Date: Fri, 26 Apr 2019 19:52:24 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter. 42

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 42

by. Donny Mumford



The Friday night 'last semester' frat party was a popular one. It attracted
senior 'brothers', members of the same fraternity from other colleges in
the Boston area so it got overcrowded and things got a little out of hand
around midnight causing some of the local police to show up. They wanted to
know, "What the fuck was going on here?" I don't have faith in our police
but in this case, I was wondering the same thing. I mean, the senior frat
brothers were yelling at the top of their lungs dancing bare-chested around
a huge outdoor bonfire in freezing temperatures. I assume they were
pretending to be American Indians doing a war dance although I can't
imagine why. The fire was a big one though and the boys were loud so I'm
thinking the neighbors had to notice.

The frat house is fairly secluded although I could make out one of the
fraternity's neighbors. Just the neighbor's backyard though. I saw it
through the trees from the car roof I was sitting on at the time. Yeah, I
was on the roof of someone's car with a small-bodied senior student from BC
who had the cutest grin and his yellow hair cut preppy-length-short like
Robby's. I was sharing his beer and cigarette while he described his life
on a farm in Idaho. That's when we heard the sirens. It was the police AND
the fire department responding to save the day. Save the day and have some
fun fucking with college students. The firemen got to play firemen for real
by putting out the big bonfire that wasn't endangering anything while the
cops got their rocks off using Taser guns on privileged young men and
women. I'm thinking most likely it was that friendly neighbor whose
backyard I could see who dropped a dime on frat boys' festivities, so to
speak.

I don't know how it all turned out because anyone with a brain in their
head, myself and the cute farm boy from Idaho included, took off like our
asses were on fire. I met Rob, Chubby, and a couple of other guys on the
street a block over where we'd parked the pickup and Chubby parked, um, our
car. We drove to a sort of a dive bar in Lawrence that Chubby knew
about. Upwards of twenty guys and girls from the frat party ended up at
this place. We shot pool and drank two-dollar draft beers until the place
closed. I don't know who made up the rules, probably Chubby, but the losers
of each pool game had to drink a shot of Scotch and then buy the next
round. Totally irresponsible behavior, but whaddya gonna do? It's the sort
of thing college guys will think is a brilliant idea at the time.

Anyway, in the first pool game, Robby and I played against the cute guy
from Idaho and a senior girl who acted more like a guy than the kid from
Idaho. We won the game by default because the butch girl sank the eight
ball when she shouldn't have. Next, Rob and I played Danny and a relief
pitcher called either Burger or Booger, I never did find out for sure which
one. Yeah, we were having so much fun shooting pool and drinking too shots
and beers, as I said, we closed the bar and consequently the first Saturday
morning of our very last college semester ever, and only our fourth morning
back from Christmas break we're all hung-over like motherfuckers again!
It's kinda what you do at college when peer pressure takes over your brain
and you don't wanna be that guy, the sensible one who says let's not do
this.

I'm in bed looking at my wristwatch Saturday morning and when my eyes
finally focus I see the time and mutter out loud, "Balls..."  It's
twelve-thirty and I feel like shit. My head is aching unmercifully and my
stomach is all fucked up from eating too many chicken wings, too many hot
dogs, and drinking a couple of gallons of beer, and then shots of
scotch... I hate scotch. I wanted to get my thirty dollars worth at the
frat party and by then I was too drunk to not continue drinking at that
dive bar. That isn't exactly the kind of behavior I expected we'd be
involved with during the last semester at college.

Robby rolls over to tell me, "You're finally awake, babe." I mumble, "Yeah,
I know." A minute later I mutter, "Um, did we have fun last night?" Robby
goes, "At the time we did, yeah, although now it's difficult to
imagine. Oh, God, I feel like... um, I don't feel good." At least he didn't
mention anything about throwing up. Rob often throws up after drinking to
excess. Hmm, I'm not sure if that helps him get over the hangover quicker,
or makes it worse. I can't remember the last time I threw up.

Haha, no wait... I just remembered when it was. Yeah, I was seventeen or
eighteen. Chubby and I, plus three other guys took on the challenge of
drinking one ounce of beer in a shot glass every minute for an
hour. Inexperienced drinkers like we were at the time thought 'who the fuck
can't do that?' You swallow a shot of beer, one ounce of beer, and wait a
whole minute before you flash down another shot of beer. Well, no one could
do it! Not without throwing up. One by one we threw up foamy beer during
the second half hour. It's the air you swallow with the shots or something,
and for Christ sakes, it amounts to five cans of beer in an hour so no
wonder we were throwing up! So, yeah, that's the last time I threw up. It
doesn't really count though because it wasn't like a normal... oh, never
mind that now.

Rob and I lie here another twenty minutes without talking. Finally
realizing I'm not gonna go back to sleep, I mutter, "Fuck it," and slide
out of bed and then stagger down our short hall into the bathroom. Taking a
shower seems a very inviting idea but ultimately too challenging, so I
settle for some 'toilet time', then wash my hands and face vigorously, and
then brush my teeth for quite some time while trying to remember if I
brushed my teeth last night before going to bed. Damn, did I? And who drove
us home?

It comes to me as I'm dressing that, yes, Robby and I both got ourselves
cleaned up in the bathroom and brushed our teeth before getting in
bed... and it was me who drove us home. I even remember where I parked the
pickup. Whew, it's a relief being able to remember those things. I do not
want to join those unfortunate individuals who get so drunk they can't
remember shit about what they did the previous night.

While Robby's doing what he needs to do in the bathroom, I sit at the
kitchen bar slowly drinking a sixteen-ounce bottle of red Gatorade along
with three Advil. With each swallow, I'm trying to determine what the hell
the artificial flavor of this sports drink is supposed to be. Rob joins me
after a while. He tries grinning as he says, "You look okay, babe. Better
than I feel and that's for sure," and then looking in the refrigerator, he
asks, "Don't we have Cokes?" Rubbing my face, I go, "Yeah, we have Cokes
but they're warm. Someone forgot to put them in the refrigerator."

Muttering something under his breath, Rob gets a can of warm Coke from our
small pantry and, after prying the bottle of Advil from my fingers, he
swallows a few with the warm Coke and then burps. Huh... I hadn't realized
I was still holding the bottle of Advil. We sit here for a couple of
minutes without saying anything and then I abruptly get up and go into the
bathroom to piss. While pissing I'm having deep thoughts about how a
non-drinking individual like Carl, for example, misses out on experiencing
tortuous mornings like this.

We lie around the apartment watching ESPN on TV until Rob says, "C'mon,
Dylan, let's get outta here. We need some fresh air and something to eat."
I go, "Yeah, okay. Whaddaya wanna eat?" He grins, "Something healthy, like
donuts." We get our coats on and when we're outside we find blue skies and
the temperature around the freezing mark although we can't see our
breath. Yeah, it needs to be a certain temperature AND certain humidity
before you see your breath, um, not that I can remember what those
specifics are. I probably knew for an exam at some point in my life. Memory
is a fascinating thing, and much more complicated than you'd imagine. I
watched a science show about memory on Netflix, not that I remember much
about it now.

