Date: Fri, 14 Jun 2019 15:13:02 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter. 49

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 49

by Donny Mumford



Pony's walking back to his dorm so I drive the few blocks to the
ballpark. There are guys milling around near the front entrance but Rob's
not one of them. No problem, I sit in the idling pickup next to the sign
that reads "No Vehicles Allowed', but this is conveniently near where Rob
will exit the building, so...

Damn, I can't help grinning 'cause that was a fun sexy time with Pony. I
like topping that boy although, oddly, I'm not interested in doing it with
Robby, and then there's no decision to be made about doing it with Danny
because he won't 'bottom' for anyone. So forget those two, but it'd be
kinda cool if I knew a second 'bottom' buddy. Haha, ya know, for
rectum-comparison, if for no other reason.  Haha, rectum
comparison... Unfortunately, I can't think of who the second 'bottom-buddy'
would be.

Oh, here comes Robby. He's walking with a couple of teammates, both of whom
I remember seeing in games last year. I'm pretty sure the guy with the ski
slope nose and girlish long hair is the first baseman. His name is Bob, um,
something. Oh, look at that... isn't that lovely! Bob-something just pushed
one nostril closed with a finger, bent forward and deliberately blew
boogers onto the ground from his other nostril. Yep, a classy move and now
his boogers are lying on top of the leftover snow along with the other
dirt. Gee, I hope none of that discharge got caught in that long hair that
hung over his shoulder when bent over. That'd be a shame.

Un huh, and now he's exaggeratingly dragging his arm across his nose to get
leftover snot while the two jocks with him think nothing of it. Gawd,
that's disgusting! Bob-something isn't alone with that move though. Nope,
all jocks seem to love doing that! The other teammate with Robby, the
scarecrow-looking guy, is named Battles. I don't know if that's his last
name or a nickname, not that it matters.

Well, it's good to see Robby laughing about whatever it was ski-nose
said. Apparently today's short informal practice was a good one and I know
it's a load off Rob's mind that Coach Davis is sort of okay with the six
practices he's gonna miss while we're back home helping out. Those trips
home the next two weekends will likely be ginormous pains in the ass, not
that I'm complaining. No, the Dickers have treated me wonderfully and I'm
glad to help out.

Robby gets in the passenger seat and pats my shoulder, saying, "Hey, Dylan,
how's it going, babe?" Wow, he's in a good mood! As I'm backing the truck
up, I'm like, "Didn't you notice your teammate blowing his nose on the
ground?" Robby frowns, "What?" and I mutter, "Oh, nothing."

What's the use? Jocks are slobs. Christ, they adopt these gross habits at
an early age from watching their heroes on TV, and then they emulate
them. It's a never-ending cycle of gross behavior; things like chewing
tobacco and spitting the shitty brown juice everywhere and, well,
constantly spitting for no reason other than they think they're supposed to
spit every five seconds, and they love groping their junk in front of the
crowds at games, plus they give not a thought to picking their nose, and
other behavior more appropriate for cavemen, or barn animals. Can you
imagine a professor doing that nose blowing thing in class? Blowing his
nose into a wastebasket maybe, some of it spattering off the rim of the
wastebasket spraying students in the first row.

Most of the time I try ignoring inappropriate behavior like that but when
it's right in my face, ya know, ten feet away like what Bob-something did
it's impossible to ignore. I had to cringe and turn my head away. For the
most part though, as sports fans, we've become numb to it. Imagine what
non-sports fans think of it.

Robby asks, "What's wrong, babe? Why the sour expression?" I give him a big
fake smile, asking, "What sour expression?" Moving past that, he goes, "Oh
man, guys are psyched about the start of organized practice this
Wednesday. Someone said the weather is supposed to reach fifty-five degrees
in the afternoon! After all the snow we've had you won't believe how
awesome the grounds' crew prepared the ballpark. Sometimes the outfield
gets neglected, but this year..."

He goes on excitedly but I tune him out. It's great Rob's excited, and I'm
happy for him, but I'm not invested in it enough to be interested in every
fucking detail of the outfield grass. TMI, dude! Too much
information. Honestly though, I wish I had something besides sex to get as
excited about as Rob is about baseball... that'd be cool. Well, I do have
my fucked-up haircut fetish. Oh, Jesus, that's a sick comparison to
baseball.

Before dinner, Rob wants to review the work for tomorrow's class. The work
I did last Thursday after he left for home. We spend time on that and then
Rob helps with the dinner prep and then we stay in after dinner, just the
two of us for a change. Then, in bed, we have rough and tumble fun sex
before collapsing into a good night's sleep. Nothing especially unusual
happens for the rest of the week. Well, there was a pop quiz in the Ethics
class that was no problem and, of course, the normal amounts of study and
other shit we need to do for the next day's classes, meaning our little
study group with Rob helping Carl.

The big deal of this week was Rob's first official day of baseball practice
on Wednesday. Then, afterward, he was down in the dumps a little because he
needs to miss the next three days of practice. I tried commiserating with
him without much success so I called Chubby and got him and John Beverley
to have dinner with us Wednesday night. They're both almost completely over
their colds and when Chubby's energetic and funny he cannot be ignored,
which got Rob's mind off missing the upcoming baseball practices. We drank
beers and played Pinochle after dinner staying up too late, but it was fun.

The day before that, um, Tuesday, Robby went to the ballpark and I was
kinda looking forward to reading my book, which is getting really good. I'd
just got the book out when Danny called. He told me to pick him up, which
surprised me because seeing Danny on a Tuesday is rare, plus there's that
informal practice Tuesday. I was happy to pick him up though and when we
came back to the apartment, without much foreplay, he fucked my brains out
in the living room with both of us standing in front of the balcony's
sliding glass doors.

I guess it was sort of an emergency ad hoc fuck for him. Spur of the moment
type thing. Anyway, he pulled my pants down just below my butt cheeks, his
out through the fly of his cargo jeans and... oh man, what an awesome
extemporaneous fuck that was, Jesus! Just awesome! My climax hit the
sliding glass doors that were like four feet in front of us. If the sliding
glass doors were open my cum shot might have hit the parking lot on the
other side of the barren trees between us and the strip mall.

I was dizzy from that fantastic climax so I was in a bit of a fog as I
heard Danny mutter, "Sorry, I forgot to do this," and he spanked my bare
ass until I was trying to get away from his swinging arm and spanking
hand. Fuck, he kept pulling me back with the arm he had around my waist
until I finally just stood in place because I get like that with seriously
dominant displays like Danny's. The brain doesn't try making sense of
it. It just lets my submissive tendencies rule and, man oh man, did he ever
give my ass a spanking.

It hurt like a motherfucker, but in a sexy way and I had a boner like a
steel pipe. Even so, enough is enough and when it went on too long, my ass
stinging and burning and red, my survival instincts took over and I started
yelling, "Are you out of your fucking mind? Stop it!" But, Christ, that
boner I had!  He doesn't usually spank me like that but I guess last
Tuesday he just felt like it. The crazy urges ya get, ya know?

When he finally stopped I was rubbing my ass, really pissed off at him. I
guess mostly I was a little humiliated because my eyes were stinging and if
a tear rolled out I'd have died of embarrassment. He saw it though and
grinned. What a prick... heh heh. He chuckled and rubbed my head telling
me, "You're not hurt. Shake it off." That's a typical jock response. I'm
surprised he didn't tell me to rub some dirt on it.

I shrugged away from him, so he got indignant, saying, "Hey, you needed
that spanking! I actually don't do it enough 'cause I'm lazy." I pouted a
little so he made a 'face' and in that cool friendly way he has, he told
me, "Okay, get over here, I'm sorry." Frowning, I walked back to him
because I had that case of submissiveness going for me by then. I can't
control that shit, not when Danny's on a roll like he was. We hugged and
then to be a bigger prick he patted my ass and snickered when my body
stiffened.

Eventually, everything was cool and when he turned me around I was resigned
to putting up with getting spanked some more but, no, instead Danny's
wooden cock went right up my smacked ass with me bending over gasping and
having trouble catching my breath. Oh man, I was so turned on by him that
afternoon! Holy shit, I couldn't stop shaking as he fucked me for maybe ten
minutes with me going, "Ump, ump, ump," my cock so hard it felt like it was
trying to pull away from my body. We both finally had another couple of cum
shots, flying strings of cum anybody would be proud of. After that, I was a
puddle of limpness but definitely sexually satisfied for the moment.

Danny was snickering again, asking me, "Well, how'd you like that random
sex? Hey, have you ever just absolutely NEEDED to fuck a cute guy and then
spank his cute ass until he cried? Haha, that's the humongous urge that
came over me after last class. I thought, fuck it, I'll go to the ballpark
a few minutes late. First I need to give my boyfriend a good hard spanking
and then an equally hard fucking. Okay, so I got the order mixed up but I
remembered to do both." I had a bunch of Kleenex at my asshole because
there was a small river of cum drooling out. My submissive trance was gone
by then so I just gave him a 'look'.

Danny was like, "Ah, c' mon, Dylan! This was hot, wasn't it? You're okay,
right? Come here baby," and he hugged and kissed me until I felt like a
little kid. Danny is so fucking cool! So, that was something noteworthy
that happened on Tuesday. I only wish to hell Danny could work up the
energy for that kind of thing more often, but as I've said before, he's not
as consistently horny as Robby and me. When he is though, watch out.

We finished off that unexpected half hour on Tuesday afternoon with Danny
telling me, "That's enough hugging and kisses for you. I spoil the shit out
of you but I'm probably gonna keep doing it until we're sixty-five... then
I'm gonna quit." I told him, "Don't ruin this Danny." He ignored that of
course and said, "Goddam though, Dylan, you make me feel like the number
one stud in the universe." I watched him putting that perfect penis of his
away and zippering up his fly, as he said, "Now I need a lift down to the
ballpark, baby." Naturally, I drove him there while he told me the real
reason he called me was because he didn't want me leaving for the weekend
without giving me some love to remember him by.

