right position so he mutters,
"Good," and then he reaches over to get my can of orange soda, mumbling,
"I'll feed you your soda." I try getting turned around but it's not worth
the effort, and he's kinda too strong anyway, so I lay back against his
chest again. He chuckles, saying, "Don't make me get rough with you,
baby. I love you so much I'd hate to need to do that." His arm comes around
me, the soda can in his hand hovering right in front of me. He's lifting
the can to my lips, and I go, "No, Danny! The guy that drank half my soda
could have hoof and mouth disease for all we know."

Laughing again, he wipes the top of the can with his other hand and then
leaves that arm around me with his finger flicking at my nip ring. He goes,
"I cleaned the top of the can, so here..." As if that cleaned anything!
Danny holds the can to my lips again and tilts it so that if I don't drink
there'll be soda down my bare chest. I gulp it down... gulp, gulp, gulp,
and then Danny moves the can away from my mouth a little. After I do a
carbonated burp he brings the can back to my mouth and I drink the rest of
it. He chuckles as I finish gulping down the sweet soda, and then he says,
"See, I can be your daddy and your husband."

Why the hell do Robby and Danny both assume they would be my fucking
husband? Well, first of all, Rob has never said that, not by using that
word. Still, I guess I see their point except I think titles, generally
speaking, blow. I don't wanna be a 'wife' and I don't think one of a
lesbian couple should be called 'husband' either. Let's not fuck up every
single word in the English language using political correctness as the
reason for doing that!

Danny puts the empty can on the bedside table and opens the drawer to take
out a tube of lube, saying, 'We used Speck's lube last time, but I bought
this and it's better. Lean forward, baby." That means sitting up first,
which I do because I wanna feel his hard cock up my ass. He goes,
"Further... lean further forward..." He says that until my head hits the
mattress between our legs. He goes, "That's perfect," and then he pulls
open the waistband of my jockey shorts and I feel cool slippery lubricant
being pushed up my ass, one finger full at a time... six times. Danny goes,
"That'll last us through three or four times, don'cha think?" Oh boy!

I don't bother answering that rhetorical question as he gets a hold on
either side of me pulling me back up so I'm laying against his chest
again. He says, "I could just eat you with a spoon, Dylan. You're so cute
and your body is so boyishly perfect and you smell yummy." I go, "Danny, I
know you meant that as a compliment but I'm twenty-two now and I have a
young man's body... not a boyish one." He goes, "No, you don't. You have
both," and his left-hand works its way under me inside my jockey shorts
with one of his fingers going up my ass... his other hand, the one with the
slippery finger, goes around me and inside the front of my jockey
shorts. Omigod, it's stupid but I like being moved around like he's been
doing 'cause it's sort of dominant of him... like being touched
inappropriately and pampered at the same time. He finger-fucks my ass as
he's stroking lube on my cock, stroking up and down the shaft in a jerk-off
fashion using his fist. Feels good... both in front and in back.

He mumbles, "Doing this is giving me a hard-on, Dylan. Isn't it weird I'm
getting hard from stroking your special twin-penis to mine."? Our penises
are almost identical and his fits my entire rectum better than any penis in
my entire history of taking penises up my ass. Seriously, it's true!

I feel that hard cock he mentioned, it's against my lower back even as my
own cock is getting hard as a rock. Now I'm stifling grunts and starting to
squirm as an orgasm catches hold on me. I go, "No, Danny, ummm, oooh,
no.... ummm," and he strokes, strokes, strokes with me, moaning, "Ummm,
ummm, Danny," as I'm trying to push up with my feet on the mattress. He
murmurs, "Okay, okay," and lets go of my cock and then pulls his finger out
of my ass, but leaves my underpants caught under my butt cheeks, as says,
"Roll forward." My heart's pounding as I take a deep breath and try
adjusting my boner that's poking out the front of my jockey shorts. As I'm
doing that, Danny goes up on his knees and he pushes me forward again. My
forehead rests on the mattress and a second later I go, "Ahhh," as his
boner pokes inside me and slowly goes up, up, up my ass. "Ummm, Danny,
oooh! That hurts..."

He's breathing hard, mumbling, "Sorry," as he's lifting up on his knees a
little more. Grabbing my hips with both hands I hear a strangled grunting
sound of arousal from Danny and he starts right in doing hard fast
thrusting, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds ringing out in the room and for one
of the rare times, Danny's boner hurts my ass for maybe a full minute! By
then he has me wide open back there and the pain fades quickly. I guess he
was overly aroused and had to do everything fast this time... it happens
occasionally with us.

