DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION
Chapter 10
by Donny Mumford
Monday morning my laptop alarm goes off, my eyes blink open and I immediately know that in more ways than one this is a new morning. Every morning is a 'new morning' obviously, but this one is the first day of my summer job away from home. With that in mind, I hop right out of bed and go through my bathroom routine wondering how today will play out. I'm thinking positive thoughts though, trying to feel good. Of course, there's usually unexpected developments inherent in doing anything for the first time, but I'm determined to deal with whatever happens in a manner that would make Chubby proud. Whatever comes up I'll be thinking, 'What would Chubby do?' I do have some apprehension about basically being on my own for the first time, but it's manageable. I say 'on my own' because Ryan's the only human being I know for eleven hundred miles in any direction, and realistically how well do I even know him? I know Ryan the college student, sort of, but this isn't college. When I was younger facing a totally alien situation like this one I'd go the 'shy' route, staying in the background like a little mouse, doing what I'm told. That was then though and this is now. I'm putting on my big boy pants and adopting a 'fuck it' attitude yelling at myself I can handle this. That's gonna be my approach for two reasons. For one: what do I have to lose? And two, Ryan needs my help. I don't think anyone has ever had his back and I'm going to try being that person for him.
Thinking these thoughts, I hear, "You need to hurry, Daniel. Get your ass in gear!" Standing in my bedroom Ryan's dressed and ready to go. The bossy little fucker is tapping his foot as I come out of the bathroom wearing only
jockey shorts. I force a confident smile, "G'morning, boss! Good day to kick some ass and take a few names, huh?" He shrugs, saying , "We gotta get going," so I check my watch and see there's almost an hour before the balloon goes up. "I'll be ready to go in two minutes, um, what's the rush? It's only seven-thirty." Ryan's fidgety watching me get dressed, telling me, "Just do what you're told and get dressed fast, and set your alarm ten minutes earlier tomorrow. I wanna be the first one there every morning. That's, 'what's the rush." Oh boy, maybe I don't need to have his back if he's gonna be an asshole about it. Nah, it's just that he's really tense! He's stiff as a wire spring, ready to snap! Yeah, well I guess he has good reason considering he'll be the boss of that crew, and he knows damn well his performance will make it's way back to his father. Ryan isn't good dealing with, well, with anyone but me, never mind six guys he doesn't know and who didn't seem particularly affable when we met them Saturday.The poor kid must be terrified. I say, "Sure, Albert, I'll set my alarm earlier, but how 'bout if you put the breaks on snapping at me first thing in the morning. It gets me all jittery, ya know." He's up-tight and he looks, um, frightened. Frowning, he goes, "Just get dressed, I've got a lot on my mind." Huh, my man's not too good under pressure I see. Patting him on the back, I mumble, "Sure, but you're not in this totally alone. I'm with you and I'll be trying to get the crew on your side." He nods his head, "I'm not worried, I'll be fine." Sure you will.
We're both wearing the company t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers as we go down the two flights of stairs with me asking, "Ya want some breakfast, or coffee at least?" he shakes his head and I follow him through the kitchen, then outside to the garage. "You drive, Daniel, I want to go over the list of my crew again. I have their applications here and I studied them last night getting to know a little about their backgrounds and memorizing their names." Huh, that's a good idea. Ryan doesn't say a word during the drive to work, then at the guard house we both show the laminated ID badges hanging from the lanyards around our necks, and when I park the Mini it's exactly thirty minutes before our work-day begins. Walking towards the building Ryan seems even more uptight and I don't think there's anything I can say that will help, but I try, "Count on me, Albert," and he nods his head, muttering, "Yeah, thank god you're here, but try not to say too much. The guys might not get your sense of humor." What the fuck? Surely he jests.
We check-in, then sign in with the second guard as he's telling us, "Even though I already know you guys I still need to go through the motions of checking your ID every day. The camera in the sky is everywhere." Ryan's mind is elsewhere when the guard asks him, "You know where to go, right?" Ryan mumbles, "What?" and I say, "Yeah, we know where to go." Huh, even if we didn't know where to go we'd be fine because right through the double doors, in front of us on the wall, is a new sign: EVU/PROJECT AD-607 Authorized Personnel ONLY! There's a big blue arrow pointing to the left. Ryan frowns, muttering, "EVU?" and I mumble, "Yeah, that's the initials for the convoluted name of our unit, 'Equipment Verification Unit'. He snickers nervously, "Oh yeah, I should know that, huh?" We enter the same room we waited in Saturday except now there's a uniformed woman guard behind the counter who looks up and says, "Good morning, boys. Show your ID badges and sign in please." Three check points... really? Lockheed-Martin seems a tad paranoid with these redundant check points, or maybe they don't trust their guards. We go through the ID routine again and she types on the computer, then says, "Through there," pointing to a door to the left. Huh, when we were here Saturday I assumed that door led to a coat closet. We enter a room containing two square tables with four chairs around each. Against the back wall there's a counter with a Keurig coffee maker on it, also a sink, microwave oven, and a counter-top refrigerator. On the left wall there's a soda machine and a snack machine. Above the counter are four kitchen type cabinets. Obviously this is our lunch and coffee break room. Every work place needs one of these I suppose. I'm assuming the coffee's free, but the vending machines definitely require money. Ryan gets a look of panic on his face, "Shit! We forgot to bring a lunch." I go, "We don't need a lunch, we're eating free in the main cafeteria this week. You told us that Saturday." He goes, "Whew, yeah, that's right." The door opens behind us and muscular Josh Day comes in. "Good, you're here. Come with me Albert, and you," pointing at me, hesitating a second, "Newman, right?" I nod my head and he goes, "Right, Danny Newman, good. Grab a coffee or something. Ah, whaddaya doing here so early anyway?" I shrug, wondering if the 'Yes sir' nonsense applies here too and settle for saying, "I car pool with, Albert," but Josh had already turned away from me.
Josh has the personality of a door mat obviously. He says, "Lets go, Albert." Ryan looks over at me, like, 'Help!' and off he goes. Poor kid. I open some cabinet doors and find boxes of k-cups for various strength coffees, and some for tea. Who's gonna be the pussy who drinks tea... heh heh. There's foam cups for hot drinks, boxes of sugar, paper plates, napkins, and four rolls of paper towels. The half refrigerator contains only a carton of whole milk, two pint cartons of medium cream, and a shelf full of bottled water, so we're all set I guess. Taking a Donut-brand medium blend coffee k-cup, I pop it in the Keurig and presto the machine hums and hisses and twenty seconds later I've got a cup of freshly brewed coffee. After adding sugar and cream I take a seat thinking a cigarette would go good with my coffee. Looking around I see two 'NO SMOKING' signs, so maybe I won't have a cigarette after all. Fucking anti-smoking campaign! There's a door next to the vending machines so I get up to see what's behind it, guessing it's a toilet, and I'm right. A toilet and sink. As I'm walking back to my seat the other door opens and in comes another early arrival in the person of my surly black friend, Da'george Hall. He looks around the room, without looking at me, then goes over and looks at the Keurig machine for a second. He tentatively lifts the handle and sees my used k-cup in the holder, picking it up he's glancing along the counter apparently not familiar with the Keurig. Dropping the k-cup back in it's container, he opens the refrigerator, then slams it,
muttering, "Cheap mothafuckas," and sits down at the other table, mostly with his back to me.