Donuts do not seem like a good idea considering the condition of our
stomachs, so at the Quad, we settle for sixteen-ounce bottles of
artificially-flavored strawberry Powerade and a bowl of weak chicken noodle
soup. A plastic-wrapped little packet of Saltine crackers come with the
watery, barely lukewarm so-called soup. The Powerade drink will replace
electrolytes more effectively than the bottle of Gatorade I had at the
apartment, and both the Powerade and the soup will help replace needed
fluids. Excessive alcohol consumption can cause dehydration because, as
everyone knows, it decreases the body's production of anti-diuretic
hormones which are used by the body to reabsorb water. So, ya know, we're
doing what we can to survive.

As we're finishing the soup I look up and see Danny and the new guy, Tom
Brooker, walking through the front doors. What's Danny doing with him? Oh,
haha, and guess who has a brand new flattop haircut? That's what Danny was
doing with the new guy... giving him a flattop haircut. Christ, I don't
know how Danny talks us guys into getting that old-time haircut. Well,
lately he's been talking me into a crewcut-style haircut, which I actually
like better. I wave at them and Tom sees me and waves back before saying
something to Danny who looks over with his cute face and then waves too,
and then they get in line to buy something.

Rob was looking at his cell phone, so I go, "Guess who I just saw rocking a
new flattop haircut." Robby looks up, "What?" I go, "Tom Brooker just came
in with Danny and now Tom has a flattop. Shocking, huh?" Rob shrugs,
muttering, "Whatever," and types something on his cell phone. Huh, he
obviously doesn't care about shit like that, but it's kinda humorously
interesting to me.

Danny is amazing! I mean the way he's managed to continue increasing his
haircutting business. Well, first of all, it's kinda weird that he likes
cutting young guys' hair and he appears to like doing it even more than I
do. And how the fuck does he get so many guys to come to his room for
haircuts? Well, let's see... there are 5000 students at Merrimack so let's
assume half of them are guys. That's 2500 guys, give or take a few hundred
and Danny told me he has a dozen or so guys every Saturday getting
haircuts, and then some on Sunday too. So, to round it off I'll say about
fifty guys are getting monthly haircuts, half of them baseball
ballplayers. Okay, so his teammates are partly the reason, but that still
leaves the other twenty-five guys who are not on the team. I don't know
twenty-five guys here, never mind getting twenty-five to let me give them
haircuts every three or four weeks.

Yeah, but when I think about it... twenty-five guys is only one percent of
the males at Merrimack and on a college campus word of mouth spreads every
rumor, or in this case info about free haircuts, amazingly fast. So, only
one-fucking-percent? Free haircuts right here, conveniently on campus and
only one percent of the guys are taking advantage of that? That's insane!
Hell, there should be way more guys taking advantage of that, especially
because Danny's a really good barber too. Oh God, my head hurts...

Okay, here come Danny and Tom with cans of sodas and glazed donuts. Smiling
happily, they sit down at our table and we all bump fists, muttering,
"Wassup?" Danny says to Rob and me, "Well, how do you think Tom looks with
his new haircut?" Tom's feeling his too-short hair and looking
self-conscious about it like most guys after being scalped. Robby's not
interested in that, though, and he goes, "Hey, Danny, do you wanna get
together with me and some of the other co-captains at Rolf's Bar tomorrow
around noon?  Mostly position players but two pitchers will be there
too. We're working out a schedule for 'players-only' games..., no
coaches. NCAA rules won't allow coaches to be involved in offseason
activities so, that's good. We're thinking it'll be cold as a bitch but we
could do some three-inning games on the weekends if, ya know, there's no
snow."

Danny gets into a discussion about that with Rob, so I ask Tom, "Is your
haircut what you expected?" Tom rubs the bristly hairs at the back of his
head and shrugs, saying, "Not really. It's pretty fucking short. I wanted a
normal half-inch buzz cut, ya know?" I'm like, "Oh, yeah? Um, why didn't
you get that?" He shrugs, "Danny said I'd like this better and I kinda
wanted to go along with what he said, and I do like it okay... and I really
like Danny, if ya know what I mean." No, I don't know what he means, not
exactly... unless he and Danny... hmm? I ask Tom, "Were you the last one to
get a haircut today by any chance?" He nods as he smirks, mumbling, "Yep,
Danny told me to go last. How'd you know?" I mumble, "I didn't know. That's
why I asked." He frowns.

That's, um, interesting. Danny fucking this new guy. Really? And, oh
Christ... am I jealous? Haha... that'd be stupid of me, but I think I
am. Apparently, Tom is gay like he initially said, or maybe I'm reading too
much into what he's saying.

Tom drinks some of his soda and then says, "You sure know some cool guys,
Dylan, and that includes Danny. I never met anyone like him at Providence
College... he's a cool dude." I frown at him and he goes, "No, I mean
you're your brother's cool too, and Rob... and you, and everybody I've met
actually." He drinks some more Coke and when I don't say anything he starts
babbling, "Oh, and I met Rob's little mentee too. Pony introduced me to
him. What's his name? Oh, yeah it's Carl. We ran into him before he took
off to go bowling or, that is, it was Pony who took off to go bowling, not
Carl. Um, I'm talking about after their haircuts..." I'm still just looking
at him with a strange expression I suppose, which appears to be making Tom
uncomfortable like maybe Danny told him to 'dummy-up' about it with
me... if they did, in fact, have sex. Maybe that's what has Tom babbling
like this.

I'm still not saying anything, I'm a little irritated actually. Then,
without any prompting from me, Tom goes on, "There were some guys waiting
for haircuts in Danny's dorm room. His roommate goes home on weekends, ya
know. Or, did you know that?" I nod and he says, "So eventually, ya know,
the three of us, one after the other got flattops. Um, Carl, Pony, and then
me. I was last like you said." I'm nodding my head, finally mumbling, "Pony
and Carl normally get haircuts on Sunday," and Tom goes, "I didn't know
that," and then he wistfully mumbles, "I can't remember ever seeing even
one guy with a flattop at Providence."

I cannot believe how jealous I am. Fucking Danny told me I was the only guy
he was... well, let's just say I'm shocked he lied. I didn't see that side
of him, in fact, I thought he was an open fuckin' book. Ha!

When we finish our drinks and whatnot, Danny gets up and goes, "C'mon,
Tommy, I'll show you how to get home." Tom pops up immediately and as Danny
puts his arm across Tom's shoulder he tells Rob and me, "I'm gonna do my
good deed for the year by riding along with Tommy to direct him to Wayland
where he lives, but has no fucking idea how to get there... hahaha." I
mutter, "Aren't you hungover at all?" He says, "Christ, I was this morning
for sure, but the weirdest thing happened. Yeah, halfway through doing the
haircuts I forgot about it and started feeling pretty good." Huh, I wish I
did!

Now that I think about it, I didn't see much of Danny at the frat party
last night after we first got there. This character, Tom, wasn't there
because it was seniors only, so. Jeez, I'd like to ask Danny where he ran
off to when the cops showed up but Tom is whispering something in his
ear. Who the fuck whispers in someone's ear out in a public place like
this? Christ, talk about rude?

Rob whispers to me, "It's wicked nice of Danny to help out Brooker like
that, huh? He gives free really good haircuts to his friends and now he's
helping a lost transfer student get home. Heh heh, there's gotta be
something in it for Danny... seriously " I shrug as I see the two
whisperers are done whispering and now they're snickering at something. Rob
goes, "Driving back and forth to Wayland is right up there on my list of
the very last things I feel like doing today." Danny gives Tom's shoulders
a squeeze and says, "Yeah, I'm pretty much a saint for doing this for my
Rhode Island boy but the hick needs to find his way home and he's doing the
driving so I'll take a nap while we're on Route 128... heh heh." Tom's eyes
open wide and Danny says, "No, I won't, Tom. Don't shit your pants," and to
us, he goes, "See you guys later."

His Rhode Island boy? Who the fuck says something like that? It gives me
the creeps. Rob mumbles, "Good luck, guys," and I watch them walk
away. There's the normal crowd of clueless numb-nuts at the entrance so
Danny moves his hand to the back of Tom's neck now and sort of guides him
through the students. Does he think Tom's a retard who couldn't walk around
the dick-heads in front of him?

Jeez, could it be that Tom's a Providence College slut? Maybe he had to
transfer out of that school! I mean, who would let your barber fuck you
after a first haircut? It might be I'm jumping to conclusions of course,
but I recognized that look on Tom's face when he first sat down here ten
minutes ago. It's a look I've had on my face after Danny's given me a
haircut and then fucked my brains out. I can't for the life of me figure
out what Danny sees in that guy. He smiles too much if you ask me. Who the
fuck smiles that much?

Robby finishes texting something and then asks, "Are we done here, babe?" I
start to ask him if he noticed anything funny about the way Tom and Danny
were acting but don't. No, he could misinterpret my question as me being
jealous. Instead, I mutter, "Yeah, I'm ready to go. Um, what do you feel
like doing now?" He says, "It's kinda embarrassing to admit, but I wanna go
back to the apartment and take a nap?"

Good idea actually, and that's what we do. It is very curious that Danny,
who has to be as fucked-up after last night as Rob and me, is willing to
ride almost to our neighborhood and then turn around and come right back
here... very curious. On the other hand, to be fair, it's only like a
two-hour round trip. That's unless they make a stop at Danny's house and
his mom's away someplace with big Stan and Danny figures his bed's
available, and who knows after that.

As we're walking from the Quad to the pickup, Rob asks, "Anything wrong,
Dylan? You look, upset or... something." I'm like, "Whaddaya talking about?
I'm fucking hung-over, for Christ sakes." He goes, "Jeez!" and rubs my
shoulder, adding, "Sorry, just asking, babe." I shrug and then force a
smile.

Fully clothed, we both nap on our bed for an hour and a half and then mope
around the apartment for the rest of the day. We don't even think about
going out... and it's a Saturday night! That's the price we pay for
overdoing it Friday night.

I tell myself I'm pretty much over my jealousy about Danny 'maybe' fucking
Tom's brains out. Rethinking it, there probably wasn't enough time for him
to do that, plus the haircut, AND then be at the Quad when they got
there. Ya know, that's unless it was one of those two-minute fucks. They're
certainly not unheard of. Nah, I'm more rested now and I prefer believing
what Danny's told me ten times... he's not fucking anyone but me. Not that
he isn't free to fuck anyone he wants anyway. It's just a small thing, but
why tell me one thing and then do another, ya know? What's up with that? I
mean, assuming he did fuck Tom's brains out.

So we stayed in and did not do any drinking Saturday night at all. While
admittedly it was embarrassingly boring of us to stay in on a Saturday
night, our reward is waking up Sunday morning feeling good! Omigod, it's
awesome!

Flopping over to look at Rob, oh... he's looking at me. He says, "I'm
horny, baby." I go, "No shit, for real?" He rolls half on top of me with
his face over mine, saying, "Yeah, for real. It's the strangest thing
too. I mean, it's only been twenty-four hours since I banged you like
beating a drum last time." I go, "Hmmm, the last sex I recall having was
that awesomely rough fuck Friday morning... unless I missed something." He
goes, "Holy shit, it's been forty-eight hours? No wonder I'm horny as an
antelope." I go, "Antelope? Oh, yeah, I guess they have big horns. That's a
good one, Robert."

Putting a hand on my chest for support, Rob leans up and then reaches over
to grab the Astroglide from the bedside table where we conveniently leave
it. Settling back down on the mattress, he says, "I'm gonna spread some of
this slippery substance here and there on both of us, okay?" I nod my head
and watch him squeeze a blob of Astroglide on the palm of his right
hand. Still holding the Astroglide in his left hand, he puts his slippery
right hand under the covers and slides it under the waistband of my jockey
underpants clumsily leaving a streak of it from my belly button to my
pecker as he murmurs, "Don't get overly excited about this. I'm not
lubricating your dick for what you might be hoping. Nope, it's just that I
feel like jerking you off." I'm like, "Huh?" He goes, "Yeah, it's crazy but
it's what I feel like doing and since I'm your man I can do whatever I feel
like, right?" I go, "Um, well, yeah, you are my man, so I suppose..."

Getting his hand around my soft pecker he strokes it, saying, "I'm also
gonna fuck you blind a little later so don't worry about that." I nod my
head on the pillow, mumbling, "Oh, that sounds good." Rob's hand goes
stroke, stroke, stroke on my dick and I'm soon squirming on the bed as my
dick gets hard. Rob's fist is tight and very slippery as he's stroking and
it gets me squeaking out, "Ahh, ooh, that feels good." Robby snickers and
says, "Yeah, I imagine it does. It's kinda fun stroking a long straw, ya
know, like your penis." I'm like, "Straw, ya mean compared too...?" and I
grunt, "Ooh, ooh Robby, ummm."

Stroke, stroke, stroke and then he stops stroking to lower his head, still
with a tight fist around my now-hard penis, and we do a hot sloppy kiss
with Rob's tongue very active and then it's back to... stroke, stroke,
stroke as my back arches off the mattress and I moan, "Ahh, Robby, I'm
gonna cum if... ahh fuck." Stroke, stroke, stroke on my steel cock with my
back arches further off the mattress and I'm like, "Ah, ahh, ahhhh," and
then cum is shooting from my hard cock hitting the covers with a dull,
"Thud." I shudder and then my body's stiff again as another nice stream of
cum shoots out as I bite my bottom lip, moaning, "Aaaaah, fuuuuuck, oooh,"
and then I'm sighing at the delicious after effects buzzing around my
groin. I'm like, "Ummm, oooh man..." with my back relaxing onto the bed
again. Jesus!

Robby strokes my cock a few more times and then I push his hand away
getting some of my cum on the back of my fingers. He pulls his hand out,
cheerfully saying, "That was fun, wasn't it? Um, now I think, as your man,
I'll have you flop over onto your stomach. That's if you don't mind." I
don't mind but I'm still a little 'buzzed' from that hand-job so I mutter,
"Give me a second, but wow, that felt great, Robby." He snickers and
mutters, "Yeah, it did. Nice dick you've got there and, by the way, just
kidding with that 'straw' remark... heh heh." I'm like, "You're in an
especially good mood this morning. What's up with that?" He says,
"Actually, I'm serious about being wicked horny to have sex with you... so
horny, in fact, it's bordering on insanity." I go, "Lucky you."

Since he's so wicked horny, this might be a good time to ask him why he's
apparently eliminated his side sex activity. I mean, why do that when our
arrangement has worked so perfectly for years, but if I ask that might give
him the chance to ask me why I haven't given it up yet... ya know?

Instead, I turn over onto my stomach, mumbling, "In that case, it's my
responsibility to make my ass available for my horny man." Rob's
immediately got a knee on either side of my ass, chuckling and saying,
"That's my boy," as he's squeezing more Astroglide on his fingers. I'm
looking back at him, watching as he strokes his fat cock a few times. Then
he rubs some slippery Astroglide around my asshole and pushes a finger
inside me.

His finger feels good as it always does but it's weird too because I just
shot off a damn good 'load' and this is sort of redundant as far as I'm
concerned. I'm not expecting another orgasm and certainly not from what's
gonna be a quick fuck. I know it'll be quick because Rob's horny as an
antelope. Yeah, but even without a climax, I'll enjoy the ride.

Here it comes, the initial pain as Rob energetically thrusts his big
double-duty sex organ and urination tube inside my asshole spreading it to
an extent that I used to think would be impossible, but it isn't. Maybe it
should be... haha. Just kidding, but I've never figured out why the exact
same size cock going up my ass hurt more and hurts longer sometimes than it
does at other times. It never hurts too much, or for too long that it
overly concerns me although I am grateful that this morning the pain is on
the lower end of the scale, whatever the reason.

This morning my two-way nerve endings, pain and pleasure, aren't
registering especially high in the pain department before beginning what
those nerve endings are best known for... pleasure. Yeah, my eyes pop open
as I already sense a sparkling spike of pleasure and then as Rob pulls his
fat hard boner back the sparkling pleasure grows until it's a full-blown
pleasure trip before I even hear the sounds of males fucking. Oh man, I let
out a surprised moan, "Mmmm, oooh," and I shudder a little too.

Rob's in a desperately horny condition and isn't paying a helluva lot of
attention to me as he immediately thrusts his hard fat cock right back up
my ass with a grunt followed by his moan of sexual pleasure, "Umm, umm,
aaah," and the first slap of his crotch against my buttocks begins a series
of loud and fast "Slapslapslap," sounds with Robby going, "Aah, aah, aah!"

Because Robby just milked my nuts it takes almost a minute of his energetic
thrusting before he's elevated my sexual pleasure enough for my brain to
send signals to my penis to wit: start getting hard again. Yeah, and it
works as my cock gets very hard even though I'm lying on it. It's squished
between my belly and the bed's mattress but soon feeling awesome all over
again.

Rob's fast fucking last only another two minutes though 'cause the
thrusting has done its job and he's tight against my butt cheeks humping
and making a whining sound anticipating his climax. One last hump against
my ass and I feel his hard stream of cum hit off the walls of my bowels and
spread out all creamy and slippery. His body is as stiff as a cadaver
against me for a few seconds and then Rob's whole body shudders. He begins
moving his cock back and forth a few times in my squishy ass as he sighs
and then stops to lie his chest against my back. His sexual relief is so
obvious I sense it myself.

There was never any hope he'd thrust long enough to get my climax button
punched again, not after I shot off four minutes ago. He pulls his cock
from my ass and flops over on his back next to me, his eyes closed savoring
his climax and taking deep breaths. Glancing at him, I'm like, "Do you want
to explain yourself? What's with jerking me off before fucking me?" He
continues breathing deeply. Yeah, well, I understand his need for that
after he put in three minutes or so of maximum thrusting effort, PLUS he
had a big orgasm which always requires some deep breathing afterward. I
wait patiently and after a last deep breath, he opens his eyes and grins,
and then sort of explains himself, "I don't know baby, as crazy as that was
it seemed so sexy to me and I guess I just felt like doing it. By the way,
your ass is still the best one my fat boy has ever ventured into."

I shouldn't ask this because our arrangement doesn't allow for questioning
our side sex and I suppose that includes questioning a lack of side sex,
but it's been on my mind since the semester started and I can't stop myself
from asking, "How come you've abandoned the hobby you and I mutually have
enjoyed for so long?" He smirks, murmuring, "The only mutual hobby I'm
aware of that you and I have enjoyed for so long is side-sex... which we've
agreed not to discuss." I go, "That's the one! C'mon, Robby, what's up with
you giving it up... or have you?"

Going up on his elbow, he looks down at me still lying on my stomach, my
head turned to him. Rubbing my shoulder he says in a casual way, "I'm
leading by example, that's what's up with that, my beautiful lover-boy." I
mutter, "I'm not beautiful; women are sometimes beautiful, not men." He
goes, "Aaah, that's where you're wrong. Well, some women are beautiful, of
course, but so are some young men... like you, for example." Hmmm,
sidestepping that awkwardness, I go, "Never mind that. Don't you miss our
hobby?" He goes, "Not as much as I did at first and, sure, there are
temptations and occasional subtle offers but I prefer the undiluted,
full-blown sexual pleasure of just you." I go, "Oh," and then wait for what
I expect is coming, meaning he'll ask me when I might be following his
leading-by-example...

He doesn't ask me that. Instead, he continues his playful mood, saying,
"From now on I might routinely jerk you off before fucking you. Whaddaya
think about that?" I turn over to lie on my back and, still looking up at
him, mutter, "I don't think it's the best idea you've ever had, but you're
my man and my leader by example so I do whatever pleases you." He stares at
me until I can't help but grin and he goes, "As I thought... that was total
bullshit." He chuckles and then smiles, saying, "I swear to you Dylan, if
you're happy, I'm happy... that's the bottom line. I know you love me and
if you still need to dabble in side sex, do it. I honestly believe you'll
get over it, but why should I expect you to have had enough at the exact
same time I did?" I go, "Was that a question?" and he shakes his head, "No,
it wasn't."

Hmm, this is kind of what I thought he might say, so I'm glad I finally
broached this delicate topic. He traces around my lips with a finger,
murmuring, "I'm taking a big chance saying what I'm going to say next, but
I swear I'm not saying it to be mean... quite the opposite. Anyway, here it
is. Danny is a wonderful guy and I've loved him as a friend for most of my
life; sometimes more than other times, but what I want to tell you about
him is this: although he claims differently, he falls in love a lot... but
not for long. Okay? Take that for what it's worth and don't think
negatively of me for telling you that."

My immediate thought is... Tom Brooker! I say, "I don't think you're being
mean for saying that, Robby, but for the record, I've never thought I was
in love with Danny so it isn't a concern. To finish our earlier subject,
the one about side sex, my last word on that is this... I think you're
right about me following your lead, but not right now." He gives me a grin,
mumbling, "I already knew that, babe. It was you who brought the subject up
initially, not me." I go, "No need to be so smug about it, Mister Perfect."
He laughs, adding, "I'm not smug, I'm in love."

Me too. Robby slowly drops his head and we do a sweet kiss and then another
one and fifteen minutes later I have my second orgasm of the morning but
only after premium top-of-the-chart lover's sex. Robby could open a school
on how to do lover's sex. I'm sighing and feeling very contented. Actually,
it's me who feels smug because Robby's my lover and no one else's.

We're sticky with the juices of sex when we get out of bed smiling at one
another. As we're about to take a shower together though, the other love of
Rob's life intrudes. Someone named Phil Gray calls about this afternoon's
meeting with ballplayers at Rolf's Bar. No, Phil isn't Rob's other
lover... baseball is.

While Robby talks on his cell phone, sitting at the desk and typing on his
laptop, I take a shower thinking about what Rob said. I'm not, and have
never been in love with Danny Monday, but he's the best buddy-sex partner
I've had since Ryan and then before him, Willie. It occurs to me now that
each of them also claimed to be in love with me and that our affairs lasted
quite some time, but then ended because of specific deficiencies in both
that I don't want to recall now. but ones Danny doesn't have. And, I gotta
admit, if Rob's right and Danny's ready to fall in love with someone or
switch his sexual attention to someone else whether love is involved or
not, it'll be hard on me losing that.

