DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR
Chapter 7
by Donny Mumford
Damn! I should have checked my caller ID! I'm in a Chubby state of mind, and who calls me but Willie, and he's not the kind of boy to take "no" for an answer. He's called my cell phone many times but I only answered two of his earlier calls, and both times it was hard to get off the phone without being rude or hurting his feelings, which I don't want to do. He'd make a hell of a salesman! That's if he ever needs a job, which he's never going to because he's in line to replace his father managing money his great grandfather made.
It's not like I'm mad at Willie, I'm really not; it's just that I'm not in love with him anymore. Anyway, when I wouldn't answer his calls he began sending many, many text messages and emails. Come to think of it though, there have been very few of those the past three or four weeks. The reason I answered my cell without checking my caller ID is I thought it was Chubby calling to tell me his ETA. He wants to work for Mary Jo's dad during Spring break, and maybe again this summer too, so he's over their place discussing it. Anyway, thinking it's Chubby on the phone, I go , "Dude, you're done already? and Willie quietly replies, "No, I, I haven't even started yet, Dylan. It's me, Willie," and he sounds kinda uncomfortable, or maybe nervous. I'm obviously caught totally off guard, stuttering, "Oh, ah... heh heh, hiya Willie, whassup?" He laughs a little, and then quickly says, "I don't know why I laughed, maybe because I'm nervous talking to you." My only reply, "Oh..." He goes on, "Yeah, I miss you so much it's sick! It's stupid maybe, but I can't help it... I can't get you off my mind and at the same time, I understand why you hate me." He stops, so I stupidly repeat what he just said, but say it as a question, "Hate you?" Willie's like, "Uh huh, because I acted like such an horse's ass, especially on our last date, and I'm so sincerely sorry for that, especially for that." He does sound sincere, contrite... something like that. Getting over my surprise that it's him on the phone, I say, "Willie, I don't hate you, I've never hated you. I love you as a friend, just not as a lover... ya know?" He asks, "You love me?" I repeat, "As a friend.... I was in love with you once, but I fell out of love. It's something that happens. God knows, I'm no expert on love, but it appears to be tricky; it'll play tricks on ya, blindside ya, whatever." I'm such a dork! Where'd I come up with this crap?
There's silence for a second while Willie tries digesting my last disjointed ramblings, then he says, "Well, why'd ya avoid me if you don't hate me?" Good question... first off, I'm pissed at myself for saying I 'love' him as a friend; I shoulda said 'I don't hate you' and leave it at that. Stumped for something to say, I mutter, "I'm not avoiding you," although I've been doing exactly that for the past six months. He seems encouraged by my lie though, and says, "Oh, you weren't? Um, it seemed as though you were... I guess you're just real busy at college, or something." I'm rolling my eyes trying to think what to say. He goes, "Um, mmmm, well, I'm thrilled you still consider me a friend, and even love me as a friend. We sure did a lot of things together, didn't we." I utter, "Uh huh," and he goes, "I had the most fun in my life with you and I hate myself for treating you so awfully the whole time. I'm so sorry for that." I go, "Um, okay. It's okay, you don't need to keep apologizing." Willie, sounding a little more like himself, goes on a roll saying, "This is very mature of you, Baby... very mature indeed, and I appreciate that, and admire you for being so forgiving about how poorly I treated you. You and me, we're starting out as friends again. Okay, I, I... it's a fantastic idea, and who knows where things will go from this new beginning. You'll see, I'm a changed person, I learned my lesson... oh man, I was so not right, but I've seen the light." I mumble, Oh, good.." as he goes on, "We're almost the same age, you and me, but I'm still in high school and you're away at college; high school kids are, ya know, wicked immature, but I've grown up in the past six months, which you'll notice immediately." I'm baffled by this whole conversation, and can only manage to again utter, "Uh huh..." Willie's got a quick mind and a gift for gab, he goes on excitedly, "Now, it's early on a Saturday night so I can drive up to Merrimack and pick you up... just to talk! You'll decide everything... like, when we've talked enough or if I should leave and everything. Okay?"
Why in the name of sanity would I say this? I go, "Ah, no Willie, I'm at my condo here in Framingham, not at Merrimack. I'm home for a weekend visit." He's like, "I'll be right over, baby, and thanks for giving me another chance." I shout, "Willie, no...!" but he'd already hung up. Son of a bitch! Could I have handled that any worse?! I tap a couple of pads on my phone and call Willie's number only to get a disconnected notice. So, he's changed his cell phone number! Checking my caller ID I get his new number and tap it in; it rings and rings, then I get the "leave a message" notice, and I start to say, "Willie, don't come over..." but stop. He'll be here before he checks his messages. Balls! I've got no car to escape in, so unless I want to run and hide somewhere I'll need to deal with Willie face to face. I'm no coward, it's just that Willie can be so persuasive... that boy can talk me out of my jock with one hand tied behind his back. Damn! Okay, stay calm, and think... don't deal with this like a dumb kid; deal with it like someone who's in college and will be leaving the teenage ranks in six months or so, joining the adult world.
I'm not an immature teen anymore running to Chubby or Robby for help, I need to handle this as an adult, which according to the law, I am already anyway.