I was honest and told him I'd have loved doing that a third time if he was
'up' for it! He grinned, saying, "Yeah, I know you would 'cause I see that
look in your eyes. Keep your sexy eyes on the road!" and he leaned over to
rub my head and kiss my cheek near my lips. I felt his cum soaking all the
way through my sweatpants but I didn't care 'cause that was a near perfect
double-quick buddy fuck with my all-time second favorite buddy-sex buddy.

Other than that, the only other sex I had that week was Robby and me doing
our regular sexual overdrive thing, meaning we fucked at least twice a
day. Not on any kind of a schedule though... we just do 'it' whenever we
slip into an amorous mood or a horny one.

Anyway, that's the highlights of the week and now, right after class on
Thursday, we're at the apartment with Rob telling me, "Throw a few things
in a satchel, babe. I want us out of here in fifteen minutes. We gotta beat
the rush-hour traffic on Route 128." Gee, I like it when Robby takes charge
like that. That semi-bossy... 'I want us out of here in fifteen
minutes'. Yeah, I liked that so I say, "Right away, Rob." He looked over
and smirked at me 'cause he knew I was teasing, but I wasn't totally
teasing just him... I was teasing myself too. It's fun.

We beat the bulk of the traffic but the traffic on Route 128 is always a
ball-buster. Still, we were at the house ten minutes of five and then,
inside, we both get a hug and a kiss on the cheek from his mom, who says,
"It's so good you boys are here. I always take a big sigh of relief when
you're home." Robby mutters, "Yeah? It's not like we just got back from a
war zone."

Mrs. D. says her usual compliments, "My goodness you both look so healthy
and you're so good looking and, um, you're both just right... both of you."
I like the way she gets excited about seeing us. It also tells me I'm not
the only person on this planet who puts more stock in personal appearance
than I probably should. But then, Rob and I are a couple of good looking,
well groomed, preppy lads so, ya know, she's right. But seriously,
Mrs. Dickers is sincere and it's nice to be complimented... well, it is!

I'm soaking in the compliments while Rob's less impressed, as he goes,
"Yeah, whatever, mom... how's Dad? Is he any better?" She says, "His back
pain has become more manageable, more so each day. Reggie has been
wonderful! He's here now as a matter of fact." Robby frowns, asking, "Who's
Reggie?" and before his mom can tell him, Rob's like, "Oh, yeah, you mean
the nurse guy, right?" Mrs. D. says, "Oh my, he prefers being called a
physical therapist."

Then, right on cue, I see a short stocky man with extremely hairy arms,
about thirty-five years old and going prematurely bald, come into the
kitchen and say, "Oh, excuse me, Emily. Um," and he holds out his hand to
me, saying, "You must be Rob. I've been working on your dad and I'm pleased
to say I've been able to make some impressive progress reducing his back
pain." Jesus!

As I'm shaking hands with the guy, I'm nodding at Rob, saying, "Um, he's
Rob. I'm, ah, a friend of his." Robby holds out his hand and the short
stocky guy introduces himself again. Rob says, "Nice to meet ya, um, so ya
say my dad's making progress, huh?" Reggie tells Rob about taking Mr. D. to
a facility where he was given a cortisone shot of anti-inflammatory
medication and I don't quite get the other things he's saying, but another
day Reggie took Mr. D. for an ultrasound and electrical stimulation
treatment for soft tissue or, I don't know exactly. This guy is quite the
self-promoter though, I know that much. He tells us about the massage
therapy program he's developed, and then more esoteric blah, blah, blah...

I'm sure Robby didn't follow a lot of what Reggie was saying any better
than I did, so Rob asks, "Oh, um, when will Dad be up and around do you
think?" The man lists a few qualifiers regarding the uncertainty of this
type of injury... but, "Let me cautiously say, if I'm able to get the pain
continuing to reduce as it has been, and your dad continues with my heat
and massage therapy and follows the exercise program I've set up for him
he'll continue improving and, " more blah, blah, blah until Reggie finally
stops talking. I'm getting a fucking headache listening to this guy. We're
looking at him with expressions on our faces like... what the fuck?

Reggie spreads his Popeye-shaped hairy arms as though that explains
everything, very pleased with himself as Mrs. D. asks Rob, "Isn't this good
news?" Rob goes, "Um, I guess. So, when was it you said he'll be up and
around? I missed that part." Reggie says, "Oh, in a week or so." That's all
we wanted to know.

Okay, so Reggie is quite pleased with himself and he likes to talk about
his work, but a week or so does sound really good and Robby brightens up,
"Oh, a week or so... that's great! Thank you," Reggie shrugs modestly,
mumbling, "I do have a knack for miracle recoveries from back
injuries. That's what I've been told." Mrs. D. gushes, "We're so
appreciative, Reggie!" He goes, "It's what I do, Emily." Omigod, gag me
with a bedpan!

When Reggie sees he's not getting any more compliments, he says, "One last
thing, Emily, Robert would very much appreciate a cup of hot coffee and,
now that I've delivered that message, I'll bid you all a good day and be on
my way until I see you folks tonight at ten o'clock." He turns to Robby and
me, saying, "Nice meeting you boys," and he puts his coat on with
Mrs. D. gushing her thanks again. I think it's interesting that Reggie's
comfortable addressing Mr. and Mrs. Dickers by their first names. Wouldn't
it be a pisser if Reggie and Mrs. D. had a little something going on while
Mr. D. is doing Reggie's exercise program? Hee hee, no, it wouldn't, Dylan!

Robby watches the guy go out the door and then mutters, "What an asshole."
Mrs. D. goes, "Robert! Language!" He asks his mom, "How the hell did that
guy get dad out of bed to go for those treatments?" She shrugs, "I don't
know, Rob, but he did." Rob's like, "Was dad doing all his normal bitching
at this dude, um, that guy Reggie?" She says, "Oh, yes, but it doesn't
bother Reggie. He's wonderfully professional like that." Robby and I frown
at each other and then shrug because it's going pretty
well... surprisingly. With a bright expression on her face, Mrs. Dickers
goes, "So, can I get you boys something to eat?"

Obviously, Mrs. D. has been getting her sleep. She looks well-rested and
she's very cheerfully peppy. Hey, maybe Reggie is doing a little therapy
for Emily on the side. Haha, just kidding. She insists we have a slice of
the apple pie she baked this morning. We eat it with Cokes and it was
delicious, as well as, providing us extra energy for our visit with the
injured Mr. Dickers.

I follow Rob into the bedroom where Mr. D. is sitting up reading
something. His reading material is inside the company's dark blue report
binder so, obviously, it's a business report. The hospital bed is a big
disappointment for me. I was expecting something elaborate but it looks
like, well... it looks like any hospital bed I've seen in every hospital
I've ever been in.

Rob's dad puts down the report and goes, "Rob, is your mother making a
fresh pot of coffee down there? I asked for a simple cup of coffee twenty
minutes ago and that Goddamn Reggie was supposed to tell your mother!" Rob
says, "He did tell her," and then Rob looks at me, and I'm like, "Oh,
right, I'll go check," and Mr. D. says, "Thank you, Dylan, and it's nice to
see you, see you both." I start to say something about how I hope he's
feeling better or something, but he keeps talking, saying to Rob, "Take a
look at this bullshit," and he shakes the report he was reading. Rob goes
over to look at it, muttering, "Is that the Simca's report?"

Oh man, I'm glad to have an errand to run. It's not that Mr. Dickers is a
complete asshole all the time because he's not usually. I mean, obviously,
a normal person would have greeted Rob and me and maybe thanked us for
visiting, or whatever. Mr. D. though is used to being in charge and he's
very action-oriented. It's apparent he's uncomfortable and frustrated that
he's been helpless and unable to do his job very well from his bed and,
well he's used to being a boss, used to people doing things for him.

Anyway, I take a positive vibe away from that little exchange and it's
this: Mr. Dickers treats me like a family member which, granted, could be
considered rude behavior on his part. Still, getting familiar with this
family as I have, I know there was no offense intended by Mr. D. and none
taken by me. I've sort of enjoyed the times Mr. Dickers has taken an
interest in me by either scolding or yelling at me the way he does with
Rob... or complimenting me. It works both ways and the criticism make the
compliments more meaningful.

I've never had a male authority figure while growing up so, um, I like
it. Robby thinks I'm a brown-noser with his parents because I like saying
'Yes Sir' and 'Yes ma'am' to his dad and mom, and then doing what they
say. I picked up on that 'sir' and 'ma'am' habit from when I was in Georgia
with Ryan that summer. His parents sort of insisted on it. I'm pretty sure
it's a southern thing.

Come to think of it, never mind that I've had no male authority figure in
my life, there's been almost no parental authority in my life of any
kind. That's because there was no father figure and both moms were at work
most of the time. I mean, when Chubby and I were home after school the moms
were waitressing. What I'm saying is, I find it kind of a pleasant
experience having Mr. Dickers be that missing male authority figure for
me... Yes, Sir!... haha.

While growing up I suppose subconsciously I assigned the authority role to
my brother, and he did a masterful job of it too but I knew the
difference. Plus, rather than be an authority figure, Chubby much preferred
treating me like I'm special and spoiling me to ridiculous degrees. I
didn't realize he was doing that until I was in my later teens. Um, never
mind though... it's all kinda complicated.

When I walk into the kitchen Mrs. Dickers is on the phone, of course, and I
can see she hasn't started brewing coffee. She smiles when she sees me as
she's saying to whoever she's on the phone with her, "That's what I meant,
Beth, and I mean every time I see the boys walking in the door I'm
thinking... um, excuse me a second..." and, holding the phone against her
right, um, breast, she asks me, "Yes, dear, can I get you something?" I
mention the coffee Mr. Dickers asked for and she makes a 'face', saying,
"Oh, right! Darn it, I forgot," and she gets busy with a French roast
coffee maker as she hunches the phone between her ear and shoulder,
continuing her conversation.