Side sex and buddy sex are moveable feasts, however, which is part of the
beauty of them... no commitments, or almost none. I'm jumping the gun
beyond reason, of course, because Danny isn't in love with Tom, how could
he be? He's only known him for a few hours! If Rob's right though, and
Rob's known Danny since he was eight or nine years old, my awesome
buddy-sex ride with Danny might be coming to an end sooner than expected,
and then what? I haven't been thinking much about side sex with anyone else
since Danny's increased sexual intensity for me.

Well, for me there's Pony, but that's a different situation entirely
because I 'top' him, for one thing, and for another, I've admitted to
myself very recently there aren't any sexual bells and whistles going off
where Pony's concerned. Sure, I love the guy but I've never been even
slightly 'in-love' with him. And, as I told myself just yesterday, I think
of Pony more like a little brother than a hot side-sex buddy. Rob's
analysis of me and side sex might just be right on target in that I'm
closer to following his lead than I thought. Oh, no!

Showered and dressed by nine-thirty Sunday morning I'm now in the kitchen
determined to make a good breakfast for Rob and me. Rob's taking a shower
so I've got time to do something different for this morning's
breakfast. Looking in the freezer I see frozen blueberries in an unopened
package which makes me think... pancakes! I'll make blueberry
pancakes. That plus bacon and scrambled eggs and hash brown potatoes. Yum!

Robby walks out of the bedroom after his shower looking shiny clean with
his hair neatly combed. Oh man, he looks so cute with that uber straight
part in his hair and that adorable little pompadour. Robby's dressed just
right too! Omigod, if LL Bean and J Crew somehow had a baby together he'd
grow up to be almost as preppy looking as my lover boy, Robby. He comes
into the kitchen and gives me a kiss on the side of my neck with his
aftershave lotion blocking his normal sexy personal scent. With a hand on
my shoulder, he goes, "Jeez, I love how you look when you're cooking. You
look happy, and cute beyond description." I'm like, "We're like newlyweds,
Rob." He mutters, "Oh, fuck that! I forget who accused us of acting like
that." I shrug, "I don't remember either, but let's not change, okay? I
like it."

Giving my ass a pat, he mumbles, "I've no intention of changing
anything. Um, do I have time to run over to the rental office and buy a
Sunday paper?" I go, "No," and pour four blueberry pancakes on our electric
griddle and then dump four whipped eggs into a frying pan with an ounce of
melted butter. The bacon and hash brown potatoes are ready and staying warm
in the oven. Rob goes, "Okay, I'll get the paper after breakfast," and he
sets out napkins, knives, and forks on the kitchen bar. I go, "There are
glasses of OJ in the refrigerator," and then I stick a K-cup in the coffee
maker.

As we eat we make plans to today: I'll drive Rob to Rolf's Bar and he'll
text me when he's done the meeting, although there's a likelihood I won't
need to pick him up. He'll probably get a ride back to the apartment from
one of his teammates. Meanwhile, Pony and I are gonna run a couple of miles
at the track and then work-out at the fitness center. Later this afternoon
there's supposed to be 'touch' football games going on at the soccer
field. We might get a team together and play the winners of one of those
games.

After eating and then cleaning up the kitchen and ourselves, we get our
coats on and have a smoke on the balcony and talk about the weather. Rob
goes, "Only one snow storm so far this winter and that didn't amount to
anything, so maybe we'll get in a few three-inning baseball games." I go,
"The extended weather forecast calls for cloudy weather but no
precipitation this whole week." Exhaling cigarette smoke, he mutters, "If
it doesn't snow all winter, it'd be awesome." I'm like, "Fat chance."

A little later, as we're going downstairs we hear Tom calls to us from the
second-floor stairs, "Wait up guys." We stop as a smiling Tom Brooker jumps
down the last two steps, asking, "How you guys doing?" Tom's wearing a
Providence College baseball cap today so I don't get to snicker at how
short Danny cut his flattop. Rob goes, "Whassup with you, Tom?" Tom says,
"I'm on my way to pick up a few things I need at the downtown CVS and then
I'll probably see you at Rolf's Bar, Rob." I go, "Oh, why's that?" Tom
smiles and says, "After the ballplayers' meeting, Danny and I have a late
lunch date and, haha, probably a few dozen beers. How long would you guess
your meeting will be, Rob?" A lunch date? What the fuck... who says shit
like that?

Robby says, "It won't last long. We're basically just going to compare
notes to see if there are enough guys from the team interest in playing
some frozen three-inning baseball games. If there are we'll choose two or
three teams." In the parking lot, Tom heads for his SUV, saying, "Okay, see
you later." Jeez, who in the fuck is that cheerful, and I mean all the
fucking time? What's he hiding?

We get in the pickup as I'm asking, "Can you believe that shit, Robby?" He
goes, "What?" I'm like, "Tom saying ' lunch date'?" Robby laughs and says,
"Yeah, kinda creepy but that's probably what Danny called it, ya know?" I
go, "No, he wouldn't say something that dorky." Robby gives me a look but
doesn't say what I'll bet he's thinking... that I'm jealous. That's not
totally true. It's more that I don't like the way this guy from Rhode
Island is butting in on, um, things. Who the fuck does he think he is? And
I'm beginning to think I was too blasé about this topic of Danny
switching off me to that Providence slut. I didn't think it through when I
had the short conversation with Rob about this earlier. It's a much bigger
deal than I thought because I'm realizing Danny's more important to me than
I gave him credit for.

After dropping Robby off at Rolf's Bar, I text Pony that I'm on my way and
then when I get at the spot I always pick him up, there's Pony. He's good
like that... very dependable. Running on the track in this very cold
temperature is hard at first. It's hard getting started but we warm up
quickly and I shed my sweatshirt for the second mile. It's surprising how
good I feel today as compared to Saturday. Pony has lots of questions about
the frat party Friday night. He'd heard rumors about the police showing up
and he's disappointed I didn't stay to see what happened. I just shake my
head 'cause he doesn't get the concept that you do not want to be anyplace
the cops are.  Also, I'm too winded to talk.

We sit on the bleachers resting after our 'run' but we're soon getting cold
again so we put our sweatshirts on and jog slowly once more around the
track before driving to the fitness center. After working out for half an
hour we're sexily sweaty. Yeah, Pony looks sexy with the sweat on his face
so I take him to the apartment and fuck him. If Rob had gotten a ride back
to our place before we got there I wouldn't have fucked Pony, but Rob
wasn't there, so...

Pony and I hang out at the apartment for almost an hour with no text from
Rob. I finally call him and right away I can tell by his voice he'd been
drinking. He wants me to join him at the bar so I ask who's still there and
he mentions a couple of names I don't know and then, "Oh, yeah, there's Tom
and Danny over at a table by themselves. We're all at the bar." I roll my
eyes as Rob says some other names of guys who are there that I couldn't
care less about so I interrupt asking if he had lunch and he says, "Nope,
the kitchen isn't open on Sundays... just the bar." Ha, that must be a
fucked up 'lunch date' Danny and Tom are having... beer nuts and beer.

