DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR
Chapter 9
by Donny Mumford
It's Sunday night after an awesome winter barbecue at the Dickers; Chubby's gotta take off soon for a date with Samantha, but first a cigarette behind the garage with Dodger, Robby, and me. Dodger says, "Ya know, guys, mom and dad are totally aware we're smoking cigarettes back here." Robby's like, "Yeah, no shit... but smoking here allows them to pretend we're not smoking, and thus prevents us from needing to hear a lecture about the evils of it all." Chubby and I exchange looks, and then shrug 'cause our moms gave-up lecturing us long ago, and anyway the moms sneak cigarettes themselves when they're having cocktails, so it'd be a bit hypocritical of them to continue pestering us about it. And, because they've stopped nagging us about our nasty cigarette habit, Chub and I pretend we don't know that they're sneaking 'em either... another example of 'don't ask, don't tell'. Chubby asks, "Who can lend me twenty-five dollars until next pay day?" Robby says, "No sweat, I'd do it in a second except my money's back at the apartment." Dodgers like, "I'll lend it to ya, but you'll need to break a hundred dollar bill?" Chubby's rolling his eyes, mumbling, "Fuck you, Dodger, you've never seen a hundred dollar bill in your whole life. How 'bout you Dylan?" I go, "Sure, Chubby," as I take out my wallet, thinking to myself, "Guess he forgot about the money I lent him to take Sam to Bertuccis restaurant that time. It was that time I thought he was breaking-up with her". In my wallet are two twenties and a ten, so he says, "Okay, make it thirty... thanks, Bro, I'll hit ya back Saturday." I nod my head, mumbling, "Sure, okay... that's cool." Dodger says, "Maybe I'm working Chubby's side of the street with this, but do you numbnuts know that tigers, the big bad cats in a zoo, not only have striped fur, but their skin is striped too." I go, "Oh balls! You're gonna do factoids too? Isn't it bad enough dealing with Chubby's?" and Chubby gives me a comical look of surprise, like he's shocked someone wouldn't enjoy his factoids. Dodger's like, "What? Since when does Chubby do factoids?" Everyone exhales smoke in his direction, and then Chubby says, "You got that stupid factoid from a Snapple cap, Dodger." Dodger goes, "Snapple cap, my ass! Did ya know that in Texas it's illegal to graffiti someone's cow?" Robby and me groan as Chubby steps on his cigarette butt, saying, "Another Snapple cap factoid... very, very lame!" Dodger indignantly goes, "Snapple cap my ass!" and for some reason we all laugh like it's the funniest thing ever, with Dodger laughing the hardest. We're all nuts.
After Chubby takes off, the rest of us watch a couple innings of a preseason Red Sox game from Fort Myers, Florida. It won't be long until Spring is here and baseball is king. Of course, the Celtics still need to wrap up their regular season and then there's the playoffs, and same for the Bruins. Lots of pro sports action which Robby loves; me too, but not to the degree he's into it. We have an early class tomorrow though, so we leave before the game's over, and then there's a typical major drama at the front door with the moms and Robby's parents all hugging us goodbye like we're going off to war. The adults have been doing some damage to the wine cellar for the past few hours so they're all in good spirits, pun intended, and are therefore overly affectionate. As Tris is hugging me and Chubby the sides of Chubby's and my face squish together deliciously, then Dodger gives me a big goose down under my ass, near my nuts, and I almost let out a squeal, but manage to control myself and just do a long noisy exhale giving Dodger a pissed-off look which results in his beautiful smiling face, as he's mouthing, "How 'bout that fuck I gave you today?" My face gets red as I glance around to see if any of the adults saw him mouthing that, but of course he wouldn't have done it if any of them could see him. The expression on my blushing face gets Dodger laughing again as he comes in for a hug. Up close, he says in my ear, "You're the coolest kid I've ever met," and I feel good about that; but, in retrospect have no idea what the criteria might be for being the coolest kid Dodger's ever met. Then Robby and I make it to his pickup and we're finally on our way with him driving and leaving a little rubber to get us moving; that pickup has got some good pickup! In the side mirror I see the adults wandering back inside the house as Dodger looks after us. Just before we turn the corner I look back at him and wave only to see Dodger giving me the finger as a big smile breaks out on his face... what a gorgeous boy!
Robby's not very talkative during the ride so it's a little awkward... with Chubby I can go for a couple of hours without talking, but dead silence with anyone else makes me uncomfortable. I try bringing up one thing or another and each time Robby, while polite, won't extend it so we end up listening to the radio with me squirming in my seat, reliving some of today's activities in my head. Surprisingly, I'm not concentrating on the uber hot three-way as much as I am the make-out between Robby and Dodger... one of the hottest make-outs I've ever seen or been a part of, and that's saying something! Could those two be in romantic love... as brothers? Nah, I don't see that, but they're into each other physically, that's obvious. Maybe it's kinda like Chubby and me in that they've lived their lives together, always getting along and growing closer each year. Of course, with them it's been much more than that... they'd discovered a mutual interest in gay sex, one they've had since Dodger was twelve years old.
Living together provided plenty of time for them to practice with each other,
discovering what each likes sexually, consequently they're become experts at pleasuring one another. Yeah, but the majority of that would be bodily pleasures which isn't exactly what making-out is all about. It's sexy for sure, but isn't it more intimate than any physical act of sex, and so how to explain it? Hmmm? I don't know, but I can't see how it effects Robby and me in any way... not any more than Chubby effects Robby and me, or am I wrong about that? Ya know, it'd be nice to know what the fuck's going on from time to time, but it seems I'm destined to keep bungling through life hoping for the best; hoping someday to have accumulated enough experience to finally know what's up.
I apparently doze off because the next thing I'm aware of is Robby saying, "Damn! No parking spots in front, Dylan... we'll need to park in back and walk around 'cause I know damn well you don't have your key to the backdoor, do ya?" I'm like, "That'd be correct. Why would I carry that key around with me when we never use the back door? And, why don't you carry your's?" After a seconds hesitation, he exhales nosily, in frustration, then says, "Sorry for my sarcasm, you're right, Dylan... I'm just tired." I add, "And cranky," as he parks the truck, then says, "I'll show you who's cranky," and he pulls my head over and kisses me on the lips. I immediately begin imitating the ultra hot make-out Robby and Dodger had earlier. Robby's become a fantastic make-out so it's easy to see how Dodger could get hooked on making out with his brother... just the thought of brothers making out like those two did gives me a boner. Robby's lips feel so good against mine; hell, they feel good just kissing my cheek, or kissing anything... awesome lips. He's very hot all of a sudden and our arms go around each other for tender kisses, deep kisses with lots of slow tongue action, our noses rubbing together and sounds of contentment from our throats and mouths, "Mmmmmmm, oh Robby," and "Oooooooo, Dylan...." My cock goes from hard to harder to hardest, then a big precum bubble wets the front of my pants as Robby's licking across my face, then licks over to suck on my ear... his tongue fills it, and all I hear is a hollow echo there. He's so confident lately, which I love, and it feels wonderful to be so desired too; I follow his lead with the make-out, and then when he leaves my ear to begin sucking a big hickey on my neck I'm docile for him, holding my head over to the side so he has access to my neck. He has this thing about giving me bigger hickeys than Willie ever gave me, and it can be damn uncomfortable near the end of big hickey building. It's like I don't know whether to scream or cream my pants when it gets to be so erogenous and stingy at the same time. Robby's dominant insistence that he suck and lick that raised bump on my neck, and my submissive docile posture, creates an awesome sexual turn-on for both of us, and because of that another orgasms is building in my balls. Robby reaches over and roughly unzips my jeans, then undoes the button at the waistband, and his hand is on my boner, then it's inside the fly of my underwear, skin on skin, as the licking and sucking continues on my neck. The pad of his thumb rubs precum around the head of my cock as I whimper, "Robby, I'm gonna cum..." he strokes my boner then, pushing my stretched foreskin almost to my pee slit and I'm stiffening my legs expecting an orgasm any second. If I hadn't cum a couple of times today already I'd be blasting spunk by now. It's this make-out with Robby, as well as all the sexual stuff I witnessed and participated in today; all of it, combining with the hickey building and stroking of my boner, has me groaning and squirming with hot sexual stimulation's of both mind and body.
Robby's done with the hickey, a big bump stings on my neck as my orgasm is coming on fast. My head's twisted around and with Robby's hand behind my neck, holding me in place, he sucks on my tongue until I do a frantic hip thrust and spurt out a gob of spunk followed by little quick squirts that don't go further than Robby's wrist, but feel so good my body's bumping around on the seat hitting Robby and the door. He's breathing hard too, aroused from seeing me this turned-on... he gasps, "Here, Dylan, get around on the seat and suck my cock," which I start to do 'cause I love Robby's cock, but then the spotlight over our balcony turns-on and lights-up the inside of the pickup. Robby's head snaps around and I straighten-up in my seat snapping my jeans, then pulling up my fly. Everything's sticky in my underwear as Robby scrambles to turn-off the pick-up's lights and engine. Shielding our eyes from the spotlight, Robby's like, "I love you so much, Dylan, never forget that, okay?" I nod, wondering who's in our apartment to turn on the spotlight. Robby repeats, "Okay?" and I say, "Huh? Oh, yeah, I won't forget, and you don't forget how much I love you too!" He says, "Good, deal! Now, lets get out casually, like everything's cool." I'm wondering why he made that pronouncement of 'love' right at this moment when the spotlight shining on us should be of number one concern; then, thinking about what he just said, I ask Robby, "You said, "Let's get out of here like everything's cool."' Well, everything is cool, isn't it? We're not hiding anything, including our sexuality here at college, right?" Robby's walking towards the end of the building now, keeping his face away from the spotlight, he goes, "Oh, shit! I meant to tell ya this earlier. Yeah, I think we should stay in the closet as much as we can because of the baseball team. I don't know how they'll feel about a gay guy on the team. Me being a rookie, I don't know why I didn't think of this before now." Catching up with him, I say, "No problem, Robby! Anyway, we're hardly running around campus yelling, I'm queer, I'm here... deal with it!' ya know?" He's dismissive like, "I know, I know... just saying, that's all..." and I yell, "That's all good, but who the fuck's in our apartment? Who turned that spotlight on us?" We're around in front of our apartment building now and we both say, at the same time, "Hey, this isn't our building!" Our building's over there, the next building to the left. Robby mutters, "Balls!" then, "Oh, okay, that's good. That wasn't our apartment, come on, let's go back and get the pickup," and we jog back and do just that. The spotlight's off, so I guess whoever turned it on is satisfied they chased away those nasty people in the pickup who were doing icky sexy stuff.
We're able to park in front of our building, Robby mumbling, "It wouldn't hurt if you helped with a little navigation once in a while." He hates making a mistake like parking behind the wrong building, his 'A' personality type requires that he's always perfect. I don't mind sharing some of the blame, so I say, "Well, fuck, dude! Who can see anything in this complex, not enough lights, too much snow and every building looks the same. But I'm sorry I wasn't more observant, you're driving so I should have been more alert." Just a grunt from Robby about that, but when we're walking up to the front door of our building, and I'm taking out my key, Robby hugs around my shoulders, saying, "Ah, it was my fault, not yours. You're too nice, Dylan... you really are, people take advantage of you," and then we're inside the building taking the steps two at a time to our apartment on the second floor. I'm feeling real good about Robby saying I'm "too nice" and I think I'll leave it at that... hope he really means it!
Chubby's still out on the town spending my thirty dollars on Samantha, but Robby and I are too tired to wait up for him. We share a bottle of water, and then a quick cigarette on the balcony before bed. Curiously, while smoking we don't talk about the mysterious spotlight shining on us at an inopportune moment, and we don't mention any of the wonderful recent sex between Robby, his brother, and me. Instead we keep it simple and talk about the Celtics and Bruins... I predict the Bruins will win the Stanley Cup and Robby's like, "Riiiight!" sarcastically. Then inside we do our normal stuff in the bathroom: wash up, brush our teeth, pee, and so forth before climbing into the twin bed nearest the window. After a hug and kiss, we drift off to sleep. I'm feeling very happy so I probably have a nice dream during the night although I don't remember it in the morning. Neither Robby nor I are particular chatty in the morning, we take separate showers, grab a pop tart and instant coffee for breakfast, and then head out to the pickup truck for our 8am lab... Monday mornings suck! What follows that is a quick, normal week: two quizzes which we did good in, fun time Wednesday night when Chubby, Robby, and me make dinner for the guys here who we know from Framingham, minus Connor's asshole roommate who doesn't care for me. Also in attendance was Gary and his latest boyfriend, Artest, a large black boy from Georgia who's very nice and plays the saxophone like the big black guy in the E Street Band, and two friends of Robby's from the baseball team. We make two big casseroles of pork chops and dark baked beans with Karo syrup, onions, and some sliced hot cherry peppers for a sweet and spicy dish. Side dishes of apple sauce and cole slaw... crusty French bread and unsalted butter complete the meal. The boys from the baseball team brought one of those Coors refrigerator draft kegs with them and everyone drank beer. One of the baseball guys asks, "Where are the girls? You guys aren't gay are you?" then he laughs, but it made me think, "Except for the two friends of Robby's from the baseball team, most of the other boys here are gay... ain't it sweet too!" Chubby gives a quick smart-ass reply, "Yeah, well, we invited our girlfriends, but they heard you'd be here so they told us to go fuck ourselves!" Everyone laughed at that even though it wasn't all that funny. The guys filled up their plates like from a buffet and ate wherever they could find a seat in our small apartment... the dinner party was a hit, even without girls. The only mishaps of importance was when Artest went back to pile another plate of beans on his plate, then dropped it on the living room carpet on his way back to his seat, leaving a hideous stain, which will remain and eventually the cost to remove it will come out of our security deposit, but what the fuck... he was sorry, and shit happens, ya know?
The weather's improved noticeably by Friday, which is lucky because the baseball team has it's first outdoor practice today. I see Connor walking near the lecture hall that Robby and I just had last class in, and as I watch Robby running off to practice, Connor drifts over. He smiles shyly and sweetly over at me, then does a little wave of his hand, like he's not sure if he should stop. I yell, "Connor Neary, you awesome, dude... wassup?" so he does stop then, and when I walk over to him he quietly says, "Dylan, hi," then he bites his lower lip, and forcefully says, "And it's you who's the awesome one, not me!" I raise my eyebrows, surprised at the energy he put into saying that, then mumble, "Thanks..." which Connor interrupts to add, "And that dinner Wednesday was awesome too. You guys can really cook, dude... chef food fer sure!" Robby's wearing his backpack over a hooded sweatshirt, the hood laying on the backpack, no hat... he's looking so fucking cute and innocent I cough to cover-up a gasp. Damn! After a second, getting my phony coughing under control, I ask, "Are you really old enough to be going to college? You look so young today..." He laughs, and mutters, "Looks who's talking," as he drifts closer to me, getting into my space. When he's right next to me he tentatively touches my shoulder, asking, "Where ya going now, Dylan?" I'm staring at him, and even if I do say so myself, I gotta applaud the hot looking haircut I recently gave him; the style of it adds to his youthful appearance. Connor's hair is a beautiful shade of dark brown with so much body it's ridiculous. I cut it short, combed it down on top and flipped-up the front. The dark hair contrasting with his almost stark white skin and dark blue eyes is striking and I never get tired of looking at the combination. I say, "I thought I'd check out the baseball team. Today's their first day of outdoor practice." He looks at me, his lips slightly parted as he's nodding his head slightly, his eyes open wide like he's waiting for something, so I ask, "Ya wanna join me?" and he's like, "Um, would ya mind? I'd like to... ya know," and I get my arm around his neck to wrestle with him a bit, asking, "Why the fuck would I mind? We're tight, dude! I always like when we do stuff together." He takes a deep breath, his body docile against mine which is awkward after a few seconds so I slowly take my arm from around his neck and, as I do that, my fingers ruffle through the short hairs at the back of his head, and Connor mutters, "Oh..." his shoulders shuddering for a second, then we start walking down past the quad towards the baseball fields, both of us exhaling, getting ourselves together. Connor finally says, "Um, do you really like it when we... you and me, do stuff together?" I know what he's referring to, although it wasn't what I had in mind when I said that. I go, "Absolutely," being noncommittal, thinking about Robby and me doing it twice Tuesday night, and then again Thursday morning. Sex with Robby is so awesome, but that's it for the week, so wouldn't it be grand getting it on with Connor?! Robby and me had some long, hot, loving, sexy sessions but it still boils down to three orgasm; well, it was a two-bagger yesterday morning, so that makes it four orgasms for the week. Okay, I'm not include a couple of desperately-necessary hand-job-induced orgasms that I provided for myself, but they don't count. As far as I know, Robby, like me, hasn't done anything on the side yet. And, oh come on, I'm not counting that hot little time with Chubby in his bed; he's like my brother... that doesn't count! And, Robby and me and Dodger doing it doesn't count either because both Robby and me were involved... so nothing on the side yet, and now here's Connor, but I really shouldn't.
Connor is so tempting though, and he keeps accidentally-on-purpose bumping into my side as we walk, always in my space, not that I mind at all because he's so nice, so yummy, but I have this strong sense it'd be just wrong to encourage Connor by getting it on with him. I'd like to, but considering how he feels about me, it'd be the wrong signal from me... like I'm encouraging him, or something. Damn! Connor asks, "Can I bum a smoke off of you, Dylan?" so we stop to light up. With smoke drifting out of his mouth, he says, "Thanks, I owe ya... I owe ya for a lot of things. You're always helping me out." I protest, "That's not true, Connor! I don't do anything." He ignores that, saying, "I only wish there was some way I could repay ya. Wish I could do something for you once in a while." I rub my hand up the back of his head feeling his silky hair again, and say,"When you get rich, buy me a yacht; I've always wanted my own yacht." He does a fake laugh, then says, "No, seriously... is there anything I can do for you?" I try to surprise him by saying what I think is the last thing he'd expect me to say, especially considering that we're right here on campus: I say, "Well, I'd like a big fat kiss, if you know someone who..." that's all I get out before Connor's arm is around my neck, his other holds the cigarette away from us, as his lips are on mine. It's so intense I didn't even think about the students all over the place... no, I thought about how delicious Connor is and what a wonderful, although inexperienced, kisser he is. It's more like he's mostly interested in transferring saliva from his mouth to mine, which isn't any kind of a regular kiss I'm aware of... not that I mind, his saliva is fresh and bubbly and sexy. My hand with the cigarette is held away from us too, my other hand rest against his sweatshirt, over his heart, and I can feel it pounding away to beat the band. Connor's tongue is in my mouth and what a fine tongue it is too... pink, firm, and fresh tasting, and it's kinda long too. After I show him how to do it, we take turns sucking on each other's tongue, then lap our tongues together which gets my cock so boned-up it slips past the fly in my jockey shorts and the head rubs up against my rough jeans, which don't feel too good. Connor's boner is poking my thigh as our faces squish together sliding in our spit with Connor making grunting sounds and humping his hips against mine. I'm sure we'd have continued making-out together until we both spunked in our pants except for the cat calls that are getting louder and louder. "You're grossing me out, dudes!" and the infamous, "Get a fucking room!" and mutterings of, "Is that two guys doing that?" and, "Did somebody lose a fucking bet, or what?" It got to me pretty quickly and my face turned bright red and felt very hot, so I pull my lips away with a wet sloppy sound, and mumble to Connor, "Turn away and walk with me towards that parking lot over there. Don't look back, no one's called out our names so I don't think we've been recognized." Connor's gulping, licking his lips, groping himself and breathing hard. God, he's so attractive!. After we get moving, Connor gasps for air, asking, "Why do we care who recognizes us?" and I explain about Robby wanting us in the closet because of him being on the baseball team, and that this will probably only be necessary until he can judge how a gay on the team would be accepted. Then I explain how Robby and I are roommates, and we're always together, so if I'm outed here Robby will immediately be suspected of bring gay too. Connor goes, "Yeah, I see that... I guess, but that was the best kissing I've ever had."
After that comment we walk in silence, smoking, until we're in the middle of a parking lot filled with parked cars. I say, "Lets stop! Where the hell we going, anyway?" Connor mumbles, "I'm going with you, wherever that is." I take a deep breath, and say, "Oh, heh heh... yeah, I got a little flustered there, which is nothing new for me." He shuffles his feet, grinning, and maybe he's a tad uncomfortable about our kiss in the open campus now that he's had a chance to think about it a little. Not wanting to say anything that might be construed as being critical of Connor, I go, "Um, ah thanks for the kiss, but, ya know," and I chuckle to show it's no big thing, and continue with,
"Actually, I was being facetious asking for a kiss and was uber surprised you did it, but it was awesome... ya know?" He looks down, and quietly says, "I knew you were being facetious," and that makes me laugh, then ask, "If you knew, why'd ya kiss me?" He reaches over and holds my hand for a second, then grins mischievously, and mutters, "Hell, 'cause you gave me an opening and I wanted to kiss you. Have I ever mentioned I've got the biggest crush any body's ever had, and it's on you." He gets almost playful then, and says, "Actually, I don't understand it myself, the crush I mean. Nevertheless, I could eat you bite by bite... you're the sexiest, cutest boy I've ever seen in my life." I'm getting uncomfortable myself now, so I say, "Well, I guess you need glasses because you've seen my boyfriend, Robby, so I can't be... ah, what you said." He goes, "Yeah, I've seen Robby fifty times, but what I said still holds true. I think I'm pissing you off talking about this though, and that's the very last thing I want to do, so I'll shut up." I go, "Yeah, shut up!" Then I squeeze the back of his neck, and say, "Except for that part about me... how'd that go again?" He smiles and tells me again, in an exaggerated and joking way this time, how awesome I am as we're walking the long way to the baseball practice fields. To continue with lightening-up the moment, I say, "You're sure about me being the cutest, have I got that part right, I'm the cutest, right?" and we bantered back and forth that way till we get to the stands surrounding half the practice field. There's about thirty kids in the stands watching practice, and just like when I'd go to the high school practices fields to watch Robby, most of the kids in the stands have a vagina, so I won't be coming here too often... it would look odd if I did. Connor and I watch for a while, but Robby's on a part of the field where there aren't bleachers, so we don't stay long. "Lets get something to drink at the quad, Connor," and we drift there talking about Connor's lack of a boyfriend. He tells me his roommate knows he, Connor, is gay; his roommate isn't, but they still hang together a lot. Gary from Wildwood has his own boyfriend now, as I mentioned, and the one time Connor went to a meeting for the LGBT club, hoping to meet someone, he came away disappointed. The kids there were too extreme, too militant, and most of the attendees were lesbians anyway, so he never went back. He says, "The major disappointment about the members of the club is the lack of cute guys; there are none!" He chuckles, saying, "Not that looks are the only thing that matters, of course... I know it's shallow to think that looks are everything." I go, "Yeah, the other 2% is important too," and we laugh as I'm thinking, "I don't know what I'm going to do about Connor!"
In the quad we join a couple of guys at one of the round tables. Ears Henderson, his friend Scott, and two girls I don't know are there, but Connor knows them and we do half-assed self- introductions before one of the girls, who's name is Reds, says, "You got a joke we haven't heard yet, Neary?" Girls sometime like to be like guys so they'll call guys by their last names thinking that will do it... it doesn't. Connor goes, "Did ya hear the one about the ballerina?" We all shake our head mumbling, "Nah..." so Connor tells the joke:
"A very large woman wearing a sleeveless sun dress walks into an Irish pub. Inside she raises her right arm high in the air revealing a huge hairy armpit as she's pointing to all the guys drinking at the bar. She yells, "What man here will buy a lady a drink?" An owl-eyed drunk at the end of the bar slams his hand down on the bar, and shouts, "Give the ballerina a drink, barkeep!" She gulps down a gin then raises her arm again pointing, her hairy armpit making some of the men look away as she's asking the same question. "What man here will buy a lady a drink?" Once again the little drunk at the end of the bar slaps his money down, and shouts, "Give the ballerina another drink!" She drinks another gin and repeats the same question, her hairy armpit flashing in view again. The same little drunk yells, "Another drink for the ballerina!" Puzzled, the bartender goes up to the little drunk, and says, "Tell me, Paddy... why do you keep calling that huge woman a ballerina?" The drunk replies, "Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!"
Us guys are overdoing the laughter, while the two girls pretend to be offended. When things calm down the conversation turns into a bitching contest about who's professor's the biggest asshole, and then general complaining about everything... being negative can be fun. We finish our drinks eventually and then Connor and I wander outside where I spot Jarod Mellincamp. I scan the area for his puppet master, Dick Veris, but don't see him. Robby and me haven't talked to either of these pricks since the fight, although we've seen them and they've seen us. I'm not sure who's trying the hardest to avoid who, but it's working out okay so far. Remembering what a tough little bastard Jarod was in the fight, I hesitate a second before walking down the sidewalk towards him. When I'm even with him he turns his back on me and says something to a scary looking biker type guy. Connor and I walk past as a chill's running down my spine, but I refuse to look back. Nothing's happened so far, but it's unnerving walking away with my back to those two. Funny thing: I noticed Jarod has a new haircut, and he looks like he just got out of the shower, all squeaky clean and all, and what the fuck, he's lookin' kinda hot... it's the first time I've noticed that about him. While I'm thinking about that, Connor's saying something, but to me it's only background noise 'cause I'm still half expecting to get nailed in the back with something from Jarod or his biker friend. Taking a sigh of relief as we turn the corner, I ask, "What was that you said, Connor?" He goes, "Ah, come on Dylan, you heard me." I say, "Swear to God I didn't," and I explain about the fight, and Jarod. He goes, "Oooh, let's go back and kick some ass!" Not wanting to, I say, "No, dude... I didn't start the fuckin' feud and I'd just as soon it faded away." Connor says, "Well, okay... sure, Dylan. Um, what I said a minute ago, that you didn't hear... I asked you if we can go some place and finish our make-out... maybe your apartment, and maybe, you know, we could do something else too. Can we, Dylan?" Oh my God, he's so fucking innocent! Compared to him I feel like a pervert. I shouldn't have gone along with his kiss, but it was so sexy and he's so.... ya know, so Connor! As I usually do when I don't know what the right thing is to do... I ramble. "Connor, you flatter me, man... it's like, almost awkward the nice things you say about me. You're such a hot guy too, but come on, dude... you're only infatuated with me because I'm the only gay boy, besides yourself, or one of the few you know anyhow, and, you know, it'll pass, your crush will fade away... probably." That's skirting his question, of course, but I'm conflicted. I want to do it with him, but I've got this fuckin' conscience thing that tells me it's wrong because he's too vulnerable, and it'll falsely encourage him that he and I might have more sex together on a regular basis, which would screw-up my love affair with Robby, so it's not going to happen. Yet, I don't want to hurt Connor's feelings, so I gotta make him feel good as I reject his sweet offer.
There's nothing coming back from Connor about what I just said, but probably that's because I never addressed his question. His head's down as we walk, and when he finally realizes I've said all I'm going to say about the matter, he mutters, "That's okay, it's cool... I understand." Oh fuck! Now I feel terrible! This situation is so much different than that thing with Rajon a while back. I didn't care that much about Rajon; my concern wasn't about him, it was about giving in to hot sexual urges in an almost impossible situation to avoid, and not getting caught. I say to Connor, "I swear to God, Connor, if Robby wasn't my boyfriend I'd wish it were you." He makes a face and a dismissive sound so I grab his arm, and we stop walking. I'm bending my neck so I can look into his eyes even though he's hanging his head, "I really, really mean that, Connor. I think you're everything a boyfriend should be and more. It's a privilege to be your friend..." I've got my hand on his shoulder shaking him a little, saying, "Come on, dude... help me out here. I'm running out of nice things to say to you." He tries to hold it back, but a grin breaks out on his cute face when he mumbles, "Try harder... you'll be able to think of more nice things to say about me, I'll wait." My forehead bumps his, as I say, "Well, I like how your saliva tastes, and you've got a fabulous haircut. Who does your hair anyway?" He lifts his head and kisses me quickly, then straightens up with kind of a smile on his face, and says, "Okay, that thing about my saliva was the tipping point, I'm over my pouting now, but don't think you're off the hook. I saw you weakening, and I'm relentless," his arm's around my shoulders now as we walk. After a bit, he asks, "Where we going?" and I say, "We're going to the upper parking lot where I'm gonna get Robby's pickup and drive you anywhere you want to go, then I need to go to work." Connor's like, "It's too early for my shift, but could you drop me off at Starbucks, I'm working from seven to midnight." To be a smart-ass, I go, "How the fuck do you drink that shit?" and Robby's like, "It's coffee, dude... not that watery shit you get a Dunkin' Donuts!" and we jokingly argue about that for a bit. When I drop him off, Robby hesitates for a second, then says, "You get mad at me when I thank you too much, but thanks for this afternoon, it helped improve my frame of mind a lot... really!" and he's gone.
Feeling good about life as I'm driving to Stop and Shop. Even the weather's cooperating, an unusual warming spell the few days ago, along with a lot of rain, melted most of the snow piles and the landscape looks so different; still bleak and dirty, but no snow and the temperature is freezing even at night, fifties during the day, so things are looking up in that area. Then I'm thinking about Chubby saying I helped him get over a funk last weekend, and now Connor just told me that I've helped him with his mood too... goddamm, that makes me feel awesome! Backing into a parking space at Stop & Shop, I'm careful to leave lots of room on either side of the pickup. Robby would have a shit fit if someone opened their car door and nicked the pickup's door... God forbid! Robby's nuts about his truck and I know he wasn't thrilled about lending it to me today, but Chubby's using the Jeep, as usual, and Robby's got a ride after practice with one of his teammates, so he couldn't refuse. There's a Friday night party for baseball players after practice today that Robby tells me he wishes he could get out of it, but the coach insists team morale requires attendance by all. Robby's not fooling me anyway, he wants to go to the party... he pretends he doesn't so I won't feel left out. And, I do not feel left out in the first place! Robby just assumes if I can't be with him I'm pouting, which isn't always the case as I've alluded to in the past. I'm working until ten o'clock tonight, after which I do not feel like making small talk at a party full of kids I don't know; so no, I don't feel left out. Ha ha ha... being objective about it though, I'm putting an awful lot of effort into convincing myself I'm not feeling left out, so maybe I am a little jealous that Robby's making new friends and doing things I'm not invited to. Shaking my head at how fucked-up I can get over my boyfriend, I light a cigarette and start walking towards the huge building that is Stop & Shop when all of a sudden my thoughts switch to my immediate supervisor, Alan Snyder. I recall Robby telling me about Alan quizzing him about me, and I gotta wonder why he did that. If he'd picked-up on my friendly and harmless mocking of him... where I call him "Mr. Snyder" and so forth, I may be in trouble. I do not want to lose this job; it's my only source of spending money. Part time jobs are hard to come by during the third-semester of a college town. Damn, I guess I better not change my obsequious attitude towards Alan now, that would surely get his attention. Oh man, why'd I ever start this stupid stuff with him in the first place? Nobody else pays any attention to Alan, they just tolerate him. And what do I do, I've made it seem to Alan that I think he's so cool; my leader! Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy.
Flicking the cigarette butt against the automatic front doors of Stop & Shop, and then glancing around hoping no one saw me do that, but one of the part-time retirees is smirking as he's coming out the other side of the automatic doors.
He says, "Sweet move, Dylan... very coordinated flip." Dammit! I had the flipping down-pat a few months ago, but now I've slipped back into spastic-ville. I go, "Hi George, I did that on purpose to show my distain for this grocery chain." He chuckles, saying, "Oh, I concur, but I hope Snyder didn't hear that, he thinks Stop & Shop is the premier corporation on planet earth." George is a friendly man about seventy years old, and looks his age. I don't get why an old fellow like this needs to do a job that even high school kids think is beneath them, never mind a gentleman like George. I snatch the smoldering butt from the entrance way and toss it into a sand receptacle intended for that purpose, and say, "Jeez, George... do ya really think Alan would ever form the phrase 'premier corporation on planet earth' in his head? George pats my shoulder continuing on his way, saying, "Good point by you, Dylan. Have fun!" Ya know, George saying 'Have fun' brings me back to thinking about how I've been messin' with Alan's head, and wondering if I'm in trouble... and that's no fun.
Hustling through the front door and up the steps to punch my time card, the receptionist, Debbie, asks, "Sorry, but which one are you again?" I go, "Dylan Newman. I'm on till ten tonight." She checks a list, and says, "Oh yeah, there's a note next to your name; ya need to see Alan... he's downstairs on the floor somewhere." I nod, worried for real now and wondering if I'm clairvoyant, I've been thinking a lot about Alan during the ride over here and now he wants to see me first thing. Hmmmm? As I head into the employees locker room to change into my Stop & Shop outfit, Debbie calls over her shoulder, "Ya better hurry, Danny, you're two minutes late already." I mumble, "It's Dylan, bitch!" to myself, and then follow her advise and hurry. Clothes changed, I'm hurrying down the stairs, tucking my shirttails and scanning the aisles for Alan. No need to look for him though 'cause he's at the bottom of the steps waiting for me, giving me a dirty look. I gulp and almost stumble into him, I'm thinking how it's kinda spooky that he'd stop working just to wait for me here. He says, "You're late, Newman." I go, "I'm sorry, Mr. Snyder... um, only a couple of minutes late." He's in his bearded-mode this week; his thick, curly, dark hair is just about as long as he lets it get before getting a haircut. A few months ago it was a very short buzz cut, and now it's almost three inches long so I'm guessing he'll probably be visiting Supercuts this weekend. That's been his 'MO' anyway... he'll shave his beard when he gets his haircut and it's an amazing transformation from a grumpy mature macho man to a grumpy youthful looking college student, which he isn't, of course, since he never even graduated high school; he's worked here since he was a junior in high school.
That's how long it's taken him to attain this position, which is one step up from mine. Alan's showing his normal confused expression which can throw you off because you can mistakenly think he's unsure of himself, when he's actually not. In his mind he's not confused, he's in charge and while he's often wrong about things, he's never in doubt. When I'm having fun pretending he's 'the man', calling him Mr. Snyder instead of 'Alan', and generally kissing-his-ass, he thinks I'm legitimately in awe of him, and that's been fun and helps pass the time for me here, but now I wish I never started up with that... sometimes I can be very, very dumb!
"You're working in the parking lot until nine, then you're to find me... I have another project for you." Alan's very officious, he takes himself so seriously it gives me a bone in my pants, which is always nice. Even better than the boner though is the fact that it doesn't appear I'm getting fired after all! So maybe I dodged a bullet this time, but no more taking chances. I mean, I can't change my respectful attitude, but I'm going to try to keep the mocking part to a minimum. Try being sincere with Alan for once. Damn! I feel so relieved I not getting fired! It seems I was worried about it much more than I even admitted to myself, and now I'm pumped and psyched! There's always some form of stress to deal with in life... at least there is for me, and when it's resolved there's this great relief and sometimes I overdo it. I eagerly say, "Thank you, Mr. Snyder," and repeat his instructions, "Until nine tonight I'm to collect shopping carts and sweep around the entrance, and then find you for further instructions... right, sir?" He narrows his eyes behind metal rimmed glasses, looking at me suspiciously; at least I think it's a suspicious expression... with Alan it's hard to tell. Apparently satisfied with my respectful response, he grabs my shirt sleeve pulling me in the direction of the same stairs I just came down, and says, "Go get some winter gear on, and don't forget the yellow reflective bib so people can see you out there in the dark. Then meet me right back here... get moving, son." Okay, that 'son' remark almost had me bursting out with a laugh... he referred to me as 'son' as if he's twenty years older then me instead of a little under two years older; we're basically contemporaries fer chrissakes! Man, what planet is he from, anyway?! Ha ha..." Keeping a straight face, I literally run up the steps, grab one of the communal outdoor coats, a safety bib, gloves, and my beanie and run back to where Alan's waiting. Now he has his winter coat on too. I stand in front of him with an eager-to-please expression on my face, and he nods his head as if verifying something to himself; then, surprise, surprise he puts his arm around my shoulders and walks me towards the automatic doors leading to the parking lot, saying, "You probably think I'm hard on you, Dylan, and I am a little, but that's because I think you have potential here at Stop and Shop; the other part time kids are just goof-offs putting in time. You're conscientious and serious about your job performance and that's commendable for someone your age." We're outside now with me trying to figure out if I'm totally creeped-out by his arms on my shoulders, or if I'm feeling bad about mocking him the past five months because he's so fucking sincere with this crap. I mumble, "Um, thank you, sir... I, ah... try to do a good job, for you especially," and then get pissed at myself for continuing to lead him on. I need to be sincere!
He gives me a condescending half-smile while walking me to the end of the building, then we go around to the lighted parking lot where naturally there are a lot of cars parked, as well as cars coming and going, and customers pushing their shopping carts to their car to unload, then leaving the cart abandoned for me to collect and return to the store. Alan guides me up against the side of the building where, with a frown on my face and curiosity in my head, I await further developments. Another surprise, Alan pulls a pack of cigarettes from his side pocket and offers me one, it's a Winston 100. I take it, mumbling, "Thank you, Mr. Snyder." I didn't know he smoked. He holds a Bic lighter over and I take a light, wondering, "What the fuck is this all about?" Alan looks at me, inhales a long drag and as the smoke drifts from his nose and mouth, some of it curling into his beard and then drifting-out as if his beard is smoldering, he says, "When I was your age I idolized an older man who I respected and tried to be like, so I understand about you looking up to me as a sort of hero figure for you... and it's fine, but I can't give special favors to you just because I'm your hero, or something like that." He stops then to let me absorb his words and it's obvious that Alan isn't the least bit unsure of himself, he totally believes every word he's saying, and he's being kind of sweet about it too; sweet in an odd-duck sort of way. Still, a weird chill runs up my back as I realize the trap I've put myself in. I'll need to continue this charade of 'hero worship', as he interprets my mocking of him, or maybe lose my job. Jesus, the shit I get myself into.
He takes off his little round eyeglasses and pulls a tissue from his side pocket to wipe the lenses, his cigarette between his teeth, then puts the glasses back on, the thin silver temples disappearing into the hairs that cover his ears. He's staring at me while he does that, making me look down and utter, "Huh," which doesn't mean anything, it's all I could come up with. I mean, this is so far out there I'm totally lost. He takes a big drag and does a noisy exhale through his nose, some of the smoke getting caught in his curly mustache. "Look up at me, Dylan," I look up quickly and fixate on his moving lips... his rosy-red, baby bow-shaped lips, puffy and pouty surrounded by dark whiskers which intensify the lips' rosy-red color. He's saying, "Don't be embarrassed.
You probably thought I didn't know how you felt about me, but I'm much more experienced than you, and adults are more observant too, so I see things and understand things you miss." Okay, now he's rendered me totally speechless again... I can't even come up with "huh?" I'm flabbergasted as I stare into his green cat-eyes, the light shining down from the spotlight on the roof reflecting off his eyeglasses somehow making his eyes look larger than life. I feel myself becoming mesmerized by this bizarre turn of events. He leans in close now, his beard tickling my cheek, as he adjust my beanie, saying, "I just wanted to have this talk with you so you can maybe relax a little. You're always so serious, I'd like you to get rid of some of the tension you have on the job. I've noticed you sneaking looks at me and this is good; copy what I do." It'd be impossible to misread me any more than Alan has, my feelings toward him are mostly the opposite of what he thinks they are. I'm usually holding back laughing when we're doing stuff together because he's so clueless it's funny; but I need to be serious now. He holds his cigarette between his awesome lips as he leans over and uses both hands to tie the yellow safety vest around my waist; in a rush earlier I'd left the straps flapping. The smoke from his cigarette drifts up burning my eyes as the top of his head, all that thick wavy hair, brushes against my nose... it smells clean which surprises me a little because it's not unusual that there's some BO associated with Alan; not real bad, and not all the time, but it's definitely part of him at times. Now he's straightened up, satisfied I'm properly outfitted and I try to stand up straight for him, which causes him to frown, puffing on his cigarette.
He looks at me with his normal, confused expression and then takes his cigarette from his lips to hold it over to me. In a trance I take it and suck a drag off it feeling my cock tighten-up as Alan's spit from the filter wets my lips. Surprising me again, he laughs good-naturedly at that as he's pointing at my cigarette which has gone out between my fingers. Alan says, "You're funny, Dylan... you just wanted to have a drag of my cigarette, didn't ya?" and he cups behind my head and jostles me affectionately, adding, "I gave you my butt so you can re-light your own cigarette, dummy... not to smoke it." The palm of his hand on the back of my neck feels plump and soft, while the black hairs from the back of his forefinger flick against my ear and I gasped and gulp as Alan chuckles, misunderstanding everything... or is he? He's, all of a sudden, back to being officious, sternly saying, "Okay, end of lecture... ya better get out there and collect those shopping carts. I've got kind of an easy job for you after your nine o'clock break, so be sure you find me on the floor wherever I am." I manage to say, "Sure, Mr. Snyder, I'll find you." Looking at me with what I can only interpret as a smugly confident demeanor, he says, "I know you will, Newman. I know you'll find me!" The fact he switched back to calling me by my last name again is the closest thing to reality either of us has been near for the last ten minutes. I'm pretty much in one of my trances now so time is just floating around me, but it seems Alan's been trying to memorize my face, staring at me for what seems to be at least a full minute. I stand here wetting my lips, the tip of my tongue moving back and forth nervously because I'm unsure of what's going on here. He's switched back to that confused facial expression again, the one where it appears he's not sure about something. Maybe he's not sure how his lecture was received by me, which would make us even because I'm not sure how I received it myself.
Finally he steps on his cigarette butt and appears ready to leave, he starts then stops and takes a hold of each of my shoulders, looks me in the eyes, and says, "I'm sure you're a little in awe that'd I'd be so direct with you, but I used to be 'you', so I know how you feel and I just want to reassure you that I understand. Feel free, when you're on break, to pick my mind about anything you want. Approach me on any subject as I'm sure I can relate to what's on your mind! Okay? We good?" and then his condescending smile again, like I'm nine years old and he's my cub scout leader. I try to say something but it catches in my throat, which makes him chuckle, and say, "Hey, like I said... I know how you feel about me, but believe me I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you do. Don't be nervous around me, okay?" and he leans his head close to mine so that our foreheads bump, as he's repeating, "Okay?" This time I manage to say, "Um, okay, Mr. Snyder..." and he nods, squeezing my shoulders reassuringly, and then abruptly lets go of me, turns around and quickly walks around the side of the building towards the front doors. I stay in place, not moving, evaluating my condition: my heart's beating fast, I'm breathing in short bursts, and my cock is a heavy steel rod in my pants... and I don't have a fucking clue what any of it means. I've joked with myself many times about Alan dominating my ass in some sexy encounter, me wrapped in his hairy body, but this experience has been too weird to be sexy; then why the heavy steel boner? I don't know why, but obviously he's attracted to me and maybe I am to him.
Thankfully this is nothing like the situation with that dangerous psycho Joel; but still, Alan's definitely read the situation between us in a way that is so far off base it's ridiculous... or is it me who's read it all wrong? Still leaning up against the wall, I'm thinking how Alan reminds me a little of the Marine maybe... the Marine in Parkers Park so long ago. NO, not him! It's Carl Denton! That's who Alan reminds me of the most. The way Carl thought I had this big crush on him when he was mentoring him... well, actually, he did mentor me quite well, and then later maybe I did develop a crush on him. Is this like that?
Flicking my cigarette butt into a snow pile, I slowly wander around the parking lot gathering shopping carts, stacking them together in a long chain, and then pushing the line of carts through the automatic doors where I line them up for new shoppers to use. With every trip inside with the carts I take a few seconds to look around quickly, but don't see Alan. Damn, it's only seven-thirty so I've got an hour and a half more of parking lot duty and it's dark and getting colder so Alan was right when he said he wasn't doing any favors for me. It sucks outside on dark winter nights... I pass the time trying to figure-out Alan's bizarre misevaluation of my actions. He's sure I think of him as my idol, and it's so crazy at times I burst out laughing into the night... how absurd this situation between us has become. One minute I think Alan's the biggest geek ever and the next I'm rubbing my cock through my jeans thinking, if he's a geek, he's the hottest geek on the planet. Yeah, he's definitely a geek one way or the other... not a dangerous geek, except for the dangerous fact that he does have the power to fire me. Alan showed some signs of being a nice guy, but come on... who thinks so highly of themselves they'd assume another guy would think of him as their idol? Okay, reality check... his actions this evening, while strangely intimate for him, do not mean he's gay, nor does it mean he has a sexual 'thing' for me. Actually, he thinks I have a "thing" for him, but nothing sexual was even hinted at. He may just be an egomaniac who assumes people think he's the coolest dude ever, or maybe I'm the first person he's ever thought had a hero-worship thing going for him, and he's lovin' the notion. More reality checking: for reasons unknown, I still think he's sexually hot! Why lie to myself! I've never before been turned on by someone who's so adult in attitude and appearance as Alan, but he's definitely doing it for me somehow. But wait! His appearance isn't always mature; during the period when he has his buzz cut and he shaves his beard, he's very youthful looking. Not especially cute, but not bad looking either, and that smooth complexion with those sexy green eyes and puffy lips, and I can't forget his awesome ass... he's hot alright! Robby thinks Alan's disgusting, and that's nuts, but how can we see things so differently about Alan? There are simply too many mysteries involved in the subconscious mind, especially when sexual matters are involved.
By eight-thirty I'm checking my watch every two minutes, anxious to get inside.
The temperature's dropped and the wind's picked-up significantly. I've got every shopping cart inside and now it's just a matter of waiting for shoppers to come out with a cart, follow them to their car, and then bring the cart back after they've unloaded it. Some people are such pigs, leaving the cart right in the middle of a parking space. Then, finally it's nine o'clock and I hustle inside the store... nice and warm. I'm suppose to have a twenty minute break but Alan told me to look him up so I better do that. Walking the length of the store I say 'hi' to a couple of part timers that I don't really know except to say 'hi' too, and then I spot Alan near produce. As soon as I get close he holds his hand up to me, meaning I need to wait, so I stop and witness Alan supervising one of the retiree part-timers, a woman this time, "You check the 'use by' date for the packages of mushrooms, that's how you know when to discount them. Really, Linda, that should have been obvious, but don't let it upset you... just start over," then he turns to me, "Newman, run up to the part-timers changing area and wait for me there." I mumble, "Yes, Mr. Snyder." When I say that Linda's lip quivers like she wants to laugh at me for calling Alan, Mr. Snyder, and naturally my face gets red, as I'm thinking, "What's so funny ya old bitch, at least I know what a 'used by' date is?!" Walking quickly away I admit to myself she knows what a 'used by' date is too, but I'm embarrassed about her seeing me act so obsequious to Alan. Usually it's just Alan and me when I'm calling him Mr. Snyder; it's just my little joke, but she has no way of knowing that. As I'm leaving I hear Linda ask Alan, "Why's that kid call you, 'Mr. Snyder, Alan?" I don't hear Alan's answer, but I'll bet anything he said, "Because that's my name, Linda!" and I'll bet he said it with a little snap to it, showing Linda that he likes me calling him Mr. Snyder.
I'll bet Alan was sticking up for me, making Linda feel a little embarrassed herself. By the time I get to the part-timers area I realize how stupid that last thought is; plus, I don't need Alan sticking up for me anyway. I'm also surprised Linda didn't remember me, she said, "Why'd that kid? "... not, "Why'd Dylan?" Hell, I worked all afternoon with her in frozen foods about ten days ago and I thought I'd made a good impression on her; guess not, but why I'm focusing on dopey stuff like this, I haven't a clue... Alan's got me on edge, I guess.
As it turns out I spend my twenty minute break standing in the part-timers changing room doing nothing, instead of having a soda and a cigarette with some guys in the warehouse area... this sucks! Then Alan comes in, and without a greeting says, "Follow me, Newman," so it's back to his old ways, which I prefer anyway; at least I feel comfortable when Alan's acting like a dick. He leads me down the hall to a large storage closet which is more like a room than a closet, turns on the light and closes the door behind us. "This is a surprise for the employees, Newman, all new uniforms." On the floor is a carton containing button-down dress shirts; some of them purple and others gold... ugly! Slacks and skirts of light gray, and then there's over-the-head bibs made of 100% cotton with a new Stop & Shop logo on the chest portion, and pockets below. He explains, "These are prototypes of various sizes of the new uniforms for floor-employees. Everyone will be in uniform starting next month. I need to decide how many to order of small, medium, large, and extra large so you and me will try these things on and I'll make notes of our findings. We're the same heights, but you're skinny and I'm well built so we've got complimentary body types for this assignment." I look from him to the carton of clothing thinking, "Skirts? I gotta try on skirts?" then I'm wondering, "Did he say I'm skinny and he's well built?" This dude is delusional!
It's very warm in this closet/room and the overhead light is very bright. Alan reaches over and unzips my jacket that I stupidly left on when I came inside from the parking lot; he says, "We'll strip to our shorts and you'll try on the two smaller sizes and I'll do the same with the two larger ones." I frown at that, as Alan continues, "I'm not sure exactly how to tackle this, I have a list of all the floor personnel who will need the new outfits, so between us I'm hoping we'll be able to put everyone in size categories." He's already unbuttoned his shirt as I stand here in shock at his command to "strip to our shorts". Alan takes off his shirt and pulls his undershirt over his head. There's lots of curly black hair on his stocky, mature body, but he is not 'well built' like he said... he's stocky, like I said. Staring at him, I stand frozen in place, my swallowing makes a gulping noise which causes Alan to look over, and say, "Come on, Newman, get those clothes off!"
to be continued....
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com