There's the constant slapping sound of his body slapping against my
buttocks, my balls swinging a little in my jockey shorts from the pounding,
our ears full of 'Slapslapslap' sounds to go along with the mantra I've
settled into, "Ah, ah, ah," at every thrust of his nice hard cock being
shoved up my ass. I grab my jockey shorts in front and pull them down
myself. If I didn't I'd cum all over them and now my nuts can swing
easier. I'm hearing more quiet moans of arousal from Danny to go with my
moans, "Ooh Danny, Ummm, ah, ahh, ahhh," as he pounds his boner fast and
hard inside me. For me, it's only a couple of minutes and my climax is at
the tipping point. That's because he primed the pump so to speak by
stroking my cock first. The bed covers in a bunch from Danny thrusting his
hard cock up my ass and me squirming on the bed.

And then, of course, I sense a big climax rushing all over me and I want it
to happen because the anticipation is too great to hold it off. That's what
happens when I haven't had sex for more than twenty-four hours, which is
the case for me presently. Danny's up on his knees as high as he can get
with me totally forward, my face on the mattress' sheet his boner back and
forth in my ass and then he's against my buttocks humping hard, pressing my
face into the bedding as I'm making a whining sound of sexual pleasure and
we both climax at the same time with everything going bright red in my
world. It lasts a few seconds while I travel among the stars. I don't even
know if I squealed this time and Danny told me last night he was anxious to
hear my squeal again.

Oh, how the sensations fly high and wide all over me and then fade leaving
awesome memories of my latest and greatest climax and then the after
effects make me shiver with pleasure as my cock throbs and buzzes with
sensations that cause my shoulders to do a little shudder too. Nothing
compares to sexual orgasms... nothing and the latest one is ALWAYS the
greatest one in my mind.

Danny's taking deep breaths now as he gets his arms around me and pulls my
limp body up against his again and then both of us go backward until he's
lying on the bed again. He's pretty strong and manages to do that easily as
he's pulling up the covers and getting us both under them... all of that
accomplished with his cock still up my ass. When his head is on the pillow,
he humps his hips a few times and my body rocks on him. He sighs and lifts
me to the side until he withdraws his cock as I shake in his arms,
murmuring, "Mmmm, oooh."

He pulls and pushes on my body some more getting me face down, half on him
and half on this little bed. The side of my face is against his shoulder as
he mutters, "Nice, stay like that, Dylan." My underpants are still under my
butt cheeks and when I reach back to pull them up, Danny goes, "Wait a
second, baby!" as he's pulling my hand away and holding it. His other hand
grabs a bunch of tissues from the box on the nightstand. His hand goes over
to wipe my ass with the tissues, getting most of his drooled cum off my
buttocks and then he pulls up my underpants, saying, "That'll help a
little," and then he drops the sticky wet tissues on the nightstand.

That was a considerate move on my 'top's' part. I snuggle in some more as
he murmurs, "It feels so good with you lying so tight against me, baby,"
and I snuggle in a little more as Danny rubs up the back of my head and
then leans down to kiss the top of my flattop, murmuring, "Oh man, I like
the smell of that hairspray." I squirm to get my arm out from under me and
move it across Danny's stomach as I mutter, "I hate it."

He goes, "Hate what? You mean the way that hairspray smells?" I nod my head
against his shoulder and he mutters, "I'll buy a can of scentless hairspray
then and use that for your haircut two weeks from now. Okay?" I nod my head
again, mumbling, "Yes, thanks." I just agreed to another haircut like this
one in two weeks but I'm presently feeling submissive to Danny and
therefore under his control... and I like that feeling for now. I'm going
to let him have his way with the flattop bullshit, for a while anyhow.

But, when I give it a thought, I do not in any way understand why the fuck
he cares about me having this haircut? Finally, I'm like, "Danny, I've just
gotta ask, why do you care so much about my haircut being a flattop?" He
lightly rubs my back, murmuring, "Huh? Jesus, that's a good question. Wow,
that is weird, really weird now that you mention it. I seriously do not
know why. It's just become something I got hooked on I guess." I'm like,
"You have no fucking idea, really?"