Pony's twenty-one so what the fuck, I tell Rob I'll see him in ten minutes
or so. When we're inside Rolf's I look for Rob and spot him easily because
it's like a spotlight is on him in my mind. The other dozen baseball
players appear to blend together into a big blob of 'nothing special'. Um,
except for this one cute fucker with freckles. Jeez, why haven't I seen him
before? He's gotta be a freshman and as I glance at him again I look right
into his eyes and he has the prettiest green eyes. He immediately adverts
his eyes which isn't a good sign but, Omigod, he looks about
fifteen-years-old. Wait a minute though, he must be old enough to drink
'cause that's a bottle of Coors in his hand and, um... oh, never mind that
now though 'cause I just spotted Danny telling something to Tom. It's
sickening the way Tom is staring at Danny like he's hearing the words
explaining the meaning of life, his lips parted and... Jesus, get real! I'm
not near enough to be sure, but I think Tom's panting, waiting for his
doggie treat with his tongue hanging out.

All these observations occur in one or two seconds after we walked through
the door. Pony points, saying, "There's Rob near the end of the bar." I
mutter, "Yeah, I see him. Do you want a beer?" I'm forcing myself to ignore
the 'lunch date' couple. Pony follows me over to Robby who smiles and
introduces Pony and me to Luke-somebody, and then two guys whose names I
missed entirely. We bumped fists with the two guys sitting on bar stools
near us and just kinda wave a hand at the guy sitting on the other side of
Rob. They go back to talking baseball... shocker!

I wonder what Danny and Tom are talking about during their 'lunch date'
while eating beer nuts? They're over there at a table near the
shuffleboard. It's unavoidable so I buy a round of beers for the six of us
at the end of the bar even though I don't know three of the guys, but what
choice do I have? Ya don't just buy beers for 'some' of the guys in a
group. And two of the assholes don't even say 'thanks'...

We stay at the bar for a tedious forty-five minutes. Pony and I mostly
listening to these guys repeat themselves and laugh at things that aren't
funny. Finally, guys start leaving and Rob's like, "Yeah, let's take off
too, I'm getting smashed." As we're walking out Danny calls over, "Yo, Rob,
can you give me a lift back to my dorm?" Of all the fucking nerve! Why
doesn't Tom give him a ride? Danny and Tom walk over to us and we bump fist
or pat shoulders as Rob says, "Yeah, sure, but Dylan's driving. I'm a
little hammered." Tom explains to Rob, "I'd give Danny a ride back except I
never got to pick up the shit I need at CVS." Danny, his arm across Tom's
shoulders, chuckles and mumbles, "And I do not want to go to the CVS
store." What, am I invisible?

Outside, Danny steps past Pony to put his arm around my waist, saying, "Yo,
Dylan, don't you say hello anymore?" I'm like, "That's what I'm usually
asking you, um, if you'll recall and..." Tom interrupts, saying, "Excuse
me, Dylan. Um, Danny, so what time should I be at your place tonight?"
Danny seems annoyed, saying, "Hey, what the...? Um, I said I might text
you, Tom, okay? Jeez, chill out..." Tom looks startled, "Oh, okay, sure."

Rob calls over to me, "Let's go, Dylan. I gotta pee bad!" Why didn't he do
that before leaving the fucking bar? Danny glances at Rob and then turns
back to make a 'face'' at me, a 'face' I don't know how to interpret. He
then nods his head at the departing Tom, and says, "Pushy new guy, ya know?
He's kinda, um..." and I shrug, "Hey, we gotta go before Rob pisses down
his leg," and my shadow, Pony, and I jog to the pickup as Danny goes, "Hey,
wait for me!"  Robby gets in the passenger seat and I drive us to Merrimack
with Danny explaining to Pony in the back seat how to hit a college
curveball. It's a ten-minute drive to the campus where Danny and Pony get
out and all of us agree we've had too many beers so we forget about playing
in the 'touch' football games going on at the soccer field.

Robby's busy holding his piss in until we get to the apartment and a few
minutes later we're both pissing next to each other in our apartment
bathroom with Robby going, "Ahhh." Ten minutes later he's sleeping on the
sofa. Yeah, well, afternoon beers can make a person sleepy. I forgot to ask
him what exactly they decided at his meeting.

A couple of hours later it's already getting dark outside so we order a
pizza and stay in Sunday night watching an NFL playoff game. Monday we have
no classes so we sleep later than normal and then mess around in bed doing
some fun sex. After a breakfast that Rob and I make together, we run some
errands and eat a very late lunch at Bertucci's, just Rob and me. Nice day
overall.

So Monday was a relaxing good day and then we go to all our classes on
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday and by Friday we're more or less back in
the swing of the academic side of college life again. We have our study
time with Carl joining us as usual, and then Thursday night Chubby comes
over for dinner. Carl stays too but Rob drives him to his dorm after dinner
and the three of us, meaning me, Chubby and Rob do some beer drinking and
it turns into one of those times we all feel like talking and since Rob and
I don't have class on Fridays it's like twelve-forty-five before Chubby
tells us on his way out the door how unfair it is Rob and I don't have a
class tomorrow so he's not going to his Friday class either.

Rob and I do our before-bed routine and then crash without either of us
mentioning anything about sex tonight... we both fall asleep. And then we
make up for that sexual oversight by having raucous rough and tumble sex
before getting out of bed Friday morning, both of us slightly sweaty
because Robby and his fat hard sex organ had their way with me
twice. Sweet!

Ya know, there's a rhythm of routine activities to college life. That's a
little less obvious living off campus like Rob and me, but there's still
routine things we do each day of the week whether it's a day we have
classes and then our study group or days we goof off wasting time doing
nothing constructive or other times we feel almost an obligation to
socialize which at college means getting drunk with other students or for
some getting high and doing immature stuff just because we can. Sometimes I
wonder... am I having fun? I think I am, right?

I only saw Danny briefly the week after that Saturday meeting at Rolf's
Bar. Rob and I have none of the classes Danny has and with the bad weather,
the guys haven't made definite plans to try playing any of the proposed
three-inning winter baseball game. So when Rob and I see Tom Brooker on the
steps of the apartment like ten days after the Rolf's Bar meeting it's the
first we're hearing that Danny has a bad cold. Tom's on his way to Danny's
dorm with cold medicine he bought earlier today at CVS. Does this
'buttinski' from Rhode Island have stock in CVS? He always seems to be
going there.

Well, there are a lot of students contracting the common cold from each
other so it shouldn't surprise us that someone we know caught a cold. More
like, it's surprising more of us haven't. Anyway, Rob says, "That's nice of
you Tom. Give Danny our best and tell him to stop milking this cold he
allegedly has and get his ass back to class." Tom nods his head chuckling
and muttering, "A compassionate message, Rob," and then he adds, "Actually
he seems pretty fucked up with this either a cold or the flu. Whatever he
has, it's the least I can do after he rode with me showing me how to find
where my parents live. Heh heh, I'd never have found it without his help."
What, he's never heard of a GPS? Is he retarded?

The three of us are outside the front door now, and it's nasty cold out
here. Tom tells us that Danny showed him around Framingham after driving to
Tom's house in Wayland and he was, Tom was, impressed with Danny's 'super
cool garage barbershop!' I'm rolling my eyes with nothing to say to
that. By now Robby had lost interest in the overly-friendly Tom's
too-much-information about his and Danny's trip home ten days or so ago so
he pats Tom's shoulder, mumbling, "Yeah, well, um, that's cool, Tom. We'll
catch ya later, okay?"