He's not looking at me which is convenient because it allows me to stare at him, and he's worth staring at too. His creamy pale-brown complexion is perfection. There's not a mark or blemish on his beautiful healthy youthful skin. It's like a painting. I guessed his age as early twenties on Saturday, but looking at him more closely today he's probably younger, and if he shaves it's a very close shave. Yeah, but there's something different about him this morning. I close my eyes and try picturing him Saturday, then open my eyes and it's obvious. He had his hair in cornrows and now it's pulled back with an elastic around a stubby ponytail. Very full, silky-looking dark brown wavy hair. He turns his head to look at the clock on the wall and I see very curly short hairs across his forehead's hairline. For the cornrow hair style the barber shaved along his hairline and now those hairs are growing out. No trace of a widow's peak, just the ideal straight hairline across the top of his smooth forehead. He's youthfully handsome with a mixture of European and African facial features. Big dark eyes with narrow eyebrows, cute nose and full lips. He's tall and slim, taller than me by three or four inches. Gorgeous young man with a surly attitude. Those two things just don't compute as compatible in my mind.
The silence is getting uncomfortable for me, so fuck it, I'm not going to be intimidated by Da'george's surly attitude, and anyway his attitude might be covering up for shyness or lack of confidence. Chubby would do some kind of ice-breaker thing, so to tease Da'george for ignoring me, I do a noisy slurp off the top of my steaming cup of coffee. The only sound in the room is the annoying slurping sound, the sound I hate when someone else does it. Then another longer slurp, and a third one grinning to myself as I stare at Da'george. One more exaggerated slurp and he's slowly turning his head, very slowly, until he's looking in my direction with an incredulousness expression on his face. I can't help but grin looking him in the eyes. He immediately averts his eyes as I slurp again. His lips quiver, and then a grin breaks out, "You white mothafucka! You doing that on purpose?" I nod my head and slurp again, and he asks, "How's that mothafuckan machine work? I want something hot to drink." I shrug as if I don't know how it works. He's slowly shaking his head coming over to sit at my table, "Okay, you're not a white-bread mothafucka, now how does that thing work? Do ya gotta bring your own little mothafuckan containers to put in there?"
Getting up, I go over and open the cabinet, then hold my open hand palm up like I'm a model in a commercial demonstrating the boxes of k-cups. He stares at the k-cups, not at me, as I use the tips of two fingers to take one k-cup from the box, remove mine from the machine and ceremonially drop it in the trash can at the end of the counter. He's watching what I do with a bemused expression as I drop the new k-cup in the slot. Taking a foam coffee cup from the cabinet and putting it under the spout, I close the lid and hit the middle blue button. The machine hisses and a few seconds later coffee comes out in a little stream. He smirks, then shakes his head slowly again, like he's pissed at himself for not figuring that out. Most things are simple after you see how something works one time. As his cup is filling he slides my coffee cup over muttering, "Mothafucka," and does a long slurp of my coffee. I laugh bringing his coffee over. Then get him the box of sugar with a spout, a pint of cream, and one of those plastic sticks for stirring. Sitting down across from him I pull my coffee cup over and watch him pour lots of sugar and cream in his coffee, saying, "I don't like coffee. Rather have tea," and he said the last part with a posh English accent. I mutter, "You pussy," and he laughs. I ask, "Straight over from London, huh?" He mumbles, "Not hardly, mothafucka," but he said it with a little grin on his lips.
Da'george is putting more sugar in his coffee, so I'm like, "Dude, FYI, for pussy tea drinkers like yourself there's k-cups for tea in the cabinet." His big eyes open as his eyebrows go up, "No shit, really?" like he's surprised. He gets up to see for himself, then looks back nodding his head and holding up a k-cup for tea. He repeats the steps I just did when making his coffee, then he again sits down across from me with his cup of tea. A second later the door swings open and in come the Smith brothers, mumbling, "Good morning" to no one in particular. The younger brother, Aiden, lifts his chin to his brother indicating the Keurig, and they head for the coffee machine. I mumble, "Yeah, g'morning," back at them, but Da'george of course says nothing. He doesn't even look at them while mumbling to me, "Earl Gray tea, ya wanna try it?" I shrug, reaching for his cup and sip some. "Jesus, that's hot!" He mutters, "No shit ya dumb ass mothafuca, I didn't mean try it now. It needs some mothafuckan sugar and it's gotta cool down a bit." Burned my tongue on the hot tea water. I hate when that happens, and it usually happens every time I eat pizza too 'cause I bite right into the scalding hot cheese. Dumb ass, is right!
I'm watching the Smith brothers quibbling with each other as they get their coffees. The older brother, Jayden, is an average looking young African-American man, but younger Aiden is kinda cute in almost a funny-looking way, or maybe it's just his smile. He has a beautiful smile which he uses a lot.
He smiles at anything and everything, even when the brothers are arguing which they do frequently. Da'george mumbles to me, "You don't say much, do you, ya honkey mothafucka?" but again he said it in a friendly joking kind of way, so I go, "That's because I'm petrified of black people," and he laughs, "Yeah, I can tell I scare the shit outta you. " Ha, Da'george of all people telling me I don't say much, how about him? I grin, mumbling, "Scary mothafucka!" He shakes his head again, grinning. Awesome grin with impossibly white teeth and bubblegum pink gums and tongue. I need to force myself not to stare at him. Every movement he makes is like, um, graceful. I'll bet he has awesome eye/hand coordination. "Play any sports, Da'george?" He nods, and smugly says, "A little bit. I lettered in baseball, football, and basketball at Marietta high last year. Shortstop, quarterback, and center." Huh, all prime positions and he's obviously proud of that. I'd be more than proud if I were him, I'd probable have it tattooed on my forehead. I'm like, "Wow, that's cool. Ya get any scholarship offers?" He shrugs, "Nah, I wasn't all that good, just a big fish in a tiny little pond. I was a star in a very small high school, and anyway my grades blow. I hated the study part of school so college was not an option." Jeez, he's being very forthcoming after a surly start. I'll bet he is the shy type like Robby was in high school. Me too for that matter. Funny that Da'george has only made eye contact with me that one time for a fraction of a second. Most of the time he looks down at the table or over my shoulder.
The Smith brothers, Jayden and Aiden, sit at the other table with their coffees still arguing about something as Da'george asks me, "Um, Saturday you were with that little four-eyed mothafucka who's suppose to be our boss, right?" I nod my head, "Yeah, I know him, Albert Wilcox. He's a good guy." He goes, "He looks like a mean little mothafucka. Ya think he know what he's doing?" I go, "He's far from mean, Da'george, and he's been training with Josh Day so I'm pretty sure he knows more about the job than we do." Da'george says, "How do you know him?" "We go to the same college." He's like, "Y'all a college boy? What the fuck ya doing working here?" I'm like, "I need the money, why else? I always work summers." He nods, muttering, "Huh," and I ask, "How come you're, um, a tiny bit into the antisocial shit?" He looks past me, saying, "I ain't antisocial, I'm selective, and anyway I never had a job before and I'm not sure what I'm suppose to do. Makes me guarded, ya know? " Smelling the back of my wrist, I chuckle, "So you're selectively guarded. Yeah, I guess we're all selective in our own way." He says nothing so I try saying this in a funny way, "Well I gotta say I'm glad I passed your guarded selectivity process." He goes, "What the fuck does that mean?" I give him a 'look', then say, "In plain English it means I'm glad to know you, Da'george. That's all." He goes, "Oh no! Y'all aren't thinking you're gonna be hanging around me all the mothafuckan time just cause I spoke to you, are you?" He said that in a humorous way too, with fake astonishment, so I shrug, "Well yeah, of course, I was hoping that'd be okay." He goes, "Fuck, I was afraid of that!"