No response to that so I lift my eyes in their sockets to look at him and
see he has this mystified expression on his face, like... what the fuck?
He's continuing to lazily rub his hand over my back until, finally, he
snickers, "Haha, yeah... it's insane how much I like seeing you with this
freakin' flattop." He's quiet, thinking about that I assume, and then he
goes, "I guess for some reason I've always thought of you as being perfect
with a flattop haircut. Yeah, and I mean from the very first time I saw you
with this haircut all those years ago. I was like fourteen at the time,
and..." and his hand stops rubbing my back. He stops moving
completely... everything stops.

I lift my head again so I can see why he stopped doing everything. He looks
at me with a startled expression on his face. "Dylan, you know what? That's
it! That's the reason!" and he's nodding his head like he's confirming
something to himself and then he says, "Yeah, it's all about that first
time I ever saw you. And believe you me I almost creamed in my basketball
shorts when I laid eyes on you. Omigod, you had a flattop haircut exactly
like the ones I've been giving guys, including the one I just gave
you. Exactly the same! I can see you in my mind's eyes right now. You were
wearing a red sleeveless t-shirt and khaki shorts with black hightop
sneakers... and you had a flattop haircut with the sun shining off your
pale golden hair. Holy shit!" Pale golden hair?

I'm more than a little doubtful about that, so I go, "How can you be sure
it was me?" He shakes his head, muttering, "I don't know, the picture just
popped up in my mind and I just know it was you. I was fourteen or fifteen
and you had to be that age too, although you looked so young, like you were
ten or twelve maybe. And of course, you were so cute I thought I'd cream in
my shorts. I know it was you." I shrug but don't tell him it's impossible,
although it is impossible. Danny gets more excited, adding, "Wow, this is
creepy. And like I told you, in my head I can see what you were
wearing. Your t-shirt hand the words 'JUST DO IT' across the front."

Well, I just got goosebumps because I still have that t-shirt
someplace. Haha, I'll dig it up and wear it to freak Danny out some time. I
go, "Was I with someone when you saw me?" He shrugs, "I don't think so."
Hmmm, doubtful 'cause Chubby and me were ALWAYS together...

Danny goes on to tell me how he fantasized we'd be boyfriends and how he
whacked-off to that fantasy for weeks. Then that fantasy faded and when he
finally met me for real two summers later I was with Robby and, according
to Danny, we played in a pick-up baseball game on opposite teams and all he
did was stare at me but without his early fantasies coming back to him. He
didn't connect the dots until recovering the subconscious earlier memory of
me a minute ago. He's positive the first time he saw me is what got me and
a flattop haircut 'fixated' in his subconscious mind. That's a cool story
although his earlier memory is wrong! That wasn't me. Does it matter
though? I mean, if he thought it was me, it's basically the same
thing... basically.

He tells me that later that summer he discovered Robby and I were
boyfriends and how traumatized he was about that because he and Rob were
fuck buddies and yet Robby never mentioned me. Then, when Danny mentioned
me to Robby, Robby wouldn't share. Danny says because of that he and Rob
had a cool period in their friendship for a while and only many months
later reconnected. Hmmm, maybe Danny's current subconscious mind wants to
get revenge on Robby for not sharing me with him back then. Jesus, what a
fucked-up thought that is! And, did he think I was some kind of sex toy?

I decide not to mention that angle to Danny 'cause he's on a roll and it's
fun seeing how excited he is even though his earliest memory of me is
bullshit. I say that with some certainty because I never went anywhere
without Chubby when I was fifteen, or whatever age Danny thinks we were,
and I never had a flattop haircut, not until I was seventeen... the second
time he saw me. I do, however, have that red sleeveless t-shirt with 'Just
Do It' on the front in big letters... so what's that all about?

He's lightly running his fingers over the top of my flattop hair as he's
talking in that dreamy way he talks sometimes, saying, "You can't imagine
baby. Probably nobody could imagine the depth of those fantasies I had
about you and me way back when we were so young." He goes on for a while
before stopping to try pulling on me again until I'm like, "Stop! I'm not a
fucking binky! Tell me what you're trying to do," and he goes, "I just
wanted to pull you up for a kiss, that's all." I go up on an elbow and
Danny leans his head over and we kiss a sweet kiss and then Danny gets his
arm around my neck, murmuring, "You make me crazy," and then we do another
longer kiss that gets my dick hard... again.