Anyway, as I said, life is routine and kinda boring during the gloomy
winter days that seem short and dark. Then it's Friday again and we need to
drive home. That's something different anyhow, and it's because I
volunteered Rob's and my help to his mom. There's a charity thing her
woman's club is running. She texted both Rob and me last Tuesday asking if
it would be at all possible for us to help her because there were no
husbands available during the day. Plus, blah, blah, blah there would be
lifting involved and she didn't know who else to ask.

Anyway, I texted back we'd be glad to help and then an hour later Rob told
me about his mom's text not knowing I received the same one. He said
something about making up an excuse that we had a report to do on Friday
and when I told him I'd already told his mom we'd be glad to help... well,
Rob was pissed. His face got red the way it always does when he's pissed,
but then he said in a strained voice, "Oh, okay, babe. You're right, we
should help mom out."

That's why we're driving home today. Oh man though, he was quiet for an
hour after that exchange on Tuesday but he got his shit together and got
over it. Later he was glad we're doing the right thing. So, today's the day
to 'do the right thing'.

We drive directly to the church in Natick where we see a lot of people
dropping off used clothing and household things and books and whatever. It
started a couple of hours ago so Rob and I have a lot of catching up to
do. We need to box everything up and carrying it to a spot in the parking
lot where it will all be picked up later by another charity organization. I
think it's for a homeless shelter somewhere or maybe the Salvation Army. I
didn't get the details but it felt good helping out, um, whoever it is
we're helping out.

His mom was right about there being lots of heavy lifting and it kinda
dusty and nasty and not a lot of fun. It sucked actually, but lady's club
ladies, who are all dressed as though they're having lunch at the Ritz,
don't actually do a helluva lot except greeting and thanking the people
donating stuff. They were very appreciative of Rob's and my help though,
and they should be since we did all the work. We coulda used two or three
helpers actually. We're dirty and sweating as we listen to the compliments
about how hard we worked and the exclamations about how handsome we are, so
ya know, there was that...

We don't get to the house until seven o'clock and then after we showered
and changed clothes, Mrs. Dickers had a late dinner for the three of
us. Mr. Dickers worked late and then had a business dinner after that so we
didn't see him at all. Rob and I debated whether to sleep in our bed here
at home or drive back to college tonight, finally deciding to drive
back. So, Rob drives us back and we get to bed exhausted around ten
o'clock, but we've still got Saturday, Sunday and Monday, a three day
weekend ahead of us, so it ain't all bad!

Saturday morning, Rob and I fuck like minks. That's assuming minks fuck
fast and hard. I'm never sure what animals to use as a metaphor when
thinking about Rob's and my sex life... I mean, when it's not lover's
sex. Ya know, very few in the wild kingdom, in the woods, or among farm
animals do a lot of lover's sex. They're more into, well... never mind
that. I'll just say a jealous misguided person might find it unusual Rob
and I get so excited and totally involved in our sex together, and we're
like that every single time. If that seems strange to a jealous misguided
person, especially considering we do it so often, all I can tell you
is... tough shit!

Our sex was so invigorating the first time we do it this morning, we do it
again while showering together. Then a hearty breakfast and right now both
of us are feeling fantastically invigorated. Invigorated, but not sure what
to do with all our, um, vigor so we're about to venture over to the campus
to see what, if anything, is going on.

After parking in the 'general parking' lot, we walk around in the cold,
both wearing hoodie sweatshirts under our jackets with the hoods up against
the cold. Actually, the crisp cold weather is invigorating too and, ya
know, so is being around so many individuals our own age; that's
invigorating as well. Only on a college campus can you have this same
experience... you just can't have it anywhere else. I mean, where else can
you find 5000 individuals age nineteen to twenty-two in a confined area
like a campus? And this is a small college, imagine 30,000 peers at a huge
big-name university! Holy shit, how invigorating would that be? Or maybe
stifling, one or the other.

As we're walking around I'm checking out the other students. I'm looking
for the rare special cute guy... it's a habit that's hard to break,
especially because I don't want to break myself of it. After saying that, I
admit that my boy watching is a mere shadow of what it used to be. For
instance, right now I'm more into wondering if someone like me is looking
at Rob and me thinking what I would think if I saw us walking by. I'd think
Rob and I are cute good-looking guys with our hoods up. Haha, so I'm
obviously not as committed to boy-watching as I used to be, that's the
bottom line.

As usual, Rob bumps into teammates and I stand here listening to their jock
talk for a while. When we move on Robby tells me what he really thinks
about the guys he was just chatting with. He says he needs to be very
friendly-like because he's a co-captain. It's a little bit like politics. I
hate politics and politicians. I mention that to Robby, and he goes,
"Dylan, you've never been on a team.. it's, um, well, ya just don't know."
I have no retort to that, but it doesn't change my mind.

After like twenty-minutes we sit on a random bench in an assigned smoking
area and smoke a cigarette as Robby tells me how lucky he feels about us,
him and me, and how we've come together so perfectly the past six
months. He says we've come together as friends and lovers even better than
he'd prayed we would in the early years when he had reasons to doubt it
would ever happen, um, as he prayed it would. He never gave up hope though
that I'd finally agree we were meant for each other.

It's a good 'talk', especially since we're sober, and I'm pretty sure he
wants me to carry on with this congratulatory train of thought,
congratulating ourselves basically, but it is a discussion we've had in one
form or another many times until now it's almost like beating a dead horse,
so I try being facetious, asking, "Did you actually pray or was that just a
figure of speech? I mean when you said you prayed this or that would
happen." He sighs and mutters, "I assume you're not in a reflective mood
today, Dylan, huh?"

That was an unfair comment of mine because I've been in Rob's kind of
happily grateful positive frames of mind myself from time to time so I rub
his shoulder, and say, "Sorry, I was trying to be funny. You described our
condition perfectly, Rob. I'm sorry for being a wise-ass about that because
I feel I'm actually the luckiest one between us, and I haven't expressed
that to you enough." He snorts a chuckle and mumbles, "No, you were
right... it's was too maudlin of me. No need to, um, go over the same shit
every two minutes." Oh, that was harsh... it's not shit.

Now I feel even worse for my wise-ass comment about Rob's praying, so I'm
like, "No, you were totally right, Robby! You did stand by me when I was
crazily doing all kinds of shit with Willie, and then all that time with
Ryan. Hell, I even lived with Ryan and his family in Georgia. Omigod, I
don't know how the fuck you put up with me." He goes, "And presently you're
deeply infatuated with Danny, huh?" I'm like, "What? Um, whaddaya mean?" He
laughs and steps on his cigarette butt and then stands up, saying, "I'm
just being a ball buster. C'mon, let's get a hot chocolate at the Quad."

Dropping my cigarette butt, I jump up and say, "No, seriously, why'd you
mention Danny? He and I aren't doing anything out of the ordinary, or
outside yours and my 'arrangement'... if you get my drift." I take a few
fast steps to catch up with him and Rob shrugs, saying, "That's not what
Danny says," and he chuckles, adding, "It's nothing, babe. As I said, I was
being a ballbuster, that's all."

That Goddamn Danny! I ask, "Okay... What'd he tell you?" Rob gives the back
of my neck a squeeze, saying, "He was drunk. I know it was just Danny's
view of the world as, um, only he perceives it." I'm like, "What the fuck
did he tell you?" Robby goes, "Hey, lighten up, okay? I'm kidding you! And
I don't know, um, he said he was stealing you from me and that I never took
him seriously as a rival... or some such shit like that. It was four or
five weeks ago or, I don't remember exactly when it was. Probably a frat
party or drinking at a bar. It's nothing... jeez, I shouldn't have
mentioned it. For Christ sake, Dylan... I'm teasing you!" I go, "Well,
stop! I don't like being teased by you. I take everything you say very
fucking seriously." He laughs out loud and then goes, "No you don't!" I go,
"Yes, many things you say I take seriously!"