Waiting, I consider playing with myself awkwardly standing here but get a
better idea and drift into the family room to have a seat while waiting for
the coffee to brew. It's fairly obvious Mrs. Dickers was telling the person
on the phone about Rob and me. What the hell did she mean by 'take her
breath away' though? Hmm, it probably was meant in a good way, right? Or
did she mean because we're boyfriends she gasps every time she sees us and
is reminded of that? No, I choose to believe my first thought.

Huh, I haven't had anything to worry about for a whole day so why don't I
start worrying about that? No, that's pure nonsense! She's been extremely
supportive of Rob and me and, no offense to Mrs. D. but I do not think
she's, um, clever enough to have fooled me for the last couple of
years. No, she's given Rob and me her blessings, so to speak. Yeah, I'll
need to come up with something else to worry about, like... what if I
somehow get stuck helping Mr. Dickers to the bathroom... by myself? Good,
God... think about something else!

It isn't very long before Mrs. D. is at the doorway of the family room
still talking on the phone while motioning for me to come in the
kitchen. Oh, obviously, the coffee's ready. She has it on a small tray
along with three macaroon cookies on a paper napkin. She smiles at me as
she listens to what Beth's saying and then she silently mouths to me,
`Thank you'. Nodding my head I then carefully pick up the tray wondering if
any coffee cup has ever, in the history of the world, been fuller than this
one. Carrying this tray over my head on my fingertips is out of the
question, so I carry it in two hands in front of me while staring at the
over-full cup of coffee as I try walking without slushing the coffee in the
saucer and all over the tray.

Going up the steps is a challenge but somehow I make it. Yes! I set the
tray next to Mr. Dickers on the bedside table and Robby says, "Whoa, Dylan!
Holy shit, how'd you get that up here without spilling a drop? Nice going!"
Mr. Dickers reaches over and clumsily spills an ounce of coffee on the
saucer without seeming to notice. He's holding both the saucer and cup as
he slurps the hot coffee... his long slurping sound causes a sharp object
to seemingly dig at the back of my head as I watch coffee dripping from the
saucer onto his pajama top. Then he takes a second slurp of coffee and it's
one of the longest slurps of too-hot coffee I've ever heard in my life. The
slurping sound continues for several hours, um, I mean several seconds at
least. It's so irritating it's like a razor cutting up my spine. Robby
looks at me and snickers. I snap at him, "What?" and he goes, "Oh,
nothing." He knows I hate slurping. We exchange smirks then as Mr. Dickers
goes, "Ahh, too hot, but I needed some caffeine."

Rob and I stay with his dad for another six hours. I mean, six minutes or
so and then Rob says, "Well, as you can see I'm here now, Dad, call me when
you need me." Mr. D. says, "I probably won't need to, son. That Goddamn
pain-in-the-ass Reggie is a miracle worker. The heat treatment and massage
have worked wonders, plus I'm taking medication," and he fumbles some pill
bottles from the bedside table as if he wants to show us what they
are. Walking backward toward the door, Rob and I are both nodding our
heads, muttering, "Good, that's good," and then we're out of the room with
Robby clumping down the steps and me right beside him. Yes, it's a wide
staircase. Robby says, "How about a drink, babe?" I go, "Sure!"

We go into the kitchen and it's kind of a shock not seeing Mrs. D. in
here. Robby's saying, "I guess Mom's food shopping," as he opens the door
on his dad's booze cabinet next to the refrigerator. Looking at the bottles
of liquor, he asks, "What'll it be, babe? Manhattan or a dry Tanqueray
martini... or a Tom Collins perhaps?" I'm like, "How about a gin and
tonic?" Rob looks at me, "I thought you hated tonic." I go, "It upset my
stomach once, but I'm willing to try it again. Manhattans and martinis are
ALL hard liquor and I'd like to avoid that, especially the martini. With a
gin and tonic or Tom Collins at least there's something cutting the
liquor." Robby mutters, "I forget what goes in a Tom Collins," and he picks
up the dark green bottle of Tanqueray saying, mostly to himself, "I hope
mom has limes."

Getting two tall cocktail glasses off the shelf above the liquor bottles,
Rob says, "In the cellar, babe, there are cans of sodas, seltzers, and
tonic. Run down and bring up a few cans of tonic." That's the perfect kind
of bossiness! It's real life and to the point. It's not phony bullshit
like... would you mind going down cellar... or ... do me a favor and go
down cellar to get... No, it's right out front... go down and get what I
want. It's for both of us anyhow, and Rob's doing everything else so why
not do my part? It gives my dick a nice little buzz too when I say, "Yes,
Rob," and get right to it. Heh heh, I'm going down the cellar steps with a
grin on my face. Yeah, it usually goes over Robby's head, meaning the
self-imposed little submissive mind games I play because I think it's
fun... I said, 'Yes, Rob,' as though I'm in the Army obeying an order.

When I'm back upstairs with three cans of Schweppes tonic Robby's filling
the two glasses with clear ice cubes. They're the ice cubes Mrs. D. buys by
the bag at Stop & Shop. You can't get clear ice cubes in a home
freezer. There's a lime Rob's cut into wedges next to the glasses. He adds
a jigger of gin to each glass. A jigger is an ounce and a quarter, and then
he picks up a bottle of Rose's Sweetened Lime Juice, saying, "I read online
that adding a splash of this makes for a superior gin and tonic." I go, "By
all means then, add it," and he does. He fills the glasses with the tonic
and then stirs the drinks.

As we pick up our drinks Rob's mom comes in the back door with two plastic
bags of groceries, saying, "Oh, that looks good, Rob. Will you make one for
me, please?" We're holding our drinks as Rob goes, "Um, maybe I will. Are
you planning on cooking dinner tonight?" She goes, "Of course I'm cooking
dinner. Last week we were in uncertain times for a couple of days, but
we've been back on a normal dinner schedule since Reggie showed up." Robby
goes, "Okay, you passed the first part of the test. Now, for part two to
win the prize of a gin and tonic... are you making something Dylan likes
for dinner?" I'm like, "ROB! Don't say..." and as he snickers, his mom
says, "We're having lamb chops. Make the damn drink, dear!"

Robby and I make a 'face' at each other with him muttering, "I guess I've
been told." He taps his glass to mine and says, "To you, babe," and we take
a gulp. Not a bad drink although a far cry from a delicious one. I mean
delicious the way a root beer float is delicious. Cocktails are an entirely
different thing altogether. I say a cocktail is 'good' whenever I'm able to
drink it without hurling afterward. Rob makes his mom a drink and then nods
his head at the back door, saying, "Bring your drink, Dylan, we'll grab a
smoke in the pool house."

As soon as we walk inside the pool house I turn the space heater on because
it's only about fifty degrees outside. It's still light out at six o'clock
though, so winter is fading and spring is emerging. In other words, it's
typical weather for the first week of March in the northeastern part of
America and, weather-wise, things are definitely looking up for us.

We have a smoke with our gin and tonics as Rob outlines what my
responsibility will be during tomorrow's afternoon meeting. On a pad of
paper, he draws a rectangle as the conference table with ten little blocks
around it. The blocks represent the two of us and the eight managers who
are always at these meetings. He puts initials for him and me in the two
boxes squeezed together at one end of the conference table. The opposite
end of the table is blank 'cause that's where Mr. Dickers normally sits
when he isn't in a hospital bed. The other eight boxes, four on each side
of the table, get numbered one to eight and then Rob writes the manager's
name at the bottom of the page next to the person's box number. He mutters,
"They all sit in the same seat every meeting but you don't need to worry
about their names anyway."

Putting my cigarette butt out in one of the little metal ashtrays, I
mumble, "That's good. I suck at remembering names." Rob explains I should
take notes only when a manager says something that causes debate, but I
shouldn't be obvious doing it. Pretend I'm doodling or something. Also,
note how the managers appear to respond to each of the meeting's
topics. Who looks bored or doesn't participate or gets sarcastic or jokes
around... whatever seems slightly odd? And I'll use the number Rob assigned
each manager when writing my impressions. This all sounds like horseshit to
me, but what do I know about business?

We'll both be taking notes on anything we feel like, I guess, is our
impressions of how the managers are reacting to the information. I don't
need to worry about understanding the technical stuff. How could I
understand it? I'll jot down the conversation topic and then, for example,
write down: #2 doesn't like it, or #3 looks disgusted, or #6 looks bored
with this topic... and so forth. Write down whatever I want and then
afterward Rob and I will get together and combine our notes and discard
anything I wrote down that misses the point. This helps Rob because he
doesn't need to concentrate for the entire four to five hours. He can take
a break while still sitting there appearing to be taking notes, and at
other times I'll do the same.

We talk about it until Robby says, "Ya know what, babe?" and he puts his
empty glass on the low table in front of our club chairs and then stands
up. I look up at him with a quizzical expression and he holds his hand down
to me. I take his hand and he pulls me up, mumbling, "Come with me." I
follow him to the bar that's at the other side of the room. He reaches over
the bar and, oh yeah, that's where we hide the lube. Grinning at me, Robby
says, "I'm gonna fuck you right now. No way can I wait until after dinner."
I nod my head trying to switch gears from concentrating on his instructions
for the meeting, feeling nervous about that, to our impending sex. My dick
is ahead of my brain as it's already started getting firm. It liked the way
Robby just decided we're doing this.

He's got an almost empty old tube of KY Jelly in his left hand now, still
holding my hand with his right. He nods toward the little so-called powder
room at the back and, still holding hands, we go inside with Rob kicking
the door closed behind us. It's a small room but this is a much more
realistic approach to fucking in the pool house than that time Danny
fucking me right out in the middle of the room. Mrs. D. wasn't coming out
to the pool house that time or this time either because she never comes out
here, but in this little bathroom, I feel more secure. It just feels
better.

Without needing to be told, I pull my pants down and Robby, looking
serious, mutters, "Thanks," and then his lube-filled finger goes in my ass
with me holding onto the sink. I'm excited because this feels like we're
getting away with something. Sort of the way it felt whenever we fucked in
here way back when we were teenagers.

Robby takes his finger out and strokes his cock grunting and then saying,
"You don't mind that I got too horny to wait, do ya, babe?" I snort out a
laugh, muttering, "Are you serious?" He chuckles, "Yeah, dumb question,
huh? It's just, I don't know... the way you were paying such close
attention to what I was telling you and you were looking so serious about,
um, business matters and well, it got me hot for you... aroused beyond
belief. You were so serious I got this great humongous feeling of
overwhelming love for everything about you. It just came over me and I
wanted to have sex with you... and, haha, here we are."

After only three or four strokes on his ridiculously fat penis it's plenty
hard enough to do the job. I assume that from briefly looking back and
glancing at it, and then I'm sure of it when I feel the fat swollen hard
head spreading my asshole open. Rob's making a quiet, "Mmmmm." sound as he
slowly pushes the head of his boner against my asshole. It starts
stretching my anus wider and wider creating pain, but it's funny how the
pain mixes with pleasure and gets me conjuring up in my brain how
dominantly Rob is satisfying his arousal. He messed up the dominant part a
little by asking if I was up for 'it'. If only he'd left that out, ya know,
like he didn't care if I was up for 'it' or not... that would have been
super dominant! That would have been more the way Danny was Tuesday. But
forget the spanking part 'cause Rob never actually does what you could call
a spanking. Yeah, he'll smack my ass without giving it much thought, Whack,
and that's it.

I guess I'm still yearning for a ridiculously stupendous dominant sexual
experience like the kind I experienced kinda regularly in the old days. Ya
know, if I could experience that one more time with someone truly dominant,
and I mean so dominant there would be no need for me to manipulate facts in
my brain to complete the picture. Someone who knows I 'want it' but doesn't
especially care how I want 'it' because he's doing 'it' his way, but only
after he spanks my ass until I'm acceptably submissive and docile to him.

Heh heh, now I sound like Pony, or myself at an earlier age. Yeah, that's
how I was as a teenager. That's how I was in my early days and it was the
hottest sexy fun ever. The way fat Carl had me dominated was, Omigod,
forget about it! That'll never happen again. Huh, too bad he was such a
pig, but Willie could be very dominant and, Jesus, Ryan! It goes without
saying Ryan could be super dominant, but he was mostly that way only
freshman year. He went a little crazy after that and I never knew what to
expect. The exception was when I was in Georgia with him and, on and off,
he could pull off a truly dominant fuck experience. Other times I didn't
know what he was doing.

Thoughts like that will need to wait for another time however because
presently all my attention is demanded by the fat head at the end of Rob's
fat boner. The head is even fatter than the rest of his boner because it
slopes out from the neck before sloping back at the nose. The slightly
smaller nose opens my asshole up and as then the head gets wider and wider
stretching of my anus wider and wider until I'm holding my breath trying
not to screech out. I'm trying not to even groan at the pain because that
adversely affect Rob's pleasure. And, as I said, it feels good for me too,
and I mean even with the pain. Pain and pleasure...

The widest my asshole can possibly open just barely accommodates the last
half of the head and I finally give in and groan, "Aaaahhh." Robby murmurs,
"Sorry, babe," but keeps pushing and as the head slides tightly past my
sphincter the lips of my anus slide off the head to grip around the
slightly thinner neck. The lips snugly settle in just behind the head and
before the start of the fatter hard shaft.

Yeah, that's quite a penis on my lover boy! Sure, it's only a brief relief
having the head inside with the lips of my asshole gripping around the
smaller neck, only brief but a nice respite nonetheless. Robby lets out a
long exhale and goes, "Ooooh, mmm..." I assume he's taking a few seconds to
revel in the sensations coming off his cock and, yeah, there he goes... I
just felt him shuddering a little from the pleasure. Now his boner begins
moving forward with the fat shaft spreading my asshole until I'm again
opened up back there almost as wide as the big head. Rob's cock feels so
hard and so large I can't help but gasp out another groan. "Ow, aaaah," and
I shudder now too, but that shudder was from the sense I have of being
dominated by that fat boner... it's a good shudder.

Robby rubs his hands up my back and squeezes my shoulders but doesn't stop
pushing that big log of a cock up my ass. It's not that long of a trip... a
tad over four inches and the journey is completed in about ten
seconds. Robby lets out another moan, "Aaahhh, jeeesus," and then his hairy
groin nestles tightly against my buttocks and he humps against me, changing
his pleasure moan to a long quiet, "Mmmmmm," and then another hump against
my buttocks moving the fat log slightly as my prostate sparkles with
pleasure vibrations... I shudder again.

After a few deep breaths, Rob humps against my butt cheeks squeezing my
shoulders with both hands. I hear a gasping breathy exhale from him as he
presses harder against my ass, this time lifting his hips and I need to go
up on my toes as I lean over the sink with that familiar submissive trance
drifting completely over me, and that's followed by a moan of pleasure from
my throat, seemingly on its own, "Ooooh, ooooh, mmm," sounding a little
whiny there at the end. Yeah, us submissive pussies tend to whine a little
when our dominant tops act extra dominant, like lifting up with his cock
that's buried in his 'bottom's' ass. That hard boner dominantly insisting
the submissive pussy lifts up on his toes making a pathetic whiny
sound. Haha, that's the kind of shit I make up in my head.

Robby drops his hips for a second which allows me to be flat-footed and
then he humps hard against my buttocks and, with that stiff fat boner as
far up my ass as it's possible for Rob to get it, his hips lift again
making me go up on my toes and because I want to, I whimper with
submissiveness as a soaring band of pleasure from my rectum makes me shake
and then moan at the sexual pleasure, for real this time. If anyone doesn't
think a 'top' making his 'bottom' go up on his toes using just the boner up
the guy's ass isn't a purely a dominant move he is not paying attention.

This feels so good and is so far removed from the business stuff Rob was
telling me two minutes ago it boggles the mind... two different worlds
collide. And it hasn't been more than a minute from the first touch of his
cock at my asshole till right now, but that's enough time for my educated
rectum to adjust, expand, and accommodate Rob's fat boner. Yeah, the
pleasure boat is slowing pulling away from the dock...

Grabbing hold of my hips, Rob pulls his cock out as far as he dares and
then jams it right back up my ass. He follows that by beginning constant
hard thrusting in my ass. He gets right into fucking me fast and extra
hard. No sounds of males fucking this time because, while his jeans are
unbuttoned and unzipped, his boner is out through the fly of his boxer
shorts and his underpants material muffles the sounds of him slapping
against my buttocks. Nothing muffles the explosion of pleasure sensations
from nerve endings in my anus and prostate though. There's a blizzard of
pleasure swarming around my brain and I truly can't envision anyone
enjoying a guy's hard cock up his ass as much as I do, and when the 'guy'
with the hard cock is someone special to me the thrill of it all... well,
yeah, it's off the fucking charts!

It's a fast and hard and fabulous fuck. Two minutes of ecstasy and then the
highest form of ecstasy known to mankind bursts onto the scene...sexual
climax. I felt it sneaking into the picture during the second minute and
then it lingered there at the tipping point with my head almost exploding
for sixty seconds before the world ended and, "Eeeeiiii," and BOOM and,
"Eeeeiii!" again with sizzling unimaginable pleasure streaking all around
my groin from my ass to my nuts to my iron throbbing penis....whoa! I'm
flying in never-never land with brilliant colors and, "Eeeiiii," again as
another long stream of cum shoots from my impossibly hard boner to splash
off the front of the sink and spray my shaved groin with creamy wetness.

My blood pressure must have hit the sky causing this familiar dizziness
like I'm going to faint, that I'm sensing now. Yes, it was too soon of a
return from the mountain top of sexual pleasure, my climax bursting out
like a fireworks display, too soon returning to the reality of the rest of
the world. Yeah, I always return too quickly even from an awesome climax
like that one. I'm leaning over the sink breathing deeply as Robby pulls
his cock out and smacks my ass. Ha, it's apparently impossible for any
'top' to resist smacking the ass of the guy he just fucked. It happens all
the time to me and I mean going way back when basically strangers were
fucking me. Oh God though, that fuck felt so good!

I straighten up slowly still feeling zipping after effects of that gigantic
climax. Turning around I see Robby with pink spots on each cheek as he
grins and takes a deep breath before saying, "Nice! Thanks, babe! I didn't
hurt you, did I?" While doing my unconscious habit of smelling the back of
my hand, I shake my head and then mumble, "No, it felt
fantastic... seriously." Then I take a big inhale... Omigod.

He mutters, "That's good," and he pulls a lot of toilet paper off the roll
next to the toilet and then reaches around me wiping at the cum that's
already drooling out of my ass. Wipe, wipe as he says, "I'm glad it didn't
hurt too much because, holy Christ, that felt fantastic!  I got so hot,
baby, so aroused. Fuck! Haha, but that was a super fast fuck though. I wish
it could have lasted longer." He drops a wad of toilet paper in the toilet
bowl and pulls off more toilet paper that he hands it to me. I hold it at
my asshole as Rob wipes his cock before putting it back in his shorts and
then buttoning up his jeans, saying, "Let's go inside and I'll make us
another G & T." I nod my head, still feeling kind of dreamy. That was
really special! I reach over to hug Robby. He looks at me with have a grin
and I say, "You're my man, Rob!" He chuckles and goes, "Yeah, I know. C'
mon, let's get that other drink."

We drink our second gin and tonic in the family room with me looking at Rob
and feeling well taken care of by him. I'm feeling all squishy with love
for Robby. Getting out of the armchair, I sit next to him on the
sofa. Leaning against him, he grins, asking, "Is this what you're looking
for, babe?" as he puts his arm across my shoulders, adding, "Feeling good
now, are ya?" I nod and smile at him while truly feeling he's my man, for
real.

As I snuggle against him, he smirks, mumbling, "Okay, okay... we're gonna
make some slow love in bed tonight. I promise," and he gives me a
squeeze. Damn, I'm just in this gooey mood. I like being treated like his
baby, his lover, and I know he likes doing it too. Rob looks at me and
gives me another shoulder squeeze, saying, "We should get to bed pretty
early tonight. I get to feeling wicked amorous when my boyfriend shows how
much he loves and needs me and I see you're in that kind of mood. I love
when you're like this, Dylan-baby." Haha, oh fuck...

I ham it up by snuggling tighter and he says, "Seriously though, it's a
huge help having you here with me these next couple of days. I get tense
when I'm sort of representing dad at those work meetings but it helps to
have you with me. And, um, I hope you don't mind but I'll feel less nervous
if we get to the office wicked early tomorrow. Gives me time to have a
coffee and try relaxing." I nod my head but I wasn't expecting more talk
about work. I was hoping for a little more hugging and some compliments. I
was hoping he'd start telling me how fabulous I am. Haha, who wouldn't like
that? On the other hand, we are home for business reasons. That's actually
the only reason we're here. Yeah, I get that, but still...

I put my arms around his neck and hug him and then do a quick kiss on his
lips and then, hugging his head really hard before relaxing my arms and
saying, "Whatever you want, Rob. You can count on me." He goes, "I know
that, Dylan," and he rubs my head and kisses my forehead. Oh man, it's so
indescribably wonderful being loved by him. And fuck it if that's too
corny! I continue snuggling against him with Rob apparently totally
comfortable with it. That's only noteworthy because we're here in his
family room and a year ago I wouldn't dream of us cuddling on this
sofa... not with his parents in the house.

Rubbing the back of my fingers against Robby's cheek, I smirk, saying,
"Nice clean shave ya got here. sailor," and he goes, "Yeah, I'm intimidated
by my boss. He insists on clean-shaven managers... not that I'm a manager
yet." I don't know, but I feel like I want to crawl into Robby's skin and
be part of him. Seriously, I wish I could be more like him. I really do
admire him and, fuck... it helps that he's so handsome too.

I've got this ginormous feeling of love and admiration for him right
now. It has something to do with the way he instigated that unexpected hot
sex in the pool house, but it's more than that. I put my lips on his ear
and whisper, "Can we do it again now in our bedroom, pleeeease?" He grins
and hugs me as tight as I'm hugging him, then he murmurs, "I can't say 'no'
to you," and then he yells, literally yells, "How long until dinner, mom?"
She steps to the entrance of the family room and says, "A half hour or so
and I want you boys to help Dad downstairs so he can eat with us." I'm
peeking at her over the back of the sofa and she seems totally blasé
about Rob and me almost on top of one another. 0

Robby isn't looking back at her as he uses his fingers rubbing my short
bangs over to the side, muttering, "Bring dad down, huh? That'll be a fun
effin' time," and then he yells, "Yeah, okay mom, we'll get him down for
dinner." She says, "Thank you," and goes back in the kitchen. I squeeze my
arms around Robby's head, murmuring, "Are we going upstairs now?" He goes,
"Yep, 'c' mon... I'm gonna take care of you."

Omigod, I've got another boner in my pants as we're going upstairs, Robby's
arm across my shoulders hugging me against his side as he's whispering, "I
love that you suggested this, Dylan." Oh man, I want another feel of Rob's
hard cock up inside me... I really do! I don't know what gets into me, I
really don't... haha. I've searched online trying to find validation of my
theory that guys have 'periods', like females. No, I don't mean actual
menstrual cycles but cycles of extra heat for sexual activity. Doesn't that
happen with every other mammal on earth? Or most of them anyway. There are
times when I'm even hotter to trot that my normal over-sexed frame of
mind. Plus, the way Robby insisted we fuck a half hour ago turned me on
awesomely and I can't get enough of him when he's in-charge like that.

With Rob's arm still across my shoulders, we fall on the bed and then make
out for ten minutes. A sexy hot make out as if we haven't had sex for
months. Rob's mostly on top of me trying to eat my mouth until he pulls
down my pants and then, with our pants at our knees, me on my stomach, Rob
fucks me fast and hard, really hard as though he can't stop himself. This
time we go seven or eight minutes before both our furnaces light-up and we
have great climaxes again. Omigod that felt good! Not much cum involved,
but it felt like it a lot coming out. I caught my cum in my hand to keep it
off the bedspread.

After gasping and breathing deeply for a few seconds, Robby pulls up my
pants as he's saying, "It probably won't leak through," meaning, of course,
his smaller amount of jism this second go-round isn't gonna be a
problem. I'm reaching over the side of the bed wiping the cum off my hand
on the throw rug, and then I roll over to get Robby in my arms and lie half
on him, murmuring, "Don't move," and I put my face against the side of his
and inhale how sexy he smells. We lie like this without talking for maybe
five minutes before Rob rolls me over on top of me with me on my back and
he quietly says, looking down at me, "I love how I've been feeling your
love coming back to me, well hell, I've been feeling it for the last nine
months or so and I can't tell you how good it makes me feel. We're gonna
have the best life together anybody has ever had." I say, "I know that,"
and then touch his face lightly, murmuring, "You have pretty eyes." He
goes, "Not as pretty as yours." We both make gagging sound then and laugh
because we're approaching our maudlin danger zone again.

We're still making goo-goo eyes at one another on the bed when his mom
calls us for dinner. After a quick clean up in the hall bathroom, we go in
his dad's bedroom to help him downstairs and discover we don't need to help
him. Mr. D. got down there by himself. Good omen!

The dinner is good too, the food that is. The conversation is one hundred
percent Dickers & Son business with Mr. Dickers seemingly knowing a lot
about what's going on even though he hasn't been in the office for ten
days. I do a lot of eating and not a lot of talking. Robby tells his dad
what our plans are for note taking at tomorrow's meeting and I gotta
believe Mr. Dickers is probably still experiencing discomfort from his back
as the reason he tactlessly says to me, "I don't want you opening your
mouth in that meeting, Dylan. Just do what Rob tells you." Mrs. Dickers
goes, "Robert! Don't you dare talk to him that way! He's giving up his
weekend to help us out." Mr. D. goes, "He's helping his boyfriend out," and
he points at me, but with a grin on his face this time, saying, "Not a word
out of you in the meeting!"

Robby goes, "We got it the first time, dad!" and his father goes, "Yeah,
well... and, yes, I want to thank you very much for helping. Both you
boys," and then, looking at his wife, he asks, "Was that okay, Em?" She
goes, "Don't you dare talk to that darling boy that way again," but she's
grinning now too. They're all grinning. What am I missing here? Are they
making fun of me? Robby goes, "Don't get that look on your face, babe, we
all love you." His dad says, "That's right, son. Ya can't have thin skin in
this family." Mrs. D. goes, "That's for sure." Hmm, alright... I guess it's
alright.

After dinner, Rob and I have a cigarette in the pool house managing not to
fuck as we smoke. Rob goes over our approach for tomorrow's meeting one
more time, and I feel okay about it because he'll be there. It's not like
he's taking a break leaving me in the meeting with eight managers I don't
know, all of whom are going to be wondering what the fuck I'm doing there
in the first place. Robby told me he'll explain to the managers at the
beginning of the meeting that I'm just helping him collate some notes,
which is the same as not telling them anything.

Then, that night instead of having the lover's sex Robby talked about
earlier this afternoon, we cuddle in bed and fall asleep without sex. See
we don't do appointment sex, and we had a few good sexual interludes during
the day so going to sleep won out this night.

Friday morning Rob's all business. He showers and then while he's getting
dressed I shower. By the time I've done everything in the bathroom I need
to including shaving my pathetic skimpy beard, Rob's already in the
kitchen. He laid out a dark blue sports jacket, one of his, on the bed. I
guess it's for me. I'm wearing a pair of my newer pale-tan khakis, ones I
ironed back at the apartment and then because today is a regular Friday
workday at Dickers & Son, I put on a light blue dress shirt and a striped
tie, red and gray stripes. With loafers on my feet and Rob's sports jacket
on, I go downstairs clean-shaven, a recent haircut, and smelling just
barely of Rob's aftershave lotion. Nobody in their right mind would
complain about how I look!

In the kitchen, Robby looks up and smiles, saying, "You dress-up good,
babe." He's wearing a suit and tie. I'm like, "Should I wear a suit?" He
goes, "NO! You look great," and Mrs. Dickers says, "You look perfect,
Dylan," and she sets down a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and two pieces
of buttered toast that she'd cut into triangles. I sit down, saying, "Thank
you." Mrs. D. pours me a cup of coffee and puts the cup in front of
me. This is coffee from her French roast pot and I wish she'd use the
Keurig machine... this coffee tastes weak to me. Mr. D. is still sleeping.

We leave the house at seven-thirty. Robby's quiet as we drive to work and I
keep glancing at him as he drives because he's so fucking handsome and he
looks very professional in his dark gray suit, white dress shirt, and blue
tie. Unfortunately, his Framingham barbershop haircut already looks a
little ragged. Danny gives better haircuts than that one Robby got but he
has that preppy pompadour in front like Danny first combed for Rob a few
months ago and Rob's done his hair that way ever since.

Neither of us is wearing an overcoat so it's a cold walk from the parking
lot to the main office building. Inside Rob says, "Come with me, Dylan, and
I'll get a notebook for, um, the notes you'll be taking in the meeting." I
mutter, "And a pen." He looks at me, asking, "You didn't bring a pen with
you? Going to work without a pen?" I calmly say, "I know you're uptight,
but don't use that tone of voice with me, alright?" He makes a 'face' as I
go, "No, I didn't bring a fucking pen with me. I forgot... so sue me!" He
says, "Sorry," and we go to the office he shares with the real estate
guy. I forget his name, and I suppose the guy does other stuff for the
company besides real estate.

The so-called notebook Rob gets for me has a leather cover and there's a
pen in a slot at the inside binding. Rob apparently doesn't know that
because he gives me another pen. Then he says, "Okay, I need to meet with
Russ Trimbole for an hour or so to discuss something about a lease in
Westborough." I shrug and he grins, mumbling, "I'm trying to choose the
proper, um, tone of voice to ask you to please meet with Dottie. She's
expecting you and she has things for you to work on this morning. Then at
noon I'll get you and we'll have lunch together and then the meeting will
start promptly at one o'clock. It'll probably go on until six or maybe a
little later. Okay?" I go, "Yes, but your tone of voice when you said the
word 'Okay' was slipping into no-no territory again." He grins and then
looks behind him quickly and not seeing anyone walking by, he kisses my
lips and says, "Thank you for helping me with this, Dylan. I'll watch my
tone of voice."

I'm smiling, mumbling, "No problem," and we both walk out of Rob's office
heading to the stairs where Rob says, "I'm meeting Russ in the
cafeteria. Do you want to have a coffee or something with us before meeting
Dottie?" I go, "Nah, no thanks. See you at lunch," and he hurries down
toward the cafeteria. I don't need the experience of meeting whoever Russ
what's-his-name is. I do not want to make awkward early morning
conversation. No, thank you very much...

It's not even eight o'clock so I'm not surprised Dottie's not at her desk
when I get to the executive offices. Looking around, I shrug and then plop
down on the guest chair next to her desk. Hmm, I try anticipating what I'll
earn today. Well, no, it's not a matter of what I'll 'earn' so much as how
much I'll get paid... I can't imagine I'll actually 'earn' it. On the other
hand, I'm guessing it'll be a measly fifteen dollar an hour, so let's
see... fifteen dollars times at least eight hours is, um, a hundred and
twenty bucks. That's pretty good. It's not awesome, but it's worth the
trouble I'm going through today. Mostly though, I'm doing this because
Robby asked me to help him and the money is actually like icing on the
cake. I'd help him for nothing if that's what was necessary... luckily it's
not.

Ho hum, it takes a mature approach on my part not to snoop in that folder I
see at the edge of Dottie's desk. I say that because I see my last name
printed there in what I recognize as Dottie's ridiculous calligraphy-like
penmanship. Casually glancing at the ceiling, I'm looking for the hidden
cameras that seem obsequiously present everywhere nowadays recording
humanity's every move, I hear, "What are you looking for, handsome?" and it
startles me so much I jump up and turn around red-faced and, looking
guilty, I stammer, "Wha... um, huh? Hi, Dottie, I was, what'd you ask...?"

She chuckles as she drops a pile of computer printouts along with her big
purse on the desk, saying, "Well, good morning to you too," and I go, "I
wasn't looking at anything... um, good morning. I, that is, Rob wanted to
get here early, so..." She says, "Thank goodness it's Friday, huh?" Still
standing, I'm like, "Oh, well, yeah, I guess. You startled me..." She's got
this grinning expression on her face like she's having a good time at my
expense, but I'm getting my shit together now, and say, "I'm working
tomorrow too, so..." As if she cares.

She organizes stuff on her desk and then hangs her coat up. I don't believe
she's paid attention to anything I've said, and I hope she hasn't. I'm good
now though 'cause, as I said, I've got my shit together, got it together
enough to ask, "So, what do I do first?" She says, "First I need to make a
call to our affiliate in Philadelphia, right now as a matter of fact, and
I'm hoping you won't be offended if I don't want you hearing my
conversation. Also, I hope you won't take offense that I'm asking you to
get us large coffees from Starbucks. My treat." I'm like, "Starbucks? You
mean the one in the Natick Mall?" She grins really hard, and says, "Yes,
dear, that one. Do you know of another Starbucks closer than that one?"

Making a face, I go, "Well, not closer, no. It's just, um, the cafeteria
is, um..." and she says, "Yes, our cafeteria is much closer, but they make
terrible coffee. I usually stop at Starbucks on my way to work but it was
too crowded this morning and I just knew you'd be here early being the
eager beaver that you are, so I skipped Starbucks and now I'm hoping you'll
do me this favor. You can use my car, okay?" and she holds out a twenty
dollar bill, saying, "A venti dark roast, and tell her to leave room for
cream. You add the cream to mine and, of course, order whatever you want."
I'm like, "Don't you want sugar?" She goes, "I've stolen many sugar packets
from there and have them here in my desk so you don't need to concern
yourself with that," and she holds up a handful of small brown
packets. Huh, I've never seen sugar in brown packages like that.

Taking the twenty dollar bill she's holding out, I mutter, "Well, no
thanks, nothing for me. I hate Starbucks coffee, um, well I guess hate is
an inappropriate too-strong word in this..." She has the phone in her hand
as she interrupts, saying, "Whatever, get yourself a Dunkin' Donut coffee
then, or a soft drink, Dylan. I'm gonna be grumpy until I get my coffee,"
and she makes a shooing motion with her fingers as she sits at her desk and
starts dialing the phone.

Huh, I get my coat thinking, 'The fucking nerve! Sending me for coffees!'
Halfway down the hall, I remember I didn't get her car keys. Well, fuck!
Looking down the hall at her, I see she's talking on the phone so I'm not
going back there. Instead, I go the cafeteria figuring I'd much rather
interrupt Robby for the pickup's key than possibly overhear Dottie's super
secret conversation with some asshole in Philadelphia. I didn't know there
was an affiliate there. In the cafeteria I see there are a surprising
number of people here, but then the working world gets going around this
time I suppose... and it is after eight o'clock.

Robby's at a table talking to a large black man. The man has a shiny shaved
head and he's dipping a tea bag in a cup of hot water, dip, dip, dip. A
large man like that having a cup of tea? That doesn't seem to compute, but
there he is. I walk over as the large man laughs at something Rob said. He
has a deep rolling laugh that has a few people looking over and grinning as
though they're used to hearing that laugh. Robby sees me coming out of the
corner of his eye and turns in his chair, saying, "Hey, Dylan! Um, what are
you doing... um, what's up?" I tell him and he goes in his pocket for the
key device and, holding it, he explains to the big man, "This is my
roommate, Dylan Newman. He's helping me out today. Um, Dylan, say hello to
Russ Trimbole. He's our agent for rentals. That is, large excavation
rentals, big earth movers and the such, not real estate rentals, um, among
his too many other responsibilities, huh Russ?" Russ just grins and goes,
"I love my work, Rob." Yeah, talking to the owner's son, what else is he
going to say?

Russ holds out a hand as big as a catcher's mitt and we shake, my hand
almost getting lost in his. I half expect my hand to get crushed but Russ
is gentle, saying, "Nice to meet you, Dylan." There's something about the
way he gently holds my hand for a second too long while looking into my
eyes a second too long as well, plus the way he said, 'nice to meet
you'. Was it his tone of voice? I'm not sure but... was there a slight lisp
in one of those four words? It was something that got my gaydar going ding,
ding, ding.

Holy shit, wouldn't that be magical! Being dominantly fucked by this very
large well put together black man. He's handsome even with the mustache and
shaved head. Those are two grooming choices I dislike. Yeah, but I'll bet
it would feel sexy holding his bald head with both hands, my legs around
his waist as he fucked me a new asshole. I'd be like a twig compared to his
bulk. Omigod those huge hands of his would almost completely encircle my
waist as he gripped my hips and drove his ginormous hard black cock up my
pinkish/white hairless ass with me shuddering and moaning, 'Oh,
Mr. Trimbole, oooh aaah!' because he would NOT be gentle... not
Mr. Trimbole!

I hear Rob say, "Dylan!" and I go, "Huh?" and see him holding out his key
device for the pickup. Russ gives me a knowing 'look' with his big dark
eyes and he has a little smirking grin on his lips too. My cock shivers in
my shorts. I want to be fucked by this giant of a man so bad! Just
once... a side-sex dominant fuck I could think back on forever. He wouldn't
want me more than once anyway; I'd bet on that. To Russ, I'd be a tasty
little white appetizer before he'd be getting something much more macho and
manly to fuck for his main course. I just know it!

I'm smelling the back of my hand willing myself to break eye contact with
Mr. Trimbole. I manage to do that but not before he gives me a funny look
and another little devilish grin. After a deep breath and this entire
exchange took only five seconds, I take the key device from Robby, saying,
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Trimbole." Realizing I said that with the back of my
hand still against my nose, I blush and take my hand away. After doing a
fake cough, I mutter, "See you at lunch, Mr. Dickers, er, haha... I meant
Rob." Both Rob and the man laugh, as the guy says, "And I'm Russ,
Dylan. Mr. Trimbole is my father." His voice is so deep it makes my balls
tremble in their sack!

Backing away until I hit the table behind me, I turn around and then leave
with my dick feeling heavy and firm in my jockey shorts. In the hall
outside the cafeteria, I gasp and take another deep breath telling
myself... they didn't notice anything! They can't read my mind!' Then,
feeling shaky, I burst out the front door into the cool air that feels
refreshing! In the pickup, I scrunch my face at the vision I have of that
big, pleasant black man spanking me with those big hands, spanking me until
he makes me cry and then fucking me so hard my body jostling like I had
only the one bone in my whole body, me still shedding a tear or two from
the spanking. It wouldn't last long though... a minute maybe and I'd be
spurting cum from here to the moon. Omigod, I want that so bad!

In the Dunkin' Donut's drive-through line I've finally calmed down, and now
I'm trying to figure out why I lost my mind back there. I can't remember
the last time anything hit me that hard. Mr. Trimbole, er, Russ, looked to
be about thirty years old and his shaved head is normally a total turn-off
for me but for some reason, not Mr. Trimbole's shaved head. And deep voices
normally turn me off too... and then Mr. Trimbole must weigh two hundred
and fifty pounds and he's at least six-feet-five-inches tall... at
least. He's wearing an awesome looking suit though, one that looks
expensive and, well, he looked really sharp! He's not fat, Mr. Trimbole is
not fat, and why do I think of him as a 'mister' when Rob introduced him as
Russ and then Russ told me to call him Russ? What the fuck kind of a name
is Russ? Russel, right? Christ, I'll bet he isn't happy with his parents'
choice of a name for him.

I'm in a fog, when I hear, "Can I help you, PLEASE?" Huh? Oh, it's my turn
at the drive-through window. I don't remember driving up after each car in
front got their orders. I go, "Um, yes, no need for shouting. I'd like a
venti... NO! I meant a large regular coffee. Cream and sugar."

Motherfucker! I guess I haven't gotten get Mr. Trimbole off my mind
yet. After getting the change from the twenty dollar bill, I wait a mere
thirty seconds and here's my coffee. It won't be that simple at Starbucks!
Putting the large coffee in the cup holder, I drive to Starbucks. There's
no drive-through window here although there's is one at the Framingham
Starbucks, not that I've ever used it.

Inside Starbucks there's a line of six people, each one acting more
pretentious than the one before them. They phonily recite their order which
consists of two or three compound sentences, then they take out a second
mortgage on their house to pay for it. These Starbuck's customers people
cross racial lines, as well as, age barriers, occupations, and you name
it... all different types and here's their chance to be somebody
special. It's necessary to be pretentious in Starbucks. I can guess at
their occupations from what they're wearing. I'm guessing he's a truck
driver in front of me and then a school teacher in front of him, and that
dork there is an IT geek. They all get to pretend they're special
people... 'I'm getting Starbucks coffee... it's bitter and wicked expensive
but... LOOK AT ME! I'm in Starbucks! What assholes! Not that I care.

Yeah, many words are necessary for ordering Starbucks' coffees although my
order requires the fewest words I'm hearing from the other orders given to
the barista. Well, not the barista, the register dummy. I keep repeating
the words Dottie told me to say over in my mind... 'venti dark roast, leave
room for cream'. Oh, I need to pay first... yeah, pay and then you just
stay in line, asshole! Haha... that's what I imagine the young high school
drop-out working the registry is thinking when I pay. He looks like a
drop-out.

My order is easily the simplest one the smiling girl behind the elaborate
counter has heard this morning. She's the next person I need to deal with
after the cash register drop-out. This girl has a ring through her nose and
a unicorn tattooed on her neck. Not the most feminine girl I've ever
seen. I'm guessing she's twenty years old and she couldn't possibly be
happier about what I ordered. She appears thrilled as she asks my
name. That catches me off guard and I say, "Um, Dylan Newman," and she
goes, "Thank you, Danny," and then write 'Donny' on an empty cup. Airhead!
She has a very big friendly smile but apparently, there's very little going
on behind the smile. She not only got my name wrong but then either got the
incorrect name wrong again or, at the very least misspelled my incorrect
name. Oh, well, nobody's perfect.

I see others waiting in a group at the end of the line so I stand with them
and then my coffee order comes out before the other more complicated
ones. Okay, I called the girl an airhead and then I stupidly gave my whole
name not realizing they only want the first name. But, hey, I don't
normally buy Starbucks! Oh well, I'm waiting to hear my incorrect name
called but it still takes me a second to realize 'Donny' is it. The smiling
airhead is holding up a cup with a brown sleeve on it, I suppose to prevent
me from burning my fingers and suing the shit out of Starbucks.

Not being quite as big an airhead as the smiling girl, I recall my
instructions from Dottie and look at the choices for cream. There are a few
and I finally decide on the one that says 'half and half' assuming it's the
'half and half' I'm familiar with. In Starbucks, one can't be sure. I'm not
about to ask one of these pretentious people 'cause I don't care to be
sneered at and ridiculed by a pretentious substitute kindergarten
teacher. Not this morning anyway.

Okay, I get back in the pickup and put Dottie's coffee in the cup holder
next to mine and off I go thinking I should have bought one of Starbucks
pastry treats. While they're outlandishly expensive, it's not my
money. Dammit! The one good thing I got from that experience... it made me
stop thinking about Mr. Trimbole.

Parking the truck in the parking spot where I got it from, I'm carrying the
coffees inside and at the steps, not looking where I'm going, I run into
Robby and Mr. Trimbole. And I mean I literally run into them, BUMP! Well,
into Mr. Trimbole mostly. Nothing spills because both cups have lids but my
face collides with Mr. Trimbole's shoulder, the back of his shoulder
actually. Robby goes, "Oh! Easy there, Dylan," and he grabs my arm
steadying me as I'm muttering, "Sorry, I'm, I..." and Mr. Trimbole says in
his voice that's so deep it makes my eardrums rumble, "My fault for being
in your way, Dylan, haha." With my eardrums vibrating, I go, "No,
Mr. Trimbole, your shoulder, um, I mean that's not..." and as he grins at
me, his big right-hand rubs up against the back of my head and then lands
on top of my head and stays there. I feel like I'm nine years old as Robby
chuckles, mumbling, "What are you trying to say, Dylan?"

The huge black, bald man with the very deep voice smiles and chuckles. His
chuckle sounds like an idling motorboat engine, and then he goes, "It's
Russ... please, Dylan. You're making an old man out of me with that 'mister
Trimbole' stuff." I'm red-faced again as I go, "Huh?" and Robby asks, "Are
you all right, babe?" My face gets even redder now because, well, because
of everything, but topped off by Rob calling me 'babe'. Some people in the
company know about Robby and me, and from the 'look' on Mr. Trimbole's
face, he's one of them. His huge hand rubs down the back of my head exactly
the way he rubbed up it and now his huge hand grabs my shoulder and shakes
it gently as he's saying, "I wish I'd have thought to ask for one of those,
Mister Newman," and he points to the Starbucks cup as his laugh rumbles out
like rolling thunder.

Rob chuckles along with Mr. Trimbole, probably because he called me 'Mister
Newman'. Gee, he remembered my last name. I say to the big black man, "Um,
do you want this one? I'll go get another." He laughs again and Robby says,
"Good one, Dylan! Haha, I'll see you at lunch," and they start going up the
stairs. Oh, they thought I was joking. Good!

Christ, that was awkward! I go up the stairs behind them while pushing my
boner to the side and balancing the two coffees, holding them at the
narrower bottom of the cups and burning my fingers a little in the
process. Quickly taking one of the cups in my left hand I tighten my
stomach muscles feeling my boner throb. It's been years since I've been
this affected by someone sexually like I am this morning by Mr. Trimbole. I
stare at his wide back and bobbing buttocks under his suit coat as I follow
them up the stairs. He's large but moves like he weighs ten pounds. They go
into the second office on the left as I continue going all the way to the
end of the corridor.

My cock is still firm but not a boner now as I put Dottie's coffee and the
change from her twenty dollars on her desk. She's still on the phone but
raises her eyebrows and smiles at me. Forgetting what she said earlier
about not wanting me to hear her conversation, I sit in the guest chair
next to her desk and start to take the lid off my coffee. Before I can take
the lid off and, yes, I refuse to sip the coffee from that little hole in
the cup that most people peel open, Dottie says, "Sorry, Dylan, but would
you drink that, um, anywhere but here?" She smiles as she holds the phone,
a land-line phone, against her left tit like Mrs. D. did yesterday. I go,
"Oh, sorry," and get up to give her some privacy.

I go in the little closet-size room I worked in some months back and sit at
the table thinking about Mr. Trimbole. I can't imagine under what
circumstances I'll ever see him again and it's been quite a while, years
maybe, since anyone has interested me as much as he does so it'd be hot
seeing him again some time or place that... well, fantasy time!

In the dictionary under 'dominant sex partner for a one-time
trip-around-the-world-fuck of some skinny white submissive young guy', next
to that would be Mr. Trimbole's picture with that smirking 'I know what you
want' grin on his face and maybe a cell phone number for the very brave
submissive types like myself. Submissive to beat the band, but not a
pussy... ya know? I'd meet him for that 'one-timer' that neither of us
would ever mention to anyone as long as we live.

Deep into an incredibly hot fantasy about me and Mr. Trimbole, my cock
again becoming a six-inch long rock in my jockey shorts, I hear, "If you're
ready, we can get started now, Dylan. Bring your coffee." Huh? Looking up I
see Dottie holding a pile of papers, saying, "You know how to type, right?"
Frowning, as my hand under the table is pushing my stone boner to the side
and catching the head under the leg opening on the left of my jockey
shorts. I get up then and grab my coffee noticing I never even took the lid
off. I'm like, "Type? Whaddaya mean type?" My boner feels good and I've had
tons of experience since my early teen years hiding it, as I just did. It's
second nature to me by now.

I follow Dottie as she's saying, "I need you to log in this pile of numbers
and code words, um, there's a program that Carolyn will explain to
you. It's simple and foolproof and I'd normally have Rocksanne do this
except the managers want other printouts for tomorrow's meeting that she's
working on."  Someone is actually named Rocksanne? Dottie's still talking,
"Here at Dickers & Son, where no one can plan ahead two minutes, everything
needs to be done yesterday." What was that?