Pulling his head away, his eyes are shining as he stares at my hair,
murmuring, "I'll be damned," and he rubs his hand back through my hair,
saying, "I did a really good job with your haircut, don'cha think, baby?" I
nod, "Yes, and I'm serious when I say you're an excellent barber, Danny. No
bullshit, you're awesome. Better than me." He goes, "Noooo! I'm not better
than you, although nobody could do a better haircut than that one right
there," and he nods at my head. I go, "Flattop-wise, I think you're right,"
and he grins before giving me one of his special kisses. The one where I'm
not sure how he does it, but it always gets me squirming against him with
hot sexual desire.

Man oh man, Danny is wicked happy now that he had that bogus memory
flashback! He smiles and goes, "Oh fuck, I love kissing you. It's better
than my fantasies. Haha, I guess so, huh, Dylan?" I smile and then say,
"Actually, you're one of the world's premiere kissers, Danny.," and then I
say, "Let me get back the way I was with the side of my face on your
shoulder, okay? I liked lying half on you and half on the bed." He helps me
get there again and I snuggle around until I'm comfortable.

Sighing I go, "This is nice. Tell me more about when you first saw me and
how awesome I was." We both chuckles at that and then he goes, "No,
seriously, the first time, as I said, I was fifteen maybe, and you gotta
remember the crushes you can get on a guy at that age." No, I don't because
I didn't know I was gay... yet. But, what the fuck, I nod my head against
his shoulder anyway and he snickers, saying, "Of course, you remember. It's
the kind of crush you've had on me all summer, right?" Grinning, I nod my
head on his shoulder again, just going along with Danny's happy mood.

Actually, I don't remember him at all until our senior year of high school
when I hardly saw him because we had different classes. We had to have
passed each other at school all through elementary, middle, and high school
but until age seventeen I wasn't ogling boys and was only deeply interested
in Chubby. I don't have the slightest recollection of either incident Danny
described but he's legitimately excited about all of it and, one way or
another, it's an example of a subconscious mind fucking with
somebody. Fucking with Danny's head in this case.

Discovering this 'secret' memory doesn't lessen his enthusiasms about me
having a flattop haircut. He goes, "Dylan. Um, I guess you know this
seals-the-deal as far as what your haircut will be all senior year at
Merrimack... you'll be the flattop kid." Sighing, I go, "Oh, no." He rubs
my head grinning and saying, "Yes!" I mumble, "Well, maybe I'll go along
with you for one more haircut," and I surprise myself realizing I might
actually do that because it's obviously very important to him. I'm happy to
make Danny happy, plus when have I ever cared enough to go against my
side-sex buddies' wishes about the haircut they want me to have?

Haha, yeah Willie and Ryan mostly decided that for me from age seventeen
to, haha, now with Danny taking over. Well, to a lesser degree Robby was
part of the haircut decisions for me too. The secret none of them know
about is my haircut fetish and how it has had more to do with me going
along with their haircut choices, or at least as much, as they've
had. Yeah, so what the fuck, maybe I'll stick with this haircut for a
while. After all, Robby suggested a flattop this morning and I've been
convincing myself that everyone I give a shit about will think I look good
with it.

And I even kinda like the novelty of this haircut... the individuality of
it. As I told Danny some time ago, this haircut is like a startling brand
new concept for the twenty-first century... outside of the Military that
is. The individuality aspect is cool. Well, that is minus Carl and Pony
having the exact same haircut, of course, as well as the three other guys
Danny did flattops for, guys that he says I don't know.

Danny gives me another squeeze, saying, "We need to celebrate us, meaning
you and me: Dylan and Danny. There's nobody like us, baby! So, how should
we celebrate being us?" I shrug and he goes, "To start with I'm going to
have sex with you again making you feel better than you've ever felt before
in your life." I go, "Oh, okay, um, but what time is it? How long will that
mentor meeting last?" He goes, "I don't know, baby. It started at two. What
time is it now?" Turning my wrist I see it's ten minutes after three and
when I tell him, Danny says, "We should have at least another hour, which
is not as long as we'd like but I'll make you glad you stayed with me as
long as we have... and I know I'll be happy."

Yeah, I'm feeling good we have more time together too. Danny does a quiet
laugh and then goes, "Don't get mad, but I keep thinking about something
and it's that, um, I'm sorta interested in how long you think it'll be
before you realize you've fallen in love with me. Just a general range
would be helpful 'cause I'm excited for that to happen." I mumble, "You're
doing that obtuse shit again... don't do that." He goes, "Okay, I won't,"
and he lifts my face with a couple of fingers under my chin and begins
lowering his head to mine. I lift my head, my lips parted and my dick
becoming very alert...

to be continued...

       Donny Mumford     thinksat20@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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