We go into the Quad that's packed with students who are in between
classes. Well, it is a Monday which is a busy day for classes. I mean, it's
a busy class day for all these suckers who couldn't figure out how to
arrange their schedules to have long weekends. Oh, there's Danny and Tom
Brooker at a table on the side. They're leaning their heads together
talking seriously about something and then Danny rubs Tom's flattop haircut
and they both laugh out loud. Tom slaps hands with Danny as they get up and
start making their way through the crowd to the door. Guys and, especially
groups of three or four girls, just stand in the open area near the
entrance talking without any concern for others wanting to come in or go
out. Inconsiderate idiots! It's amazing I spotted Danny among all these
tables with guys and girls crowded around them, plus all these morons
blocking the door.

Hmm, I shouldn't, but I do anyway, I call, "Hey, Danny, where you been
hiding, boy?" He waves and yells, "We've got a class. Text me!" He said
'we've' got a class... 'we've' mean Danny and this Tom Brooker
character. They have a class together? Oh, yeah, I guess that's very
possible since they're both majoring in education or teaching or whatever
it's called. That's what they have in common. That, plus if Tom's
gay. Yeah, that would be another thing they'd have in common, wouldn't it?

Where did Robby get to? Oh, he's in the beverage line intending to buy, um,
hot chocolates I think he said. I wander over but can't butt in line next
to him without slipping under the rope. I stand next to him on this side
and ask, "What are you gonna buy us?" He asks, "Where'd you get to? Oh, um,
I'm getting a hot chocolate. Do you want one." I shrug, "Yeah, I guess,"
and he says, "See if you can find an empty table."

Wandering around I see the hockey players, Paul Towers and Donald Johnson
at a table for four with two other guys. One of them makes eye contact with
me so I stop to say 'Hi'. I'm bumping fists with them as Donald introduces
me to the other two guys whose names I immediately forget. Paul says, "Hey,
dude, when's the next dinner party?" I go, "We're working on it." I'm
glancing around, mumbling, "Right now I'm looking for an empty table. My
roommate's getting us some drinks." One of the guys I was introduced to,
says, "This table right here will be vacant in about ten seconds." All four
guys get up with someone muttering, "Oh, fuck. I can't be late for class
again," and Donald says, "See ya later, Dylan."

Huh, a lucky break getting this table although it isn't exactly
vacant. They left all their paper plates and cups and cans and shit
behind. I wave at Rob but he doesn't see me. He has two steaming paper
cups, one in each hand as he's looking around for me. I never learned how
to whistle, and I don't care for people who did learn how and especially
the ones who like to do it every chance they get.

Standing with my arm in the air, I stare at him until he looks in this
general direction. When he does I wave again and he nods at me. Pushing all
the debris into one corner of the table, we sit at two of the clean
places. Robby says, "I think I'm coming down with a cold," and I go, "Well,
I won't be far behind you then. How come I catch all my colds from you, and
who are you catching them from?"

We talk about that but I know it's easy to catch someone's cold, someone
you don't even know. They catch their cold from someone they don't know and
after rubbing their disgusting runny nose they touch the door handle of any
fucking door on campus and the sneaky germs giggle at the innocent victim
who happens to touch that same door handle. A couple of days later someone
says to someone else the same thing Rob said to me a minute ago... how'd
you catch your cold? It's a vicious circle that keep the germs happy.

After we take twenty-minutes drinking the hot chocolates, we walk around
the campus some more. Now we're smoking cigarettes where we're not supposed
to but no one has the balls to say anything about it; not this time
anyway. Robby goes, "We've got classes the next three days and then another
four day weekend. And ya know, we need to start doing things on these
weekends, babe." I nod, "We went to the movies once," and he goes, "Yeah,
and it cost us almost thirty dollars each. Let's pool our money and go to
the Rockingham Racetrack on Friday." I nod, "Yeah, that'll be cool. How
much are you prepared to lose?" He shrugs, "How about we both put fifty
bucks in the pot and bet together?" I say, "I'm in, and my betting
technique at the track is flawless."

Almost getting run over by some goof running after a Frisbee, not exactly a
normal winter activity, Rob asks, "Okay, how do you pick horses to bet on?
The fucking program, um, racing form, is like Greek to me." I go, "It's
simple, Rob. After scouring the racing form and taking notes, I bet on the
horse in each race with the coolest names, or a horse that has a name that
somehow relates to me. For example, a horse hypothetically named... Rob's
best friend. I'd bet that horse to win, place, and show. Three chances to
cash a ticket, ya know? " Rob goes, "Well, that sounds foolproof. We can't
lose!" I'm like, "Should we ask if Danny wants to join us? He only has a
morning class on Fridays I think. I can ask Chub too." Robby says, "Ah, no,
don't do that. Let's just do it the two of us, babe. We'll have a couple of
beers as we decide what horse's name we want to bet on, it'll be fun. Ya
know, we can talk behind the backs of the degenerate gamblers we see there
and whatnot." I say, "Great idea! You're on."

Later, when we're back at the apartment, Robby's watching some batting
videos on his laptop as I lie on the sofa struggling with myself about
whether or not I should text Danny. Not about the race track, I wanna do
that just with Robby as he said. It's just that we, Danny and I, haven't
texted for almost two weeks. The only reason I haven't texted him is I'm
jealous he's spending all his free time with that possibly-a-slut, Tom
Brooker. What if Danny read my text to that Tom person, huh? That'd be
embarrassing.

Hell, I 'get' the teaching connection they have, but Danny just met the guy
a couple of weeks ago so how could they immediately hit it off so well that
they need to spend all their free time together, plus have classes
together? What the fuck, ya know? Christ, I didn't see anything 'hot' about
Tom and I can't imagine what Danny sees in him either... assuming he does
see anything 'hot' in Tom. I'm making some assumptions here, I know that,
but... yeah, maybe it's just the teaching connection, and maybe the Pope is
a Jew.

Finally, I text Danny: 'Yo, did I miss a scheduled haircut yesterday?'
Yesterday was Sunday, which supposedly flattop-boys' can get a haircut
avoiding the crowded Saturday haircut day. Yeah, I'm texting about
something Danny can't resist. He's the one insisting on us guys getting
haircuts every two weeks, not that anyone is necessarily doing that
now. The Thanksgiving and then Christmas breaks screwed up everyone's
normal schedule for everything.

Danny doesn't text back until hours later when I'm making dinner. Just as
I'm thinking that's what I should have texted him about. I should have
invited him to dinner. He hasn't been here at the apartment since before
the Christmas break. While I was thinking that I hear the "ping' sound from
my cell phone. I take my cell phone out of my pocket and read Danny's
longish text that reads: 'Gee, baby, I don't recall if you missed your
scheduled haircut or not, but if you need a haircut you better get here
early next Saturday morning because it gets pretty busy and I sorta gotta
take the guys in order. You could be waiting an hour or longer if you get
here past ten o'clock." What? Well, FUCK YOU! That 'too busy' horseshit
doesn't fly with me! Saturday? That's when regular guys get haircuts. What
the fuck has Tom done to my Danny?

to be continued...

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

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

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

Donny Mumford

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

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