Date: Fri, 12 Jul 2019 15:56:19 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter. 53

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 53

by Donny Mumford



It's spring break...WOOP-DE-DOO!

But seriously folks, this is a special one because it's the last spring
break of our lives and while we have no special plans to do anything, it's
very special just the same because when we return to Merrimack there are
only seven weeks until graduation. Others feel differently I'm sure, but I
personally have had all the college education I care for and I'm ready to
try something else. And, what the hell, 'something else' is eventually
unavoidable anyway, so let's go already! And yeah, I'm aware of the
advice... be careful what you wish for. I'll worry about that later.

Rob and I get home on this first official day of spring break and
immediately christened our bedroom with hot sex. And I mean within ten
minutes of getting home it's a fast fun fuck and then we're right back with
the mundane necessities of life. In this instance, putting away the stuff
we brought from college. We're not doing a lot of talking although we are
exchanging smirks and grins because we're pleased with ourselves. Two young
men in love and, okay, both probably oversexed but that's another reason
we're a good match.

I'm hanging up some 'dressier' clothes I probably won't need, but I brought
them home just in case. Before I can turn around after hanging clothes in
the closet Robby has his arms around me from behind. He murmurs, "I don't
think I tell you often enough how much you mean to me, Dylan. You're the
most important part of my life. You know that, right?" Leaning my head back
against his shoulder, I murmur, "Yes, I know, Robby. And, um, don't ever
think I don't love you back just as much. And, no matter what you think you
know, I assure you there is no one in this world who could replace you in
my heart or in my life. That's the God's honest truth and there isn't an
ounce of doubt in my mind about that."

He nestles his face at the side of my neck kissing me there, then saying,
"I couldn't live without smelling your sweet natural scent. You smell so
fucking sexy, and brand new, and special!" Turning around in his arms, I
put my arms around him, saying very seriously, "Do you believe what I just
said?" He looks into my eyes and nods his head, murmuring, "Yes, I do," and
we hug for a minute before letting go of one another. Robby tries to make a
joke out of that serious little interlude by forcing a little snicker and
saying, "Good talk, babe!" I nod my head and Robby grins, adding, "Whew, is
it hot in here or what?" I chuckle and mumble, "Well, you're sexy hot, if
that's what you mean."

I'm guessing Robby felt he needed to say that stuff about how much I mean
to him because he saw Danny and me at the front door of Danny's house
twenty minutes ago maybe a tad too intimate. I was helping Danny with the
stuff he brought home and it's not like we kissed or anything but I suppose
from our body language it was obvious we're more than just friends. Anyway,
that's why I said what I said to Robby, and I meant it too.

But after saying that, there's no use lying to myself any longer. It's not
about me having a crush on Danny anymore, I'm kinda in love with him more
than having a crush on him. Actually, I'm starting to think I love him more
than he loves me. Haha, and that's ironic because he been saying he's in
love with me for like six months now while I've mostly tried discouraging
him from verbally expressing that, and at the same time physically
encouraging him. Yeah, I suck! I'm human, okay?

It's not that I'm 'in love' with Danny the way I'm 'in love' with Robby. I
do love Danny though and cherish the time I'm with him and especially but
not exclusively when we're having sex. He's a sensuous lover and a very
convincing one too. Just thinking about him makes me feel gooey and squirmy
but I don't think I could go on living without Robby's love. I've never
doubted his love for me and, obviously, I'm living happily with him and I
don't want that to ever end. Nothing could be truer than that and yet I
love Danny too even though we're not together except for a few hours a
week.

What am I to make of all this? For one thing, I know I'm with the right
lover in Robby, although knowing that doesn't resolve my
Danny-problem. I've thought about it a lot lately and I think it's part
infatuation. Danny infatuates me because of the ways he's different from
Robby... the confident and almost reckless way Danny does everything, and
then there's the sexual variety aspect of having sex with him too. I used
to have a lot of sexual variety in my life but it's almost nonexistent
now. And Danny's very physically attractive and maybe it's an ego thing,
but having two boys like Danny and Robby in love with me is flattering and
that's an understatement.

Hey, who the fuck knows why anyone falls in love? So why would I know? It's
not exactly a new thing for me to have a love in my heart for two guys at
the same time, or think I do anyhow. I mean, I've temporarily thought I was
in love with other guys while I was in love with Robby. Danny's different
though because I'm older now and Danny's more convincing than the
others. So, yeah, it's a problem for sure, but it's not a problem for right
now. This week I'm gonna focus exclusively on my man Robby and do my best
to enjoy our time away from college.

When we've finished putting our stuff away it's too late Saturday afternoon
to do anything so Rob and I stay in goofing off in the pool house shooting
darts and smoking. Darts is actually something Rob and I are competitively
equal at because the dart board wasn't a pool house addition until I was
living here and, therefore, we've had the same exposure to it. By that I
mean, we've both hardly ever used the dart board so we're equally bad at
shooting darts or playing darts... or however you say that. I can't think
of another activity that's remotely sports-related where I'm sort of equal
with Rob because he has God-given superior eye/hand coordination that puts
me at a disadvantage, me being normal in that regard.

Tired of sucking at darts we put them aside and lay around talking until I
remember we want to Google for a sunny vacation spot. We wanna find
someplace that's not a typical spring break destination, and then only for
a few days. Back inside the house, we discover Rob's dad is home from the
office. He's in the kitchen making a cocktail and when he sees us, he goes,
"Hey! Good to see you, boys. How's it going?" Wow, that's the most
enthusiastic greeting I can ever recall getting from Mr. Dickers.

Rob and I tell his dad we're doing good and Mr. D. says, "You both look
great. I like those haircuts, gentlemen!" I give Rob a glance and he snorts
out a laugh before saying, "Thanks, Dad, we aim to please. Don't we,
Dylan?" I go, "I'll say," and Mr. D. says to me, "You know what, Dylan? You
and I, and Rob too I suppose, need to sit down and have a serious
discussion about where we're going to put you in the company. I keep
thinking you and HR, that's human resources, son. You'd be the perfect fit
in that department. A good looking young man like you with your smarts and
personality, and that million dollar smile of yours. Perfect fit!"

Rob and I exchange another quick glance because it's obvious his dad has
had a few 'pops', a few cocktails before coming home. He did not come
straight home from the office. Robby says, "Your HR idea is 'effing
ridiculous, Dad. Think again... and how about making Dylan and I one of
those cocktails." His dad asks, "You want a vodka martini? I don't think
either of you will like it." My eyes get big because he couldn't be more
right about that. I tried a vodka martini once, it was served to me by
mistake and I couldn't finish it. It's odd how I can drink a gin martini if
I can't get out of drinking it, but not a vodka martini. Rob shrugs, "Okay,
forget that. How about Manhattans?"

His dad picks up his drink, saying, "I showed you how to make Manhattans,
Rob. You make them for you and your boyfriend," He starts to leave and then
stops to say, "Ya know, it's funny but I never had a Manhattan until I was
in my thirties. It's not normally a young man's drink, is it?" Rob goes,
"We're not talking cowboys and Indian days, dad. Hard liquor drinks are
popular with young guys nowadays." I don't know about that. Mostly it's
beer as far as I can tell from seeing what guys drink at college... shots
or beer, or both. Maybe shots are what Rob meant.

Mr. Dickers points at me, apparently done with the booze discussion, and
says, "We need to talk soon, son." I go, "Yes, Sir," and he pats my
shoulder, smiling and saying, "That's exactly what I mean," and he goes off
in the direction of the family room. Robby hunches his shoulders snickering
because his dad is slightly inebriated I assume. Rob says, "Fucking human
resources, huh? That blows, but he's hammered so don't worry about it."
Then we hear Mrs. D. say, "Where's my drink, Robert?" Robby snickers again,
muttering, "Dad forgot to make Mom another drink." I smile, not at all sure
why I'm smiling. I've never seen Mr. Dickers act like this before so it's a
little unnerving. He's not falling down drunk or slurring his words or
anything like that, it's just... I don't know, unnerving to see him
slightly drunk.

And I'm sure when Mr. D. said, 'that's exactly what I mean' to me a minute
ago he was referring to me saying, 'Yes, Sir' to him. I suppose he somehow
equates that to me being a perfect match for a job in human resources. I
hope Robby's right that I don't need to worry about getting a job there
because, I don't know why exactly, but it sounds like a pussy position.

Rob's getting out a bottle of VO, saying, 'We're staying in tonight, right
babe?" I shrug, "Sure, okay," and he goes, "So we'll get a little high on
Manhattans, right?" Manhattans are okay but I can't help remembering Tom
Brooker saying he'd hold up on drinking Manhattans until he's forty years
old. Was it him who said that? Somebody our age said it and then
Mr. Dickers just said he never had a Manhattan until he was in his
thirties. Christ, what do I know? My mom never drank hard liquor at home
and my dad died four years before he was old enough to drink, so I have no
point of reference. Fuck it though, I'll drink Manhattans if I want to.

Rob's got our drinks ready as Mr. D. comes back to the kitchen carrying an
empty highball glass. I'm assuming it's Mrs. Dickers' glass unless
Mr. D. chugged his martini already. He mumbles, "I'm not sure where it's
written that women can't make cocktails." Robby hands me a Manhattan saying
to his dad, "It's your fault. You should have said something about that
when you first got married. Set out a set of rules as to how things are
gonna be and avoid misunderstandings later." His dad mutters, "Thank you,
Dr. Ruth," and we head for the stairs and the sanctuary of our bedroom. I'm
thinking maybe Robby was telling me that as well as his dad. Huh, a set of
rules. And, as we're going upstairs I sip some of my drink from the
overfilled glass, thinking, 'Yeah, but Robby always makes my drinks'. Hmm?

In our bedroom, Rob puts his drink on the desk and sits down in from of his
laptop, asking, "How should we word our Google search?" I'm like, "Forget
what I said back at college about luxury. Let's Google affordable vacation
spots down south." Rob goes, "Okay, we can start there." and he types it
in. Lots of choices appear, some in Alabama and other states like Texas
that are too far. I mean, the plane tickets alone would be too
expensive. Also, lots of hits for Georgia vacation spots but I get this
funny feeling in my balls recognizing some of the names of the Georgia
towns. Living in Georgia with Ryan that summer puts me off vacationing
there. I don't say anything but the one chance in a million I'd run into
Ryan is enough to eliminate that state. I don't know what would happen or
how I'd react if I saw Ryan. I often think of him and I miss him. I miss
the good Ryan, not the other one... I feel really sad for the other Ryan.

Rob's Googling also comes up with Seabrook Island, South Carolina, as well
as ten other places that we sort of turn our noses up at because of what we
read online making them seem foreign to us. We've never been to South
Carolina and we feel more comfortable looking at places in Florida where we
have been. Yeah, Florida is our best bet, but to be different we
concentrate on places located on the Gulf of Mexico, the gulf coast of
Florida.

On Florida's Gulf Coast there are some familiar names like Clearwater where
some major league baseball teams have spring training. And Clearwater is
just west of Tampa, which I've heard of and then there's Fort Myers where
the Red Sox built Jet Blue Park for their spring training. I go, "We could
go to a preseason Red Sox game, Robby!" He nods, "Interesting thought,
babe, very interesting."

With my hand on Rob's shoulder and me leaning over to see his laptop, Rob
scans through places like Saratoga, Naples, and then a place called Destin
that's known for its snow-white beaches. And, yeah, a couple of these
places actually have a boardwalk too. Plus there are lots of other towns
that probably have never even seen a college student on spring break. So,
it's pretty certain we've decided it will be Florida's Gulf Coast for our
getaway. Now it's a matter of deciding which place, and we haven't decided
that when Mrs. D. calls us to dinner.

Clumping loudly downstairs, Rob says, "After dinner let's do some detailed
searching about Fort Myers. The idea you had about us seeing one or two Red
Sox pre-season games sounds awesome, but we want beach time too. There
needs to be a good beach. A pool at our motel is one thing but there's
nothing like an ocean beach, ya know?" I nod, "Yeah, I agree," and as we're
walking into the dining room, he adds, "And if they have a boardwalk in
Fort Myers that would be the cherry on top!" It looks like we've already
decided it'll be Fort Myers... all that remains is figuring out the
details.

Mr. Dickers doesn't appear drunk at dinner. During the dinner conversation,
we find out he did have 'a few' cocktails with two of the company's vice
presidents before coming home. They were celebrating some good news, very
good news. Something excellent happened about a loan agreement with a
financial institution that has Mr. D. as gleeful as I've ever seen him, and
Mrs. D. too.

I'm happy for them although Rob is as clueless as I am about what the
specifics of this good news might be. Whatever, it makes for a jolly dinner
and it's another delicious one too. Mrs. Dickers' Italian veal scallopini
and spaghetti with a delicious spaghetti sauce hit the spot. First, we have
Caesar salad with white anchovies, one of which I accidentally ate. It was
hidden in a piece of Romaine lettuce and guess what? It was good! Haha! So,
I've discovered another food I can eat although it's one I'd have bet my
left nut I would hate.

For dessert, Mrs. D. baked a white cake with vanilla buttercream frosting
and as she's cutting a slice, she says, "I baked this especially for our
third son, Dylan." My face almost catches on fire I'm blushing so hard, but
I feel good at the same time. Plus, how'd she even know it's my favorite
cake? I managed to mutter, "Wow, thank you, Mrs. Dickers!" She serves it
with strawberry ice cream that's good although it detracted slightly from
my favorite cake. Either vanilla or chocolate ice cream would have been
better. I wisely decide not to mention that. I mean, she said 'our third
son' so I don't want her to think I'm ungrateful, and the strawberry ice
cream was Haagen-Dazs so it was okay.

Robby helps me get by the emotions of hearing her say that by muttering,
"Nice going, Mom. Twice you've managed to take Dylan to levels of
awkwardness he's heretofore never experienced and we've only been home
three hours." Mrs. D. says, "I'm sure I don't know what you are referring
to, Rob," and Mr. D. says, "Is there any more strawberry ice cream, Em?"

Haha, Mr. Dickers doesn't get involved too much in verbalizing affectionate
sentiments. I suppose some people feel it makes them vulnerable somehow to
express affection. On the plus side, he didn't appear to object to
Mrs. Dickers' calling me their third son. Instead, he focused on the more
important matter of getting more ice cream.

I sincerely thought it was very touching and it means a lot to me, and I
think to Robby too. It's not unheard of that parents find fault with their
child's choice of a life partner. Rob and I being gay make it potentially
even more complicated from a parent's point of view. I don't know what else
to think about it right now except I'm happy and grateful Mrs. D. thinks of
me that way. In any case, everyone here seems to agree there isn't anymore
that need be said about that and, consequently, my face never reached
451-degree Fahrenheit and therefore did not break out in flames. The funny
thing is I really would have liked a second piece of cake but it seemed too
'obvious' to ask for that after she said she made it for me. I've already
had unwarranted accusations of being a brown-noser to Rob's parents... the
accusations coming from the Dickers' oldest son.

A minute later Mr. Dickers received not only more strawberry ice cream but
another slice of cake while Robby's saying, "Next time. Mom, how about
making my favorite cake." His mom says, "Well, darling, you've never told
me what your favorite cake is." He goes, "Chocolate with cream cheese, um,
buttercream frosting or whatever it's called. Didn't I ever mention that?"
She shakes her head and goes, "No, you never did, but now I
know. Unfortunately, your father doesn't care for cream cheese frosting."
Mr. D. goes, "That's correct, I don't, but Dylan's cake is delicious." I
bite my bottom lip trying not to laugh and settle for doing two fake coughs
that make Robby laugh because he's onto my fake coughing.

After dinner, Rob and I watch a movie in our room lying on the bed and
goofing around with each other which eventually results in another sex
act. It's the normal kind, I mean for us gay types. My pants are down
barely below my buttocks and Rob's sex organ is hard and out through his
fly. No slapping sounds because Rob's pants muffle the sound but everything
else was perfect and I even caught my cum in my hand. The bedspread we
soiled earlier is still in the hamper and I didn't want the blanket in
there too. It was a really good fuck though, really good!

Sunday morning Mr. Dickers takes us out for brunch at a breakfast buffet
because he said Mrs. Dickers deserves a break. The buffet was in a Boston
hotel and was quite nice. On the way into Boston, Rob and I sit in the back
of his dad's car like we're little kids. Usually, whenever we're going to
the same place as Rob's parents we take the pickup, but today Rob said,
"Let's ride into town with my parents, babe. I don't like driving in
Boston." And I don't blame him! A recent countrywide survey named Boston
the worst city in American to drive in.

At the buffet, I see a chef making omelets to order with whatever you want
in it but I also see a large pan of Eggs Benedict. I get that with
excellent Hollandaise sauce plus very tender Canadian bacon and a great
English muffin under everything. Great home fries too, and overall the best
breakfast buffet I've experienced thus far in my life. I can't imagine a
better one. During breakfast, Mr. D. talks Rob into working tomorrow on a
special project he, Mr. Dickers, doesn't trust anyone else to do because it
involves manager's and VP's salaries and bonuses. Obviously, Mr. D. would
rather that information not be common knowledge. It's like a three-hour
project and Robby's like, "Do you mind, Dylan? You can sleep late tomorrow
and I should be home for lunch."

Oh sure, I'm going to say, 'NO, I absolutely refuse to allow you working
tomorrow'. So I go, "Of course I don't mind, jeez, why would you even ask?"
Mrs. Dickers isn't happy though, saying, "The boys are on a much-needed
college vacation, Robert. It's terrible of you to pressure Rob into
working." Mr. D. goes, "I didn't pressure him, did I, Rob?" Before Rob can
answer Mr. D. adds, "They'll both be working full time in a couple of
months anyway, and this is like a minor three-hour project that I need to
see the results of before our fiscal year begins April first." Their fiscal
year begins on April Fools' Day? Haha!

Anyway, it's settled that Rob's working a few hours at the office
tomorrow. We all go back to the buffet for another plate, even Mrs. Dickers
gets a second plate and she normally eats like a bird. She gets a plate of
fresh cut fruit. I get some of that too, but also another Eggs Benedict and
a few, well six actually, of the little cinnamon buns with icing. Back at
our table, we find fresh cups of coffee at each place. Damn, I'd like to
know how much this cost but, obviously, I'm not asking.

On the way back to the car I thank Mr. D. for the third time as Rob lights
a cigarette and his mom gives him a lecture about the evils of smoking
which Rob chuckles at. Omigod, I'd love a drag off that cigarette after the
great brunch but decide to just keep my mouth shut. Robby doesn't make a
big deal out of the brunch which is another example of how he and I grew up
in different circumstances. This wasn't something the Dickers do once a
month or anything like that, but it wasn't so rare that Rob's impressed by
it... not as much as I was anyway.

The weather is nice today, a rare nice day late in March. At the house, Rob
and I change clothes putting on shorts and then we drive to the outdoor
basketball courts at the high school to see if there are 'pick-up' games
going on today... almost a certainty. Normally I'd call Chubby to join us
but he went with a group of guys, girls too obviously, to the Dominican
Republic for spring break. A resort called Punta Cana offered an
all-inclusive package deal, whatever that means. Chub heard about a special
price being offered for groups of ten or more from one of the guys in his
dormitory so he and John Beverly joined up.

Chub tried to get me and Rob to join them but even with the group rate, it
was too expensive for me. Chub's spending all the extra money he made last
summer, extra over what I made is what I mean, on this trip and he said
he'd pay for my plane fare. It sounded exciting but neither Robby nor I
have passports so, ya know. Hell, I didn't know Chubby had a passport but
Tim, his mom's fiancé, got one for him over the Christmas holidays
because I guess he'll need it this summer for something to do with Chub's
future job with the Rider company. Anyway, Chub's at the Dominican Republic
as of Saturday night. He lives a more exciting life than I do.

There are only seven or so guys at the basketball courts when normally
there would be twice that number. We watch for a minute and then Robby
mumbles, "I guess most guys from college are at a spring vacation spot." I
go, "Maybe some of them went where Chub is," and Rob goes, "Jesus, can you
imagine that? If we had bigger balls we'd have gone too." I go, "It had
nothing to do with our balls, Rob. You didn't wanna go. I could tell."
We're sitting in the pickup looking at the basketball courts. He goes, "Me?
You didn't have the money and neither of us has a passport, which we should
definitely get by the way." I mutter, "I didn't think you wanted to go. I
made that up about the money." He mutters, "Well, I didn't want to spend
the money and I didn't want a seven-day drunk either." I shrug and to
change the conversation, he goes, "Jesus, I'm stuffed! Some brunch, huh?"

We get out of the truck and I'm like, "Are you saying you would have gone
to the Dominican resort?" He grins at me and goes, "No! I'm kidding
you. Seriously, it's not only the money, and we probably could have paid
extra to rush passports through, um, whatever that procedure is. But I
don't know, it seemed too, um, too much like something I'd want to do as a
sophomore or back when I'd just turned twenty-one or something." Huh? I
ask, "You mean it's too immature?" He goes, "No, not immature, not
exactly. Um, going to the Dominican seems too, um, college-student-like. Ya
know what I mean?" Yeah, he means it's immature to want to drink booze and
get drunk all week while whoring around. I drop it but if I had the money
and we had a passport maybe we would have gone. Fuck, we are still college
students!

After scrutinizing the guys on the courts we realize we don't know any of
them. They're all high school students by the looks of them, which makes us
feel old. Rob brought a basketball along so we shoot baskets and play
'horse' at the lower courts not wanting to intrude on the young kids'
games. It feels good working up a sweat while playing a game of one-on-one
and while Rob's a better basketball player than me, there's not a
significant difference. Certainly not like there is in ping pong where it's
all eye/hand coordination.

We're chilling out between games when two guys join us at the lower court
and the really tall one, the one with a full beard says, "It's not Rob
Dickers, is it?" He has a big smile on his face while Robby frowns,
mumbling, "Rick Nash?" saying that as a question. The guy says, "It's the
beard, huh?" Robby goes, "Omigod!" They do a guy hug and then Robby says,
"Jesus, Rick, ya look like a lumberjack," and Rick says, "And you look like
you've always looked." They chuckle and smack hands and then Rick points to
the guy with him, saying, "This good looking guy is my younger brother,
Bruce. Bruce this is my hero at high school, Rob Dickers, the best pitcher
in Framingham." Bruce shakes hands, muttering, "Good to meet you," and Rob
nods his head at me, saying, "That good looking guy there is my boyfriend
and college roommate, Dylan Newman."

Bruce, who's closer to me than his brother, shakes my hand, saying, "Nice
to meet you," but he looks confused like maybe he's thinking he heard Rob's
introduction wrong, and then Rick says, "Oh yeah, I heard you were queer
Dickers. Jesus, maybe I'd switch teams too if I knew anyone as good looking
as him," nodding his head at me, and then he adds, "Motherfucker, he's
better looking than my fiancé! Isn't he, Bruce?" Bruce goes, "Fuck,
I'm better looking than Denise," and they both have this big laugh. Rick
holds out his hand then so I shake hands, saying, "Nice to meet you and,
um, thanks, I think." Rick laughs again and gives my shoulders a
squeeze. He's at least six-feet-five. Rob says, "Dylan and I prefer the
word 'gay' but since you're so fucking big we'll go with 'queer' if you
insist." They laugh and Rob tells me, "Rick was the baseball team's
all-star first baseman... and all-state champ too."

Rick says, "And I just got cut from the Astro's double-A team." Rob goes,
"Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that, Rick." They talk about that and I kinda
stare at Rick 'cause he's the first person I've ever met who is actually a
professional athlete. Ya couldn't tell by looking at him. He looks kinda
overweight but whatever, he was in the minor leagues and that counts as
professional sports. I mean, if you're getting paid to play baseball,
you're a professional.

Robby is sort of bragging about Rick telling me that Rick got a hundred
thousand dollar signing bonus out of high school drafted by the Houston
Astros in the second round and how he's been moving up in the minor leagues
for three years. This would be his fourth year except they released him
because he fucked up his knee, had it operated on but it's still not
right. He has a sports agent who's trying to get another team to take a
chance on him, and Rick's optimistic about that. It's interesting to hear
about minor league stuff, plus some of the stories he tells us, as we're
all taking casual shots at the basket, are kinda fascinating and
funny. Some of what he tells us sounds a little like college life without
the textbooks or classes. A few of his stories sound like bullshit too, but
Rick has a good way of telling stories so that's okay.

We try playing a game of two-on-two but Rick is too tall and it's not a
fair game so we quit and the four of us go to the bar up the street. As I
said, Rick is a funny guy and he likes to talk, which is good because his
brother Bruce never says a word. I don't either. I'm doing what I always do
which is scrutinize new guys I meet. My conclusion about these two is that
neither brother is good looking or sexy. They're both bulky and big with
too much hair and then Rick's bushy beard, but mostly it's their body type
that doesn't interest me. Plus, they're obviously 'straight' anyway so
there's absolutely nothing there to hold my interest. Except, as I said,
Rick's entertaining.

Whatever, we stay a couple of hours drinking beer. No shots of
anything. Neither of the brothers has a college background so they haven't
been indoctrinated into the 'shot' drinking culture that seems to be
prevalent at Merrimack and maybe colleges in general. At five-thirty, I
nudge Rob and point at my watch. He nods and a few minutes later we're
finishing our beers and saying goodbye. After the beers, of course, the
goodbyes now require hugs as if we're all old friends.

Driving to the house, Rob says, "That was fun, huh?" I go, "Yeah, Rick is a
good storyteller." We're pleasantly buzzed from the four or five beers we
had and we're also looking forward to dinner since brunch was seven hours
ago. Rob says, "Are you sure you're okay with me working tomorrow morning,
babe?" I go, "Sure, but can you leave the pickup for me to use? I'll visit
my mom." We make arrangements that he'll go in to work with his dad and
then, as we normally work it, he'll text me when he's ready to leave and
I'll pick him up.

As Rob drives up his driveway, he goes, "Since you'll have the time
tomorrow, check out hotels and plane fares for Fort Myers. Oh, and make
sure there's a good beach there before doing the other things. If there
isn't a beach at Fort Myers, which I think there has to be, then try one of
the other spots on the Gulf and also we want a town that has a
boardwalk. Text me before making reservations though." I'm nodding my head
and grinning to myself because he doesn't realize I don't work for him
yet. He sounded very much like a boss giving instructions to his
administrative assistant. That's okay though... he'll be a great boss, just
not yet.

Sunday's dinner is a rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes, plus a vegetable
I've grown to like, broccoli with a cheese sauce. Every meal here is like
eating out at a restaurant. Then, for the first time since I moved in with
the Dickers, the four of us play Scrabble after dinner. It was Robby's idea
and when he suggested it I gave him a look like, 'Say what?' and he told
me, "The four of us always used to play. Dodger is the world's best speller
and he always won. I'm the world's second best speller so I'm gonna win
tonight." Competitive, anyone?

I'm surprised Mr. Dickers agreed to play but I learn more about this family
every day. Robby wins all three games we play and another thing I learn is
Mr. D. can't spell for shit, but he's a good sport about it. It's very
funny when he puts down his tiles spelling what he thinks is a word and we
look at him like, 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' Haha. He goes,
'What's wrong?" and say the word he thinks he spelled. Fuck, it's fun even
though I think Mr. D. is yanking our chain with some of the phonetic
spellings he's laying out there on the Scrabble board. Doing it for
entertainment purposes only. Anyway, Mr. Dickers is living proof ya don't
need to be able to spell in order to build a successful business... you
simply hire people who can spell and let them figure out what he writes
down.

Getting ready for bed, Rob and I aren't in the mood for sex so it isn't
mentioned. It's as if we can read each other's minds. As I've said before,
we don't do appointment sex or any set schedule. We do it when we both feel
like it, which is often, but if we don't especially feel like it, then
that's okay too. No tension whatsoever in either case. We cuddle together
going to sleep though. It's what we're comfortable doing and the rare times
I'm not sleeping with Robby, or anyone else, it's not a good night's sleep
for me.

This was a good night's sleep however and while Robby tries not to wake me
as he's getting up for work at six-thirty, I do wake up. Only for two
minutes before going back to sleep. Later, I feel his kiss and hear his
murmured, "I'll text you, Dylan... love you." I mumbled something and go
back to sleep again... until eight-thirty.

I took a shower before bed last night so I don't need to do that this
morning, although I need to do other things in the bathroom and then I
dress kinda nicely wearing pressed khakis with a beautiful leather belt,
one with a real silver buckle that I got from Mr. and Mrs. Dickers for
Christmas. Then I put on a nice Polo soccer-type pullover shirt which was
another gift from them. With loafers on my feet, I carry a cool lightweight
jacket that I bought for myself. My two-hundred dollar sunglasses, the same
ones Willie bought for me like five years ago are in the jacket pocket and
I'll put those on when I go outside. So, yeah, I dressed this way because
I'm visiting my mom and I want to look nice.

When having breakfast without Robby here, like this morning, it used to
feel extremely awkward. You know, just Mrs. Dickers and me. Well, it still
isn't a relaxed walk in the park even now after all these months, but it's
not a panic-inducing sweaty palms experience either. It also helps that
last night she said that sweet thing about me being their third son. Even
before that though, Rob's mom couldn't possibly have treated me nicer, so
I'm okay with this morning... just Mrs. D. and me. I almost feel
comfortable.

After saying good morning, I sit at my place at the table as Mrs. D. pours
a coffee for me while telling me about her women's club doing a pot luck
dinner Thursday night to benefit something or other and how someone name
Bee Travelli is never available to help with these events but she, Bee, is
the first one during the planning luncheons to criticize the plans the
ladies who will participate are making. I nod my head and say, "Oh, man,
yeah, that suck...um, that's annoying, huh?"

Mrs. D. is talking over her shoulder now while making my breakfast of fried
eggs, bacon, and toast. She's telling me about her taking up golf and how
Mr. D. isn't being as encouraging with that as she was hoping he'd be. She
rarely eats breakfast with any of us because she's cooking. When I can get
a word in, I ask, "Is there any of that marmalade left, Mrs. D.?" She says,
"I bought a new bottle, dear," and she goes and gets it from the
pantry. I'd never do that with my mom. I'd go to the pantry and get it
myself but I've been indoctrinated into the Dickers' household where
Mrs. D. waits on us men. It seems a very workable system they have here.

After breakfast, I brush my teeth again and then fuck around with my hair
trying to comb it over a little in front. Danny cut it so the only way it
looks right though is combed up in front, which is how he intended it to
be... and the way I end up doing it. I like how it looks but I liked the
other way better. I'm lucky to have awesome hair even if I do say so
myself. My hair is shiny blond and so dense none of my scalp shows even
though Danny cuts my crewcut short. Robby told me when my hair is cut short
like this it looks like I have a piece of shiny pale-gold cloth, like
velour on my head. He meant that as a compliment so I didn't waste much
time trying to picture what the fuck he means.

So, yeah, I texted mom yesterday and she promised to be awake by ten
o'clock at our condo, not Tom's condo. Tom is away on business so he won't
be at mom's condo either, not that I would have minded at all if he was
there. Sometimes he sleeps at our condo but mostly mom sleeps at his place.

As promised, Mom is up and dressed when I get there, plus she has pastries
and coffee for us. I'm not hungry but I like sweet things so I have no
problem eating three of the bakery pastries. She must have bought the
pastries yesterday at Pam's Bakery on Front Street 'cause these are not
store bought. There is a noticeable difference between Entenmann's, for
example, although Entenmann's are the best store-bought pastries
available. Still, there's nothing like bakery-shop pastries.

We have an awesome visit but only for an hour because Mom's working later
today and she takes a long time getting ready, plus Tris and mom always eat
lunch out on Mondays and God forbid anything gets in the way of that. An
hour's visit is just about right anyway. We exchanged information about
what's going on in our lives and I feel really good because everything is
as close to perfect in my mom's life as it could possibly be. It's like
unbelievably good and God bless Tom and his twin brother, Tim. All the
worries I've had about my mom's happiness over the years is totally
gone... no more worries about that.

Driving away I feel so good for my mom, and Tris too, and the twins... all
four of them. Omigod, it's so fantastic when things work out for the people
you love. It's, um, indescribable how comforting that is for me. Maybe that
sounds selfish or even narcissistic but, oh man, it makes me want to shout
with joy that my mom is so fucking happy and because I don't need to worry
about that anymore. I don't shout though for fear someone might hear me and
think I'm a nerd or call the cops on me for disturbing the peace.

So I'm in the pickup at a little after eleven o'clock wondering what I
should do now? Well, Rob expects to work until noon at least. Yeah, his
father said it was a three-hour job but Robby told me it'll take closer to
five hours. I hope it's only four hours because then I'll only have an hour
to kill before Rob's text that he's ready to go. Hmm, I could go back to
the house and do all that shit Rob wants me to do online about our getaway
to Florida. Yeah, I could do that, but I'm not going to because I don't
feel like it. Hope I don't get fired... heh heh.

I couldn't possibly eat anything more so stopping at the diner is out of
the question. The thought of another cup of coffee... um, no. That's not an
option either, and thank God I was smart enough to take a piss before
leaving the condo. Coffee goes through me faster than beer. Okay, for the
hell of it, I'll drive by Danny's house. Maybe he hasn't left for the
airport yet. He said he was flying out Monday... or did he? Well, I'll
drive by and see.

Center Street is the road in front of our condo but it's like fifty feet
below the condos. To get to it I drive down the alley behind our condo
building, take a right and drive down the hill and then take another right
and I'm on Center Street. Oh man, I look up at all the steps from the
Center Street sidewalk to the condos above, steps that Chubby and I went up
and down a couple of times a day for years. That's when we'd park our car
on the street and Center Street is where I caught the bus when I was taking
the bus to work that summer. Fucking memories galore around here for me.

The traffic is normally brisk on Center Street because it connects with
Route 9. Route 9 goes through the center of Natick first and then
Framingham where every kind of store you can think of, plus office parks,
gas stations, as well as various malls are on either side of the four-lane
road for miles going west. East on Route 9 goes to Wellesley and a few more
miles there's a connection with the Mass Pike if ya wanna go to Boston. I'm
heading west toward Framingham when I pass a van broken down at the side of
the road. Holy shit... I think I know that guy standing next to the van.

I'm going forty miles an hour so it was a fairly quick glance but it looked
like the motorcycle friend of Sonny's. That black guy I had lunch with at a
sub shop in Wellesley some months ago. Hmm, what the fuck was his name? Um,
muskrat or gerbil... some rodent. Not his real name, obviously, his
nickname.

Damn, should I circle back to check? Maybe I can help. Oh, it's
Squirrel... that's the kid's name. Anyway, maybe it wasn't him but I gotta
check. I make a right turn at the first traffic light and pull into
someone's driveway to turn around.  Going back the other way, I look hard
as I'm passing the van that's now on the other side of the divider
strip. Oh fuck, the kid turns his head and appears to look right at
me. Yep, it's him, it's Squirrel. I recognize him and ain't that a weird
coincidence!

Yeah, but why do I think I can help him? I don't know shit about cars and
it's most likely a flat tire and I've never changed a tire in my life. I
remember once, a lifetime ago, Willie and I had a flat tire. Haha, we were
walking along with Willie rolling the fucking tire to a gas station when he
goes, 'Oh, no!' and stops. Heh heh, he'd rolled the tire over a pile of dog
shit and when the dog shit came around his hand went 'splat' right in it!
Oh man! Jeez, I forget what we did after that. We went somewhere obviously,
but I can't remember where.

Well, that's neither here nor there. Yeah, I should try helping Sonny's
friend 'cause I think he recognized me when I drove by the second time and
Sonny will give me a load of crap if I ignore his buddy. Not only that
though, helping the kid is the right thing to do although I can't imagine
how I can help is problematic at best. Well, I'll turn around and see
what's up. After all, I did spend an hour or two with him and Sonny, plus I
gave the kid a haircut. Christ, we're old buddies almost. When was that?
Was it way back before Thanksgiving? Time is flying by. Yeah, I gave them
both haircuts and I remember Squirrel was a sweet kid.

At the next light, I turn around again and get heading back on his side of
the road and then up a mile or so I see him still standing next to his van
looking helpless. I slow down with my right turn signal on and roll onto
the breakdown lane and then right up behind his van. On the back of the
twin doors of the van, there's a phone number and a logo for 'O'Rielly's
Auto Parts' so it's not Squirrel's van. He must work for that place. As my
window is going down he walks over and stands dangerously close to the
speeding cars going by. He says, "I thought that was you, Dylan Newman. I
couldn't forget your face." How in the fuck did he remember my first AND
last names? I go, "Hi, Squirrel. Trouble?" He nods his head and, without
looking at me, he goes, "Yeah, I got trouble. The tire blew out. Can you
help me?" I go, "Did you call Sonny?" He goes, "Um, yeah, but Sonny's not
answering his cell phone."

Squirrel's maybe an inch or two shorter than me, and he looks even thinner
than I remember. Narrow shoulders that he hunched sitting in the kitchen
chair with his shirt off waiting for me to cut his silky hair. Great hair
too! It looked kinky like African type hair but it was more like silky
threads and millions of them. His hair color is dark brown, not black.

He's wearing a baseball type cap cutely on the back of his head that has an
O'Rielly's Auto Parts logo above the bill but I can see the sides of his
head and it appears he recently got a haircut so that's out of the
equation, not that I have time for that anyway. He's an average, um, kinda
nice looking kid but when he grins, and I've only seen his grin maybe
twice, but he's one cute motherfucker when his face brakes out in a grin!
Some guys change from average-looking to wicked cute the second they grin
or smile. Who knows why? It is what it is.

I'm like, "Sure, I'll help you. Um, but what's the exact problem... a flat
tire?" He nods his head looking slightly to the left of my face, sort of
over my left shoulder. Yeah, some guys find it difficult to look you in the
eyes when they're talking with you. I've read that that's one of the signs
of Asperger syndrome. Yeah, with this thing called Aspergers there's like
some sort of brain misfire as far as social interaction goes. It's like
social interchange is an extremely difficult aspect of life for those born
with Aspergers. It's an um, a handicap and there are other symptoms
obviously, but I can't remember them.

Other than that though, Asperger people are usually pretty smart. Most of
them learn how to fake being social in some sort of semblance of normalcy
and some famous people are supposed to have dealt with Asperger Syndrome,
which is a form of autism. Supposedly Mozart, Michelangelo, and Bill Gates,
to name three, have had Asperger Syndrome to deal with, and a there was a
list of twenty-five other well-known people, famous people, included in the
article I read. Considering the success those people achieved, obviously,
Aspergers doesn't negatively affect creativity. Still, for the average
'Joe' dealing with it, as maybe Squirrel is, it makes me sad to think about
because the challenges of life are difficult enough without adding that
burden to the shit storm of life... it's not fucking fair!

On the other hand, I'm no psychologist so maybe I'm totally wrong and
Squirrel is normally the life of the fucking party and he just doesn't like
me and, therefore, he refuses to look me in the eyes. Noooo, how could that
be? Heh heh. I mutter, "Flat tire huh. I'll give you and your flat tire a
lift to a gas station where they can fix it. That's the best I can do
because I've personally never changed a flat tire in my life, so..."

He holds up his right arm showing me he's wearing a cast and then he says,
while looking at the window frame, "I know how to change a tire but I can't
do it with one hand. I broke my wrist falling off my motorcycle last
week. Sonny would help me, but..." and I go, "He's not answering his
phone." He just told me that. He nods his head, "Yeah, he's not and I'm not
allowed to leave the van so could you try helping me change this fucked-up
flat tire?" I go, "Oh... balls!"

Shit, I've got nice clothes on! Puffing out my cheeks and then slowly
exhaling, I go, "Yeah, okay. Um, you can talk me through it, right?" He
nods and steps back so I can get out of the truck and I'm like, "Jesus
Christ, Squirrel, um, please slide over away from the traffic! The cars are
flying by you barely a foot away from your back and it's making me
nervous." He looks hurt. I guess he misconstrued that as criticism or
something, so I go, "I wouldn't want you to get hurt because, without you,
I'd have no idea what to do with that flat tire." He's looking at something
on the ground, or... I don't know, so I add, "This fucked up breakdown lane
is too narrow, huh?" I'm pretty sure me yelling at him isn't helping with
his socializing handicap.

He frowns but he does what I said and steps away from the
fifty-mile-an-hour traffic.  And, wow, I forgot about the kid's pretty
complexion, the skin on this kid and not just his face. I remember when he
was bare-chested for his haircut his skin across his shoulders and chest
was tight and wicked smooth and a pretty shade of creamy light brown. Jeez,
his wrists are so slim... I suppose he's small boned. Probably all the
bones in his body are bird-like so no wonder he broke his wrist falling off
a fuckin motorcycle. It's amazing that's all he broke. He's not wearing a
coat, just a work shirt with the auto supply logo over the pocket but the
shirt looks like it's three sizes too big for him. Christ, I want to help
this kid so bad! Haha, he brings out like a nurturing instinct in me
somehow.

As I'm getting out of the pickup one of the cars flying by blows its horn
and I go, "Fuck!" Christ, that almost gave me a heart attack. Naturally, I
flash my middle finger at the driver, screaming, "ASSHOLE!" Then, rubbing
my face, I walk over to Squirrel and pat his thin shoulder, saying, "Okay,
let's do this." He looks at my forehead, and says, "Thanks for helping
me. Sonny loves you... he says you're special." I mutter, "Yeah,
well... that's nice of him. Um, what do we do first?" He points to a tire
still bolted to the car, or however you say that. The back tire on the
passenger side is flat as a pancake. Thank God it's not on the other side
with the cars whizzing by. Squirrel says, "One-handed I managed to get the
spare tire and the jack out, but I cut my hand on something," and he holds
up his right hand that's bleeding quite a bit.

Oh man! I go, "Jesus! Is there a first aid kit in this piece of shit van?"
It's actually a normal van except it appears to be pretty old. He shakes
his head and stares at the hand he's holding toward me like... I need to
fix it. Or, maybe he's mesmerized at the blood dripping from the skin
between his thumb and index finger... drip, drip, drip forming a little
puddle of blood on the gravel. What the fuck?

Okay, I take my clean handkerchief out of my back pocket, saying, "We need
to put pressure on that cut to stop the bleeding." He says, "My real name
is Dontrell Johnson." I'm like, "What? Oh, okay, Dontrell, keep holding
your hand up, um, just like you're doing." I'm shaking out my handkerchief,
then folding it cattycorner to make it as long as possible. I wrap it
around his hand putting pressure on an inch long cut. Then, knotting the
ends, I mumble, "Make a fist to keep that wrap tight on the cut." He nods
his head making a small fist, as I mumble, "Good. That eventually will form
a clot and stop the bleeding." I walk over to the flat tire and then frown
at the stuff Squirrel has laid out next to it. Pointing at a complicated
looking apparatus, I'm like, "Is that thing the jack?"

He frowns again, muttering, "Well, yeah..." I go, "It doesn't look strong
enough to lift this truck, um, this van." The cars and trucks whizzing by
us are disconcerting because the van sways as they pass. And all the cars
and trucks are going way over the speed limit, and now a bus goes
by... Jesus Christ! Where's a cop when you need one, huh?

Squirrel doesn't appear to notice the traffic, as he says, "You fit this,"
and he hits a part of the jack with the toe of his boot, adding, "Under
here," and he kneels down pointing to where the jack goes. Ten minutes
later with the van unsteadily up on the skinny jack, I'm looking at my
skinned knuckles from taking the nuts off, or whatever they're
called... the things that were holding the tire on. As I suck on my
knuckle, Squirrel tries to pull the flat tire off with his cut hand, his
left wrist in a cast. Oh man, I grab the back of his shirt pulling him
back, saying, "I'll do that, buddy."

Holy shit... how about calling fucking road service, AAA, or something next
time! That's what I feel like saying as I'm pulling off the dirty old tire
and getting black tire crud on both hands and my jacket. Fuck!

The poor kid looks like he's in pain, saying, "I'm sorry you're getting
your clothes dirty, Dylan." I shrug, muttering, "Yeah, um, so I guess I
just put this spare tire on like the flat one was on... um, the same holes
fit those screws or whatever they are. Is that right?" He nods, "Yeah, the
worst part is over. Those lug nuts were really on tight." I go, "Huh, the
what?" He picks one up, mumbling, "This is a lug nut," and I go, "Oh, I
knew that. I didn't hear what you..." and I let that my voice fade out. Why
try explaining my ignorance of cars any further?

Fucking tires are a lot heavier than I thought. It's a struggle but I
finally match up the holes in the rim with the things sticking out of the
other thing and step back half expecting the tire to fall off. It doesn't
and Squirrel hands me a lug nut. I look at the dirty old thing, muttering,
"Thanks," I get on my knees again and start tightening the lug nut on the
bolt or whatever it's called that sticks out from that round thing.

It's not as easy as it should be and I'm exhausted by the time I've
tightened all the lug nuts. Standing up, I drop the thing, the tool I was
using... torque wrench is what Squirrel called it. Motioning at the tire
with my hand, I'm like, "How's that Dontrell? Is that it? " He goes, "Um,
yeah. I hope ya didn't strip the threads when you tightened that last lug
nut." I'm like, "What the fuck does that even mean? The tire is on, right?"
He shrugs as he mumbles, "Yes, thank you and, um, could you ratchet down
the, um, jack now? I mutter. "Oh, yeah, the wheel is still off the ground."
Of course, it is.

I do that and then toss the dirty flat tire in the back of the van along
with a couple of other dirty things and slam the twin doors. My hands are
filthy and I've got grease or dirt on a number of places fucking up my
dressed-up clothes, but I feel good about helping Squirrel. He seems
awkward now for a second and then he goes, "Ah'm pow'ful oblig'd for'n you
help'n a poor black boy such as ma'self, Sir." I chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah,
I remember that act of yours at the sub shop with Sonny," and he looks away
grinning. There it is... that cute grin! I chuckle again and squeeze his
skinny shoulder, saying, "Very funny routine, Squirrel." He says,
"Seriously though, thank you. I would have hated calling my boss asking for
help. I texted him I had a flat and told him I'd take care of it, but...."
I go, "And you did too!"

I can't wait to clean up. Auto mechanics, ugh! If this even qualifies as
mechanics, which I seriously doubt. I go, "Well, buddy, say 'hi' to Sonny
for me, okay?" He goes, "Um, I was wondering something since you're here
and Sonny sort of suggested something." I'm like, "Sonny? What'd he
suggest?" Squirrel looks at my left ear and goes, "Um, could you and I do
what you and Sonny do?" My eyes are blinking as I'm like, "What's that? Um,
you don't mean, do ya? Or do you mean a haircut, ah, and it looks like you
just got one." He shakes his head and looks at the cars flying by,
mumbling, "Ah, that is, I've been thinking of something else." I'm like,
"What is it?" and he blows out a long exhale and says, "Well, ya know, you
and Sonny, um, I mean the other thing is... well, I'd like to have a go at
fucking you... if you don't mind."

Holy shit, that'd be awesome! But, no! I go, "Did Sonny tell you to say
that the next time you saw me?" He nods, "Yep, how'd you know?" I mutter,
"A wild guess," and he's like, "But, seriously, I want to try it with
you. Sonny let me do it to him once and it was pretty good. I've done it
with Mooney too. We did it like twice last month, Mooney and me."

Oh man, that'd be so cool. I can't though! Fuck, I wish I was three years
younger. I'm like, "You graduated from high school, right?" He frowns, then
stares at my left ear again and says, "Of course I did. I was in Framingham
High's vocational-technical class." Oh man. I nod and say, "That's cool."
Hell, I was just checking his age in case I ever lost my mind and took him
up on his offer. I'm curious about his so-called sex life though, so I ask,
"You say you're doing it regularly, huh? Screwing your buddy
what's-his-name, Moon-pie." He shakes his head 'no' but says, "Yeah, pretty
regularly but his name's Mooney." I nod, muttering, "Mooney, right."
Squirrel says, "Well, Mooney and I only did it a few times so far but I
only started with Sonny when we got drunk five or six weeks ago. It's a
buddy thing, ya know? That's what Sonny says." I nod, "Oh, yeah, I know,
but..." and, taking a deep breath, I say, "Ya know, Squirrel, it would be
epic to do that with you. Seriously, it would Squirrel, er, Dontrell, but I
need to be someplace now, so I can't do it this time. Sorry." He goes, "Oh,
I don't take long at all when I do it. Follow me, I live just down Route 9
and my folks are both out, so nobody's home. Sonny will be proud of me." I
go, "You live in Weston if I recall, and that's not right down the street."

And why the fuck am I arguing about that... what difference does it make
where he lives? Still, it would be so much fun. He goes, "It's four miles
to my house." I go, "Oh." Then he uses the magic word, saying, "Please,
Dylan," and I'm like, "Oh man!" He says, "Omigod, it'd be so awesome
telling Sonny about it. He'll be so 'effing jealous."

Looking at him, I go, "Dontrell, um," and his eyes skitter over mine as he
asks, "What?" I say, "Look me in the eyes and ask again." He looks in my
eyes, and his eyes are big, as he goes, "Can I fuck your ass?" I go, "Okay,
let's go," and he does his grin again but without looking at me, and then
mutters, "Yeah, let's go, motherfucker." Omigod, haha! He starts walking to
the driver's side door of the van, ignoring the cars flying by ten inches
from him as he's yelling over his shoulder, "Follow me."

Yeah, what the fuck, I ain't too old yet for random side sex. I still got
it, heh heh. Jeez though, maybe I should give his fuck buddy Mooney a call
first. Ya know, to find out what I'm getting myself in for
here. Unfortunately, I don't know who the fuck Mooney is, so that'd be hard
to do. I'll wing it instead. Squirrel's right, it'd be fun seeing Sonny's
reaction when he hears about this from his protégé. Not that
I'll be there, but I'll hear about it sooner or later... heh heh.

It turns out to be more than four miles but after a ten-minute drive, I'm
following the van up a long driveway to this mansion, well not actually a
mansion but it's a big house. I remember Sonny saying, and I think Squirrel
said it too that his father was rich. He's a doctor or a surgeon. We get
out and Squirrel waits for me before we walk up to the big front door. As
he unlocks the door, he asks, "Is my bedroom a good place to do it?" I go,
"Wherever, Squirrel," and when we walk inside this boy comes out of a side
room, saying, "Aren't you working today, Dontrell?" Squirrel looks
surprised, asking, "What the hell are you doing here, Henry? Why aren't you
at prep school?" Henry says, "It's spring break, dummy. Who's this?"

Rolling my eyes, I gaze up at the twenty-foot high ceiling of the foyer
feeling self-conscious of my dirty hands and clothes. Jesus, changing
fucking tires blows. When I got in the pickup I looked in the rearview
mirror and saw the smudges of tire dirt on my face and of course, I'd
already seen the dirt on my hands and pants and every other fucking
place. Henry must think I'm a homeless person Dontrell is bringing
home. This is too stupid of a situation for me to try explaining it to
Henry... so I say nothing. Actually, this is so bizarre that basically, I'm
trying not to laugh out loud.

Oh boy, I don't really need this horseshit! Squirrel said no one was home,
so that was a lie and now he's telling Henry, "This is my friend, Jack
Sprout. What's it to you?" Henry appears to be about fifteen-years-old. He
has a big pile of orange-streaked brown hair on his head, his face is a
mask of fifteen-year-old fuck-you apathy and repressed anger, the anger he
has no idea what to do with yet. And he's white! One of them is adopted I
guess.

Squirrel doesn't introduce me to Henry. Instead, he says to Henry, "My
laptop is fucked," and pointing his cut hand with my handkerchief still
wrapped around it at me, he adds, "He's gonna fix it. Don't bother us!"
Henry's frowning, saying, "What a load of bullshit! What happened to your
hand and why is that guy so dirty?" Squirrel, says, "Fuck you, Henry!"
Henry's eyes open wide, "Hey, asshole, I'm telling dad you brought a
stranger into the house." Squirrel mutters, "You're not even supposed to be
here, so ya better keep your mouth shut," and then to me, "C' mon," and I
follow him through the big foyer and then up the winding staircase that's
fifteen feet from the front door. Nice house, and personable people too,
what could possibly go wrong?

Well yeah, that was entertaining but Henry's put a damper on things for
me. I mean, now I don't even wanna do it but like Squirrel said, go fuck
yourself, Henry. There's no way to gracefully get out of this anyway, plus
I don't want Henry to get away with ruining Dontrell's party.

Squirrel closes the bedroom door and locks it, saying, "He was supposed to
wait for mom to pick him up tonight because no one will be home until
then. He's in trouble if I squeal on him so he won't say shit." Shrugging,
I say, "Yeah but maybe we should do this another time." He shakes his head
saying, "Drop your pants!" That almost sounded like Sonny, and Sonny always
sounds like Ray when saying something like that. So it's Sonny imitating
Ray and Squirrel imitating Sonny. Maybe if I come back next year Henry will
be imitating Dontrell.

Looking around his big bedroom I'm thinking, yeah, it's very nice, but it
can't compare to Willie's bedroom. I take a deep breath and say, "Okay,
Squirrel, ya wanna tell me how you plan to do this?" He looks surprised and
then mutters, "Um, well, the way it's always done," and I go, "How's that?"
He makes a 'face', but not at me. He still can't look me in the eyes. He
looks in my general direction, saying, "Whaddaya mean, how? Like
always... you drop your pants, I spank you and then you get on your knees
and suck a boner on me." I'm like, "Uh huh, and what happens then?" He
goes, "Waddaya think? I put a condom on my boner, smack your ass some more
to tenderize it, and then I fuck you until I cum in the condom and then I
tell you to pull up your pants, pussy, you're all done for now." I laugh
out loud, but it's not a long laugh. I go, "You're a comedian, ain't ya?
All your shyness and low-key everything is an act just to highlight your
comedy routines, right?"

Squirrel's like, "I'm funny alright, yeah, but I wasn't being funny then."
He's about as funny as the clap. He asks, "Well, how do you do it if not
the normal way? That's how Sonny taught me to do it." I ask, "Are you gay?"
and he's like, "Get the fuck outta here with that gay horseshit! No, I'm no
gayer than Sonny or Ray. Ya see we're always the guys, we're the men who
get our rocks off fucking guys like you. You're one of our bitches the same
as when we fuck women. We use our cocks to fuck you up the ass while the
women get fucked up their cunts." I'm like, "Uh huh, what grade did you say
you got in biology?"

Jesus, it's hard not to laugh but I do a fake cough instead. He's so
sincere, but how naive can you get? I ask, "Oh, so you and Sonny are always
the men using your cocks, huh? So, what part was Sonny playing when he let
you fuck him?" He says, "Oh, I'm, I was the man... oh yeah. Huh, well
that's just us being buddies," which avoids the question but I don't care
anyway. Squirrel is no Mensa candidate, that's easy to see.

Changing tactics, he whines, "C'mon, Dylan. Do it the right way so I can
brag to Sonny." I'm like, "You've fucked a lot of women, have you
Squirrel?" He says, "Only my closest friends get to use my nickname." I
mumble, "I'll take that as zero women being fucked by you." He says, "I
haven't gotten around to women yet.  Sonny's helping me out by starting me
out doing it with guys who are easier." I ask, "Did Sonny fuck you?" He
goes, "No, of course not! He's already experienced." Oh, good for
Sonny... he's not taking advantage of this kid. I go, "How about Ray? Did
you do it with him?" He shakes his head, "No, he thinks I'm a pain in the
ass." Good grief! I mumble, "But you're eighteen, right?" He nods his head,
"Yes, as of March first."

Still teasing him, I say, "Well, why don't you pull your pants down first,
Dontrell. Show me yours and I'll show you mine." He goes, "We're not six
fucking years old, dude! Do it the right way... please!" He's getting
flustered and I said I'd do it with him, so I mutter, "Alright, I will, but
you're wicked dominant, ya know?" Haha, about as dominant as my
grandmother, if I had one.

He frowns and nods his head, "Yeah, I'm dominant alright but I gotta be
when I'm fucking somebody. Usually, I'm the nicest guy I know but when I'm
gonna fuck you, what do you expect? I'm the man, the 'top'." I do another
fake cough as I'm getting my thumbs under the waistband of my jockey
shorts, then pull both my pants and underpants down below my privates. His
eyes open wide as he says, "Oh! Um, thank you for cooperating. Nice penis!
Don't you have any pubes?" I go, "As you can see, I don't. It's genetic."
He nods his head, muttering, "I knew that," and then he gawks at my junk
again before adding, "Okay, now do the rest of what you're supposed to do?"

I'm gonna try to do everything the way he described it so the kid will have
his story to brag to Sonny and then Sonny will tell Ray. Hopefully, it'll
piss off Ray beyond belief. I've refused Ray any number of times, but not
this little fucker... haha!

Keeping a serious expression on my face, I walk over to him and drop to my
knees, asking, "How can you be sure Henry isn't looking through the
keyhole?" He looks panicked and goes over to the door to look. Turning
around, he says, "There is no keyhole." I mutter, "He could be laying on
the floor looking through the space at the bottom." Squirrel goes, "You're
full of it," but he opens the door fast and looks both ways up and down the
hall.

Walking quickly back to stand in front of me, he goes, "Sonny said you'd
need a firm hand and that's what you're going to get. No more messing
around, okay?" I look contrite and mutter, "Okay," and pull his zipper down
and then stick two fingers in and fumble around his jockey shorts until I
find the opening. Haha, I knew he'd forget about the bogus spanking.

Hmm, I can't wait to see what kind of dick is on this skinny kid. Getting
my forefinger and middle one around the back of his pecker I pull it out
and it's a cute little thing about five inches long. Well, that's not
'little'! Everything I've ever read on the subject says a normal male penis
is just slightly over five inches long... Squirrel's is in the normal
range. All of us guys with longer dicks than that are above the norm and
then a few are in the ridiculous range, and I'm not inferring that's a bad
thing.

Just to be sure, I tug on his pecker and he goes, "Ow, it's scraping
against the zipper." There's no more penis to pull out, so it's
five-inches, eh? His penis is the same pretty color as the rest of his skin
except for its rosy-colored tulip-shaped head. Yeah, there are guys though
whose dicks are a different shade from their normal skin tone. I've seen
that on a few guys. Oh, look at that... there are a few of Squirrel's dark
pubic hairs peeking out, they're probably interested in what's going on out
here.

Squirrel says, "You're only the fourth person besides me to touch my dick."
I go, "Let's see, there was Sonny, that other kid, whose name I forget,
Monkey or something, and..." he says, "Mooney. Johnny Moo. He's our Asian
motorcycle buddy, Sonny's and mine. The three of us rode up Mount
Washington in New Hampshire last summer." I go, "I've hiked Mount
Washington three or four times." No, I didn't! He goes, "You got balls
doing that, dude!" I shrug and now I forgot what I was going to say about
Mooney. Oh well, it's couldn't have been important.

Okay, enough fucking around. I'm determined to give Squirrel a good story
to tell his idol, Sonny. Due to Squirrel's diminutive size, I need to hunch
down to the level of his pecker so I can put it in my mouth. I smell him
and it's the same, um, outdoor scent I noticed when giving him a haircut
months ago. A nice pleasant scent although I wouldn't call it sexy.

I'm doing a decent job of sucking and licking his penis but so far he
hasn't even touched my head. Almost everyone does that when I'm sucking
their dick. Actually, after another minute of slurping on his nice pecker,
licking it and doing some stroking using my thumb and forefinger, I'm
forming the opinion that Squirrel's right... isn't gay, per se. I never
thought he was anyhow and now, as I said, I'm sure he's not because his
dick is taking its sweet time getting hard, meaning he's not especially
aroused having me sucking on it. It's getting a little firmer and he's
shuffling his feet and grunting but by now I should be getting better
results. Maybe a girl doing this for Squirrel would get better results
although I doubt it. I say that because the average straight guy's
girlfriend can't compete with a gay guy doing oral sex.

Maybe if I had a little more access, so I unbutton his jeans and open up
his pants. Then, letting go of his firm cock I pull down his underpants and
he goes, "Hey!" As silly as this entire affair is, Squirrel is a young
slightly attractive guy so I'm getting aroused myself now. Sucking and
messing with a young guy's penis tends to get me aroused. Cupping his
surprisingly big balls, I pull them up a little and give a gentle
squeeze. That gets him hopping on one foot a couple of times, saying,
"You're not supposed to do that," but he calms down when I put his dick
back in my mouth and work my tongue extra hard swishing saliva around the
head. Two more squeezes on his nuts and his dick begins some serious
firming up... finally. Okay, I got him now.

Rubbing the head of his dick on the inside of my cheek gets his feet moving
with his hands now going to my head with the cast on his left hand thumping
my head like a log. He gasps and mutters, "Mmm, ooh, oooh! Suck my cock,
pussy!" Thirty seconds later he's moaning "Oh, oh... nooo, nooo!" and he
pushes my head away, saying, "I almost spunked in your mouth, ya dope."
Holding his dick, that's definitely a boner now, I say, "You don't know me
nearly well enough to call me names. I let the two 'pussy' references
slide, but now you're throwing the word 'dope' around. Knock it off or
you'll end up jerking yourself off. Okay?"

He looks hurt, so I add, "I'm not saying it's a big deal, Squirrel, you're
doing fine. Just, um, no more name calling... that's all I'm saying." He
frowns while staring at my right shoulder, saying, "I'm sorry. This is only
my fourth time." I nod, 'Yeah, you told me that." His pecker has softened
up a little, probably because I chastised him. I'm like, "It's okay, no
real problem but, ya know, I'm not calling you names, right?" He nods, and
I leave it at that.

I guess I was hearing too much of Ray Reeves in the name calling plus, in
my old age I'm crankier than I used to be. Whatever, Squirrel's cock goes
back in my mouth and I give it the full treatment for maybe another thirty
seconds and, oh man, it's hard now! Squirrel's hands were on my head, the
cast feeling weird against my scalp as his fingers rubbing back through my
short hair, over and over. I'm doing slow licks around the head of his hard
boner while my lips suck on three inches of shaft and he's going, "Ah, ahh,
ahhh," and then his whole body shudders as he goes, Ooooh!" and, once again
he pushes my head away.

So we're back to where we were a minute or so ago with Squirrel almost
climaxing. His cock pulls out of my mouth and now he's got a hard five-inch
boner sticking straight out from a small neat pubic patch with precum
dripping from his piss slit, drip, drip, drip leaving dark spots on his
bedroom's pale- blue wall to wall carpet.

I've got a pretty good boner between my legs too, but Squirrel doesn't
notice. His eyes are closed as he's sort of panting. It appears his brain
is frozen so to get him moving on with this, I murmur, "Where's the
condom?" He makes an 'O' with his lips and does a long noisy exhale before
both his hands leave my head and go into the side pockets of his jeans that
are around his skinny knees. His left hand comes out with a condom but his
fingers are shaking when he tries to open it. Wanting to sound encouraging,
I'm like, "Oh, that's a good brand... that condom.  Um, but let me put it
on for you, okay buddy?"

He holds it out keeping his eyes closed. Damn, I think his dick is getting
harder sticking out like that, it's so tight there isn't even a quiver when
he moves. Well, I do know a little something about cock sucking so I don't
know why I'm surprised the kid probably has the hardest boner of his young
life. Ripping open the packet, I drop that on the carpet and roll on the
condom. It goes on with no resistance confirming what my eyes and mouth
already knew... Squirrel's penis is a tad on the skinny side like the rest
of his body. Sucking on it I was hoping it would gain some girth the harder
it got. That didn't happen but I'm not saying it's a pencil dick. It's
still a damn nice penis and it actually goes with the rest of him, um,
proportionately. Haha, it's not the freak show that is Hayden's ginormous
penis... freak show in the best imaginable way of course.

The condom goes right down to the root of his boner and then he opens his
eyes, murmuring, "That feels good, my dick feels good when it's super hard
like it is right now. God, it feels hard." He should probably throw a
compliment my way for the excellent oral sex, but he doesn't think of it
apparently, and he says instead, "Turn around on your hands and
knees. Sonny recommends I do it like this, it's called doggy style, and I
think he's right. Is that okay with you, Dylan?" I shrug, "Sure," and turn
around on my hands and knees.

Actually, now I'm anxious to feel that hard cock of his up my ass. Sucking
his dick got me aroused even with all the teasing I was doing trying to
keep him relaxed, plus have some fun too. Now though, I'm all for getting
fucked. So is Squirrel apparently as he sticks his boner up my ass in one
hard thrust... all five hard inches BANG! He goes, "Aahhhh! Ooh,
ummm... Omigod..." and then he leans hard against my buttocks with one side
of his zipper scraping the side of my ass as he humps, humps, humps against
my buttocks, his boner and the zipper on his jeans moving a half inch at a
time.

His right hand is gripping my right hip and three fingers of his left-hand
grips my other hip. The cast on his left arm extends across the palm of his
hand and reconnects with the cast through the area between his forefinger
and thumb and it feels hard, rough, and alien but that's a small
concern. The larger concern is it hurt like hell the way he drove all
five-inches of boner up my ass in one fast thrust. Sure, his cock isn't as
big around as almost every cock that's been inside my rectum, but it's a
lot bigger than my closed anus. It would hurt if a finger was jammed into
any asshole in its natural state. Anuses do not like surprises.

But, Squirrel's hard penis is on the thin side of average so the pain isn't
nearly as alarming as it would have been had a heftier cock been totally
shoved up my ass all at once, and the well-lubricated condom helped as
well. Still, I made a scrunched-up 'face' and yelped out, "Ow, fuck!" when
he shoved the entire thing up my unexpecting asshole. I thought Squirrel
would be a bit timid considering this is only his fourth or fifth time, and
first with me. Well, he wasn't timid and he doesn't appear overly concerned
about me yelping out like that either, instead, he humps against my butt
cheeks a few more times, moaning, "Umm, ummm, yeah..."

Another plus is he's humping... not thrusting. He moans and then humps,
humps, humps some more. He doing that forcefully enough to move me slightly
forward on the rug with each hump. Meanwhile, my rectum is sounding the
full alert and is adjusting as quickly as it can. It's like a fire drill
with nerve endings bumping into each other initially but soon getting their
act together when they realize the size of the intrusion isn't anything to
worry all that much about. Their initial panic is short lived.

>From Squirrel's point of view, I'm thinking it's all been pretty fucking
good right from the get-go for him. This has to feel fantastic on his boner
and from all indications he's not letting my discomfort detract from his
pleasure. Hell, I don't blame him and I can be magnanimous about this
because the pain is gone already. There are two things in my favor; one, as
I said, he hasn't thought to begin thrusting yet and, two, he forgot all
about his so-called hard spanking. I sort of knew he would as soon as I
touched his cock. For him, it's very rare that someone else touches his
precious dick and his brain is like... what's that? And, while this is kind
of a hoot for me it's uniquely special for Squirrel and I'll bet anything
that Henry isn't having as much fun right now. On the other hand, no pun
intended, Henry's probably jerking off in his bedroom. When I was fifteen
I'd jerk off... well, that's another story altogether.

After maybe thirty seconds, Squirrel goes, "Oooh man," and then he finally
pulls his dick back. By the way, no one needs to teach a person how to
fuck. Not the basics of fucking I mean. How else could you do it? Even so,
nature isn't taking any chances and has redundantly programmed the process
into your genes too, ya know, in case you're a moron. Oh, and there are
techniques and all that, but the basic fucking comes naturally. You can't
help but do it and when Squirrel begins fucking my ass it feels just as
good as if he knew what he was doing.

I close my eyes and go along for the pleasant ride. He's an energetic
albeit clumsy fucker and so it's kinda rough too, but this is fine for what
it is. No slapping sounds because his pants are partially getting between
us. I prefer hearing our bodies slapping together but I never expected
rockets going off with this in the first place. Squirrel is surprisingly
quiet too, which is kinda odd. Mostly he's making breathy breathing sounds
with an occasional, "Ooh, umm," sound of arousal that's probably
involuntary as it's almost impossible not to make a moan or two when
fucking someone. I mean, because it feels so good on your pecker... the
moans just form on their own.

As for me, this is a nice pleasurable experience and I'd actually like to
adopt Squirrel and have him fuck me like this two or three times a day to
fill in between really good sex. Still, to be fair, this feels pretty damn
good as a casual not-too-important recreational fuck that will, as I said,
fit in nicely between more noteworthy sex acts. Just something to enjoy
because... why not?  His hard youthful boner stretched my asshole enough to
get that sexy itchy feeling and there's the rubbing against my prostate
that's very nice plus, as I inferred, there's the allure of this young
sweet kid fucking me. It's really a cool thing, and I feel an orgasm
building.

Squirrel apparently feels his building too as his thrusting gets wilder and
wilder and he begins with, 'Um, um, ah, ahh, ahh," and then, "Aahhhh!" as I
assume he climaxed. There was an alarming inhale, a gasping scary sound
from him and then some extra wild thrusting and more desperate breathing
but only for like five seconds and now he's lying against my buttocks, his
broken wrist cast across my shoulder blades. Goddammit, another twenty or
thirty seconds and I might have been busting a nut climaxing
too. Squirrel's gasping and groaning, but not thrusting. Long noisy breaths
still coming from him and then he straightens up, gasping, "Omigod, ooh
fuck..," and then he pulls his cock out.

He staggers back a few steps and then burst out with a laugh, saying, "That
felt so good! Oh shit... that felt good." Guys have climaxed in my ass
faster than that, but not many. It wasn't even two minutes. I'd just begun
feeling the beginnings of some delicious throbs as if my climax was
thinking about it.

Squirrel is pulling the condom off, mumbling, "Fucking a girl couldn't be
better than this. Could it, Dylan?" I'm like, "I wouldn't know, but I've
heard it's a different feeling on the boner. I can't imagine it'd feel
better though, no." Hell, I should have known I wasn't going to get
off. Yeah, thinking back to his description, he said he'd cum in the condom
and smack my ass and then that's that. No mention of what I might want or
need.

Oh, well. I stand up and pull up my pants. There's slippery lube from the
condom in my ass but my clothes are already dirty from changing the kid's
tire so I'd need to change my clothes anyway. And so what if lube gets on
my underpants. Squirrel's got himself zippered back up and he's smiling but
still not looking at me, not exactly, as he goes, "Dylan, that was
good. Not as good as I expected after what Sonny's said about your ass, but
still it was really good." Ha, not as good as he expected!

Wanting to chuckle at that but resisting the urge so I don't hurt his
feelings, I say, "I'm glad it was good, Squirrel, but I really gotta get
going now." He says, "Me too. I told my boss I'd be late getting back to
the shop because of the flat tire, but this is probably longer than he
expected." As we walk toward the door, I mutter, "Tell him something came
up unexpectedly." He laughs, "Like my boner, you mean?" I go, "Exactly..."
I can tell he wants to ask, and then he does, "Um, Dylan, how was it for
you? How'd I do?" I go, "You were awesome. Don't tell Ray, but you fuck
better than him and this only your fourth try too." His eyes light up and
he looks me in the eyes for a microsecond, asking, "Really?" I nod, "Yeah,
you're a natural whereas Ray fucks, ya know, sort of like a robot. Don't
tell him I said that though." Shaking his head, he goes, "Nooo!" He can't
wait to tell Sonny though!

Haha, Ray is gonna be so pissed because Squirrel will tell Sonny, who will
know it's bullshit, but he'll want to bust Ray's balls with it anyway
because that's what we do... break each other's balls. Ray's ego will
explode because, even though he'll know it's bullshit too, he'll hate the
fact that Squirrel doesn't know it's bullshit. Hee hee.

No Henry sightings as we go outside, so that's good. Squirrel stands next
to his van, saying, "God, it's funny how things work out. First I had the
worst fucking luck getting a flat tire and then the best fucking luck when
you came along and helped me. Thanks, Dylan, and I can't wait to tell Sonny
everything!" I shrug, trying for cool but I'm chuckling and feeling good
for him. I go, "You're okay, Dontrell! See ya around, buddy." and he holds
his fist out for me to bump. I do that and then back the truck down the
long driveway with Squirrel doing the same in the van. At the road, I go
right and he goes left honking his horn and waving.

That was not very good sex! It was fun sucking his dick though and the best
part is how irritated Ray will be when he hears about it, and I have no
doubt Sonny will mention it to Ray frequently. I'll chalk that sex up to a
charitable effort on my part and feel good about myself doing something
nice for a fellow human being. I wonder if Squirrel is enjoying fucking
guys enough that he might try the bisexual route throughout his life. It'll
double his sex partner possibilities if he does.

On the drive back to the house Rob texts that he's ready to leave work. I
can read the text, but not text back while driving so I wait until I'm
outside the office building to text him that I'm here. The dirt and grease
on me will back up my tale of the good deed... the one about me changing
the tire for a guy with a broken arm, and then as soon as we get home I'm
gonna get Robby to fuck me, haha.

Yeah, Squirrel's fucking was good enough to get me horned up a little,
although I won't mention that to Rob because I respect the part of our
'arrangement' that calls for us to keep our random side sex to
ourselves. And that barely qualified as side sex anyway. On the other hand,
that was the definition of 'random' side sex... with the emphasis on the
'random' part.

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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