Dylan's Georgia Vacation

DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION

Chapter 11

by Donny Mumford

Feeling as sexually satisfied as I've felt in awhile, I go upstairs with my latest gung-ho marine haircut to take a shower before dinner. In the shower I try rethinking everything Ryan and I did and/or talked about since leaving work today. I come up with the same conclusion we came up with together... maintaining status quo in our relationship for the summer is our best course of action. There are plusses and minuses for me personally, but the plusses far outnumber the minuses. Anyway, it's what we mutually proposed, and I agreed to, weeks before we left Merrimack. That being said, I am self-conscious about this haircut Ryan continues insisting I have. So, big deal, I'll wear a hat. The two positives of that are: one, my dominant sex partner/barber gets his way, and I get to experience the height of my haircut fetish once a week. The one big negative is I'm very self-consciousness about this embarrassingly short haircut, but if it's hidden under a hat... no harm, no foul. Oh yeah, while Ryan's doing the haircut it's sexually erotic to me and gets my fetish burning brightly. It's like a drug that I'll probably have withdrawal symptoms from back home getting normal haircuts from Robby. The sub/dom sex Ryan initiates is hot, but Robby can totally satisfy me sexually, and I'm already looking forward to him doing that. We don't do sub/dom sex of course, but the need for that seems to be fading slowly in me anyway. Plus, it'll be something like six weeks before Ryan and I pick-up on our occasional side sex during our junior year at Merrimack. I'll have a week's vacation in Wildwood, then work for Robby during August and maybe the

first part of September. Whatever, having a little sub/dom sex with Ryan will seem newer and fresher after a six or seven week separation. Who knows, by then I might not even have an urge for it.

Not taking any chances with the Wilcox's dress code, even if dinner tonight is just Chinese take-out, I wear the button down shirt and khakis with loafers uniform. You know, to be on the safe side. Stopping at Ryan's bedroom before going down to the first floor, I see him buttoning his shirt. He smiles at me, "Daniel, you're looking good, as always," I say, "You too, boss. Um, for some reason I'm feeling acutely self conscious about this haircut even though I didn't feel that way at college. Maybe being in new surroundings I'd like to look as normal as possible. Anyway, if you don't mind I'm thinking about wearing a hat out in public. Can I borrow one of yours until I buy my own?" Tucking in his shirt, he says, "No, because you're not wearing a hat." He comes over, grinning, "I want everyone to see the haircut I've chosen for my 'boy'." Damn, that's cooly dominant of him. My little dictator isn't afraid to stick to his guns and I gotta admire that, but still, "Um, seriously, Albert, you're saying I can't even wear a hat?" He squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "Yep, no hat! I like seeing the haircut I just gave you. It gives me confidence, and you look good with it too. You really do!" I'm frowning, muttering, "I'm, ah..." He says, "Stop it! No hat. You'll see... in a while you'll be completely used to it. It's only been a month or so that I've been giving you the gung-ho marine look, so you're not used to it yet. You need to just accept it and I'll bet you get to liking it." He grins confidently, and rubs my head.

Can I believe this shit? He won't even let me wear his baseball cap. I go, "Um, I don't mean wear a hat at dinner, Albert. Just at work and when I'm, ya know, outside." He's stepping into his loafers, mumbling, "What part of 'no' don't you understand?" I whine, "This time you really cut it short and I can't help it, I feel self-conscious. I feel scalped. People are always making snide remarks about this haircut, and it's sort of getting to me." He shrugs, "Yeah? Well fuck 'em. In fact I want you to tell anyone commenting on your haircut that your boyfriend cuts your hair anyway he wants." I'm staring at him with my mouth open, dumbfounded. He goes, "Come on, we gotta get downstairs, it's almost seven." Huh! What balls on this guy. Is he serious?

As we're going downstairs, I ask, "Wait a second, stop," and he stops halfway down the stairs and looks at me, still grinning. I'm like, "You won't let me wear a hat, and now you're saying you want me to come right out and tell the guys at work or at church you're my boyfriend? Won't your mother be pissed?" He says, "Daniel, we're both out of the closet. You can tell anyone you want that we're gay boyfriends. You are my boyfriend, right?" I nod, "Yes, here, in a way. Oh hell, yeah, we're boyfriends, but they'll still make fun of my haircut." He snorts, "Look, it's the haircut I'll be giving you all summer. I already told you to get used to it, so stop whining." His mother's coming from the dining room, asking, "Who's whining?" Ryan gives me a look, and we continue going down the stairs with Ryan saying, "Well, Daniel, who's whining's?" I tell his mother, "Oh, ha... I guess I was whining, Mrs. Wilcox," as I'm blushing to a degree I haven't blushed in some time. I goofily point at my head, like I need to for her to notice, and mumble, "I was whining about the haircut Albert gave me." She glances at my head, "Oh, for heaven sakes, Albert, that's ridiculously short." He says, "Daniel likes it, don't you?" and he looks at me, with his smug smile. I stare at him a second feeling my dick tighten us, then look at his mother and stammer, "Oh, huh, um. Yeah, well I guess I did tell Albert I liked the haircut five minutes ago, so yeah, I like it this way, ma'am." His mother, looking confused and continuing on her way to the kitchen, says, "Then don't whine about it, dear."

I watch her go, as she says over her shoulder, "Albert, you better get your boyfriend to give you a haircut too, and before your father gets back from his business trip Wednesday night." He calls after her, "Yes. ma'am." I'm sweating, staring at Ryan feeling totally put in my place by him so I've got a submissive buzzing around my groin that feels good. Ryan shakes his head like he can't believe the fuss I'm causing about the haircut, then he takes hold of my arm, saying, "In the dining room, Daniel, lets go. Jesus!" Walking down the hall, he's like, "Okay, mother's right. After diner you'll get the barber tools out again and set up everything like you did a couple hours ago. I might as well get my haircut tonight." I nod my head, and he goes, "I don't know why the fuck you're being such a pain in the ass about your haircut? It's like the fifth or six time you've gotten this same one." I mumble, "Actually I don't know why either, I'm sorry." He squeezes my shoulder, "No problem, but get over it, okay?" I nod again and he acts cheerful, "As for me, you're my all-time favorite hair stylist/barber." I say, "Well, I like you cutting my hair, I mean while you're doing it. It's afterwards that I get to feeling self conscious, but, um, you're right. I'll get used to." He smirks rubbing my head, mumbling, "You might as well," and I lean into him continuing to feel submissive to him as my dick tightens-up a little more. Damn, that feels good.

In the dining room, I'm wondering if he's right about me eventually liking the hung-ho marine look. Hell, I had this same haircut for almost a month at college and it wasn't a big problem there, so what do I care what a bunch of hicks think here. Plus, I gotta admit Ryan is a dominant hot little shit, and he does it seemingly naturally. I know though that most of it's him role playing supposedly for my benefit. He's still under the illusion he's somehow helping me with all this dominant stuff. It's mostly sexy fun for me, but I think of it as more of a game where as he's more serious about it being helpful to me. His heart's in the right place and who knows, maybe it is helpful. My man, Ryan! Ha ha, but I respect him too, I mean how could I not? He looks over at me, "You okay with everything, Daniel?" I nod my head, "Yeah, actually I am. You da man, Albert." He smiles and I glance at the dinning room table. Food is on the table already, but it's not in those little white cartons that Chinese take-out comes in. Mrs. W. has it in nice s erving dishes and it's been reheated with steam rising off the hot dishes. Ryan stands where his father normally stands at the head of the table waiting for his mother, and I stand at my place. This formality seems so unnecessary to me, and I feel a tad foolish. Then I'm thinking about telling the boys we run into at church or work that my boyfriend here, nodding at Ryan, gives me my haircuts. That's gonna get back to his parents and I wonder about the fallout from that. Maybe Ryan needs to rethink things a little bit.

A minute later his mother comes in the dinning room carrying a whole duck on a platter, saying something that sounded like, "Peking Duck," whatever that is. She puts the duck platter on a serving table next to the temporary head of the household for him to carve, and we sit down together. Ryan says, "Daniel, please say the grace tonight?" The three of us hold hands and I say as much as I can remember from Ryan's grace. It passes okay as no one has any negative comments, just, "Very nice," from his mother and a agreeable head nod from Ryan. As Ryan carves the duck, his mother and I pass our plates, and then the side dishes get passed around while his mother asks, "How are you boys doing? Tell me all about your first day on the job, Albert." He does most of the talking only asking me, "Wasn't old Aaron annoying with all his bogus questions?" and me confirming that he was annoying. Then, as we're eating, Mrs. W. tells us about her day and about the troubles Mr. Wilcox had flying today with an unscheduled landing. Something to do with landing gear concerns. The flight to New York City took seven hours by the time he arrived at La Guardia International, and blah, blah, blah. I try paying attention because once in awhile one of them would ask me something, like his mother asking, 'Have you ever flown into La Guardia, Daniel?' or Ryan asking, "What was the computer code we had trouble with in this afternoon. The one that wouldn't load?' Stuff like that. His mother goes, "Oh, before I forget, you boys have a golf lesson every Tuesday and Thursday at five-fifteen. Forty-five minutes per lesson, but get there early tomorrow, Albert, so the pro can fit you with new clubs. And, you need to get your old clubs from the basement for Daniel." We talk about that for awhile with Mrs. W. saying it's up to the pro to decide when we can play a round of golf for real.

The food from the Chinese restaurant in Marietta tastes exactly like the one we frequent in Framingham. I wonder if food from all American Chinese restaurants tastes the same? After Ryan and I clear the dinner dishes, we have the rest of last night's cherry pie. Ryan goes, "Mother, you haven't made it a secret I'm gay, have you?" She acts prissy, "Well, I haven't advertised it, if that's what you mean. Your father and I were having dinner at the club with the Beckets and we did discuss it with them. I was surprised to discover their daughter's gay. Apparently your father and I were the last ones at the club to know that. Betty Becket told us her sister's gay and then the Millers joined us for after dinner drinks and we find out a few other of the club's members have a gay child." Ryan asks, "What'd they say about the gay children? Are they embarrassed about it, or ashamed?" She gets huffy, "No, no one's ashamed of their children? I'm not ashamed you're gay, Albert, that's absurd. It's more a matter of wondering if it isn't just a faze you two are having fun with. College is where that sort of thing might seem fashionable. Daniel here tells me you were gay before he met you, so if that's true I can't blame it on a college frolic, now can I?" Albert's cool as a cucumber, quietly saying, "I told you and father all that while I was home last time. Remember?" She goes, Yes, I do, but I worry about you boys. You're so young for such a big decision." She pats my hand, "But this delightful and handsome boy matches so well with you Albert. Silly of me, but I was showing the picture of Daniel and you together and everyone's jaw dropped at how attractive your boyfriend is." Ryan smells the back of his wrists, probably thinking the same thing I am. It's like his mother was asking her friends if they can believe Albert has a boyfriend like me? Or maybe there's a little bragging involved as well. That sounds conceited of me, but it's what Ryan told me her reaction was when he first showed her my picture.

No matter though, I'm just glad for Ryan's sake she's seemingly becoming more accepting that we're gay boyfriends, so she apparently won't care if I tell people my boyfriend gave me this haircut. The fact that hung-ho marines have this same haircut is the only tiny redeeming feature about it. Well, the marine connection, and the way my fetish blazes when Ryan giving me the haircut. I admire America's military. Of course relatively few marines actually have this haircut, only the most gung-ho. Most marines are like me in one regard, they recognize a ridiculous haircut when they see one. I used to as well, but now I'm supposed to convinced myself I like it because that's life with Ryan-Albert. His mother goes on a little bit more, laughing a little about showing her son's boyfriend's picture around to her friends. I can imagine them finally talking behind their hands, 'Oh fuck, here comes Cynthia Wilcox showing her son's boyfriend's picture again!' Ha ha, but I suppose it is flattering. Ryan seems to be enjoying his mother's description of her friend's reaction to Ryan's and my picture together. I don't even know which picture Ryan gave his mother. Ryan and his mother laugh about it while I smile, feeling uncomfortable, which is a condition Ryan vowed he'd see I wouldn't experience. Still, I feel good for both of them. Maybe Ryan's parents do dote on him. One thing I'm beginning to understand... this is at times a contradictory and confusing family.

After cleaning the kitchen, Ryan says, "After we brush our teeth, I'll meet you in the basement. Get the barber stuff." Ryan has me in the habit of brushing my teeth after dinner now, and there's nothing wrong with that. Up to the third floor I go to brush my teeth and then get the toiletry kit with the barber tools. Then down to Ryan's second floor bedroom to get Ryan's hairdryer and shampoo. Carrying everything downstairs to the first floor, hoping I don't run into Mrs. Wilcox, I hurry down to the basement. I haven't been alone with her or Mr. W. for more than a minute at a time and I'd like to continue this trend if possible. In the basement Ryan already has the straight-back chair facing away from the sink and he's sitting in it ready for his shampoo. I line-up up the barber stuff on the workbench, asking Ryan, "What kind of haircut do you want?" he says, "Just a regular preppy haircut with a part on the side, but with shorter bangs. I'm through with the pompadour shit." I mumble, "Very wise of you." While shampooing his hair I'm thinking about Ryan giving me a haircut a few hours ago and realizing again how weird and sort of embarrassing the haircut fetish is, especially to the vast majority of people who don't have it. I didn't choose it of course, it chose me. Even shampooing and cutting other guy's hair is a little bit arousing at times, but not nearly as arousing as getting my hair cut. It was

always a pleasant experience, but nothing like it's become since Ryan's been giving me these haircuts on a regular basis. While rubbing shampoo through his hair, I'm looking at him sitting here relaxed in the chair without his glasses, his eyes closed, and a peaceful expression on his face, and wonder again why it is he seems so sexy and hot to me.

As with my two fetishes, I don't understand my sexual heat for Ryan, but the reality of it can't be denied or ignored. My submissive fetish is weaker now, while my haircut fetish is stronger. My sexual heat for Ryan is weaker now too when compared the way it was during that two or three month period right after we first had sex together. Then it was a runaway freight train of sexual heat, so hot it's couldn't sustain itself for long. That's not to say my heat for him isn't still significant because it is, and that obviously has a lot to do with his excellent way of performing dominant sex with me, but it's more than that. Sometimes it's like I can't get enough of him, like right now I'd like to be naked with him in bed sucking his cock and rimming his ass. It's mostly a sexual thing, but I have feelings for him too. The confusing part is separating the feelings I have for him from the sexual heat, or vice versus. How much does the sexual heat have to do with me liking him so much, even loving him as friend, and has he now become my best friend after Chubby. No one can ever replace Chubby and it stupid of me to even need to think that thought. Our loving friendship is a given as certain as the stars, and will be so as long as there are stars in the universe. But other than Chubby, has Ryan become my best friend. I'm not in love with him, I know the difference between sexual heat and love, when once I didn't. Ryan's positive I'll fall in love with him in time and I can't say for certain I won't, but it'll never be 'in love' the way I am with Robby, that's also a certainty.

Ryan looks so cute to me, and he smells so good his scent makes my mouth water. Huh, it's probably a good thing I'm not a cannibal. Fuck it, I lean down and press my lips to his sexy lips and get my tongue between them licking his sparkling teeth. He opens his mouth as he puts his arm around my neck and gives me his magical kiss that gets my dick hard. My nose against his cheek sends his scent to my brain and my dick gets harder making me moan with sexual arousal. Ryan's lips suck mine and then his tongue licks across my lips and I lift my face a little, gasping for air as he licks up the front of my nose and some of his saliva gets inhaled along with air and I back away coughing. Ryan grins, pointing at the tent in my lap making me blush. "Are you sure you're not in love with me, Dylan?" I have to grope myself trying to be cool, but my cock feels so good it seems more important than me being cool about the sexual heat I feel for Ryan/Albert. Taking a deep breath, I go, "Fuck me, Ryan," and he tries keeping it light, saying, "Ha, I told you when we were driving down here you'd be nagging me to fuck you within a week. Didn't I predict that?" Taking another deep breath, I mumble, "Yeah, that's why I said that. I wanted to see you gloat about it." He chuckles, "You were serious! Don't try telling me you were just fucking around." I get my hands back into his shampoo ladened hair, saying, "Think whatever you want," and then start rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. This sink has a spray attachment at the end of a hose right next to the facet. While it's convenient for rinsing out the shampoo, it's obviously intended for rinsing dirty dishes.

Ryan's enjoying himself, "You just nagged me to fuck you, admit it," and I say, "So what?" He goes, "Just saying I knew you would, that's all." Drying his hair with a towel, I'm like, "Don't get a big head, boyfriend, or maybe I'll have a headache next time you're horny." He laughs out loud, "How the fuck could you be horny? I fucked you three times a few hours ago." I turn on the hairdryer instead of responding to that because, yeah I was sexually satisfied when we were coming down for dinner, but he's getting me aroused again, but not on purpose. When his hair is so dry it's full of static electricity when I comb it, I say, "Did you ever think that maybe you make me horny?" He reaches up to hold one of my hands, seriously saying, "Yes, I have, and that's the single best part of my life. The best thing that's ever happened to me. There's no way you can know how much I love every molecule in your body. I never knew it was possible to love another person the way I love you." I murmur, "Oh, that's, um, touching, Ryan," and I hug his head against my chest and kiss the side of his face. He shockingly has tears in his eyes when I let go of him, "Can't you love me too, Dylan, a little bit maybe." I'm taken aback by his needy sincerity when he said that. Gulping, I mutter, "I do love you, Ryan, you know that." He stands wiping his eyes, mumbling, "Thanks, but you know what I mean. Do the haircut now."

Looking at his bare torso, so slim but muscular too from the weight lifting. He's got a hot body. I rub the back of my fingers along his jaw feeling his soft whiskers, then turn the clippers on, almost in a fog, and begin his haircut. We both feel awkward after the unequal declarations of love, usually an uncomfortable subject for me when had with anyone other than Robby. I've got to stop leading Ryan on, and I'm not intentionally doing it. Still it's so unfair of me! Then, oh fuck! I didn't put a guide on the clippers and I used them on the back of his head. Dammit, I wasn't paying attention because my mind was on our relationship. Standing back, I say, "I fucked up, Ryan," and he says, "We're in the house, Daniel! My name's, Albert." Well fuck, he's the one who was calling me Dylan five minutes ago, but I mutter, "Sorry, Albert." Feeling the back of his head, he asks, "How'd ya fuck up?" I hold up the clippers, "I didn't have a guide on the clippers and started your haircut with the bare blade," and I almost say, 'Like you used for my haircut,' but I don't. He looks at me without saying anything for a few seconds, then says, "I don't want to believe you did that on purpose out of spite." I go, "I swear I didn't. My mind was on your sweet words of love for me and I was sincerely touched. I, um, I didn't realize how deeply you felt, um, like that. Sorry, I really am, um, about this mistake," as I hold up the clippers again unnecessarily. He's smelling the back of his hand thinking, then he says, "Oh, well... ah, yeah, I... Well can you make it work? My

haircut, I mean, can you fix it?" I'm rubbing my nose to keep from smelling the back of my hand too, I mumble. "Yeah, of course, I can fix it except it'll be shorter than you want." He feels the back of his head again, "Feels like sandpaper." I nod, "Yeah," and he goes, "Do the best you can, and it's okay, Daniel, don't worry about it. Just a mistake and we all make mistakes."

Being very careful, I finish his haircut the best way I can do and while I'm not totally happy with the way his haircut turns out, but it's not as bad as I first thought. Ryan's looking in the mirror, saying, "It's fine, it looks fine to me." He looks some more, then asks, "How else could I comb this, Daniel? It looks so boring and I don't mean your haircutting. That's very professional, but the style I asked for is boring. I kinda want something else." We discuss possibilities, and there are a few because he has an excellent full head of hair. We settle on what amounts to a short, no-comb summer cut without a part. The hair stands up only on the crown, with short bangs he just brushes to the side a little. He goes, "This is perfect, thanks." I'm not sure he's as happy with it as he claims, but I think it looks good and makes sense for the summer. After checking himself out it the mirror again, Ryan moves on to the next order of business. As I sweep up the hair from the cement floor, he gets his golf clubs out. Wow, they're awesome. He's right, they're like new. He gives me a golf lesson right here in the basement, mostly using the driver. Following his instructions I try some swings with Ryan critiquing every swing until he says, "That's a good start with the driver, let putt for awhile." He has a putting layout, almost like a game. It spreads out on the floor with a cup at the end. Putting is harder than it looks. Ryan says, "We're putting on a perfectly flat surface. Imagine when sloping greens with undulations you can barely see."

After putting for twenty minutes we shoot pool for almost two hours with Ryan claiming there's some similarities between pool and putting. Ryan's better at shooting pool than I remember from the one unfortunate night we were shooting pool at his friend Felix's house. Ryan wins every game but I feel I'm getting better by the time we quit. We never do have another sexy time together tonight. Neither of us even brings up the topic, probably because of our earlier conversation. I didn't want to ask for it again. I don't know why Ryan doesn't mention it. We just have a quick kiss goodnight. Later, in bed, I get this enormous urge to go downstairs and get in bed with Ryan. I want to feel his naked body against mine and smell him and lick his body then have his huge hard cock up my ass. Maybe I just miss sleeping with another guy after all those months sleeping with Robby. It's like Ryan turned me down when I asked him to fuck me and now thinking about him almost has me jerking off for the first time in over a year. Oh man, I got it bad for him again! Forcing myself to get off that topic, I think about the up and down time Ryan and I have had since leaving work, but fall asleep before coming to an understanding about anything.

Tuesday morning I'm in Ryan's bedroom dressed and ready to go, as I watch him get dressed. I say, "I had the strongest urge you can ever imagine wanting to come in here last night and get in bed with you." He stops pulling his pants on, "Really? Wow, that makes me feel awesome. Thanks for telling me." I shrug, "It's no secret I have the hots for you, Albert. You know that." He buckles his belt, "Yeah, I know you do and I've told you every time you mention it that I'm thrilled beyond belief that you feel that way about me. That being said, I don't know when we're gonna have the opportunity for sex today. Certainly not at work or on the golf course, and then we're back home for dinner. Maybe we can take a drive somewhere, whaddaya think?" Holy shit! A day without getting fucked? I never gave that possibility a thought when contemplating this summer with Ryan. Never once. As we're walking down stairs together, I'm like, "Um, would you be okay not having sex with me today?" He goes, "No, I'm not okay with it, but sometimes it just isn't going to work out." We're in the basement getting my golf clubs, Ryan's old ones, to put in the Mini for our golf lesson after work, "But, Ryan, back at college you said we'd be screwing three or four times a day." He acts irritated, "Yes, that's when I thought we'd be sleeping together. Are we sleeping together?" I mumble, "No, but you don't need to jump down my fucking throat."

For the second day in a row we don't talk during the drive to work, today with Ryan driving. After going through all the guard's check points we're in the break/lunch room, again the first to arrive, both of us getting coffees with Ryan mumbling, "I need to meet with Josh every morning for five or ten minutes, but before I go I want to apologize for this morning. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat about the sex thing. And I'm not gonna let you down, Daniel, we'll definitely find a way." I go, "You sound like you're doing me a favor or something. Don't you want to as well." He says, "More than you know, baby. You should know that by now." I nod, "I do, and, ah, I think you're awesome," and I kiss his lips real fast." He rubs my head, saying, "Thanks, you too. I gotta go," and before he walks out the door he says, "Don't forget what I told you to do if anyone mentions your haircut." I wave, "Okay..." I sit down with my coffee wondering why I'm so leery about saying what he wants me to say. I was blasé about my gayness back home so why am I up tight about it here? I try convincing myself it'd be flaunting my gayness to say, 'My boyfriend gives me haircuts. Any kind he feels like.' Saying the words, 'my boyfriend' is the flaunting part. I could say, 'My friend'... that wouldn't be throwing the fact I'm gay in someone's face. Is it flaunting or is it causing me more trouble than it's worth? It's looking for trouble, is what it is. Stupid!

Dog walks in, "Yo, Danny boy," and my heart starts beating because I'm nervous. Dog's the only one I'm worried about telling I'm gay. The others I don't really care about. Yeah, that's it, it's Dog that makes me hesitant about saying what Ryan told me to say. He sits down with his tea in a more outgoing mood than yesterday. I think he feels comfortable with me. "I got that mothafuckan machines working for me now, boy!" I grin, "Yeah, and ya learned how to use that complicated machine so fast too." He says, "Yeah, it's a confusing mothafucka alright. Hey, you sure like short haircuts. Your daddy a Navy Seal or some such thing like that?" I go, "No, my boyfriend likes this haircut. He gives me a haircut every week." He laughs, "Dude, you need a new mothafuckan boyfriend," and he gets up to look closer as I blush with my face getting so hot perspiration breaks out on my forehead. He sits down, saying, "I need to do something with my mothafuckan hair too, but I don't know what. Cornrows are old school, ya know?" I shrug as my face tries cooling down. I ask,

"Ya don't mind that I'm gay?" He goes, "Mind? What fuckin' business is it of mine. No, I don't mind, why would I? Do you mind I'm black?" I mutter, "Of course not, but that's different than being gay." He says, "Yeah, it is, but I still don't mind. Y'all my partner here and we stick together. mothafucka." I nod and drop the subject, feeling okay about it, but I'm glad that's out in the open. Ryan was right.

Sam come in next, gets a coffee and hesitantly sits down with us like he expects us to yell at him or something. Dog says, "In early today, Sammy," and Sam says, "Yesterday I almost peed my pants thinking I was gonna be late." Dog says, "Yeah, don't do that mothafuckan peeing your pants stuff." The rest of the crew drifts in giving a little wave or head nod at us, but no one mentions my haircut to me. The morning goes very much like yesterday afternoon. We work through more of the boxes we unloaded off the truck yesterday. They're stacked at the front of the work space and the whole place smells like cardboard by now. Dog is a little bit more talkative as we work together and unbeknownst to him he's making me horny. I wonder if that thought occurs to him now that he knows I'm gay. He didn't ask who my boyfriend is, which I'm really glad about. His reaction to my gayness makes me like him a whole lot, and maybe that has something to do with me all of a sudden thinking he sexy. Nah, I thought he was a hot and sexy thing yesterday too. Yeah, but he didn't make me horny yesterday. I might as well put that puzzle with all the other things I don't understand about myself.

Ryan checks on how I'm doing five or six times during the day, but I see him checking on the other guys too. Right after the two-thirty break Sam's razor slips and he cuts the index finger of his left hand. Lots of blood. Aaron clamps his fist around it like a pressure bandage as Ryan runs over to them. We all stop to watch, hearing Aaron say, "I'm going to faint. I'm going to fucking faint if I look at the blood." Oh brother! Ryan says, "Daniel, get a paper towel," which I do from the bathroom and run back. We wrap it around the finger with Ryan applying pressure and they leave for the first aid room. Sam never said a word, but he was white as a sheet. Aaron's sitting down at his computer, sweat on his face, saying, "Someone get me a wet towel." Dog looks at me rolling his eyes. I shrug and run for another paper towel, wetting this one. Aaron wipes his face acting like he's the one who cut himself. He says, "I was in the Navy years ago and one of the sailors almost had his arm cut off when a life boat came loose and pinned his arm against a hinge. After seeing that I get squeamish seeing blood." Then he looks around and sees we're all back to work, so he crumbles up the paper towel muttering something under his breath. Dog mumbles, "Drama queen," and we

open another box. That's the excitement for Tuesday at work.

After work, Ryan and I get to the golf club and I carry my clubs to the pro shop where Ryan greets the golf pro, Terrance Merriweather, who says, "Ah, young Wilcox is back for more. How are you, Albert." Ryan says, "I've been excellent. I'd like you the meet my boyfriend, Dyl, um, Daniel Newman." We shake hands briefly and from the pro's expression he took 'boyfriend' in the traditional sense. I'm a boy, and I'm Ryan-Albert's friend. It can be taken that way at times depending on how you say 'boyfriend', I guess. Nowadays though, a guy introducing another guy as his 'boyfriend' means they're gay. Straights today leave the 'boy' off 'boyfriend' when introducing someone. After a twenty minute ordeal the pro has Ryan hooked-up with an $1800 set of golf clubs, golf bag to carry then in, and a golf umbrella. Ryan says, "We both need golf shoes too." We get Footjoy golf shoes. That's the brand name that Mr. Merriweather says are still the best golf shoe made. He tells us to call him, Terry, and off we go to the driving range.

Terry changes my grip on the club making it more difficult to swing the driver if you ask me. He claims I need to stick with this grip or I'll never hit the ball straight, and he gives each of us a bucket of balls to practice with. He works with Ryan next and soon I'm hitting line drives and grounders, more appropriate for baseball than golf. Ten feet away Ryan's hitting high long balls out past the 175 marker, some past the 225 marker too, but not many. Terry call over to me, sternly saying, "Don't watch your friend, Danny. Pay attention to what you're trying unsuccessfully to do." Oh yeah, so I nervously tee a ball up. That's what the stick you put a golf ball on is called... a tee. Chubby and I played t-ball as five and six years olds, only the tee was much taller and we were hitting the stationary baseballs off it. Little bit different than this tiny ball at my feet. I'm beginning to think Ryan's old golf clubs are the problem, so I ask Terry if he thinks these are the right clubs for me. He laughs, and calls over, "Yes, son, the clubs are fine. The problem is you've got a $1500 set of golf clubs with a ten cent swing." Ryan yells, "Hey, Terry, what the fuck? Encourage him, don't ridicule him, like you've done twice in ten minutes. That's total bull shit. It's his first time, fer chrissakes." Ryan's really pissed off. His face bright red as he's glaring at Terry, who says, "You're right of course, Albert. Sorry Dan, just a little golf course humor." Ryan comes over, mumbling, "Sorry about that, Daniel. Take your time and keep your eye on the ball." I hit a few balls with Ryan watching and he pats my shoulder, saying, "You're a hellava lot better than I was my fist day," then to Terry, "Work with Daniel the rest of the lesson, I'll keep trying to get my swing to repeat like you said." And that's what we do. Terry's very accommodating now so I guess Ryan's father carries some weight around here. I still can't get over how protective Ryan was and how quickly the pro backed down. I've never spoken to a real adult like Ryan did to Terry in my entire life. I know legally we're adults too, but come on...

I feel real good by the time our forty-five minutes are up, but I've got a blister on the side of my left hand. I knew I should have worn a glove on both hands. Ryan looks at it, and says, "Rub some dirt on it and man-up," then he grins putting his arm across my shoulders as we carry the clubs to the locker room. Terry said they're short on lockers so we need to share one. As we walk, Ryan says, "That's a bad blister, Daniel. It's big and full of liquid already." I go, Yeah, and it hurt like hell every time I swung the club the last ten or fifteen minutes of our lesson. Now it hurt when I barely touch it." He says, "When we get home I'll need to pop that thing for you or you'll be in pain at work where you need to use both hands all day." We're going down steps to the locker room, "What do you mean pop it." He goes, "Don't worry about it now, baby. I'll take care of it for you," and he squeezes my shoulder reassuringly, but it doesn't sound like I'm going to enjoy the popping . I go, "Thanks for taking my side back there with Terry earlier," and he shakes his head, "It's nothing, he was way the fuck out of line."

We put our clubs in the locker along with our golf shoes, then wash up in the big lavatory where three middle age men are showering, and one is standing at a urinal bare ass naked taking a piss. Exhibitionists! I avert my eyes because it's not a pretty sight. These guys are not in good shape. It's steamy in here from the showers so we get out as fast as we can drying our face and hands as we walk back into the air conditioned locker room. Just as we're going up the steps two guys are coming down with their golf bags, the clubs rattling against one another as they come down the steps. It looks like a father and son duo with the man's hair turning gray and his son looking pretty good, probably in his late teen years. The steps are wide enough for Ryan to pass by them while I need to flatten against the wall of the staircase to let them pass. The kid steps on my sneakered foot wearing golf shoes with spikes, and I yelp. He stops, saying, "Watch where you're going, and anyway this is a private club for members only, so what are you doing here?" His father kept going and he's turned the corner heading for the lockers. I don't want to cause trouble in the Wilcox's country club, but I say, "I'm a junior member, Blondie, and you stepped on my fuckin' foot." He puts a hand on my chest and starts to say something, then I don't know exactly what happened, but Blondie went ass over tea kettle down the steps with his clubs all falling out of the bag and him winding up laying on his back on the floor with his feet stretched up the steps. I turn my head and there's Ryan with another red face snarling at the kid, "Spencer, you're such an asshole!" The kid says, "You could have broken my fucking legs, faggot." Ryan starts down the steps and the kid's head turns to the right as he yells into the locker room, "Dad!" Ryan mumbles, "Pussy," then he nods his head at me, then nods toward the top of the stairs. I continue going up, but Ryan stays there as the kid's picking himself up.

Standing at the top of the stairs looking down at Ryan's back I see the kid stand up and his father asking what happened. Ryan's polite giving his side of the story and all I hear when Ryan does raise his voice, is, "... my boyfriend's foot and this jackass..." The father says something like, "... no one got hurt," and... Say hello to your father..." Then Ryan and Spencer shake hands briefly although it doesn't look like Spencer's heart was in it. Ryan comes up the stairs, saying, "That kid's a bona fide asshole and he always has been." As we walk to the car, I mumble, "My hero," and he looks over giving me a grin," mumbling, 'Damn straight. It scared me both times today at how angry I got. My fuckin' adrenaline was roaring. I saw red when Merriweather said that to you on the driving range. He's the pro who's suppose to be teaching and encouraging, and for a hundred dollars a lesson I might add." I smile at Ryan thinking how I always felt good knowing Robby and especially Chubby had my back at all times, and now this tough little wild man is stepping right in having my back in Marietta, Georgia. Well, of course I have his back too. I bump into his side affectionately as we grin at each other, then he mumbles, "Bad-ass faggot, that's me." I go, "Don't use that word." Ryan lights a cigarette, then passes it to me and lights one for himself. We lean against the Mini and smoke our cigarettes talking about today's golf lesson. I can't wait for Thursday.

On the way home we see a pickup with a gun rack at the back window. The guy has a bumper sticker I can't read until the car right in front of us passes the pickup. His bumper sticker, 'HEAVILY ARMED and easily pissed'. Fuckin' hick. His other bumper sticker, 'dogs die in hot cars' which is true enough, but I wonder if it has another meaning to the gunslinger. At the house we shower and get dressed for dinner. I stop in at Ryan's bedroom, not wanting to go downstairs without my security blanket. Ryan says, "Oh good, you're here. Sit at my desk, Daniel, and let me look at your blister." I lay my hand on the desk and Ryan picks it up and holds it, palm-up on his left hand. His hand feels good on mine. I look at his face with a warm feeling coming over me. He's very serious and concerned sucking on his sexy lips. He wipes rubbing alcohol gently on and around the blister, that's seemingly getting bigger by the minute. "I've scrubbed my hand and soaked this needle in alcohol, Daniel," and I try pulling my hand away. "No, don't stick it, Albert! It's super sore and tender." Looking into my eyes, he says, "Goddammit, don't pull your hand away." Holding my breath I watch his steady right hand bring the needle close to the bottom of the blister, then quickly punctures the blister and I scream out trying to pull my hand away but he's too strong. He lightly presses presses the blister and clear liquid drools out until it's flat. Ryan rubs disinfectant all around and on the blister, then puts on a round bandage. He pats my shoulder, "Good, boy. Lets eat."

Going down the stairs with him, I'm looking at him out of the corner of my eyes with strange feelings for Ryan I can't understand. Ryan since leaving Merrimack is in some ways the Ryan I know from college, but in other ways he seems much more than that. He seems to have qualities I never expected or thought he was capable of having. A few times I've had this weird sensation of being his little brother or younger boyfriend. For now I'll attribute that to me being a stranger in a strange land depending mostly on Ryan to guide me through this. Maybe a week from now I'll be more comfortable with everything and won't need to depend on him so much, and maybe I'll feel differently. Mrs. W. has prepared another very good dinner, roast pork tonight with good side dishes. Ryan says grace, so I see a pattern. Him and me alternate saying grace and the parents don't participate except to says something like, 'Very nice, thank you.'. The conversation's about our golf lesson at first with Ryan telling about Spencer stepping on my foot, and his mother saying, "The Klines are all trouble, Albert. Your father has a feud running with Mr. Klines' brother. Anyway, good for you for sticking up for Daniel," and she reaches over to pat my arm. I almost pulled it away because it was so unexpected. When we're finished dinner, but before dessert, Mrs. W. asks me, "Would you clear the table please, Daniel? I need to talk to Albert for just a second or two." For some reason I'm blushing while taking the dishes to the kitchen, feeling foolish somehow.

After we have dessert and we've cleaned up, Ryan gives me a pamphlet titled, 'One hundred appropriate blessing at meals for Baptists', saying, "Memorize some of the short ones so you don't go blank one night like I've done a couple of times." I mutter, "Thanks," then ask, "Um, what are we going to do tonight, Albert?" He makes a 'face' and says, "I've got bad news, for me anyway. I've got to help mother tonight at the church. She volunteered me for the fourth of July celebration and the first meeting's tonight. They believe starting early, huh? She sprung that on me when you were clearing the table. Sorry, buddy." I'm like, "I don't have to go?" He shakes his head, "No, you're not a member of the congregation and they're picky about that. You wouldn't want to go anyhow, take my word for it." I nod my head, mumbling, "Okay," and he says, "For now, run that pamphlet up to your room." On my way to the third floor it occurs to me how easily Ryan's telling me what to do already, and how easily I do it. What's it going to be like in week ten if it's like this in week one? If my dick wasn't stiffening up and feeling good, I'd be a little worried about that.

When I get back down to the first floor I hear Ryan talking to his mother in the kitchen, so I stop and listen. I can only hear a little of what they're saying. Ryan saying something, but all I hear is, "... no, of course it's safe to leave him here alone." She says something, and Ryan, goes, "Never happen, trust me, I know him and I'd trust him with my life." I clear my throat and walk down the hall to the kitchen as his mother says, "Of course you're right, son," then I come in and Ryan asks, "Ya wanna take the Mini out and check out the town?" I shake my head, "No thanks, I'll read in my room." He chuckles because he's never seen me read a book other than a text book. He goes, "Sure, we'll be back by nine o'clock." His mother asks, "What are you reading, Daniel?" I go, 'The Last Don', it's an older book." She says, "Yes, by Mario Puzo?" I'm like, "Uh huh, yes, ma'am," and she says, "I read that years ago. Enjoy yourself." As they leave she tells Ryan, "You should be more like your boyfriend and read a book now and then." I hear him chuckling again, then mumbling, "Yes, ma'am" and then the door slams. For some reason when we were all in the library the other night I noticed that one book in their bookcase. Easy title to remember, although I had no idea who the author was. Huh, and Mrs. W. doesn't trust me in her house alone. That should piss me off except I see her side of it. She doesn't know me and there's probably some valuable things around here. They'll be around here when she gets back too, I'm not a thief.

I go to my room and call Robby. We talk for half an hour mostly him quizzing me about what I've been doing here. I tell him about the job that's paying fourteen dollars an hour, and the golf lesson, the pond with the waterfall, the formal dinners. Robby's laughing when I tell him about me saying grace, and on and on. He finally says, "Sounds like you're doing a lot better and having more fun that me. We've had a lot of rain here and you know what a bitch it is landscaping in wet conditions. It sucks. Oh, Seth's got a boyfriend. I met him and he's a cute guy, younger than Seth. I think he turned eighteen a few weeks ago, They met in the college thing Seth's working on, mostly an online college education, but they also meet once a week for two hours of class. Seth said by the end of the summer he'll complete freshman year." He tells me Danny's been sulking lately and he spent last weekend back home. Neither of us comes close to mentioning anything about side-sex. Not a single word. I ask him about Chubby and he tells me my brother's been awesome keeping everyone's spirits up, just as funny as ever. It makes me want to call him so when we finally tell one another how much we miss and love each other, with Robby sounding choked-up when we end the conversation. It makes me homesick for him, and everything in Framingham.

Chubby answers his cellphone even though he's on a date in the Jeep driving to a party of some kind. Chub said he saw my caller ID and got excited, which obviously makes me feel good. I'd expect him to tone down his words of affection for me since his girlfriend's in the car with him, and it's not MJ, so it's even more surprising that he tells me that he knew he'd miss me, but he never expected to find himself moping around my bedroom touching my stuff. He goes, "Dylan, I'm only half a person without you. I love you, bro, and miss you more than I can say." I hear a girl's voice, but can't make it out, but I hear Chubby plainly stay, "Shut up! This is my brother I'm talking to," then to me, "Ya having any fun?" and I tell him everything I told Robby plus, "Robby says you've been awesome on the job keeping everyone's spirits up and that you're as funny as ever." He says, "I'm most definitely not as funny as ever because you're not here. I'm faking being funny on the job, it's all a bullshit kind of funny without you." I laugh, "You can't fake being funny, Chub, you either are or you're not." "I'm telling ya, bro, I'm fucking faking it," then he tells me about last Sunday's brunch with the moms, "It was like a fucking wake without you there, Dylan. All we needed was a fucking body, and I can't make that goddamn potato casserole either, not like you can. I'm realizing I've been pretending to cook when all the time it's you who's the cook, the chef! I'm only a sous chef at best. Jesus, I had pancakes and waffles for Sunday's brunch, plus pastry and those

cinnamon buns I always get. The Pillsbury ones. Nobody has pancakes and waffles or Danish pastry and cinnamon buns, the kind with icing." He goes on with his bullshit, trying to make me feel missed and loved and he succeeds pretty well with both. I finally get a word in asking if his girlfriend's still in the car, and he goes, "Oh fuck no, she went inside to the party twenty minutes ago. She's got one big tit and one small one. I've never seen that on a girl before, have you?" Before I can answer he goes, "We have one

big nut hanging lower and the higher nut is smaller, so maybe Brenda is part boy, only with her tits acting like a guys nuts. It's just a theory, Dylan. Whaddaya think?" I say, "Mostly I think I miss you, Chubby." He goes, "Oh I'm visiting you, bro! No fucking way am I going five weeks without seeing you. Oh, and I might punch Ryan out too, I'm not sure about that yet." The way he spurts things out has always made me laugh from way back when we were both three fucking years old. He was a hilariously funny three year old. Yeah, he's funny so why are tears running down my face?

We finally say goodbye, probably embarrassing ourselves when we later think of our sappy sentiments for one another. When I click the 'end' key I sit in the desk chair feeling empty and lonely, so I have myself a little cry, then wash up in the bathroom reminding myself I'm suppose to be maturing on my own, not crying, that's not maturing. So I flop on my bed thinking about first Chubby, then Robby, and back to Chubby. It's only been ten days and I'm already a basket case. I feel worse after talking to those two, and because of our schedules I need to wait until the weekend to call mom, but that'll be another traumatic experience. Hey, maybe this is part of the maturing process. I think about that, coming, as usual, to no conclusion. Taking my wallet out, I look a me and Chubby when we were little kids, then Robby and me kissing in a 'selfie'. He's so good looking and I can almost feel his lips on mine the way I felt them when I snapped this picture. I want to see current pictures of Chubby so pull my cellphone out and scroll through the pictures finding a lot of Chubby. Gee, the different haircuts I've given him. Oh fuck, he looks so sexy with the flat top haircut and his grin makes my eyes water. God, I love him so! Putting my cell phone down I take a deep breath trying to calm down and act my age. Then I exchange texts with guys congratulating Seth and he sends a picture of 'Markie". Jesus! He's cute with his head next to Seth's. Seth's cute too but he's just had a haircut when this pic was taken and I'm jealous I wasn't his barber. Seth is so sweet. Then I think of Connor, who Seth's always reminded me of whenever I'm with him. I text Connor and Dodger, but they're doing something and don't read the text right now. Later they'll see them. Framingham boys are the best ever, but I'm just making myself more homesick, so I stop texting and just lay here hoping Ryan gets back soon.

Ryan and his mother do not get back by nine o'clock. It's almost ten when Ryan texts me that they'll be leaving soon. If Ryan hadn't driven off with his mother would I be suspicious about this delay, like maybe he's with one of those sick perverts he's frequented in the past? If Ryan went off alone would I start thinking he's fucking or being fucked by someone? Probably, and I find that I'd be jealous if he did that. Huh! Well, that's not unheard of now that I think about it. The two or three months Robby and Ryan were hot items together I was wildly jealous of both, and that's probably fairly rare. I mean being equally jealous of both. I haven't really given much thought to how I'd feel if Ryan was fucking one of these Marietta lads on the side. Maybe that's because of the unlikelihood of that ever happening. If I can believe Ryan, and I do, he's never had a boyfriend, just the dominant sadists treating him badly. Still, if some miracle happened and he did run into someone this summer, it would make me jealous and like I said, that surprises me.

I lay here thinking about that, and about Ryan. The fact that he's in love with me and readily admits it probably influences how I feel about him. Right now I have a lot of feelings about him, especially because he's not here. I'm just realizing that I like many things about Ryan, while I can't think of a single think I don't like about him. Sure we get in little spats, but then so do Robby and me and even my mom and me, but very rarely. I've never been close to any kind of a 'spat' with Chubby. 'Spat', is that even a fucking word? For the hell of it, and for something to do, I go online. Huh, Webster says 'spat' is the past tense of 'spit', but the Urban Dictionary and Dictionary.com both say, 'spat' is an 'argument or disagreement' so they got it right. Taking a look out the window I see headlights coming up the driveway. Watching the car come up the long drive I'm smelling the back of my hand wondering if this is excitement I'm feeling because pretty soon I'll be with Ryan. He promised we'd do 'it' and it's after ten o'clock already and we haven't. We went without sex a night or two during the drive down here so it's not like I'll collapse without sex for a night, but he did promise, so ya know...

Walking down the stairs to the second floor I look over the railing to the two story foyer below, but they won't come in the front door so this does no good. Anyway I should be in my room when they come in. Back up the stairs I go, to again flop on the bed, then I get right up to look out the window again. Am I missing Ryan this much? Is that it? I think so, yeah. We've been together constantly, even sleeping together until we got home, so I'm missing my security blanket. Oop's, I said 'home' when I meant to say, 'his house'. Someone's coming up the stairs from the first floor. Looking out my door, then going halfway down the steps I'm just in time to see Ryan's back as he walks down the hall to his room. Why didn't he come up here to see me? He really does look cool with his new haircut. It makes him look kind of tough. He should get different glasses or contacts though. I wait a half hour getting more and more antsy. I really need to at least give him a hug and a kiss goodnight. Creeping down the steps in my stocking feet I walk down to his room, constantly glancing back at the other end of the hall where his parents bedroom suite is. Don't want to explain what I'm doing sneaking down the hall to Ryan's room, not to her. Anyway, what the fuck am I doing? His door's closed but I can just hear him talking. Who the fuck's he talking to? Looking down to his parents room again, then I put my ear against the door and hear him laughing. No other voice though, so he must be on his cellphone. I'm not barging in there so I turn around and retrace my steps to the third floor and sit in my bed looking at my watch.

At eleven o'clock I'm really pissed off at him. He's being just plain rude! Not even saying goodnight. I get undress, putting on pajama bottoms. I don't wear PJ's except in the winter at home, but here I've been wearing pajama bottoms for some reason. Maybe the house catches on fire and I have to go running down stairs. Don't want to have jockey tighty-whities on. After using the bathroom washing up, and brushing my teeth I get in bed assuming I'm going to go to sleep mad for the first in a long time. That goddamned self-centered Ryan! Stroking my cock a few times I admit to myself... I want him so bad! God, I can't even stay mad at him, I need him. I want to feel his naked body and smell his awesome scent... and oh man this sucks. Making myself get a grip I get under the covers just imagining my pout tomorrow. Maturing? Fuck that, I want me some Ryan Wilcox. Flopping around in bed, still very agitated that I can't have my Ryan 'fix'. How could I have taken that for granted? Okay, I'm out of fucking control. This is insanity. Blowing out a lot of air I relax a little, then chuckle at myself. You pathetic over-sex little shit. Can't even go one day without Ryan fucking you, huh? Rubbing my nose, I yawn a big one. Turn over and get ready to go to sleep telling myself I've been acting like a fool.

I must have fallen asleep because something woke me. "Shh, Daniel," I go, "Oh!" startled I'm scrambling to the other side of the bed as Ryan giggles, then, "Shhh," and he gets under the cover with me and I'm over to him in a flash wrapping my arms around him and kissing his cheek." He murmurs, That's the kind of greeting I like from my boyfriend." I'm stupidly hugging him tightly and kissing him again. I don't care, I did miss him and now he's here in bed with me. I go, "Mmmm, you smell so good, Ryan," and with the palm of one hand he smacks my cheek lightly, "I'm Albert." I murmur, "Sorry," and squeeze his body to mine. Ryan whispers, "What the fuck are you wearing?" I say, "PJ bottoms," and he's like, "Well get 'em off," and I pull them down, then kick them off and push them further down towards the bottom of the mattress. I now feel Ryan's bare skin and privates against my body making me shudder and snuggle in tightly against him. He puts his arm around me kissing the side of my face as I whisper, "Albert, did you come up here naked?" He chuckles, "NO, of course not. I took off my boxer shorts before getting in bed and you're the one who smells good." He shakes his head side to side sliding his nose on the side of my head.

My fingers play through his hair as I quietly ask, "Why didn't you come up sooner, Albert?" He has his lips on my ear, murmuring, "Did you miss me?" I nod my head in the dark, murmuring, "Yes, much more than I thought I would. It was creepy being in this big house without you." He goes, "Ah, that's sweet, baby. I missed you too. I was going to come right up to see you when I got home, but I got two calls, one from Rob checking up on you. He said he talked to you earlier and you sounded lonely and he was worried about you. Then Felix called and we caught up a little." I ask, "What'd you tell Rob?" and he goes, "What you told me, that you'll always love him and that he shouldn't worry about you or about us." I go, "Oh, okay. Anything else?" He goes, "Yeah, I told him what I told you, that I'm going to do everything I can to steal you from him and that I expect to be successful." I go, "Jesus! You said that?" He laughs quietly giving me a hug, "Of course not, you nut. I don't need Rob Dickers flying down here and kicking my ass."

I find his lips and kiss him on the mouth, "You're my hero in Georgia, Ryan. I wanna say thanks, um, for loving me like you do. It's, ah,not something I take for granted, and, ah, you know, I think you're special and you've been awesome ever since we got here." Oooh, man, I need to take a deep breath, "I'm kinda a little overwhelmed actually, can't catch my breath." He says, "Shhh, you don't need to say anything, Dylan, I can see how much you care for me." I rub my face against his, then we rub noses and I hug around his neck, murmuring, "I'm acting stupid, sorry. I just loved how you stuck up for me today and the way you were so nice trying to encourage me with the golf, and you took care of my blister, although that hurt almost as much as getting my nipple pierced." He puts his lips on my ear and whispers, "Ya big baby," and I grin in the dark. I'm squirming my naked body against his until he gets my jaw between his thumb and fingers pulling my mouth to his and we get into one of the hottest make-out's we've ever had. So hot I've got tears in my eyes again and my cock is so hard the head's going to split down the middle. I've dragged precum all around the top of Ryan's legs,cock and balls, his pubic hair is wet with my precum and it's on his belly. My emotions have been running wild all night and I'm just lucky I've got Ryan to share them with me even though they're some crazy emotions.

I feel his strong arms holding me against him, with him whispering, "Calm down, Dylan, you're going to hurt yourself. What is it? Why are you so wild tonight." I'm gasping, then mumble, "I don't know, Ryan," and he smacks my ass., "I told you to call me, Albert." I stop struggling,. "But you called me..." He goes, "I know. I called you 'Dylan' a few times, but I'm allowed to because I'm the boss. You're not allowed to because you're not. It's what's known as a double standard." He's wrestled me on top of him, my back against his chest and his arms around my stomach. I mumble, "Double standard? Why...?" then I get it. He's doing his dominant stuff. I move my head so I can rest the back of it on his shoulders with his little beard along his jaw tickling the side of my chin. "Oh," I say, "Okay, you're my boss. No more using your college name." I can feel his cheek moving so I know he's grinning, and when he says, "Good, boy," I can hear the grin in the way he said it. He's arms are just light around me now that I've stopped squirming all over his body. My boner's sticking straight up and the head's shiny with precum. I can just see it from the light of the moon coming through the bedroom window.

Sliding off his body to my side with my hand rubbing his hairless smooth chest and stomach, then gently trawling his left nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I whisper, "I think my cock is going to split open if it gets any harder, