Date: Wed, 11 Sep 2013 05:29:41 -0700 (PDT) From: donny mumford Subject: final edit Chapter 25 Dylan's Summer Vacation by Donny Mumford DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO Chapter 25 by Donny Mumford It's hard to believe Ryan's actually gone. One day he's here and the next day he's not. What a kick in the nuts that is. I really feel for Ryan, too. He finally got in his comfort zone, making friends and falling in love. He was able to leave his old life behind, a life of being dominated by sadists, thinking himself a loser and a nerd. Now he's moving out of state and it's a crap shoot if he'll meet new friends, never mind a boyfriend. I can only hope he doesn't regress back to his old, destructive self. On the plus side he may be able to visit me later this summer, and even if he can't, we'll meet again at Merrimack in the fall. Oh well, hopefully Chubby can cheer me up tonight; it's dinner at the restaurant with him and the moms. If that won't cheer me up, nothing will. I took a shower with Ryan a little while ago, but I still need to put on some upscale clothes for the dinner. Changing into khaki shorts and a Polo golf shirt, I go up to Chubby's for some front-loading before meeting the moms. Inside their condo I see that Chubby's wearing clothes almost identical to mine; we share a brain about most things. "Dylan, brother, you look cooler every time I see you, dude!" Chubby's upbeat as usual and I need that tonight. We hug and I kiss his cheek with Chubby saying, "You can do better than that," so I kiss his lips. He doesn't usually allow that, but he's obviously aware I'm depressed about Ryan leaving, so he's determined to cheer me up. I can always depend on Chubby for moral support, or any other kind of support I need. It's a wonderfully comforting feeling to know he's always there for me no matter the situation. I say, "I'm a little down in the dumps tonight, Chubby. I feel terrible for Ryan and I'm feeling a little sorry for myself, too." He goes, "I know, Dylan," as he rubs my shoulder. "You and Ryan got really tight, but you still have me and Robby to lean on." I mumble, "Thanks, it's so unexpected. Ryan's parents thought it would be better to let Ryan enjoy himself up till the last minute, and maybe they're right, but it's a shock to Ryan, fer sure." Chubby says, "Yeah, guess they didn't want him agonizing over it day in and day out, but they should have given him some warning or a hint that they might be moving so he had time to get used to the idea." I go, "I guess." Chubby points at my bandage on my face covering the sutures, and asks, "How's that healing?" I go, "Oh, it's still ugly looking. it looks angry actually. I got it wet in the shower and washed it, then put some disinfectant stuff the nurse gave me on it and covered it up. Hope it leaves a cool little scar." He chuckles, and I ask, "What are we using to front-load tonight?" "We're going to do some shots and beers." I go, "Oh gawd, not shots." He's like, "Yep, we'll drown your sorrows." As he gets out shot glasses, I ask, "Do you do shots regularly?" Chubby's like, "Hell no! I hardly ever drink booze except at parties, or with you once in awhile." Nodding my head, I go, "Good! Okay, what poison are we imbibing tonight?" He looks in the cabinet, muttering, "That depends largely on what mom has on hand." Taking out a bottle of Jack Daniel's, he goes, "Ah ha, it looks like our old friend Jack is on tap tonight." Making a face, I go, "Oh God! That stuff goes down like liquid fire." Chubby reads the label, "It's Single Barrel Jack Daniel's, that's premium booze, bro." I shrug, "Whatever." Chubby puts on an old 'Counting Crows' CD and out blares the song, 'Round Here'. He smiles at me as I sing along with the familiar lyrics. Getting a cold Rolling Rock pony bottle of beer from the refrigerator, he opens it, then pours two shots of whiskey. "Here we go," Chubby says and we pick up the shot glasses and touch them, making a 'clicking' sound. The toast comes from Chubby, "To us brothers... love and trust forever," and we pour the evil liquid down our throats. Swallowing it as fast as I can, then grab the beer and dilute the Jack with a much less potent booze, as Chubby grins at me. The urge to throw up overwhelms me for a second, I hiccup, take two deep breaths, sweat breaks out on my forehead, my stomach heaves, and as I blink my eyes real fast until everything calms down. I look at Chubby, and mumble, "Not too bad, little brother," and he goes, "That whiskey's smooth as silk going down, isn't it?" I hiccup again, mumbling, "Smooth as hot gravel is more like it. How come you can drink shots so easily?" Chubby shrugs, "Don't know. They just don't bother me. Well, I get drunk if I have too many, but they're easy for me to drink." He frowns for a second, and then adds, "That's probably not a good thing though, now that I think about it." Taking another swallow of the bitter beer, I hiccup again, then Chubby takes the bottle and lets some beer roll down his throat. He does it without swallowing somehow, it just flows down his throat. I finish the beer and Chubby gets another one as I suggest, "Let's share a cigarette." On the balcony, I light a Marlboro Light and take a drag with Chubby saying, "After work today Ryan said he's in love with you. When'd that happen?" Passing him the cigarette, I'm like, "Don't know, it just happened and I fell for him too which complicates my life considering I'm head over heels in love with Robby, too." Chubby exhales some smoke saying, "It don't seem fair that you're always in love with one or more boys and I can't fall in love for the life of me. I want to, but it doesn't happen." My turn for the cigarette, and as Chubby drinks some beer I talk with smoke coming out my nose and mouth, "Maybe you need to try falling in love with a boy sometime. They're easier to love than a girl, ya know." He says, "Apparently, but I'm already loving you so any other boy couldn't compare to my older brother." I smirk, "You love me, but you're not in love with me and that's a big difference. We exchange beer and cigarette, so I take a drink and he takes a drag, then I say, "Here's a suggestion. You and me fall in love which will solve both our problems. I'd leave my other boyfriends for you, and you could give up your failed attempt to fall in love with a girl." He laughs, mumbling, "The scary part of that is you're serious about it. Don't fall in love with me, Dylan, we're each other's best friend and I need you as my best friend more than anything else." I ask, "Why can't we be both lovers and best friends?" He says, "This is one of your sillier discussions, bro." Maybe it hits too close to home for Chubby, but I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I say, "Yeah, I guess it is, but it's getting my mind off Ryan moving to fuckin' Georgia." Chubby pats my back, muttering, "I know, and I'm very sorry for your anguish. Let's do another shot," and he flicks the cigarette butt way over the balcony railing. It's still sunny and very summery at six-fifteen on this Thursday evening in late June. The longest daylight of the year occurred a week or so ago. Next week is the Fourth of July holiday, whe we get time off from work, and then the summer's downhill from there. Inside the condo again, Chubby pours another shot for each of us as we finish the beer, then he gets another one. Pony bottles are only seven ounces, so it's not like we've even had a regular size bottle of beer each yet. I do the toast, "Good luck Ryan, here's hoping you make many friends in Georgia," we touch glasses and throw the shots down. Ghastly burning, my eyes watering as I gulp beer. Easier than the first one though. Chubby says, "By the tenth shot you'll be swilling them down without a problem." I go, "Tenth shot my ass, that's it for me. Ask me a factoid." He goes, "What's the only animal in the world that can't jump?" Hmmm, I go, "Let me think. Something big... how about elephants?" Chubby gives me a blank stare for a second, then mumbles, "That was too easy. Here's another one: What was invented first, a cigarette or a match?" It's a fifty-fifty chance, so I guess, "Cigarette?" and he's like, "You're no fun. One more shot and then we can go." In the background the 'Counting Crows' are working their way through their song, 'Hard Candy' as Chubby pours the shots and I get us another beer. We lift our glasses and Chubby says, "To our lifelong friendship," and down the hatch goes the Jack. Same result with me gagging and cursing, then swallowing beer. Wiping my forehead, I say, "Damn, that's good shit," and Chubby laughs giving me a hug, saying, "Love ya, bro." He puts the whiskey away and we take the beer out to the balcony and share a last cigarette before dinner. As we smoke and drink the beer, Chubby says, "Connor emailed me a joke to tell you; he says the joke is so you don't forget him. He's apparently one more in a long list of gay boys in love with you and I can't say I blame any of them. I'm jealous, sure, but I get it." Grinning, I'm like, "Yeah, the list is long. What's the joke?" He goes, "A guy breaks into a house and finds a couple in bed. He ties the guy to a chair and gets on top of the woman, then the guy goes in the bathroom and the husband tells his wife that the burglar's obviously dangerous so if he wants sex with her, she shouldn't resist him or he might kill both of them. The husband adds, "Be strong for us, honey, you know I love you." She says, "Oh, you misunderstand. When the guy was on top of me, he told me he's gay and he thinks you're cute. He asked if we had any vaseline so I told him it's in the bathroom. Be strong, honey, you know I love you." I go, "Oh, a gay joke, huh. How's the burglar going to cornhole the guy if the guy's tied up in a chair?" Chubby snickers, "Yeah, I wondered that too, but figured maybe it's some esoteric gay thing and that you'd explain it to me." I'm muttering, "Gay bashing is frowned on, bro," as I take a drag and pass the cigarette to Chubby. He tells me about his time at the mall with his new girlfriend, Gina DiPietro, "She's cute and she has an excellent sense of humor, plus a great body." I go, "She laughs at your jokes and factoids, huh?" He goes, "Bro, I don't tell jokes and factoids on a date," I go, "You do with Mary Jo," and he's like, "Oh yeah, that's because I've known her so long. No, with Gina, it's my clever banter that she appreciates with a laugh or two. Plus, she's a touchy-feely chick, meaning she has to touch me whenever she says anything. Like I told ya, she thinks this haircut you gave me is phat and she told me I'm cute a half dozen times, too." I ask, "Did you tell Gina I gave you the haircut?" He goes, "Of course, I'm always bragging about you. Not to Mary Jo so much, she can't stand you, but to lots of other people. Hell, just today I was bragging on you to the guy in the convenience store where I get my cigarettes." I ask, "You know someone who works there?" He says, "No, I don't know him, I was just bragged about my brother to him." I'm like, "He must have been quite interested in that." Chubby gives me the cigarette saying, "It's hard to tell; he's from India and doesn't speak much English." I go, "Uh huh," then, remembering Bean's comment about Ray's Italian girlfriend, I ask, "Does Gina have a mustache?" Chubby goes, "Certainly not!" I go, "Well, she's Italian, and you know...." He laughs, "What you don't know about girls is a lot," I go, "Yeah, and I'm gonna keep it that way. Let me see that picture of our dad." Chubby pulls out his wallet and hands me the picture. I go, "Damn, he looks young!" Chubby says, "So do you and me. You look more like him than I do." I disagree, "Nah, you do, but you and I look alike. That's what people say." He makes a face, "Yeah, but you're taller with a big dick while I'm a midget with a short dick." I say, "Get out of here, I'm only a couple inches taller than you and there's nothing wrong with your dick. You're perfect in every way." Chubby grins, "Yeah, I know, I was just being humble." Finished our second cigarette, which means we both had only one cigarette, we go into Chubby's bathroom and take turns with his electric toothbrush, then gargle with ACT mouthwash. After washing our face and hands, we share a box of Good & Plenty as we walk down to the Jeep. Licorice does a pretty good job of covering booze breath. "You saving your money, Dylan?" I say, "Yep, I've hardly spent any of it. That Mini Cooper convertible is almost ours." He chuckles, "We got a hell of a long way to go." I'm like, "We make four hundred dollars a week," He says, "Yeah, and in ten weeks it'll be four thousand each, if we don't spend a penny of it. So that's eight thousand all together. You can't buy a Mini Cooper for eight thousand fuckin' dollars." I ask, "How much is the Jeep worth?" He goes, "Ah ha, I forgot about trading in or selling the Jeep. It's probably worth around seven thousand bucks I would think." I go, "If we ever clean all your fast food wrappers out of it, we might get seventy-five hundred for it." We talk about that on the ride to the restaurant and conclude we might need to save our money this summer and next summer in order to get a late model Mini Cooper that we can be proud of. Inside the restaurant the guy at the front desk recognizes us for once, and says, "Back near the kitchen, boys." It's a Thursday night and the restaurant is half full so that's probably why the moms chose a Thursday for our dinner. Walking to our table I see my mom delivering the check to a couple who have finished their dinner and are ready to go. Mom's got her big friendly smile and some friendly chit chat going for her. Everyone likes my mom as she never has a bad thing to say about anyone. She's worked full-time since she was seventeen years old and never complained about it once, as far as I know. Mom comes over and hugs me with a big kiss on my cheek, saying, "Oh, you are so good looking! Both of you," and then Chubby gets the hug and a kiss, as he mumbles, "Thanks, Dee." Tris comes over and repeats basically the same thing my mom just did, so Chubby grins, asking, "Do you moms rehearse your greeting?" Tris says, "Oh Jeffrey, what a thing to say. Love and affection for you boys comes very naturally to Dee and me, it comes straight from our hearts." He mutters, "I know and we feel the same way about you two." Mom says, "This is our table right here. Have a seat and check the menu while we finish up our station. We have a forty-five minute break and then there's a party of twenty-five people due in at eight o'clock that we'll be waiting on. Someone's fiftieth anniversary, isn't that wonderful?" I go, "Jeez, that's a long time alright." We sit and Chubby says, "We'll start with a cocktail if you moms don't mind." Tris giggles and the moms go back to work. I mumble, "That went over like a lead balloon, Chubby." He shrugs, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I look at the menu as an older waitress, who we've seen here before, puts two bottles of Bud lite on the tables, saying, "I'm just setting these down for awhile, I did not serve you handsome boys beers." We say, "Thanks," then Chubby tells her, "We'll watch them evaporate," and she says, "I've no idea what you're referring to," and off she goes. "Better than nothing," Chubby mutters, as we each pick up a bottle and swallow some beer, then I check the menu for something different and spot tonight's special... grilled rack of lamb. Five minutes later the same older waitress comes back, asking, "Have you decided yet, fellows?" She avoids looking at the beer bottles, as I say, "Yes, ma'am. I'd like onion soup for an appetizer and for my entree the grilled rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes, and a salad with the house dressing." She says, "Excellent choices," then looks at Chubby, who says, "You took the words right out of my mouth, Betty," as he reads her name tag, adding, "My brother's always makes excellent choices so I'll have the same as him. Medium rare with the lamb and may I say you're looking awfully good tonight." She tries not to smile, but ends up chuckling, saying, "Tris said you were both con artists with the compliments, but thank you. You two always look good and your moms never stop talking about you both. I wish my boy could cook, heh heh. Okay fellows, Dee and Tris already placed their orders and they'll be joining you shortly, and by the way, Jeffrey, we always prepare lamb medium rare here unless someone wants it well done, which is just sad." I ask, "What are the moms having on their salads tonight?" Betty says, "Grilled chicken," and off she goes. Chubby always waits for me to order, then just gets what I get. I ask, "Have you ever looked at a menu?" He goes, "Only when I absolutely have to, everything looks good to me and it's just easier to get what my big brother gets." The moms come over and sit down. "Okay, boys, time to pry into your lives. What's new?" I tell them about Ryan's father getting transferred to Georgia, but don't mention Ryan and me being in love. They know about me and Robby already and it would just confuse them mentioning I also love Ryan. Hell, it confuses me. Then I say, "Chubby's got a new girlfriend. She has a mustache." Chubby laughs, "She doesn't have a mustache, but she's Italian." And Tris asks, "What about Mary Jo?" Chubby's like, "We're not engaged or going steady or anything like that. No, I'm not about to mention Gina to MJ because MJ has a bit of a anger management problem." Tris wants to know, "Are you mentioning Mary Jo to Gina?" Chubby goes, "Nah, I'm too considerate for that, I mean, why make her feel bad? We haven't actually been on a date yet. It's Dylan who called her my new girlfriend, not me." I ask Chubby, "What do you call her?" He says, "A friend who happens to be a girl," and our soup arrives. The moms rarely get appetizers, so mom says, "We'll let you eat your soup in peace while we check on our tables." They leave and Chubby says, "I want to test your memory bank. What are we doing after dinner?" I go, "Something we've been neglecting. We'll take care of our feet." He goes, "I knew you wouldn't forget," and slurps some onion soup. I go, "No slurping," and try the cheese-ladened crouton on top of the soup. Very hot, but very delicious. Chubby says, "Just eat the broth. If you eat all that bread and cheese it'll fill you up." I go, "Ha, fat chance of that." The broth is very good too, so I say, "Killer onion soup. Some restaurants give you weak broth and very little of it, too. This is a winner." I eat everything in the bowl and so does Chubby. He goes, "Oh great, now we won't be able to eat our entrees." As we finish the soup, an uber cute busboy comes for the bowls and soup spoons. I stare at him, and see his name tag which reads 'Joe Mc Carthy', then ask, "Are you Charlie McCarthy's brother, by any chance?" I just made up the name, but he gives me a cute grin and says, "Yeah, I am. Do you go to prep with him?" Chubby knows my trick for starting a conversation with cute boys and he chuckles as Joe looks curiously at him. I go, "Um, I beg your pardon, but I'm a sophomore in college." Joe pushes his light red hair away from his blue eyes, asking, "What college?" I go, "Merrimack," and he says, "Really? Do you know Tyler Bysicel?" Now I don't know who's pulling who's chain, but I say, "Yeah, I do," and Joe goes, "No wait, Tyler goes to Harvard." Chubby laughs and Joe manages to almost hold back his grin as he takes away the dishes. I mutter, "I just might write a formal complaint about that smart-ass busboy." We're talking about work when our waitress, Betty, shows up with our racks of lamb. I can tell they're cooked on a grill because of the nice grill marks. Chubby says, "Betty, these bottles of beer evaporated. Maybe you better bring two more or whoever these are for might get piss.., um, angry." She says, "That's a first, beer evaporating in a half hour. Enjoy your meal," and she takes the empty bottles with her. Chubby asks, "Will she bring us another bottle or not?" I see her coming with two more, so say, "Of course she will." She sets them down and I say, "This will be reflected in your tip, Betty." She laughs as Chubby and me pretend to ignore the bottles. She has a good personality, which you'd expect all waiters and waitresses to have, but not all of them do. Mom and Tris rejoin us bringing their plates of salad and we have a very nice time telling the moms about work, our thoughts regarding a new car, and things we've been doing lately. Some of what we tell them is even true, while other things have been edited to make them feel good, thinking that our lives are happy and carefree. Chubby downplays working two jobs and I avoid all aspects of my sex life and mention little white lies about Robby and me going to the movies or bowling. Things they can relate too. They never mention money problems or boyfriend problems to us and we keep our problems to ourselves too. Why worry each other? For the most part Chubby and I are leading happy and carefree lives so we're basically being honest about that. We hear about how wonderful the twins are, who the moms have been dating this summer. They mention again how the guys are probably too young for them, but they have a good time with them so that's what's important. Our moms are both thirty-six so I wonder how old the twins are. My mom says, "They're twenty-seven, just boys really, but very responsible and they have good jobs." Chubby says, "Sounds like a double wedding," then to me, "We can hang out with our step-dads, Dylan, we're almost the same age!" Tris goes, "Ooooh, Jeffrey!" It's always a good time with the moms and they both eat more than half their salads this time. Chubby and I discover we weren't filled up by the soup and we eat everything on our plates. Really good. The moms kiss us and say they'll be back to say goodbye, mumbling, "Don't forget a tip for Betty," and I go, "Do we ever forget?" Mom says, "Of course you don't, honey," which begs the question why she reminded us of the tip. They go back to work and Betty takes our order for Irish coffees, like we had last time we were here when Connor was with us. Betty asks, "Will this be reflected in my tip, too?" her tongue firmly planted in her cheek. I go, "Absolutely. What's the cake situation like tonight?" She says, "It's a chocolate cake with butter cream frosting, or you can have carrot cake." I go, "My brother's allergic to carrots so we better get the chocolate cake, and I could go with a dip of vanilla ice cream too." She looks at Chubby, who says, "Ditto." The Irish coffees come first and I realize the shots and beers during front loading, plus the beers with dinner, have already given me a little buzz, so these Irish coffees probably weren't a great idea. As we wait for the cake and ice cream, Chubby says, "Gina is very religious, which is fine, except she asked me what religion I follow and I was stumped." I go, "We're Protestant Christians, nondenominational." Chubby says, "Yeah, but we don't go to church." I shrug and drink some spiked coffee, getting a whipped cream mustache as a result. Then I say, "We went to Sunday school when we were kids and sometimes we go to church services on Christmas and Easter." Chubby drinks some too-hot coffee and we both use the cloth napkins to wipe whipped cream off our mouths, as Chubby's mumbling, "So this is what the napkins are for." I ask, "What'd you tell Gina about your religion?" He goes, "Well, it seemed important to her so I didn't want to be flip about it. I avoided the direct question by telling her some philosophy. I said stuff like, psychological studies suggests a belief in a supernatural God acts like a glue in society and motivates people to follow the rules, you know, obey the law and whatnot, be moral and stuff like that. Furthermore, a belief in the afterlife helps people grieve and maybe not fear death so much. You know, like, 'we will meet again', that sort of thing. I wanted her to know that I appreciate the concept of religion." I go, "That's very deep, Chubby." He goes, "I can be deep." Taking another sip of coffee, I think 'Wow, somebody hit this coffee with a lot of Jamison whiskey'. Chubby goes on, "And while all that stuff is true about belief in God, what matters even more than the afterlife thingie is the effect our belief in God and religion has on what happens at the human scale. You know, relationships to others and generally things that we experience in our lifetime." I'm like, "You mean like basically following the Ten Commandments or if not that, be civilized to one another?" Chubby nods his head, "Yeah, stuff like that. Then Gina throws me a curve ball by telling me Jews don't believe in an afterlife, so how do they fit in as far as the grieving and fear of death goes?" I frown, "Oh, I didn't know Jewish people didn't believe in heaven; it is kinda hard concept to wrap your head around, and it must be crowded up there after all these centuries of people dying. What'd you say to the afterlife question?" Chubby goes, "Fortunately I didn't have to say anything because we ran into a couple of kids she knows and we started talking with them about the new 'Killers' CD." I go, "That can be deep too." Our cake and ice cream show up so we start in on that. Half finished with the dessert, Chubby asks, "Are you happy, Dylan?" I tell him, "Yeah, I think I am, but I was happiest when it was you and me twenty-four seven. That was before we started working, and while we needed to work in order to get our driver's license and eventually the Jeep, we lost something along the way." He goes, "We're still the closest best friends and brothers the world has ever known." I go, "Yeah, but at one time we were inseparable and therefore closer. How 'bout you, are you happy?" He says, "I'm not sure, to be honest. Happiness is a fuzzy concept. I imagine it's different for different people. I'd think everyone wants friends though, and acceptance and maybe a little praise thrown in there every now and then. It can't be just about money either, although it certainly helps, but some really, really rich people are miserable." I go, "Yeah, but I'd still take a chance on being rich; maybe not famous so much because someone like Justin Bieber can't go out without getting mobbed and photographed." Chubby's like, "Somehow I'm not feeling all that sorry for him. Another thing we probably need to be happy is a significant other, to be politically correct." I say, "Maybe it'll be Gina. Are you happy to get up every day?" He nods his head and finishes the last of his cake. Reaching his fork to my plate to steal some of my cake, he mutters, "Yeah, of course I'm happy to get up everyday. I look forward to seeing you for one thing." I go, "Here, finish my cake," and I push the plate over to him, and add, "We'll say being happy to get up each day qualifies for happiness." Chubby mutters, "For now, but let's see what the future brings. Hey, remember all the fights we used to get in? You had a black eye, one eye or the other, all the way through the first semester in middle school." I go, "Yeah, haha. We got in so many fights because at the slightest perceived insult to either of us, our fists started flying through the air." Chubby says, "Heh heh, nobody fucked with us after awhile. We lost half the fights, but even a winner in a childhood fight gets his ass kicked. Remember the Chavez brothers?" I go, "Holy shit, they put you in the hospital. And that fucking dog, oh my God! It came charging down the yard with only that flimsy rope-leash to keep it from reaching the sidewalk. I hear the throaty growl of that huge German shepherd dog in my fuckin' nightmares." Chubby's finished both desserts now. He chuckles, saying, "We got some licks in on the Chavez brothers, but they were much older than we were, and a hell of a lot bigger. Hitting my head on the sidewalk is what put me in the hospital though, not them." We talked on about our childhood and how we'd get suspended for fighting and the moms had to go to school and listen to the guidance counselor's bullshit before we were allowed to get back in school. The moms stood up for us though, they've always been on our side. Then we go into elaborate detail about how wonderful it is that we're brothers, and we both get teary-eyed. It was getting a little maudlin with our reminiscing so it's fortunate the cute busboy showed up to clear our table and the moms came over to say goodbye with some hugs and kisses. For the moms' benefit, Chubby and I were speaking overly cautiously, like people who have had too much to drink talk, trying to prove they haven't had too much to drink. The moms say, about ten times we need to drive carefully and go directly home. We assured them we will, leave too big of a tip, and then we're outside in a hot, humid night sharing a cigarette. Chubby asks, "You okay to drive?" I say, "Probably, but you hold your booze better than I do, so you drive." We're off memory lane and on the road ahead for tonight, as Chubby asks, "You sure you don't mind the foot stuff when we get home?" I say, "Not at all, I do it to Robby." Chubby's shocked, "He has a foot fetish?" I go, "Don't get excited, Bro, he doesn't have any fetish that I know of. No, I just felt like doing it and he thought it was sexy, but nothing special." Chubby drags on the cigarette saying, "It sure is sexy to me and I know that's weird, but no sense fooling myself by pretending it isn't a turn on. Not that I think about it all that much." I go, "Maybe you need to get a job in the shoe department of Bloomingdales or some upscale shoe shop." He exhales and passes me the cigarette, "A college- educated shoe salesman, huh. No thanks. It's funny, girls' feet are sexy, but it's really boys' feet that get me going. Don't make too much out of that though; fetishes are unpredictable." I'm thinking that it might be important, like Ray saying he got a boner kissing me, but it doesn't happen when kissing girls. Isn't that similar to Chubby saying he gets a boner with boys' feet, but not girls'? And why plural 'boys'? Who else besides me does he do foot stuff with? I don't want to trap Chubby with his own words or ask a question that might embarrass him, so I'll leave this topic alone for now, as it would be prying to question him about it. I go, "How about my gayness; what we gonna do about that tonight?" He mutters, "Nothing, I hope." Passing him the cigarette, I ask, "Does that seem fair to you?" He emphatically states, "We're brothers, fer chrissakes!" I say, "I believe Dodger and Robby are brothers too, not to mention Ray and Elliot." Chubby frowns, "Ray's gay? Is that why you're hanging with him lately?" I shrug, "He claims to be bisexual, but from things he's said during his last couple of haircuts, I think he and Elliot have done some stuff together, like oral sex maybe." Chubby flicks the cigarette butt over a car to land where we can't see it. He scrunches his lips, reluctantly asking, "Is that what you want us to do, oral sex?" I go, "I'd settle for that, but only if you don't mind." Chubby puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "I don't mind, and the booze helps me say that." He gets in the Jeep and we carefully drive home, with Chubby explaining, "I can't drive too slow and cautiously because that attracts the police's attention almost as much as speeding." That makes me wonder how many times Ryan's been stopped by the police suspecting him of being inebriated because of his slow, cautious driving. Neither Chubby or me has ever had a traffic ticket. Once we got a warning because we forgot to get the car inspected, but that's it. So our driving records are gold. For teenagers it's especially impressive, but we don't get recognition for it; the cops and insurance companies only want to talk about the teen drivers who are irresponsible, not the good ones. Life isn't fair, in case ya didn't know. At the condos I go in mine and Chubby goes to his, saying, "I'll be right back; I'm gonna need a little more false courage for this evening's activities." He actually sounds excited, but he probably calls it being nervous. Sometimes those two things can get mixed up and you don't know how the hell you feel. I brush my teeth because a clean mouth feels good, plus I'm also nervously excited; I've only had Chubby's cock in my mouth a couple of times in my whole friggin' life, and brushing my teeth is something to do. Chubby comes in, saying, "I brushed my teeth, that's what took me so long." See what I mean about us two sharing a brain. He's got three beers and I sort of look at him, so he says, "They're small. I got some warm ones out of the case in the storage area to replace these. Mom never says anything about missing beers because she's either lost count of them, or she knows we're drinking them, but she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it because we hardly ever do it." I go, "Yeah, it's probably the last thing you said because the moms have faith in us that we'll be responsible. As far as they know we always have been, although occasionally we're not, but we've handled those times ourselves without bothering them with our mistakes." He opens a beer and we share it while discussing how crazy a foot fetish is. It's an unfortunate fact that the longer you drink, the easier it is to get the booze down. I say, "We're definitely gonna need to deal with a hangover tomorrow at work." Chubby goes, "Yeah, and I need to work for MJ's dad too, and then take her on a date. A movie is probably going to be the only thing I'll be able to handle." "Hope you don't fall asleep in the movies, Chubby." When we're done the with the first pony bottle of beer, Chubby opens another one, sits on the chaise lounge, and mutters, "Foot time. Do you want to check mine out or me check yours?" I mumble, "You do mine first," so he goes, "Okay, we'll switch places. Make yourself comfortable here on this TV-watching chair." I do that and Chubby takes my sneaker off and smells inside it, looks up at me and says, "Awesome foot odor, but it's just a very faint, lingering odor from previous usage. You're feet always smell good." I go, "I had a shower a couple hours ago; they're clean." He grins, muttering, "I know, it's too bad, but it is what it is so I'll make the best of it." Pulling the sock off, he smells that, and says, "Zero smell except maybe detergent." I shrug while thinking about Chubby's cock. I'm of the opinion that brother sex, when both parties are fully committed to it, could be the hottest sex of all. I should ask the Dickers brothers about that. I guess it's incest, but without the danger of impregnating each other, what's the problem, ya know? I'm referring to brothers, not parent and child; that's way different and indefensible. Chubby's got both my sneakers and socks off. I wiggle my toes, saying, "A nice foot massage would be appreciated." Chubby's on the chaise lounge too, sitting on his ankles at my feet. If he's not careful, he'll fall backwards off the end of the couch. He picks up my right foot with both hands and massages it with his face close to it examining my foot and I guess trying to smell it. His verdict is, "Nice foot smell, but no foot odor if you know what I mean. We should really do this right after we get home from work." I go, "Okay with me." He grins, murmuring, "You're awesome, Dylan, you really are." He's having fun so I'm having fun, it's really that simple and it been that way all my life. Chubby does the same thing with my other foot; a foot massage feels damn good. He says, "I like how a foot feels. Feet are strong and complex, sort of mechanical structures with twenty-six bones, thirty-three joints, and more than a hundred muscles, tendons, and ligaments." I go, "You don't say, everybody knows that; tell me something I don't know." Chubby blurts out a laugh, and says, "I love you, Dylan, you're so funny," and he grins, then kisses my foot. Not a quick kiss, a real smooch. He goes, "You have beautiful feet and I do too, actually." I say, "Our feet are identical," he goes, "Except you have size nine and I have size eight." "Technicality," I mumble, trying not to smile. Feet are a serious matter with Chubby; he's also told me a foot fetish is the most popular fetish for otherwise non-sexual body parts. And that's by a large margin. I'm curious, so I ask him if he knows why there are so many foot lovers? He says, "Because, my best bud in the world, the feet and genitals occupy adjacent areas of the cortex, which is of course part of the brain, and it's assumed in some guy's brains some crossover signals are taking place." Chubby licks my foot and kisses it again, then massages some more before sucking on my toes like I do to Ryan and Robby. I wiggle my toes in his mouth and he grins, takes my foot from his mouth and points to his lap, saying, "A four-and-a-half inch boner resides in there." I go, "Boners are great, ain't they?" The beers have been forgotten as Chubby licks and smells my foot and then picks up the other one for the same treatment. It's not unpleasant, but I get a bigger charge doing it than having someone do it to me. After making love to my feet, Chubby says, "Nice instep and arch," and I ask, "Isn't that the same thing?" Chubby goes, "Yeah, but I didn't know that you knew that, I was clarifying. And your toes are awesome," they go back in his mouth. This goes on for awhile with Chubby groping himself a few times. He had a spontaneous orgasm doing my feet one time. I reach over and pick-up the beer and sip on it until it's all gone. Finally, Chubby says, "This is so much fun, but it's your turn to do my feet." I ask, "You want me to do everything you did?" He says, "Yep, fair's fair." I shrug, "Sure, no problem." We switch places, with Chubby asking, "What happens to the oral sex if I have an explosion in my pants?" I say, "It'll still be on, explode away," and he says, "If I didn't explode licking your feet, it's unlikely I will with you doing mine. The sexual thrill is mostly in the doing, more than the receiving, well, for me anyway." I take off his sneaker, smell it, and ask, "How come there's foot odor in your sneaker?" He says, "Let me smell that puppy." I hand it to him and after smelling it, he says, "Damn, that's nice. These must be older sneakers than yours; this is residual foot odor." I go, "Don't get all technical on me." His sock comes off and it has no particular smell and his foot doesn't either. I tell him that and he goes, "It smells like a foot, but you're not a foot-smelling connoisseur like me. There's subtle ways a foot smells differently than other parts of the body," and again I wonder what guy's feet he's smelling besides mine. To skirt that question, I ask, "Do you personally know anyone else who has a foot fetish?" He says, "Lots of people have that fetish," okay, he skirted my question, but I'm taking an affirmative from his answer. He knows and shares some foot fetish occasional with at least one other guy, and you know what? I'm happy he has someone. Hell, I've got my outlets too, although an important one went to Georgia. It'll be rough not experiencing some sub/dom play, but I'm going to try not calling Willie. I'll wait for Ryan... hopefully I can do that. I play with Chubby's feet approximately as long as he spent on mine, having a pretty good time sucking my brother's toes, but now it's time to suck something else of my brother's. So I drop his foot and shimmy up between his legs on my knees, saying, "It's time for your gay brother to satisfy his fetish." Chubby says, "Oral sex isn't a fetish," and I mutter, "Semantics," and unbutton his shorts. Chubby says, "I still got a decent boner from my foot play with your feet." Pulling down his zipper, I spread open the front of his shorts, and ask him, "Hey, aren't these my boxer shorts you're wearing?" He goes, "They may be, I got them from your bureau when you were taking a shower." That makes me blurt out a laugh, repeating, "They may be mine, huh? Just because they were in my bureau." He makes a face, like, "I didn't know for sure...." Shaking my head, chuckling, I fish his cock out and mutter, "He's a fat boy, ain't he?" Chubby laughs, "Yeah, he's put on a little weight recently." I go, "Might as well air out your nuts too," and I fish them out through the fly of my boxer shorts. A damn nice set of nuts, with pubic hair peeking out the fly. I go, "I can shave these pubes for you, it's no trouble." He mumbles, "Very generous of you, but no thanks." His penis is stiff, but not a real boner. Without further ado I lean down and take it in my mouth and Chubby's personal scent invades my olfactory senses, oh so familiar a scent after a lifetime of smelling Chubby's subtle natural pheromones. Everyone has their own personal scent. That's why a bloodhound can sniff a piece of clothing someone wore and then track down that person by sniffing the trail he leaves. We all have chemical vapors, or odor, that's unique to each of us. The odor, or scent of some boys is attractive to me; others I can't detect. A blood hound has forty times the ability for scent detection that humans have, and so a bloodhound can tell the difference between everyone on the planet. Chubby's scent doesn't happen to affect me as sexually as Robby's or Ryan's, but that's probably because Chubby and I aren't sexually active together. So Chubby's scent isn't sexy, but it's my favorite scent in the world; I've enjoyed it all my life. We slept in the same bassinet as babies, we were bathed together and later shared a bed and on and on. So I like his scent the best, sexy or not. His cock tastes good, too. Of course, taste and smell are related. Chubby rubs my hair, muttering, "Damn, you got better hair than me too. I got the short end of the stick all the way around it seems." Taking his cock from my mouth, I go, "Whining and being envious of me is no way to go through life, Chubby," then go back to sucking me some of my brother's cock. He chuckles and continues playing with my hair. When I get my tongue twirling around the head of his cock and sucking the shaft, his cock gets real hard and he begins squirming on the cushioned seat as a gasp escapes his mouth. More tongue licking and lips sucking as I use two fingers to also stroke his very hard boner and another gasp, then, "Jesus! Um, ooh, ohh, mmmmm," and precum drools from his cock as his hips do small humps. My cock is as hard as Chubby's and, as usual, I let myself get lost in the sexiness of sucking a young guy's cock. Taking his boner in my fingers, I run it against the inside of my cheek, then the head against the roof of my mouth and a string of precum leaves a path wherever I move the head. Chubby's got both his hands on the seat lifting up, humping his hips, grunting and moaning. I go back to licking the swollen head and sucking the shaft and then push it past my gag reflex area, with my nose in his pubes absorbing his scent. Back out of my throat to suck just the head with both my lips and my tongue, and he goes, "Ummmm, ooooh!" humps his hips and cums in my mouth, and does he ever cum. A long stream followed by another one with Chubby moaning and moving sporadically on the recliner. Two more good spurts of creamy cum, and then I suck drools out. I swallowed some, but let the rest drool out the sides of my mouth to avoid inhaling it up my sinuses, which isn't a good look... blowing cum out my nose is kinda crude. He's laying back on the chaise lounge breathing deeply, limp like, as I suck his cock clean, then let it flop out of my mouth. Cum is running down my chin so I wipe it with the back of my hand. Normally I'd lick it off my hand, and normally I'd lick the guy's balls too, but with Chubby I eliminate things like that because he might think it's a bit too much. Too bad too because someone licking your balls is quite enjoyable. Chubby says, "I don't get my dick sucked near as much as I'd like because the girls tend to expect me to return the favor, and I've never been a fan of fish, as you know. But the rare times a girl has done it, it's like amateur hour; they can't come close to replicating you." I smile, saying, "Most active sexual gays give good head because we know what feels good on our dick." Then I mutter, "I'm going to clean up a bit in the powder room." In there I wash my face and hands. I'm feeling like I need to cum myself, but I won't push the issue. I'm satisfied getting this rare opportunity to get Chubby's cock in my mouth. Ever rarer is getting Chubby's cock in my rear end, but that's another story. He's very smiley now, saying, "Okay, that was damn good, Dylan. Thank you, man your boyfriends are lucky," I go, "So are your girlfriends. Anytime I can do anything for you, Chubby, I want to do it... so never hesitate to ask. Feet or anything else, you're numero uno in my book, bro. Top priority, just like you've always been." He says, "Thank you, and it goes without saying the same holds true for me where you're concerned; anything you need, you got it, bro." I say, "Well, I need to get on the chaise lounge with you and watch the rest of the Red Sox game like we used to do regularly." He says, "Nothing I'd rather do, Dylan. How 'bout bringing those beers over so we can share 'em. Got any peanuts?" I get the beers and hand one to Chubby, mumbling, "I'm not sure about the peanuts, let me check." I go upstairs and right to my bathroom to whack off. I got so aroused sucking Chubby's dick that I'd be uncomfortable the rest of the night if I don't get relief. Dammit, now that Ryan's gone maybe I'll need to go back to jerking off again. He gave me a great goodbye fuck hours ago, but that's not quite like the three or four fucks a day I've become used to. Guess I'll need to break that habit cold turkey. It was awesome while it lasted. A climax from using my hand feels good for half a minute, but it can't compare with the real thing. Shooting off in my toilet while sucking on my lips, I then take a deep breath and go, "Mmmm," as nothing like an orgasm. Then I flush the toilet, stroke my cock a few more times, then quickly wash up and grab a can of Planters honey-roasted peanuts from the pantry and scurry downstairs. "I found a can, Chubby." He goes, "Good, I've got the game on and the Red Sox are up on Tampa three to one." I go, "Surprising," and get on the chaise lounge right up against Chubby and we watch the game sharing the beers and eating the sweet, salty peanuts while talking about us. When we're done with the beers and peanuts, Chubby puts his arm under my neck and I cuddle against him like I've done a thousand times before. Love me some Chubby! to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com Please consider a tax deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty. Small donation will allow this to remain a free site. Thank you.