We go down to the first floor and into a room where there are four computer
set-ups and two of them have women in front of them although they're
talking to each other and not doing anything with the computers. They stop
talking when Dottie walks in and both turn to face their computer's
keyboard as Dottie asks, "Where's Carolyn?" The one with some red jelly at
the corner of her mouth from the jelly donut she's holding, says, "She
stepped out to the lady's room." Dottie taps her foot impatiently,
muttering, "We still start work at eight thirty here, right, Megan?" Jelly
mouth says, "Yeah, the last I heard, Dottie." Oh, Dottie's pissed that
nothing is happening here work-wise, and apparently the Carolyn person is
the supervisor or assistant president or whatever the fuck titles everyone
has nowadays, and she ain't here either.

This is all well and good for these people who know each other, but how
about me? Am I supposed to feel comfortable in what appears to be a
contentious situation with these women resenting and hating on the owner's
assistant because she's bitching at them? A large woman with a strong nose
comes in walking fast, saying, "Dottie! Oh, um, and is this the kid you
mentioned?" Dottie says, "He's not a kid, Carolyn. He's a senior at
college." She looks startled staring at me, mumbling, "You're kidding,
right?"

They get it settled and I get assigned a computer with Dottie telling me,
"Carolyn will show you what to do, Dylan," and she leaves. The three women,
none of whom are the Rocksanne lady who Dottie says is doing something
similar to what I'm supposed to do, and who I think I'd rather be working
with than these three, but whatever, it's fifteen dollars an hour. As soon
as Dottie left, the two ladies at the computer began talking to one another
again as the jelly lady finishes her donut. Carolyn is nice to me, saying,
"Don't mind Dottie, she's under a lot of pressure." The lady with the
donut, says, "We all are!" Well, she seems to be hiding the pressure she's
feeling pretty well, her and her friend.

Carolyn gives the jelly lady a hard stare. I think she's the one Dottie
called Megan who now repeats herself, "Well, we are under a lot of
pressure!" Whatever, I listen to Carolyn's instructions and quickly
determine this is a simple-minded project. The program tells me if I type
the wrong thing in the wrong space. Once I get in the flow though I start
typing fast 'cause this is mostly a mindless piece of cake! Ninety percent
of the information is in the form of numbers but, of the ten percent that
are letters, half are capitalized and half lower case so quite a challenge
to the intellect... duh!

Yeah, but the best part is I get into a groove when doing this kind of
repetitive activity and it passes the time very well. It requires just
barely enough concentration that I can't fantasize about me and
Mr. Trimbole, which is just as well because I'd probably bring on a
spontaneous ejaculation in my pants if I thought about him and me doing
'it' long enough. Maybe my sexual infatuation with Mr. Trimbole comes down
to me realizing I'm running out of time for one last mind-blasting
domination fuck. Just one more before I retire the desire entirely, and
settle for being content with my mind-enhanced versions of sub/dom sex with
Robby and my buddy-sex buddy, Danny. Both of them, especially Danny, do
have a little bit of a dominant attitude when 'topping'... and I like it
fine. Mr. Trimbole though... holy shit! That's if I haven't misread him
from the start.

And then Robby sticks his head in the doorway, saying, "Ready for lunch,
Dylan?" Wow, that's amazing! Looking quickly at my watch I see it's
five-of-twelve! That's awesome! Yeah, but I'll only have one page left when
I finish this one, so I go, "Can you give me two minutes?" Rob goes, "Of
course," and he talks with Carolyn, sounding very professional while doing
it.

I finish up and get Rob to wait while I print out everything and then take
the stack of printouts upstairs to Dottie. She goes, "Really? You finished
it all?" I nod and say, "It's been a pleasure, Dottie," and she goes,
"You're a good worker, Dylan." Robby says, "Dottie, um, dad wants me to
tell you to please call him when the figures come in for last month's
overtime." She nods her head and writes something on a notepad as I say,
"See ya next time, Dottie." She waves a hand and we walk down the hall with
me asking, "How'd everything go with you this morning Rob?" He nods, "Good,
it was good."

We eat at a sub shop on Chestnut Street sitting at a table looking out at
the sidewalk. As we eat, both of us getting Italian subs, Rob gets a call
on his cell phone and as he talks into it I look out the window at a fat
lady walking a short squatty dog... a bulldog, I think it's a bulldog. The
dog sniffs the little patch of dirt around the base of a tree. Trees are
planted every fifty feet or so, planted in a small batch of dirt between
the street and the sidewalk.

The fat lady stops right in front of this window while the dog expels an
enormous physics-defying dump right there and then sniffs it before looking
up at the lady as if to say, 'Take care of that', and then she does. She
has her hand in an inverted plastic bag and gets most of the pile of dog
shit in her fist and then pulls the top of the bag over it and goes off
carrying it as the dog strains on its leash. Actually, the dog is taking
the fat lady for a walk.

I'm laughing and as soon as Rob finishes his call, he asks, "What's so
funny?" I tell him and he mutters, "Oh God, that's gross!" Yeah, it
was. Done my sub, I'm wiping my mouth with a paper napkin, asking, "That
guy, Mr. Trimbole. What's his story?" Rob's still eating so he waits until
he's done swallowing and goes, "You mean Russ, um, whaddaya mean what's his
story?" I shrug, "He's a huge guy, huh? Has he worked for the company
long?" Rob goes, "Almost two years now. Dad hired him right out of
college." I'm fishing here, obviously, as I go, "Get outta here. He's only
twenty-four?" Robby's like, "Yep, although he does look older." I'm like,
"Is he a married man?" Robby shrugs again, "How the fuck would I know?
Probably not though. Not too many guys are married at that age." Hmm,
except Rob wants us to marry at twenty-two.

On the way back to the office Robby reminds me of what I'm supposed to do
during the meeting. Meanwhile, I'm wondering if Mr. Trimbole will be in the
meeting. Wouldn't that be something? When all eight managers are seated,
Mr. Trimbole is not one of them. All eight managers or vice presidents or
whatever the fuck their titles are, sort of look at Robby. He stands up and
reads what I assume are notes from his dad. There's some note-taking by a
couple of managers and then Robby introduces me as his roommate at college
and then he chuckles, saying, "You may wonder what my roommate is doing
here. Well..." and he tells them what he told me he was going to say.

There are four women and four men interspersed on either side of the long
table. It's not a man, a woman, a man, a woman... not that kind of
thing. And it's not all women on one side and men or the other... they're
interspersed as I said. And, according to Rob, they always sit in the same
seats. When Rob's through explaining my presence here there's some
eye-rolling and that's my first note. I inconspicuously note that numbers
2,5, 6, and 7 seemed to roll their eyes or snort at Rob's explanation. And
then the meeting goes on for a few hours with me, surprisingly, having a
good time writing notes that might get some of these assholes in trouble.

It occurs to me during the first hour that there are no ex-Mensa members in
this management group, and they like to argue, or it seems that way to
me. It's like they never outgrew the arguing they did at pick-up games when
they were younger. I didn't realize all the arguing we did during the years
of playing in unorganized pick-up games as kids meant we'd eventually be
sitting in meetings still arguing as adults.

Three of the managers make presentations and I note their numbers, meaning
where they're sitting in the numbered blocks Rob drew-up for me. And I
identify early on who the biggest assholes are. The ones that just seem to
enjoy disagreeing with whatever conclusions the presenters come up with and
two of the women seem to be the most aggressive in the
group... unnecessarily aggressive as if they're trying to prove
something. Also, by the third hour I've picked out who hates
who... rivalries or something. None of these people are very physically
attractive but none of them are especially ugly either. Nothing unusual
there although one husky guy sweats a ridiculous amount.

No one mentions me or seems to know I'm here after the first fifteen
minutes of sneaking looks at me. They get wound-up in protecting their
point of view and quite often one of them will say, "I want that recorded,
Rob. Did you get what Blake said about early hiring?" Rob was super cool
each time. He'd lift his pen and say, "Yes. I noted it, Bob," or
whoever. It went on like that and, as I said, I enjoyed myself. Of course,
I had no responsibilities and couldn't care less who won the arguments,
although often it was hard to tell who won anyhow. I have lots of doodles
along with my notes and it'll be a blast showing everything to Robby.

A tall guy who looked a little like Abraham Lincoln finally said, "We're
just rehashing what we decided two hours ago," and then he goes, "Rob?"
like he needed Rob's okay to call the meeting off. Robby stands up and
said, "Does anybody have anything else they want to say tonight?" and
before anyone can say anything, he adds, "Okay, then. Thanks! Nick, you're
right, we're wasting time. See you all at nine tomorrow morning when we're
starting with Mylo's report." I hear one guy say to the group, "Gambol's
anyone?" and almost everyone muttered some affirmative response. Gambol's
is an upscale bar and restaurant in Framingham about two miles from the
office.

While driving home, I go, "I admit I don't know what I'm talking about, but
they don't seem an especially impressive group. That management group."
Robby goes, "Well, ya gotta remember four of them are from the business
when it was primarily only a lawn service and landscape design company plus
snow plowing in the winter. There was nothing like the Westborough project
or this new Falmouth thing back then. Dad's reluctant to let the old timers
go. And the meetings are much more organized when dad's there."

Yeah, I guess. Jeez, I hope my notes aren't too out of line. I goofed
around a little. Robby says, "We'll compare our notes and consolidate them
as soon as we get home. Ya know, before showing them to dad." I go, "Yeah,
sure." Jeez, it sounds like we'll be working for a few more hours. I guess
that's the business world, ya know? Huh, I wonder if Mr. Trimbole will be
working tomorrow? Probably not on a Saturday, and I'm not asking
Rob. That'd be awkward.

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

http://donate.nifty.org