Looking at the table he slides his cup of tea in a circle, shaking his head slowly which he does a lot, then he mumbles, "Fuck it," and holds his fist out, saying, "Well, if you're gonna be hangin' around me making a pain in the ass of yo-self ya might as well call me what my friends do. I'm Dog." He holds his fist out, I bump it quickly with mine, saying, "I'm Danny, good ta meet ya, Dog. Why do they call you dog?" He goes, "Cause that's my mothafuckan nickname a'course, the first three letters of my name, DAG" I go, "Um, yeah, but that would be pronounced 'dag', not 'dog'." He chuckles again, looking at the top of the table, muttering, "Fuckin' college student! My little brother was two years old when he called be, 'Dog', so that's what the fuck it is... 'Dog'! I mutter, "Shouldn't that be spelled, 'Dawg'?" I'm thinking of posse boy, Dawg, and in my head I'm hearing that hot rock song from years gone by, 'That's My Dog,' by Brett Denner, which is a really good tune! Dog says, "That 'dawg' is slang meaning 'homie' to African-Americans with an ethnic background, like myself." I go, "Huh, is that right?"
I told him my name was 'Danny' because I like that better then Daniel, and anyway it's what Josh Day calls me, so at work I'll be Danny. In Marietta, Georgia, I've got many names, and I can only hope and pray Mrs. Wilcox doesn't get wind of the "Danny' one. Dog's a little more talkative now and he tells me his older brother got him this ten week gig, as he calls it, with hopes that a permanent position opens up for him. He says he's leery of interviewing for a job. That sort of thing makes him very nervous. His brother works for Lockheed-Martin as a jet engine mechanic and he got this job for Dog, so he didn't need to interview. Hell, I didn't either. It's interesting how Dog sometimes talks 'black ghetto', and other times it just plain Southern speak, and occasionally he'll do that posh English accent. He also mimics me, repeating some words he thinks I pronounce incorrectly. He says the words exactly the way I say them, and it makes us both chuckle. When explaining his mimicking ability he talks unhurried, like he does everything. He goes, "Y'all say the word, 'really' like 'reely', and 'roof' like 'ruf'." I'm like, "I do not," and he says, "Yeah, ya do, and the way you say 'route' is 'root' and for 'syrup' you say 'seer-up'." He smirks at me, and I go, "What are you, some kind of mothafuckan linguist?" He chuckles, "I don't know, but I got a sweet cousin from Philly, in Pennsylvania, not Mississippi, who says, 'Wooder' for 'water' and 'iggles' for Eagles. That's their football team, the Philadelphia Iggles'," and he shakes his head mumbling, "That dumb mothafucka says things wrong, but he is one bad mothafuckan nigga." He chuckles again, acting friendly and I can see a really sweet kid hidden under his defensive shield of antisocial indifference to prevailing norms for social conduct. That is until he feels comfortable with you. He goes, "Another thing, my Philly boy says he going to the 'dennis' to get his mothafuckan teeth cleaned!" I can't help but laugh along with him 'cause he says things 'funny'. Some people are just naturally funny. Chubby's like that. He can say ordinary, everyday things and it comes out funny somehow because of his voice inflection and his facial expression. I ask Dog, "How do you say, 'pecan'?" and he goes, "The same as you, 'pitman', how the fuck else would you say it?" Ha ha.
When comfortable, Dog's smooth and ultra cool. Impersonating or mimicking voices apparently come naturally to him. His vocal cords and hearing must be more developed than normal I guess. I ask him, "How do you do those different voices, Dog?" He shrugs, "Don't know really. I've always fucked around imitating my family's voices and some celebrities on the TV too. Just comes natural. I did all my teammates' voices in high school. We laugh our mothafuckan asses off when I'd answer questions in class like one of my homies." I go, "You're a cool mothafucka, ain't ya?" He goes, "No, not really," and then fifty year old Aaron Black comes through the door with a boisterous, "Morning, men!" and then, "Ah, free coffee!" Jesus! I hate loud mouths in the morning. The Smiths and I mutter, "G'morning," and Aaron swaggers over and makes a cup of coffee for himself. The younger Smith brother, Aiden, also know as 'Stinky', asks, "Anybody mind some music?" No one says anything so he turns on a little portable radio and out pours loud rap music. Dog asks me, "Do you suppose that dumb mothafucka never heard of a headset?" Aaron sits with the Smith brothers, saying, "Young man, could you please turn that radio down a little bit, or it'd be even better if you turned it down until it makes a 'clicking' sound?" Stinky begrudgingly turns it off.
The last member of Ryan's crew, Sam Workman, comes through the door followed immediately by Ryan and his boss, Josh Day, with Josh saying, "Let me have your attention." Sam sits with Dog and me looking around like he's the scared little mouse I used to be. He also looks like he's fifteen years old. Obviously he not, but he is very young looking. He's worked for Lockheed-Martin for over a year in the mailroom, I think that's what he said, and somehow he got transferred here for this ten week project. He's got a blond flat-top haircut that's grown out a lot and his hair unfortunately is his best feature, except for looking young. Sam's mouth is too wide with thin lips, making him look like a cartoon character. Also his nose is kinda flat like
it's been broken once or twice. He's short and stocky, but not fat at all. He's got good guns on him too. Josh says, "In a couple of minutes, Ralph Morris, the supervisor of the supply department will be over here to show you boys how to unload a truck and how to open the boxes properly so what's inside the box doesn't get damaged. Some boxes contain delicate instruments and computer components along with other less delicate items, and much larger ones as well. I'm responsible for this project you boys will be doing, but I've also got an entire division I've got to run and therefore Albert will be in my place as far as you're concerned. He's your boss, to put it bluntly. He'll take it from here and what he tells you is coming from me." Josh is obviously not the warm and fuzzy type. He goes, "It's all yours, Albert," then to us, "Don't fuck this up," and he's gone. Hopefully forever because he's intimidating.
Everyone looks at Ryan as he says, "Okay, finish your coffees and we'll start work on the loading dock at exactly eight-thirty." The crew's fifty year old senior citizen, Aaron Black, asks, "Hey, kiddo, what about breaks? Ya know, piss breaks, coffee breaks, lunch breaks." Ryan says, "I was going to cover things like that later, but now's as good a time an any. If you need to use the bathroom, go ahead. There's a fifteen minute morning and afternoon break at ten o'clock and two-thirty respectively. Lunch is a forty-five minute break at twelve, noon. This week your lunches are compliments of Lockheed-Martin. Free lunch in the cafeteria and I'll pass out your lunch chits each day. Oh, and from then on it's brown bag lunches that we'll be eating in here. The cafeteria is on the other side of this big complex so this will be our cafeteria starting next Monday. Feel free to use the refrigerator and microwave. I'll see you in seven minutes," and he starts to leave, but Aaron's got another question, which he asks in his deep, loud bass voice, "Where exactly is the cafeteria?" Ryan says, "I'll show you at noon." and Aaron again, "Is it okay to smoke on the dock?" Ryan says, "Yes, if you must, as long as it doesn't interfere with what you're doing work-wise," and he opens the door to leave, but Aaron's like, "Can we eat in the cafeteria after this week if we pay for it?" Ryan's flustered as he says, "No!" with a little too much emphasis. Then, in a calmer voice, he goes, "I'm late meeting the supply supervisor. I've gotta go." Aaron stage whispers to the Smith brothers loud enough so everyone can hear him, "Ask a question and get your ass chewed out around here." Ryan looks at him a second, then goes, "Okay, be on the loading dock at eight-thirty," and he leaves. Never once did he look directly at me. I'm sitting here sweating from concern that he'd fuck up and collapse right in front of us, but he did great!
Dog mutters, "He's a twerp," and I say, "Give him a chance, Dog." He shrugs, then he's like, "Albert? We gotta call him, Albert? That's a fucked-up name." I mumble, "Call him," and I almost say, 'Ryan', but catch myself and say, "Call him 'Al'." Dog mumbles, "More like I won't call the mothafucka anything." He's hard to figure out. I see the sweet kid under his camouflage, but he's also seems super defensive at time too, angry even. Dog gets up, "Come on, we'll be brown-nosers getting out there first." Well, alright, Dog! But I don't say that, I just follow him out with Aaron calling out to us in his boisterous voice, "Boys, ya got five more minutes. Where ya going?" My ear drums vibrate while Dog pays no attention to him whatsoever, it's like Aaron doesn't exist. Nervous Sam Workman jumps up and follows us. Walking through our work area to the dock outside, Dog says, "I need a mothafuckan cigarette." Good idea. On the loading dock, while lighting my cigarettes I glance at Ryan who's further down the dock talking with a burly fellow who's as tall as Dog, but maybe twice his weight. I'm guessing he's the supervisor Ryan just mentioned, Ralph something. They're twenty feet away standing next to dollies with a big-ass truck backed-up to the loading dock. Youthful looking, Sam Workmen, leans against the building glancing at us like he's wondering if it's okay for him to be here. I look at him, and ask, "Ya
want a cigarette, Sam?" He shakes his head, mumbling, "I don't smoke, but thank you," then in a small voice, "How'd you remember my name?" I go, "Who could forget you, Sam?" and he does what I assume he thinks is a grin. Sam's that rare boy who looks goofier when he grins. Dog doesn't look at Sam or the two at the middle of the loading dock. I suppose it's possible that he and I have bonded, but that's apparently all the bonding he can handle for one day. To him, everyone else is invisible.
Before we're done our cigarettes, Ryan calls down, "Da'george, please tell the guys in the break room they're late as of two minutes ago." Ryan may as
well have said that in Chinese to the big-ass truck for all Dog cares. He doesn't even look Ryan's way, just takes a drag off his cigarette gazing at the bright blue sky. I tell Dog, "I'll get 'em," and hand my cigarette to Sam, "Hold this for me, okay?" and start inside just as the rest of the guys are coming out. Ryan calls out, "Down here please." We walk down and Ryan
says, "This is Ralph Morris. He's going to show us the correct way to unload this truck." Ryan leans down and grabs the handle to pull up the big door at the back of the truck. He grunts, pulling on it for all he worth without budging the door. Ralph walks over, smirking at the rest of us, and unlatches a handle on the side of the sliding door. The door goes up easily then and we see a truck full of various size cardboard boxes. I'm looking at Ryan to see how dark his blush gets, and he is blushing, but he seems alright and he even gives Ralph a dirty look. I assume for not telling him about the latch when they were discussing things a minute ago.
Ralph says, "Boys, this isn't rocket science, but there is a right way and a wrong way to move these boxes. Do it the wrong way and you could injure yourself, and more importantly maybe fuck up what's in the box, so listen up. He lights an unfiltered cigarette, then pulls a dolly over, saying, "This
here piece of equipment is called a dolly by some, and a hand truck by others. It's your best friend when moving anything heavy. It does almost all the work for you. Ya see these big wheels, they help too. This hand truck is made with two extruded aluminum channel side rods and a cast magnesium plate." He goes on giving additional description of the hand truck, pointing at each piece, one by one as if anyone cares how the thing is made. Dog's obviously not any more interested than me as he takes a last drag off his cigarette, then flicks the butt into the blacktop parking area. Ralph stops his demonstration, yelling, "No! Don't do that." Dog has no expression on his face. It's like Ralph yelled that to someone else. The rest of us are all looking at Ralph, "Cigarette butts go in the cans of sand you see on the loading dock there, and there, and there," pointing to three small tubs of sand with cigarette butts sticking out of the sand. Dog says nothing and looks at nothing as if no one said anything. I drop my butt in the nearest can.
The lecture goes on, "Always have in mind the size of the load in comparison to the length of the toe plate, that's important. A good rule of thumb is that the toe plate should be at least one-third the length of the load." He goes into the back of the truck and gets a big box in position by sliding it on the truck bed, saying, "Tilt the box forward, away from you, insert the ledge or toe, let the tilted box fall backward onto the ledge, then the hand truck tilts back and the load is balanced over the two wheels," and he walks the big box from the truck across the dock and inside through the opened garage-like door at the back of our work room. He goes on to describe
stair-climber hand trucks, then each of us uses a hand truck to move boxes into the work space. This goes on for longer than necessary because it's a pretty simple technique to pick-up on. When we're done with that Aaron has
more questions which further extends the class. He has a series of questions, some of which have nothing whatsoever to do with what we're doing. It's like, 'hand truck instructions for the mentally impaired'. Then Aaron gets into an argument with burly Ralph about what size box might not require a hand truck. My head aches from rolling my eyes at Dog, who gives me tiny grins, but says nothing. He's unflappable.
After hearing way too much instruction about hand trucks, we go inside to learn how to properly open the boxes. Ralph goes, "First, look for special instructions on the box. If there are none, use a box cutter to travel only where the tape secures two flaps, being sure not to go deeper than the cardboard and blah, blah, blah for fifteen minutes. Instructions for the mentally impaired, part two. When Ralph's done explaining and demonstrating we all open boxes for awhile until Ralph's satisfied. He goes, "If there are no questions, we can all use a break and after that I'll stay with you until the trucks unloaded." It would be break time except for Aaron of course, he has many more questions that take us way past our morning break time, and now sighs can be heard from the rest of us guys as Aaron continues his investigation into the most intricate detail for every 'What if?' possibility imaginable. 'What if the box is too heavy to lift onto the table?' 'What if we drop a box?' 'What if something's already broken when the box is open?' 'What if the instructions on the box are in a foreign language?' and on and on until Ralph finally says, "Jesus! Enough already! For all these obscure situations, that by the way will make-up less than one percent of what you're doing, ask your supervisor, Albert." That should be that, except Aaron ask Ryan, "What will you say in a circumstance like that?" Ryan glares at Aaron for a second as I gulp hoping Ryan will come up with a logical response. He says, "It's very simple, Aaron, I'll tell you to put it aside and get a box you can open. Then I'll ask Josh. Alright?" Aaron frowns at him and then gives an indignant, "I guess it'll have to be alright." Ryan actually smiles, saying, "And that'll be my answer for any bizarre situation you can come up with, put it aside and ask me. I'll take care of it," Argumentative, Aaron, says, "Well, we should know what you find out so when it happens again we can handle it ourselves." Ryan, goes, "No! Put it aside and ask me." Aaron crosses his arms on his chest, frowning with his lips pressed together. A grown man pouting is not a pretty sight. Ralph puts his hand on Ryan's shoulder, almost a pat on the back, and says, "So there you have it boys. Take a break and we'll get to work in fifteen minutes or so." We all drift towards the break room while Ryan talks with Ralph, then I hear then them laughing just as I step inside. Ryan's impressing the shit out of me. I didn't think he had it in him.
Dog and I get our drinks, coffee for me and tea for him, then we bring them out on the dock so we can smoke a cigarette while we drink them. Sam follows us with a can of Coke and leans against the building a few feet from us. Unlike me, Dog is totally comfortable saying nothing, so it's up to me to start a conversation. I ask, "How many brothers and sisters do you have, Dog. I know you mentioned an older and a younger brother, any others?" He flicks the ash off his cigarette, "Nah, just two brothers." Huh. Well, I'll see if Sam's talkative, "Yo, Sam, how'd you happen to get assigned here from the mailroom?" He shrugs, "I don't know." Nodding my head, I have to chuckle. Ha ha, I'll try Dog again. "Um, Dog, whaddaya you do when you're not working?" He mutters, "This and that," and I go, "I'm new here in Marietta and, ya know, I was wondering what's happening around here. Is there some place the guys hang out at, or whatever." He says, "Mostly I play ball at the high school, smoke some joints, drink a little beer and stay out of trouble basically." I ask, "Baseball?" He takes a deep breath, "Yeah, baseball. Look, you a good guy and all, but I'm kinda talked-out this morning, okay? " I go, "Yeah, it's okay," and the three of us sit here and drink our drinks in silence. From inside I can hear Aaron pontificating to the Smith brothers about fly fishing, and I don't know where Ryan got to. Break's over and from inside the work room Ryan says, "Lets go guys," and we all wander back in with Dog patting me on the shoulder, giving me a tiny grin, so I guess we're still buds.
We open more boxes and learn where the serial numbers are on each and every piece of equipment we take from the boxes. After we've mastered the difficult task of opening cardboard boxes, Ryan assigns us a partner. Lucky for Dog he's assigned as my partner because I don't think he could get along with anyone else, except maybe Sam. We each have our own computer and Ryan gives a half hour class about the program we'll be working with. Then we learn that every time we have six items unpacked, we go to the our computer and punch in the serial numbers, then place the item on the shelves and log in the exact numbered location for each item. Before going on to new boxes each guy's partner verifies the other's computer input, and then we tear the cardboard boxes down so they lay flat in a pile. After that, grab six more boxes from the pile, using a hand truck if necessary, and do it all over again. That's basically the whole routine, and I suppose it will be for the next ten weeks. Not rocket science indeed! At noon Ryan gives everyone a lunch chit and leads us to the cafeteria. I smell it before we even get there. All cafeterias smell like tomato soup to me. We get trays and slide them along the railing helping ourselves to whatever we want. I get a sandwich, bag of potato chips, ice tea, and chocolate cake. Both Dog and our shadow, Sam, get a hot meal of mac and cheese with fried chicken and a salad. We sit together and eat in silence for a minute, then Dog says, "Sorry about the loading dock, Danny. I'm not good at mothafuckan new things. I'll be better once I feel comfortable with everything." Sam says, "Me too," and I go, "Me three." Dog shakes his head slowly, "You something, Danny boy. Talk away, I like hearing your voice." That wasn't expected.
"Sam, do you play any sports?" He says, "I'm a boxer. I workout and sometimes box downtown at the 'Ring Boxer Club' three or four nights a week." Dog looks at Sam for the first time, but still doesn't say anything to him. I go, "No shit, Sam. How long ya been doing that?" He goes, "Since I was ten years old. My dad was a boxer, middle weight, but now he's a trainer for Sly Rubin. Ever hear of him?" I shake my head, "No, I don't think so." He says, "Oh, well he's won ten fights in a row. I'm a junior welterweight, hundred-forty pounds." Sam and I talk about that through lunch without Dog saying anything. He eats everything on his plate, so does Sam. I'm not a big mac and cheese fan, but the fried chicken looked pretty good. I might try that tomorrow. The six of us are leaving the cafeteria with me right behind Stinky and then, oh my god, I find out why he got his nickname! He lets a silent killer-fart out and everyone's yelling, "That wasn't me! Jesus!" Stinky snickers and his brother smacks the back of his head, mumbling, "It's my bro, he has an active digestive system."
In the afternoon we discover another reason we need to work with a partner. It's not only to check each other's computer accuracy, but because some of the pieces that come out of the bigger boxes are too heavy for one person to lift. So me and Dog struggle with a few of those, grinning at each other and him mumbling, "I'm lifting most the mothafuckan weight." Dog works fast so keeping up with him keeps me on my toes.The afternoon flies by, and we're soon at afternoon break. I treat Sam and Dog to Cokes and we drink them
with Dog and I smoking and sitting on the loading dock with out legs dangling over the side. Sam doesn't speak unless spoken too, so that plus his eagerness to please makes him very likable and he's growing on me fast. When he thanks me sincerely for the Coke I rub his head and he sort of leans into the head rub like a cat does when you scratch his furry cheek. Sam didn't
purr though. A guy who lean's into a shoulder hug or head rub is almost as
revealing as a guy who maintains eye to eye contact too long. It's a gay indicator, but in the case of Sam I believe it's a false/positive. I don't think there's anyway he's gay, and even if he were he's not sexy as far as I'm concerned. The rest of the afternoon goes by without a problem and then
there's actually a whistle that sounds at four-thirty announcing the end of the work day for us worker bees, us hourly wage people. Work past the whistle and it's time and a half. Ryan says, "That's it guys. Nice first day." Dog bumps the back of his fist against the front of my shoulder, mumbling, "Glad I met ya, bro." We bumps fists then, and I'm like, "Yeah, me too, Dog. See y'all tomorrow," and he glides out of the room cool as the other side of the pillow.
During the afternoon Ryan came over a couple of times to give my shoulder a squeeze and ask how I was doing, but mostly he's busier than a one legged man in a kicking fight. For one thing, when we enter data to our computers he replicates it from all six of us into one continuous listing on his computer as a back-up. He also has to personally spot check every tenth input insuring it's in the spot on the shelves exactly where we indicated it is on our computers, and a half dozen times he corrects something he found that's misplaced. The location markings on the shelves sometime overlap when the item's large and we need to indicate all the location indicators the item touches. When Aaron asked, Ryan told us these parts are for a new satellite Lockheed-Martin is developing for the military, but he doesn't know any more than that. The work isn't as boring as it sounds because we have a sense we're helping build something important. Then a couple of us, me, Sam, and Stinky make up guesses at to what the fuck each piece is that we're logging in. It's like trying to identify what piece of chicken you're eating from a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not always possible as some are mystery pieces, and then there's the random mouse that gets fried confusing the issue further. Aaron's still pouting about Ryan cutting off his questions so he's been relatively quiet only asking the occasional question. The Smith brothers are partners and they never stop quibbling with each other all afternoon. They work steadily though and their bickering seems friendly and harmless. I feel sorry for Sam of course because he has the know-it-all senior citizen, Aaron, for his partner. Like I said though, Aaron's wasn't as boisterous as earlier due to his childish pouting. From what I hear in bits and pieces from when Aaron does say, it's like every mistake is Sam's fault. At the afternoon break I asked Sam about that and he sarcastically said, grinning his unattractive grin, that Aaron's perfect. He never makes a mistake. He means the opposite obviously and since it doesn't seem to bother Sam, I won't let it bother me. Well, it does piss me off a little. In any case the first day is in the books.
Ryan has to do a few supervisory things after work, but by a quarter to five he's in the Mini driving us back to his house. I'm like, "Dude, you hit it out of the ballpark today. I'm really proud of you!" He glances at me, "Thanks, and I'm real sorry about this morning, Daniel, snapping at you like that. I was wound-up too fucking tight." I shrug, Forget this morning, you showed me something today. You were a great boss." He says, "Thanks, but actually I almost pissed my pants all day expecting something to go wrong, but it didn't. I was so nervous I felt stupid, but I made myself look calm. Believe me, I wasn't calm." I'm like, "You sure fooled me, Albert, I admire you." He smiles, "Actually there's not a hellava lot of supervising to do. Except for the spot checks, I don't really have much interaction with you guys, and it helped a lot that everyone was doing what they should. I mean, I'd love to interact with you all day, Daniel, but the other guys make me nervous and I know I'll get over it. I'm over it a little already." Yeah, he's right, it's not like Robby who needs to be telling guys on his landscaping crew what to do and when to do it all day long. He hands out different assignments all day every day. With Ryan, we already know what to do and it's repetitive, so as long as guys are working at a reasonable speed and not goofing off, the thing runs itself pretty much. It could get boring awfully quickly, but for now it's new to everyone. This is similar to working on an assembly line, doing the same thing basically over and over and over.
When home we get something to drink while Ryan reads his mother's note out loud to me. It basically says she'll be bringing Chinese take-out home for tonight's dinner, and she won't be home until almost seven. It's a little after five now as we look at each other, like, 'Whoopdee-fucking-do'. Then Ryan asks, "Well, whatever should we do now, Daniel?" Wow, the way he said that, it's like he's high from his successful day of being the boss. I say, "You're the boss, Albert. You tell me," and my dick wakes-up. Yeah, come to think of it I haven't been sexually aroused all day. So very rare! My mind was on the job this first day at work, which I thought went about as good as could be expected, but I did miss my usual sexy fantasies about someone in the vicinity That could have something to do with the lack of sexy boys to ogle. Dog is sexy for sure, but there's almost no chance he's interested in me sexually. Hell, I'm happy he's at least friendly. The Smith brothers aren't doing anything for me, and Sam, well he's a boxer and not likely a gay one. I didn't see sexy Ryan much all day, and anyway I was so concerned that he do well that I put the sexy arousal I often feel for him on the back burner, until now that is.
Ryan standing there in front of me seems sexy hot to me again. I lean against him and he gives me a hug, then says, "Get your barber tools out." Oh fuck! I go, "Albert! Do we have to? I though we were gonna..." He says, "Not until your haircut is out of the way, get the barber stuff and bring it all down to the basement. I'll give you the haircut in the unfinished part of the basement where there's plenty of light and it's a cement floor so you can sweep up the hair easily afterwards." I look at him, "Really?" He says, "Just do what you're told," and fuck if that doesn't get my dick's attention. I even had a little shudder there. "Okay, Albert," and I go up to the third floor and get the toiletry kit with my barbering stuff, feeling aroused now by my haircut fetish. I hate the idea of another gung-ho marine haircut, but at the same time I'm turned-on at the thought of Ryan doing it with his sexy dominant demeanor. And I'll bet, like Robby, Ryan will probably get more and more confident as he has success being the boss at work. Ryan being even bossier than he is now... holy shit!
Carrying my toiletry kit from my third floor bedroom to the kitchen. Ryan's not there so I go down to the finished basement and hear, "In here, Daniel." I go through the open door into the unfinished side. There's shelving along one wall with things neatly stored there. A workbench and tools on the opposite wall, probably from the previous owner. There's a double sink with
a cabinet over and under it, and a stool Ryan's put right under a bright overhead light next to the workbench. "Lay out all the barber equipment on the bench like you do at Merrimack. You can plug the clippers in right there." I lay out all the guides for the clippers although he'll probably only need the quarter inch one. Clippers, trimming clippers, scissors and comb are laid out too. He won't need those either, but he likes everything lined up in the unlikely event he'll want to use something else. I'm still totally amazed that he taught himself how to do this difficult haircut from watching videos. Finished setting everything up, I ask, "Do you want a haircut too?" He sitting on the stool, saying, "We'll see. Okay, you've got everything laid out there, now get a straight-back chair from the other side, and my hairdryer from my room. Shampoo too." He's got me running all over the place.
He's the boss, so I get the chair first, then go back up two flights of stairs for the other stuff from Ryan's bedroom. When I'm back in the basement Ryan turns the clippers on to test them, then says, "Take off your shirt, Daniel, and go over to the sink for a shampoo." I do that, sitting in the chair and Ryan puts a folded towel behind my neck, then tilts the back against the rim of the sink. Rubbing my head, he mutters, "Getting a little shaggy, huh?" I hold my tongue but my hair isn't long enough to be 'shaggy'. He gets right into it wetting my hair and shampooing it, saying, "You were my security blanket instead of me being yours. Just seeing you and knowing that you love me gave me tons of confidence. Also it made me feel good all the times I caught you looking at me during the day too. Knowing you have the hots for me even at work gave me half a boner." He's reading into that because I wasn't getting the hots for anybody today. I was checking on him because I wanted him to do really good, and he did too. Ryan told me he was almost peeing his pants from nervousness all day, but I couldn't tell and I know him better than the other guys so they sure as hell couldn't tell either. Ryan looked and acted like the man in charge. I don't think I would have done as good. The best endorsement Ryan got he doesn't even know about... Dog never complained about anything Ryan did the whole day. Ryan runs his fingers from the front to the back of my head in the shampoo lather, saying, "Thank you, Dylan, for being with me today," and he leans down to kiss my forehead, saying again,"Thank you." I says, "You're welcome. You were great today, and it's nice being called Dylan again." Rinsing my hair, he says, "Maybe we can take a chance and call each other our regular names when it's just you and me, but then we take the risk of doing it around the 'rents." I say, "So what? We'll pretend it's a joke if we slip when your mom hears it. Anyway, we won't slip up." He goes, "Don't call me Ryan in the house, period." I'm like, "Um, don't you think your mom's hang-up on names is peculiar?" He lightly smacks the side of my head, "I can't let you criticize my mother. Please!"
After towel drying my hair he uses the hairdryer, then says, "Okay, that's it. I can't get over how your hair grows so fast. It's fuzzy all over your head." Yeah, it finally has reached the barely acceptable stage and he's going to take it back to freaky. Oh well, it's part of the bargain I suppose. I stand up feeling my head and actually feel hair for a change instead of bristles or sandpaper. It feels nice now. "Ryan, can't we just settle on a buzz cut? I know you're the boss, but..." He nods at the barber stool, "Go over there and get on the stool," and he smacks my ass, adding, "Don't you worry about the haircut, I'll take care of that." He does 'bossy' really good and I gotta admit it's makes him even sexier. Damn, my dick squirms in my pants because I've always had this sexual attraction to Ryan and he's doing nothing lately to lower the heat I feel for him sometimes. I'm quickly becoming resigned to the 'no' from Ryan too. I walk over and hop up on the stool grinning at him. Ryan's right behind, saying, "Everything's a joke to you, isn't it?" I go, "No, I did what you told me," and he gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, mumbling, "Yeah, okay," then puts a hand at the back of my head, saying, "Sit up straight Daniel!" I do that and with his other hand he's roughly running his fingers back through my hair, front to back, doing it a few time, mumbling, "Getting the hairs to stand up more." He fiddles with the clippers for a second, then turn them on and with his left hand pushes my head over so my ear is almost touching my left shoulder and he runs the clippers quickly up the right side of my head and a little over the curve of my head with a shower of short hairs floating to my shoulder and me doing a squeaky moan realizing I'm getting the marine gung-ho haircut again. That immediately activates my haircut fetish and my heart starts pounding faster. Finished the right side of my head he redoes it with the clippers firmly against my scalp as he mumbles, "Just to be sure it's even all over."
Letting go of my head he runs the back of his finger up the side of my head, mumbling, "That's nice," then takes it a little further up where my head curves to the top portion. Muttering, "Good," he pushes my head foreword, my chin touching my chest, and he holds it there with his left hand and runs the clippers up the back of my head and over the crown as I feel a deep submissive trance descending deliciously over me, my shoulders shudder a little, and Ryan says, "Keep still Daniel!" and my cock begin to tighten up as I stifle a moan of arousal. It's my haircut fetish that's firmly in charge of my brain now. I hear only the buzzing clippers and feel it against my scalp as he cuts the hairs to a sixteenth of an inch all the way up the back of my head and over the crown, then he redoes it as I drift off in a trance with my cock getting harder and harder poking out the lap of my jeans. Ryan ignored my plea obviously, and he's giving me the haircut he insists I have, and I feel like I'm going to cum in my pants...
He knows about my haircut fetish and my submissive capabilities, so he does what he wants without hesitation, even deliberately running the bare clippers over the crown of my head twice as I let a moan out this time. He murmurs, "I know, I know, Daniel, just enjoy yourself." By now I couldn't be more docile as Ryan's completely dominating the situation deliciously. The continuing sense I'm going to cum in my pants is awesome. It's such a contradiction for me though. On the one hand I hate this haircut, but on the other hand I love the haircut fetish sensations I'm feeling. I'm extremely sexually aroused by the way he's doing everything. With my ear almost touching my right shoulder now, the bare clippers eliminate the hair on the left side of my head and I don't even care now. In fact I wish he could do it all over again. When I'm feeling like this I think it's worth the embarrassment of having this haircut although I'll think differently after the fact. Finished with the bare clippers he pushes my head roughly and I'm so loose my head bobbles around a little as I squeeze my hand on my hard dick.
With the clippers buzzing Ryan uses his other hand to again feel the sandpaper-like hair on the side of my head with the back of his fingers, murmuring, "That's perfect," then with a squeeze at the back of my neck he turns my head to the side facing him, asking "Isn't it just right, Daniel? Feel here," and he lifts my limp arm and holds my hand rubbing it on the side of my head as I gasp with precum drooling out of my cock wetting my underwear. I murmur, "Yes, it's just right, Albert." He pushes my head again, chuckling, then puts a quarter inch guide on the clippers and stands behind me cupping under my chin to pull my head back. He runs the clippers from the front of my head to the bare crown, then again and again pushing down on my scalp over the top of my head. Then with the bare clippers buzzing, he runs them on an angle along the hairline at my forehead and around the quarter inch hair on top blending it with the sandpaper-feeling hair on the side and back leaving a rounded patch of mostly quarter inch long hair on top. Lastly the trimmers around the ears form an outline contrast that shows there actually is hair left on the sides and back of my head.
He's finished my haircut too quickly. I wanted to sense my fetish longer as I take a deep breath feeling my head. Ryan puts the trimmer clippers down,
pushes my hand away from my head, and rubs my head with both hands, saying, "I went back to the original cut with this haircut. Even a little shorter than the first couple of times. This is a very high and tight haircut and it's the one I'll do for you every Monday. The last haircut I gave you wasn't nearly short enough." One more rub on my head and he says, "Okay now, with this haircut you look like my boy again," and he pushes my head dismissively, like, 'That's done', murmuring, "Yeah, this haircut is perfect for you." I feel very submissive, very put in my place and all around my groin it
feels good like it's softly vibrating with surges of climax sensations. I tighten my stomach muscles to feel it again and again. Mostly I'm desperate
for a hard fucking and a huge orgasm. Staring at Ryan now it's like he's my man, my leader. He looks into my eyes smiling, then says in an off hand manner, "Stand up and drop your pants. You can sweep up and put everything away later." I'm so fucking turned-on and sexually aroused I can hardly breath. From my fetish it's been one continuous huge hots sexy rush. A scary, sexual rush like nothing else. That's the best way to describe it, a scary sexual rush with a funny strangely pleasurable feeling all around my groin with my cock at full salute and dripping. As I slide off the stool, Ryan gives my head a final push, murmuring , "Man, I get off seeing how submissive you get from these haircuts. Very weird, but really a sexy thing too. I never thought haircuts were sexy, but your reaction to them gets me hot." For me, it's as if the rest of today never happened because the only thing on my mind is Ryan giving me this haircut and my high anticipation of him now fucking my ass dominantly. In this state of mind I don't have a care in the world, just this submissively gooey sexually arousal for Ryan. It's a craving for my awesomely hot dominant sex partner to give me a spanking, then fuck my submissive ass hard and fast.
I don't even remember standing-up but I'm standing here dropping my jeans, then my wet underpants. Ryan says, "Turn around and lean over the stool" Careful not to lay on my boner, I lay my chest on the stool with my arms wrapped around it and me on my toes getting my ass sticking up for Ryan. He gives me a sexy hard-ass spanking, "Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack," then he immediately mounts my stinging red ass. The engorged hard head of his boner pushes past my tight sphincter as I grit my teeth at the pain and try recreating how it was when my haircut fetish was blazing, but my attention is
drawn to my smacked ass and my stretched aching anus instead. Ryan's hands grip my hips as he continues his steady fast entrance pushing his fat hard long cock up my ass expanding the walls of my rectum and anus painfully, then when he's fully impaled me with his eight inch boner he leans against my buttocks rubbing his hands over my back and squeezing my shoulders as I groan. He murmurs, "Shhh, take your man's big cock, boy, it'll feel good soon." I do a combination groan/moan as both sensations of pain and pleasure are present, then the pleasure begins taking over the nerve ending in my ass. Ryan drops the dominant role for a second, murmuring, "Oh God, I love you so much, Dylan," and he leans down, his chest on my back, to kiss the back of my almost hairless head. Does your pussy feel better yet, Dylan?" Blinking my eyes in a fog of dreamy submissiveness I realize it already does feel better. My voice comes out in a whisper, "Yes, Albert, um, Ryan." He murmurs, "I'm glad," and lifts off me, withdrawing his hard cock, then driving it right back up with him moaning too, "Mmmmm, ooh," as I almost blow my load. Fuck, I'm so fucking turned-on my whole body feels squirmy and my shoulders shudder again with zipping chills down my back.
He takes a noisy deep breath as he is obviously feeling hot sexy sensations coming off his big cock even as my rectum sizzles with pleasure. I know I'm going to cum any second now, there's no way I'm not. Ryan begins thrusting steadily making a 'Shooos," sound exhaling through closed lips with each drive up my ass, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," and when I reach up to feel my latest haircut with the hard cock of my barber driving up my ass, my hips hump and I try squealing but only a hissing airy sound comes out while my cock pumps out a strong stream of creamy cum that shoots under the seat of the stool. I watch it streak a wet line on the cement floor even as my stomach muscles contract again and another stream of cum makes a shorter streak of wetness on the floor with me in sexually ecstasy squeezing my eyes closed now because I'm overloaded with sensations. My body's still shaking as sensations send chills all over me and I shudder and moan and then shudder again. Then I go limp on the stool savoring that short lived climax as Ryan waits from me to settle down. Moaning quietly with my body still shuddering a little I tighten my stomach and groin muscles forcing drools of cum to slide from my cock. Just my shoulders shudder now as the twirling sensations, feeling so good, fly around my groin and then I moan feeling dizzy as everything fizzles out. It's like the explosion of climax was too much to comprehend and only after the fact did the synapses in my brain register all the sexual pleasure sensations. Oh, that was something! Jesus! Ryan quietly asks, "Are you okay, Dylan? You almost fell off the stool." A lot of my submissiveness went out with my orgasm I guess. There's still some though as I mumble, "Yeah, that was unbelievable. Awesome climax." He rubs my back again, "That makes me feel so good," and then he starts pounding his cock up my ass again.
That feels fucking good too and I lift off the stool supporting myself with both hands on the seat as I absorb the wonderful feeling of Ryan's big cock plowing my rectum, every fraction of his eight inch boner creating amazing sensations of pleasure. I could fall in love with being fucked this good forever. Oh man this feels good, too good to put into words. The lips of my
asshole sizzle with pleasure sensations as Ryan's rock hard cock moves past them constantly stimulating sexual pleasure like nothing else can. His hard as wood penis, engorged with seminal fluids, going in and coming out, in and out, back and forth stimulating deliriously pleasurable sensations that never stop until I'm almost ready to scream. Ryan's grunting now as he wraps his arms around my chest pulling me up so my back's against him while he desperately humps his boner inside me. He lasts longer then I thought he would and my cock is boned up again by the time he goes, "Aaaah, ooh! Ahh!" and I feel his sharp stream of spunk hit inside my bowels. He's squeezing me against him humping against my butt cheeks making a strangling sound and then his body begins to relax little by little until he's mostly laying against me breathing hard. One last gasping breath and he backs up pulling his now soft cock from my ass making me go, "Ump, ooh." A couple more deep breaths, then he puts his hand behind my head pushing it down and I bend at the waist, the top of my head pressed to his belly as I pick his sloppy cock up in my fingers, licking and sucking it while feeling some submissiveness returning.
Sucking his cock right after he fucked me always gets me sexually aroused and submissive all over again, and within five minutes we're both doing quiet little moans of desire as our cocks get hard again. He finally pushes my
head away and sits on the stool with his boner sticking up from his lap. It looks so long, "Come on, baby, sit on it." I turn around and back up, then reach behind me grabbing his boner in my fist and stroking it as I'm guiding it to my asshole, then awkwardly, with Ryan helping by holding my hips, I get my heels on the rung of the stool lifting up and then sit all the way down on his boner until my butt cheeks are flat on Ryan lap. Ryan's arms are around me steadying us both. When were both balanced I lift up using the rung of the stool again and fuck myself on Ryan cock. We both get to moaning and groaning with the side of Ryan's face sliding against my back as I go up and down, up and down, up and down for quite awhile feeling indescribably good. Then my second orgasm comes on me in a flash and I squeal while having a little humping orgasm just before my legs give out. Ryan hears the little splat my cum makes when it hits the cement floor and he pushes me forward as he's sliding off the stool. His cock stays in my ass and he fucks his second orgasm out by thrusting his boned-up cock inside my ass with me bent over, my hands on my knees. I'm in a cloud of sexual pleasure by now and my entire body is squirming with pleasant buzzing and little sparks firing lazily off a million nerve endings. It's awesome! Ryan pulls out a second time and plops his ass back on the stool gasping. Some more deep breathing then he says, "If we're not careful we're gonna fuck ourselves to death." I'm leaning against the workbench with my jeans around my ankles and my happy limp dick apparently done for the day.
Ryan and I exchange compliments about the great sex we share. Completely out of my submissive trance now, and with the after affects of two orgasms just a pleasant memories, my hands rub my head and I'm feeling scalped and embarrassed for letting myself go along with this. I know this feeling will pass shortly, but right now I'm not happy with myself at all, or with Ryan. Still, I gotta admit that sex and those two orgasms, oh my god, were they ever hot! We're at the sink with Ryan cleaning my ass and the back of my legs with the towel he dried my hair with, and I'm lamely complaining after the fact. "I've had it with this fucked-up haircut, Ryan." He says, "I'm sorry you hate it, but it's the haircut you're getting all summer." I say, "No, I'm not!" After I pull my pants up, Ryan hands me the towel, saying, "Please wipe up the cum you shot on the floor." Well, he cleaned his cum off my ass so I guess I can clean mine up too. As I'm doing that, I say, "I'm serious, Ryan, no more haircuts the rest of the summer." Then I sweep up snippets of my hair and put it in the trash without any comment coming from Ryan. Then I put everything back in the toiletry kit, sort of throwing it in while Ryan watches silently, looking a tad pissed-off. We go up to his room and all of a sudden, except for the haircut, I feel spectacular because there's nothing like double fucks from dominant little Ryan-Albert here. I shouldn't have been such a whiner in the basement five minutes ago. I guess that's why Ryan's acting pissed.
He says, "Get over here and lay on my bed with me." Fully dressed I get on the bed feeling contrite, but not knowing what to say. He asks, "Have you felt horny even once since we left Framingham?" Hmmm, I guess not, but I say, "No, but what's that got to do with the haircut?" He asks, "A lot, but I'll get to that. What I don't understand is why you didn't bitch and complain before the haircut, but you do it afterwards?" I go, "I did complain," and he says, "That's not complaining, Daniel. You asked once if you could get a buzz cut, once! After that you did what you were told the way you promised you would before we left Merrimack. You wanted to sense your haircut fetish more than you didn't want the haircut so you sat on the stool and didn't move while I was giving you the haircut. You enjoyed your haircut fetish kicking-in and that led to you having one of the biggest climaxes I've ever fucked out of you. And I've seen a lot of climaxes from you. Then after you got off on your fetish and me fucking you, you have the balls to bitch about something you wanted in the first place." I hate when he's right. I mutter, "Who are you, Doctor Phil?" We talk for quite awhile about the haircut situation and in the end I agree with Ryan about everything because of one simple reason... he's right. I love my haircut fetish while it's going on, and for the next week I'll get an instant submissive sense whenever I feel my head or think about Ryan giving me the haircut. It satisfies my haircut fetish better than anything ever has, and that leads to awesome climaxes just like he said.
Ryan's winning all the battles, so to save some face, I murmur, "Ya know, just because I agree you're right and I admit you're 'da man' and I'm your boy, it doesn't mean I'm in love with you. Just so we're on the same wavelength with that little bit of business." He makes a 'face' mumbling, "I know that! You don't need to rub it in, and anyway I never even mentioned love."
I mumble, "Just saying..." We're quiet for a minute, then he asks, "Dylan, for fuck sakes aren't I doing everything I told you I'd do. Satisfying your submissive needs and keeping you in line, and doing the same haircuts you were getting at college. And I'm not spoiling you, am I?" I go, "God no!" Ryan's like, "So what's your complaint then? I'm doing everything you said you wanted, and needed. I didn't make any of this up, it was you who told me, or at least agreed with me about everything including this haircut." I say, "I already admitted you're right. What, are you practicing to be on a debating team next semester?" He mumbles, "I just wanted to hear you say again that I'm right so maybe you'll actually believe it finally. Then maybe next week we won't need to experience your little-boy tantrums."
He's frustrated with me and pissed-off too. Trying to make-up, I snuggle with him, "You're my man here in Marietta, Ryan-Albert." He goes, "And you're my boy who likes his latest haircut, right." I do an exasperated exhale, "Yes, your boy likes his latest haircut." That made my dick move in my pants because Ryan's a tough cookie and he doesn't back down. Before we left Merrimack he threatened to forget all our plans for this summer and drive me home. He calls my bluff every time. And now, not only does he cut my hair the way he wants, I've got to admit to him I like it like this. And I guess I do. I look at Ryan and feel that sexual heat for him again, so I kiss his cheek, "You're doing perfect, Ryan, I'm sorry for being a brat. Don't be mad." This is definitely a new experience for me because Robby gives in to my 'brat' act every fucking time, but not Ryan. He puts his arm around me and we snuggle together tighter as he asks, "How'd ya think I did at work being the boss?" and we talk about that for awhile, with me passing out more compliments, well deserved actually. Then we talk more about my reaction after the fact to my haircut, talk until I find myself in the position of trying to convince Ryan I really do like it the way he cuts my hair, and of course the sex we have together afterwards too... obviously. Sex after the haircut is always the hottest sex of the week. In the end I not only agree with him to leave everything status quo, I tell him to be tougher on me when I need it.
Okay, I gotta admit Ryan has more determination and he follows through with things better than me, but even more than that, it's what he says that makes a lot of sense. I'm already seeing results, like today I handled the first day at work on my own much better than I thought I would. I did great with Dog too, and little Sam. So much so I thought I was the most mature one of the three of us. Plus it's true, I did tell Ryan I need to get used to hearing 'no' once in awhile because that's more real life than getting my own way all the time. Robby and Chubby won't always be there giving-in to my every wish. Realizing I can't always get my own way is a lesson that needs learning, a lesson Ryan's teaching me constantly and I'm okay with that. Those things point to a maturing attitude. Then, I gotta agree our sex lately has been off the charts spectacular and my haircut fetish is sexy as hell too. Especially with Ryan in charge of that. We're doing, in short, exactly what Ryan outlined and I agreed to about ten times before we left Merrimack. I was immaturely hypocritical bitching about it to Ryan after the fact earlier. I'm sticking with my man and enjoying the hell out of it with no more bitching the rest of the summer. I have nothing to bitch about!. We stay on Ryan's bed talking back and forth growing closer and closer as friends and best buddy-sex-partners ever. Around six-fifteen, he asks, "Hey, boy, ya want another fuck?" and that's what we do...
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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