Tapping my fingers on the kitchen bar, I'm getting control of my emotions and the thought enters my mind that I might as well clean-up a little for my Willie reunion. Into the bathroom I go to brush my teeth and scrub my face, getting some color to emerge creating a healthy look. Next I wet my burr haircut, then blow-dry it to get it standing up. Mom's right, I do look good with short hair. I take off my flannel shirt and put on a clean Merimack College sweatshirt ... you know, to remind Willie who's the college student, and who's not. Then I switch my earring from a stud to the little hoop one like that cool kid had on... the boy I met on the Wildwood boardwalk two summers ago; he was so fucking cool! Okay, that looks perfect, and my black eye looks good on me too although the bruise on my forehead isn't doing anything to help my appearance; nothing to be done about that though. Observing myself in the mirror, I nod my head thinking I'm looking okay. I've always felt I was good looking, oh, not in the Dickers boy's class, but better looking than your average guy. I've even heard, about a thousand times, gay boys say I'm wicked cute, but I wouldn't know about that... just saying. Anyway, the bottom line is I feel comfortable about my appearance... I don't think Willie will be disappointed. Not that that's important, it's just I always like to feel good about myself and it's a battle sometimes to do that, so looks do count. Okay, I admit it, I need more self confidence. After glancing out the window and not seeing Willie's car, I'm back in the bathroom brushing my short hair getting it real shiny blond, and then the doorbell chimes. I'll be damned if I don't adjust my crutch and feel a thrill of excitement in my balls... funny that I'm acting this way right now... but come on, Willie and I had the hottest sex together ever!
I've had more sex with him than everyone else combined! He taught me a lot about a lot of things too. Well, Carl, his cousin Larry, and then Willie; those three taught me a lot... and the Marine too.
Swiftly moving through the condo to the front door, I realize I'm all of a sudden anxious to see Willie again, and I know that's stupid, but I am just the same. I stop and take a deep breath, then calmly open the door and there's Willie, looking cool. He's rocking an expensive looking leather jacket with a maroon cashmere scarf, and designer jeans and leather boots that are the chron! His brown eyes sparkle and he's flashing that really likable, cute, almost shy smile. His body posture makes him appear vulnerable, which I haven't seen since our early dates together. His complexion has always been very pure and pale with a scattering of small freckles across his thin nose, and as I'm staring silently at him he wrinkles his nose changing his expression to a questioning one, like... "What's wrong?" and I'd swear to God if I didn't know better I'd think he was no more then fourteen years old. Willie's looking really good! Except for this current cute questioning expression on his face, his longish, oval shaped face usually reflects a very natural, innocent expression... a pretty face, actually. The innocent part is quite misleading to be sure, but it is attractive. The dark brown hair on his head is long now, combed straight back from a very sexy hairline, straight across him forehead. Thick hair that shimmers in the cool breeze. He holds out his hand to shake mine, saying, "Hi, Dylan... you're just as beautiful as I remember." Then, "What's wrong?" Shaking my head to clear it, then shaking his offered hand, I babble, "No, no! I'm just... I mean, this is so unexpected. Seeing you, I mean... Ah, yeah, I know you called and all, what I meant is..." Willie leans in smiling at me, and kisses my lips, cutting off my jabbering, then quietly asks, "May I come in?" I'm like, "Oh, sure... sorry," and step aside to let him in. His kiss was like the memory of a very nice dream. My tongue runs along my lips as I swallow loudly. Willie's tentatively reaching over with his long fingered hand, his eyes asking permission, and when I say nothing he runs his fingers through my short hair, saying, "The most awesome hair I've ever seen, and you're uber sexy looking with short hair too." He seems so sincere, so nice... it's all I can do to nod. Another wonderful smile as he adds, "Remember me telling you that very thing in Sea Isle City?" I nod my head again although I'm not sure what he's referring to... my minds muddled and there's a strange tingling in my nuts. Gulping, I assume it was a compliment of some kind, so mutter, "Thanks," and Willie says, "You're welcome."
He seems different, he seems the opposite of his normal persona of a bossy, confident, take charge of everything, kind of boy. Now he's almost shy, unsure of what he should do... unsure of what I'll allow him to do. How very odd.
And, I don't remember him being this attractive either... did I just take it for granted before? He's an inch, maybe an inch and-a-half taller than me, and just as slim... and I'd forgotten that in person he has a boyish voice just like Robby's, which always struck me as a bizarre coincidence... that they sound so much alike, I mean. It seems I'm attracted to boys with unusually boyish voices. Willie and me aren't saying anything now though, we're looking at the other, drinking it all in. Then Willie asks, "Is it okay if we have a hug and another quick kiss for old times sake?" In a trance I nod my head and Willie steps to me and gently puts his arms around my waist, quietly saying, "You used to put your arms around my neck when we kiss." I'm watching his lips move when he talks, his delicious lips moving over extremely white, even teeth. I mumble, "Oh, okay," and put my arms around his neck and we kiss quickly with both of us kissing back, more of a brotherly kiss then anything else and Willie's the one who pulls his head back slightly, smiling, looking into my eyes with a needy look in his. My lips want more and I move my head to his and kiss his lips, but he pulls his head back further, saying, "We better not, Dylan. I don't think I could control myself, you're so desirable it's making me dizzy," and he lets go of my waist, leaving me with my arms hanging around his neck, wanting more.
Coming to my senses, I let go of him, and say, "Oh, that was nice, Willie. Come on, let's sit at the kitchen bar, I'll get us a soda." Willie sits on one of the stools on the family room side of the kitchen bar as I walk into the kitchen and check inside the refrigerator. "Darn, we only have one cold soda, Willie... a Coke. Would you like it? I'll have some orange juice or something." He asks, "Can we share the Coke?" I pull the tab on the Coke can, saying, "Sure," then sit on a stool at the kitchen side of the bar looking directly at Willie, my dick's doing little flip flops from side to side; Willie's so sexy he's like a walking orgasm. Taking a quick deep breath I slide the Coke can across to Willie who smiles that sweet smile he can come up with anytime he wants, and then he mumbles, "Thanks, baby..." lifting the can and taking a swallow or two. No one's called me things like "baby"or "sweetheart" since the last time I saw Willie. I didn't used to like it, but it sounds okay now coming from him; it's part of our history together. He slides the can back to me and I drink from it aware that Willie's lips were recently were mine are now. Slowly reaching over with one hand Willie covers one of my hands with his while doing that thing with his eyes that seems to be asking permission. I go, "Ooh," and drink again from the Coke can, leaving my hand where it is and Willie slides his fingers around my hand to hold hands the same way Rajon held my hand the other day. It feels so good holding hands with another boy I close my hand ever so slightly on his and he tightens the rest of the way, and it's official, we're holding hands. "Tell me who gave you that black eye, Dylan, and I'll see to it that something unpleasant happens to him." I go, "Oh, no... don't do anything, Willie. Robby and I took care of it, no problem." He asks, "Robby? He's your brother, right?" I go, "No, Chubby's sorta my brother... er, Jeffrey's his real name." Willie swallows some coke, grinning at my mumblings, and then he's sliding the can back to me, asking, "Robby's your boyfriend then, right?" I say, "Yes," and drink some Coke feeling that strange trance-like condition beginning to overtake my mind. Willie was my first boyfriend ever and his presents here and now seems huge; it's like I owe him so much for all he's done for me, but what can I do in return? Willie, staring into my eyes, finishes the Coke, and asks, "Can we smoke in here?" I'm surprised, "You still smoke, Willie? I thought you just did that as a favor to me." He grins, looking sheepish, and says, "It started that way, but I got hooked on them... and anyway, smoking reminds me of you." That's sweet, he's being so charming I can feel myself falling for him all over again. It was almost love at first sight two years ago. Back then, under his spell, I was soon in free fall whenever we were together. I say, "Let's go outside and have a cigarette there, okay?" He nods and we get up still holding hands looking at each other smiling, reluctantly we let go, chuckling goofily. Willie's still wearing his leather coat but I need to pull a hoodie over my head before following Willie to the door.
Outside, the cold air revives me and I realize I can't get involved with Willie again... certainly not like we were before. We smoke quietly for a minute; being quiet is so unusual for him. He's usually a dynamo of energy ordering me to do this or that or asking what I want to do, or something; our times together were never very relaxing, always constant motion and unusual adventures, and then some awesome sex would follow. My dick twitches again thinking of Willie's eight inch cock, and the way he uses it. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, "What are you thinking about, baby?" he asks, as he brushes the side of my cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. I say, "What? Oh, um... nothing, Willie." He takes a drag from his cigarette, then holds it between his lips squinting closed the eye above the smoldering cigarette, and uses using hands to pull my hood up and then tighten the laces under my chin, muttering, "It's colder out here than you think," like I'm a little kid he needs to take care of. It's creepy maybe, but muscles all around my groin tighten as I suck on my bottom lip to prevent me from sighing. He adjust my hood some more, smiling at me, talking around the cigarette, "God, you look so fucking cute with that hood surrounding your face!" I croak-out, "How's Andy?" and Willie takes his hands from my hood and looks away. Taking his cigarette from his lips and passing it to me, he says, "Andy was my latest mistake, Dylan. He fooled me, took advantage of me. I don't know... it got like he thought he was running the show. Not that I thought I was... oh, forget it. We broke up about a month ago, which is freakin' awkward since we're roommates." Then he did that nervous "Heh heh," embarrassed laugh, a self deprecating laugh, and I felt bad for him. I saw a side of Andy when I first met him that was demon like, but later he pretended he'd been putting me on.
It's hard for anyone to think that a little baby-faced kid like Andy could be like the 'bad seed' or something, but I think the potential is there. I reach over and pat Willie's shoulder, quietly murmuring, "Sorry, Willie..." When he looks up at me his eyes are watery, as he goes, "Ah, it's for the best! It's made me appreciate what I had in you, and how badly I fucked that up." What can I say to that? And, it's strange that the time table for his breakup with Andy coinsides with the big drop off in emails and text messages to me. How does that make sense?
Willie steps on the cigarette butt and kicks it over the side of our stoop. Taking a big breath, still not talking, he nervously lights another one, acting uncomfortable like he's embarrassed about him and Andy breaking up. There's probably much more to the story, but I'm not really interested in what it might be. Taking the opportunity of Willie's silence, I go, "Um ah, just so I'm not misleading you, Willie... um, I do want to be friends, you and me, but I've got a boyfriend that I'm in love with and I'm away at college and all, so it's gonna be kinda hard to find the time to even be friends... ya know?" He blows smoke out his nose, passes the cigarette to me, then tilts his head slightly, smiling sadly, asking, "You going steady with Robby?" I nod my head, hedging my answer, "Yeah, sort of... we used to but, I mean we're still boyfriends, but... ah.." Willie finishes my sentence, "But not really going steady, right?" I go, "Well, it's a tiny bit of an open relationship... tiny!" and I'm geekily holding my forefinger a half inch from my thumb. He smiles again, mumbling, "You're irresistible..." and he takes my free hand again and holds it like I'm the girl and he's the boy. And, again I don't pull it away because I like it. Instead of pulling it away or protesting, I grunt in an effort to not grab my package. Biting my lip again I glance over at him as smoke's drifting from his mouth and see he's got that familiar naturally innocent expression on his face, then he smiles noticing that I'm staring at him, and he asks, "What? What is it, Dylan?" I shake my head slightly as my cock starts absorbing erectile fluids. Willie takes a last drag off our smoke, the smoke drifts from his mouth, he drops the butt and steps on it, then kicks it off the stoop into the snow, just like he did with the first one, saying, "It seems like you have that tiny wiggle room in your almost-going-steady arrangement, can't you let me squeeze in just a tiny bit?
That's all I ask, Dylan... just let me in a tiny bit to show you I've changed.
Please... you won't be sorry." I do a fake nervous cough, thinking how I've always had a hard time saying "no" to Willie. He tightens his hand-holding, looks me in the eyes, and asks again, "Can you fit me in just a little," and I nod my head mumbling, "Yeah, sure... I'd like that," and Willie leans over and kisses me on the mouth, and I'm the one who opens my mouth slightly allowing Willie's awesomely sexy tongue to come in and he sucks on my tongue until my cock is a steel poker.
We do the kiss on my front stoop, in the cold, for all to see. Willie doesn't give it a thought because he's been totally 'out' to the world since puberty. Leaning into my boner, Willie slowly lets my tongue go; then, as I hold my head still for him, he licks across my lips. I'm panting quietly, staring back into his hypnotic eyes. "I love you more than ever, Dylan, and I couldn't help but noticed your erection, so I'm guessing you're still feeling something for me too. All I want is to win you back, if I can, but if all we can be is friends, that'll be awesome too. Whatever, it'll be different... I learned my lesson, baby. You're the prize, not me... you rule, sweetheart. You always did actually, I just didn't realize it until I lost you." I try to speak, but gasp, then mutter, "No, I mean... I don't know what you mean. I, Robby and I are in love, Willie... I told ya that already." He's on the defensive, "No, no, no... I'm not trying to break you up, not at all. I just want to be in your life somehow, some tiny little way. Okay?" I go, "Okay, but..." and he interjects, "Can you come for a ride with me now? Over to my house, maybe?" Too emphatically, I say, "No!" then bring it down to more normal conversational level, to add, "Um, Chubby's picking me up soon, we got plans to have dinner with our moms." Willie chuckles good naturedly, "You and your brother have more than one mom; you said moms, plural." He's being funny, not critical, not acting like an asshole. "It's a long story," I mumble, feeling more relaxed with him now then I've felt since he got here, and I think that's because he didn't argue with me about coming with him. I'd said 'no' and he accepted that. Willie says, "Well, I better leave now," and another nervose fake chuckle, then, "But, can I call you next week?" when I hesitate, he adds, "Please, Dylan..." and I say, "Sure, any time Willie. I've always liked you... loved you for a while too. Why shouldn't we be friends!"
Without so much as a final kiss 'goodbye', Willie says a sincere, "It's been wonderful to see you again, thanks for giving me a chance to be a friend." I'm speechless, so he gives me another sweet smile, squeezes my hand, then lets go and starts down the steps to his car. I watch him, flabbergasted at the change in him, tasting his tongue, feeling his hand in mine, and then I gasp out a huge exhale realizing I'd been holding my breath. Willie drives away without looking back, and only when he's out of sight do I think, "Was that a Porsche GT2 he's driving?" Burrrr, it's cold out here since the sun's gone down. Wrapping my arms around myself I shudder, then go back inside and try to get my head around this new, humble Willie. He may be humble, but he's just as sexy as ever and I'm fighting off a strong desire to jerkoff and winning the battle because Chubby and I are hopefully going to be messin' around together later on. Wow, though... Willie really got me going there, and he was trying to tone it down. How could anyone change so much in just six months? No way... so what's up? Well, Willie is a bit of a chameleon... he's very adaptable situation to situation, but still, he was sweet this afternoon. Is he that good of an actor? No, it's probably a combination of things; I mean, Willie was like a different boy when we first started going out too, different than he was when I broke-up with him. Maybe his true nature is somewhere in the middle. The more I thought about it, the more I think I liked it when he was bossier.
Isn't that strange? It surprises me how much I enjoyed seeing him though; hey, maybe I was suppressing my true feelings before. Could it be that I've been avoiding contact with him because subconsciously I know I still have a 'thing' for him? Damn, that kiss we had got me so hard, and I'm just now realizing how his awesome odor, very uniquely sexy, added to my arousal; an odor I'd become so familiar with I didn't differentiate it from the kiss until right now. Jeez! Laying on top of my bed with a picture of a naked Willie in my head, I'm groping my crotch, rubbing the head of my boner against my belly, and moaning low. Yeah, he reawakened my desires for him, but I can only allow myself a taste of him; my real love is Robby... and, of course, Chubby's always in the conversation.
Speaking of Chubby, my cell phone goes off and this time I do check the caller ID before answering with, "Bro, where ya been?" Chubby tells me he's just finished filling out an updated job application and he'll be home in half an hour. We hang-up and I lay there with the phone on my chest pondering three things: one, should I tell Chubby about Willie's visit? Chubby isn't a fan of Willie . He told me he was glad when I broke-up with him. Hmmm, the answer please: it's, 'NO!" Not now anyway, let me see how it goes with Willie first. The next question is the same as the first, except it's Robby that I wonder about. Ya know, I think I'm going to casually mention that Willie and I might hook up as friends, not lovers... buddies. Gotta be as honest with Robby as I can be, especially with our new more open arrangement with each other... keep the lines of communication open. And the last thing is the most relevant right now: should Chubby and I mess around shaving legs etc. etc. when he gets here, or should we have dinner first and then stretch-out our old-times together after that? Answer: Stretch it out after dinner! Ha ha! I'm in a good mood again, and why not; Chubby and me tonight, Robby and me tomorrow, and maybe a taste of Willie in the future some time... just a little taste.
When Chubby arrives I've already changed clothes again. As far as I'm concerned, putting on a blue button-down dress shirt with a dark blue Merrimack College v-neck sweater over it is the last word in dressing-up. Whenever I'm going to dinner in a fancy restaurant I get dressed up, and so that's what I'm wearing tonight. Of course, from my waist down, now so much... I'm wearing cargo khakis and snow boots, but who's gonna see that once I'm sitting at the table? Chubby comes in, sees me, and goes, "YES!" The perfect outfit!", and he wears the same thing... like I said, identical twins. Sure, lots of guys would be mortified wearing the exact same thing as their friend out in public 'cause it's way too gay, but I am gay and whether Chubby is or not, he don't give a shit about what others might think; it's fun for Chub to be rockin' the same outfit as me. At the restaurant, after hanging our coats up, we're standing at the reservation desk not sure what to do next when Tris sees us and comes over to give us a quick kiss on the cheek, saying, "You two are so funny, dressing alike again." Chubby and I are acting like we're cool with the restaurant scene, but we're actually a little overwhelmed because this place is jumping on a Saturday night and the the maitre d' at the desk looks like a real prick who won't even acknowledge our presents, so we're just sorta standing here, not sure if we should say, "Humph! My good man, we're here for our free dinner," or what.
Anyway, Tris saved the day for us. She says to the , maitre d'. "Gino, honey... these are my boys visiting from college, can you have Joey set up a small table near the kitchen for them, please?" He looks down at the list of reservations, smiles phonily at a man who's checking his watch and asking when his table will be ready. Tris, with a big smile, says, "Gino?" Clearly he heard her the first time but chose to ignore her; he purses his lips, not pleased at all, and stiffly says, "As usual, we're overbooked tonight and already backed-up with reservations, Trisha." She smiles a million dollar smile, saying, "I know, isn't it great for the restaurant! Thank you so much, Gino," then to us, "Isn't he wonderful to do this for us?" and she hurries off. I'm not so sure he's going to do it... Chubby and I exchange looks as Tris waves, returning to her waitress responsibilities. Awkward! But now Gino is raising his hand, gesturing to someone. That someone turns out to be this awesomely handsome, swarthy-complected busboy name Joey.
He's appears to be a few years older then Chubby and me, obviously bypassing college to explore a career as a waiter, and doing so from the ground up. With a totally annoyed expression on his face, Gino's pointing at us giving instructions to Joey, who looks over at me and actually winks; it's kind of a smart-ass wink, then turns from Gino to tell us, "Gentleman, your table will be ready in just a moment," and off he goes, disappearing into the kitchen section only to return momentarily carry a small table. Out from the kitchen comes another busboy, this one with some acne scars, poor lad. He's carrying two chairs and a tablecloth, which he spreads on the table. Another busboy appears with our silver wear; he arranges two place setting which included plates and some glass wear, and then Joey's walking towards us. It took less then a minute to set our table up with Gino ignoring the process completely while unctuously telling lies to would be diners, "Just a minute or two more, we're clearing your tables now." Rolling his eyes behind Gino's back, Joey's facial expression is full of mirth as he grabs two leather clad menus, saying, "Follow me, please," and leads us to the small table for two which is near the twin kitchen doors, away from the main room. As we're approaching the secluded table through the crowded, bustling, and noisy main dining room the other bus boy is filling our glasses with water. On the table now is a small basket of rolls and a fancy bowl containing butter in the shape of shells, laying on a bed of ice. Joey pulls out a chair for Chubby, who sits, saying, "Thank you, my good man." Joey does a little chuckle as the other boy holds my chair for me, and I say, "Charmed, I'm sure" and we all snicker. Joey speaks low, saying, "Your moms say to take care of you two so I'm gonna make sure that happens because they're good people, a couple of awesome broads! Um, no offense intended." I go, "None taken, young man," and Joey gives me a sideways glance, saying, "You're just messin', right? You don't really talk like this..." I go, "Whatever the fuck are you referring too?" and he rubs my hair, mumbling, "Alright, dude..." then asks, "You guys want a drink before ordering? I can sneak some from my bartender buddy," and I quickly say, "Oooh yeah, that would be awesome. How 'bout two rum'n cokes?" Joey looks at Chubby, asking, "Same for you?" and Chubby's like, "Dude!" My eyes follow Joey's every move as he walks away, then he's out of sight and I'm positive he's straight. What a shame! Chubby's watching me stare after Joey, a rye grin on his lips... I look back and ask, "What?!" and he shrugs, saying, "Nothing, I'm good."
The rum and Cokes are just the ticket for making the dinner a special event.
We each have two and while drinking our second we both order the same meal:
Medium rare prime rib with creamy horseradish sauce on the side, baked potato with both sour-cream and butter, and the house salad with Italian dressing. There's a dish of buttered broccoli involved too, but please... neither Chubby nor I are gonna ruin this diner with that! During dinner we reminisce about growing up together; surprisingly, we hardly ever do that, but tonight we get into it... just one of those nights that everything seems funny and I laugh so hard I feel light headed. Chubby tells a great story anyway, lots of embellishment of course, and it always starts with, "Dylan, remember the time......" There are a number of stories involving Chubby sticking up for me, and the other way around too; mostly those stories involve middle school fights because by the time we got to high school we weren't having trouble with anyone. Chubby and I had gone nuclear over one insult or another in middle school a number of times so the word was pretty much out that it wasn't a good move to fuck with us because ,"That dude, Jeffry Romero, is fuckin' crazy!". Leaving elementary school to go to middle school we experienced initial bullying in the form of name calling mostly. It's because Chubby and me were so tight... ya know, we'd get called queers, fags, etc etc.. Middle school seems to be a hotbed of homophobic behavior for some reason anyway; perhaps it has something to do with boys entering puberty and wondering about their sexuality while expanding their vocabularies. You grow up in a neighborhood knowing ten or twelve kids and then get shipped to middle school for sixth grade and find yourself among a thousand or more kids you don't know, so it takes a year or two to sort things out... those are the stories we remember. Then in high school, of course, we did have that trouble with the Chevez boys, but we don't go there tonight... too painful. We switch from hero stories to reminiscing our freshman year in high school when we skipped gym class together for an entire semester hiding out in the music room, and then back to a funny middle school experience about a field trip to the zoo in seventh grade where a camel tore open my lunch bag and ate my Twix bar. Just the Twix, but I wouldn't eat anything else from the bag because that beast had blown air through those big hairy nostrils into the lunch bag contaminating the rest of my lunch. Chubby shared his lunch with me that day as he and I indignantly railed at the security flaws in a zoo where a camel is able to reach a person's lunch. Embarrassed and pissed off way back then, but now it's funny.
As I said, the stories get us stupidly laughing like fools, laughing the way twelve year old boys laugh at bathroom humor and farts, but the food is so good we manage to eat and laugh at the same time. The moms, one at a time, stop over at our table in between waitress'n duties to relate quick stories about Chubby and me as little kids. They both tell the same one about how they almost lost their jobs when Chub and I were first left on our own as eight year olds. They felt so guilty about it that they'd take turns sneaking away from the restaurant; the other covering both waitress sections so one of them could drive home to check on how we were doing. Chubby and I had no idea they were peeking in windows and sneaking around being sure we were alright. Seeing that we were fine was such a relief; they watched as Chubby and me fixed our dinner together, helping each other, and later doing our homework together. Mom said they were so proud of us back then they'd cry together, hating that it was necessary for us to be left on our own. The restaurant owner discovered what the real situation was and took pity on our moms by setting up a schedule for the moms that allowed then to check up on us until we were in bed, which in those days was by nine o'clock. Tris said, "Of course Gino docked our pay, but most of our income comes from tips anyway." Chubby and I asked for more stories like that from the moms because we liked hearing stuff that made us look good, although we pretend it's no big deal, and maybe even a little bit boring. The rum is definitely playing a part in the festivities and one of the things we speculated about is if the moms know there's rum in our Cokes. But for me and Chubby it's more than the rum... there's a renewed closeness I feel coming from Chubby, like it's something he's initiating so we'll connect again like we once did. I don't know, I'd have thought we're still too young for nostalgia, but that's what seems to be in the air. For example, Chubby recalling the embarrassing phase of our life where we both realized we're missing the frisbee gene. Neither of us possessed the seemingly simple skill of tossing a frisbee; it eluded us somehow. We'd fling that thing away with our wrist like everyone else does, but ours always ended-up on telephone wires or a tree or a rooftop.
Chubby's claim tonight is that when one of us fucked-up with tossing the frisbee, the other subconsciously did the same for support. I'm like, "That might be a bit of a reach, bro... we were like nine or ten years old at the time." He goes, "I'm just saying..." We were mocked about it back then and that was painful, but it's funny to us now.
As we're finishing our dinner Chubby told his hilarious story of knocking out one of Kathleen Firth's teeth in eight grade; that had us almost falling out of our chairs with laughter, and then I countered with what happened later that same year when I accidentally got chewing gum stuck in Kathleen's hair... not on purpose, accidentally! It was a nightmare then, the moms needed to come to school in an effort to keep Chubby and me from getting suspended... both incidences were totally accidental, but it appeared to Kathleen's parents that we had a 'hit' out on their daughter. Fuck! What a series of coincidences... anyway, our dinner has been a great success and all our 'yucking it up' over the stories of our youth was possible because, as I said, we weren't actually part of the main restaurant floor, therefore very few diners observed our unorthodox dining behavior. The moms came over when we'd finished eating and Chubby and I piled on the 'thank you's'. My mom mentioned that if we came home more often we'd get invited out to diner more often... an obvious bribe that Chubby and I pretended to fall for promising we'd get home more than once a month and blab, blab, blab... But, come on, we're college students out on our own, and nothing rocks better than that! Then, over coffees, Chubby and I tried to figure how much the dinner would have cost if we were paying customers, which we're not. It's just that we want to leave an appropriate tip for our waiters, who were awesome. Oh, and Joey, as our dinner played out, seemed to be paying a little too much attention to the back of my neck leaning over me while cleaning away the dishes, so maybe I was too hasty in saying he's obviously straight... whoa, he's a macho man alright, but he still has that touch of youth about him, and an awesome smile so, ya know... maybe we do need to get out to dinner more often.
Having dinner together at a nice restaurant is a rare treat for Chubby and me, and we really enjoyed ourselves, but we're both anxious to get back to the condo to watch the finals of the Hockey East tournament on TV. It's between our Merrimack Warriors and the Boston College's Eagle's and is being played before sixteen thousand fans at the TD Garden in Boston. Chubby and me chastised ourselves for not getting tickets, but we'd procrastinated letting the thing sell-out before we got around to it. This hockey game is a true David and Goliath situation as powerhouse Boston College with fifteen thousand students, winners of four out of the last five Hockey east titles, faces our little college of two thousand students. The restaurant is less then twenty minutes from the house so we easily make it back in time. Inside my condo we undress in my bedroom and put on pajamas for comfort, as I say, "Okay, Chubby... those pajamas you're putting on right now represent the the last pair of pajamas I have except for these that I'm wearing, you've got the rest of mine in your bedroom, either here in the condo or back at the apartment." Chubby's pulling on the bottoms, his four inch cock dangling loosely between his thin thighs, as he goes, "What nonsense! Why would I steal your pajamas?" I have a strong urge to suck that dangling penis, but it disappears behind my pale blue cotton PJ bottom. I pull on a pair of sweat socks ignoring his preposterous lie, then we hustle downstairs to the finished basement and plop ourselves on the recliner like we always do when watching TV and then hit the remote control just as the puck is being dropped at center ice. When you've done something for literally as long as you can remember, like Chub and me watching TV sharing a recliner intended for one, it doesn't seem the least bit odd... to others, oh my God, it would be considered so lame... so gay!
It's a close game until Boston College takes control in the third period scoring three goals, winning the game five/three, so no miracle on ice tonight. I've only seen one Merrimack hockey game all year, it was at the rink on campus with Connor, so it's not like I'm locked in to the sport, but bragging rights would have been nice just the same. Chubby and me being side by side on the recliner all game is a nice ice breaker for what I'm hoping will be a rather intimate night with my bro, Chubby. He needs to cooperate though or forget about it, so when the game ends I test the waters by asking, "Shall we start with the leg shaving, and move on from there to all the other stuff, Chubby?" and to my great pleasure and relief, he goes, "Yeah, you have the clippers and all the tools right here. How about a haircut first though?" I'm like, "What? Ya just did mine last week," and Chubby's goes, "Duh! I'm referring to me... I'm the one who needs a haircut." I mutter, "Oh, yeah, sure. But hey Chub, shouldn't we get naked, we're gonna be taking showers later anyway?" He's like, "Not for my haircut, Dylan! Come on... don't ruin everything by overdoing it, let things play-out at their own pace." I mumble, "Yeah, sorry... I was kidding anyway... mostly." After getting the barber stuff out I call to Chubby, who's using the bathroom, that I'm ready when he's ready and out he comes, "At least take my pajama top off or I'll never get the hair clippings washed out." Chubby pinches my cheek saying, "You're all excited, aren't you?" I go, "Don't be ridiculous, it's Dodger who's got the haircut fetish, not me." Then taking the PJ top Chubby's wearing and laying it on the recliner, it hit's me how, A haircut fetish is right up there with the oddest fetish I know about. It also gets me thinking about Dodger and I realize I'm looking forward to seeing him too. College is great, but it does separate you from a lot of the things and people you used to spend your life with.
Chubby's sitting on the barber stool expecting a barber cape, but I like looking at his naked back and chest and arms and neck... he looks kinda little sitting there hunched over, his feet resting on the top spoke. I'm behind him stretching his hair out between my fingers, it's at least six inches long, like Connor's was. I ask, "What kind of hair style for you today, sir?" Chubby says, "Where's the cape?" and I lie, "It's in with the dirty clothes to be washed," then I run the palms of my hands up his sides saying, "This is better," and hug him around the neck with my face side by side with his. Chubby deadpans, "Control yourself, if you can." I go, "Not where you're concerned, you make me crazy." He snorts a laugh, "Man, you really are into this gay stuff, aren't you? You seem to have so much fun with it." I have both arms wrapped around Chubby's neck by now, and I've got my lips on his ear, saying, "My boyfriend and I have agreed to try an 'open' relationship and you're the first beneficiary of that decision." He smells so wonderful I need to bite my lip not to moan. Chubby again deadpans, "Super-duper, lucky me. How 'bout if you try giving me a faux mohawk haircut. Can you do that?" I go, "Awesome choice! Yeah, a'course I can do it, but did that girlfriend of yours put this in you head?" I release my hold around his neck doing a quick kiss on the side of his head inhaling the sexy odor that naturally resides in his skin and hair... what a fabulous brother I have. Chubby goes, "Get real! Samantha has nothing to do with it, I just wanna see what I look like with that style." Kind of exciting because I get to do a lot of cutting of his awesome hair for this kind of haircut rather than the trim he's been getting recently. "You'll look incredibly cool because you've got the perfect hair and a perfectly shaped skull for any short haircut. Long haircuts can cover a misshapen-ed head, but those guys can't get away with short hair." He asks, "How come you know so much about all this?" so I ask right back at him, "How come you know so many factoids?" and that was the end of that discussion.
Combing through his hair to get out tangles, which don't exist... hee hee, I'm just playing with his hair. I'm a dork, but any time I get to do something intimate with Chubby I draw it out as long as I can. Finally I squeeze the back of his neck, then attach a half-inch comb to my Oster classic 76 barber's clippers and, in silence except for the sound of the clippers, I start at his sideburn and push the clippers up the side of his head cutting silky hairs that were as long as six inches uniformly to a mere half inch; the severed hairs cascading over my hand... I love the feel of that. Then another run up the side a little further back and a thousand more long severed dark-brown hairs fall away from Chubby's head, over my hand to his bare shoulder with some falling in his lap and others on the tile floor. This is repeated all along the side of his head, then across the back and then the other side... all the hair on the sides and back is now a half inch short. A faux mohawk doesn't normally have the mohawk hair at the center of the head run down the back of the head to the nape of the neck... it runs down the middle of the head over the crown, and that's it. In Wildwood, when Mohawk man gave me a mohawk he shaved my head except for a one inch strip from my forehead to the nape of my neck; that's a true mohawk, but there's no shaving involved with a faux mohawk... it rarely goes shorter than a half inch. Chubby has beautiful dark brown hair, silky and full... it's an almost a sexual experience watching the clippers shear his hair from his head, then it lazily fall onto his back or shoulders, drifting were ever it feels like drifting from there. It's like removing a part of his body while Chubby sits docilely on his stool, allowing me to do what I want with him. Hey! Maybe a haircut fetish isn't such a goofy fetish after all. Finished with the sides and back, the clippers still running and held away from us, I run my fingers through the half inch hair on the side of his head; it still feels full and soft with a lot of body. Leaning close I again smell the familiar clean hair smell I've smelled all my life, and ask him, "Nervous?" He quietly says, "A little... will it look okay, Dylan?" I snort, and say, "You know it will, dude! I wouldn't let you down for anything!" Chubby's reaches back and runs his fingers up the back of his head feeling the short hair, saying, "Ah, back to short hair! You're right, bro... we like that best, don't we, Dylan?" It makes me feel good that he bunches us together, I go, "Definitely, Chubby... the seventies and eighties are an embarrassment to guys of all ages! All those Beatles imitators running around wearing the same hairdos middle age woman were wearing. Humiliating not only to gays, but straights alike." He goes, "Uh huh," and I add "and bisexuals too," which gets no response from Chub.
Done with the clippers, I put then back in the satchel and check out what's left of his head of hair. It looks funny at this point and I grab a mirror so Chubby can see the really short hair all the way around his head, then six-inch long hair on top. "This would be a great look for a clown," he says, then he asks again, "You sure this is gonna work out okay?" I reassure him, as I'm running a comb through all that hair on top of his head, "No worries, Chubby... I'm all over this, you're gonna look awesome!" I put the comb in the pocket of my pajama top and massage his head with my fingertips, like I did with Connor recently. Talk about an intimate encounter... massaging someone you have a crush on! So I begin a bare-skin massage starting with his head, then the back of his neck, then his shoulders. I've already mentioned the texture of his hair, it's fantastic to feel, and the same for his skin. Chubby's body is mostly hairless: torso, arms, and legs. I say hairless, but I should clarify that to be "obviously visible hairs". Oh sure, some sparse underarm hair and pubic hairs, but other than that just pale fine hairs on calves and forearms. Neither Chubby nor I have anything but fine peach fuzz on our upper lip, no whiskers yet. That's about it for Chubby's body hair. His skin is a beautiful creamy pale tan, without a blemish and, like I said, it smells good to me too. He murmurs, "Feels good, Dylan... and it's funny but I wouldn't be able to say that if anybody else in the world was massaging me except you." I move from his shoulders to his arms and feel the hardness of his biceps. When we used to wrestle I'd be aware how strong Chubby is, but it surprises me a little now to feel the strength in his taut body... his arms, chest and stomach, which I massage from behind, my forehead against his back, moving my hands as close to his crotch as I dare. He's being such a good sport about this I reverse my steps and move up his body to finish with a good head massage leaving his scalp tingling and I hear a low, "Mmm...." from this awesome boy who I've been priviledged to live my life with.
Finishing the haircut on the top of his head I comb the hair between my forefinger and middle finger and cut it with scissors, styling the hairs progressively longer from the half inch at the sides and back to almost two inches at the very center of his head, running from forehead to crown. This takes some time because it's needs to be done section to section and I do not want to fuck it up. When the cutting is done, Chubby's hair is so full of body that just wetting the slightly longer hairs on top and blow drying them gets the faux mohawk look. Most people's hair requires gel to maintain the mohawk look, but Chubby's stands up dry and it looks very cool and uber hot on him with his cute face and smirking attitude. I hand him a mirror as I'm brushing the cut hairs from his shoulders and lap. Chubby's like, "WOW! What a change, I like it though. You're an awesome hair stylist, Dylan." I go, "I prefer the simple title of 'barber', nothing pretentious about me." I'm overdoing the lap brushing so Chubby stands up, saying, "Damn, you're gonna give me a stiffy with all that lap patting," as he continues brushing the hair clippings, mumbling, "You shoulda put a towel or something over my lap," I go, "Just take off your pajama bottoms and I'll start on your legs." He gets quiet for a second, so I glance up and he looks at me, asking, "Are we really going to do this tonight? Aren't we too old?" I say, "Of course we are... we were too old to do it when you first initiated it, but so what? We're special!" Chubby nods, making a face and taking a deep breath.
As I'm putting the barber equipment away, Chubby says, "I'm feeling lost lately, Dylan." Looking over my shoulder at him I can tell right away he's serious, not joking like he usually does. I ask, "Lost?" and Chubby sits back down on the stool again, facing me now, saying, "Yeah... I don't know how to explain it." He takes another deep breath, looking so cute with his new haircut. Not being able to come up with anything to say, I wait with a scared feeling in my gut because the thought of Chubby in some kind of trouble... well, it scares the hell out of me! Chubby goes, "Um, my life seems 'off' somehow and I can't pinpoint why that's so... something's not right, but I don't know what, and that's mostly why I wanted you to come home with me today... so it'd be just you and me like old times." I'm walking over to him, as he's saying, "That thing I told you about using you as an excuse so I wouldn't need to spend time with Mary Jo, that was mostly a lie." I reach over and lay my hand on his shoulder, asking, "Tell me what I can do, Chubby... I'd do anything for you." He shrugs and nods his head, saying, "I know you will... it's just, I don't know. In some dumb way I guess I wish you and me could go back in time and things would be like they were... I never felt my life was 'off' back then. When did everything change anyway?" I move beside him now, standing close to the stool and put my arm across his thin shoulders, our sides touching, quietly saying, "When we got jobs we sorta went our separate ways, and I think that's when our world changed." Chubby's nodding his head again, murmuring, "Yeah, that wasn't long after our fight with the Chevez boys... maybe everything started changing then." I go, "Well, there's the little matter of us growing up too... getting older, that is." Chubby reaches up and squeezes the hand of my arm across his shoulders, and holds on to it, asking, "Do ya have any idea why I'm feeling screwed-up like this?" I shake my head, but wonder to myself if it isn't something to do with a sexual identity crisis, but maybe I'm projecting so there's no way I'm bringing that up. I say, "No, I don't really know for sure... um, but like you sorta said, maybe it'll pick up your spirits if we return to days of old and act like thirteen year old kids again, doing gay stuff that we're able to do without being called gay because of special circumstances that you've outlined for my benefit about a thousand times." And Chubby adds, with a chuckle, "And you turned out to be gay anyway, so what a waste of my time..." Smiling, I ask,
"Whaddaya say?" He nods his head grinning sheepishly as he gets off the stool. Then, while pulling off his pajama bottoms, he says, "You're in charge now, bro... but not too-too gay, okay?" as he's now standing in the middle of the room stark naked. What a body he has! Smallish, but perfect.
to be continued...
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com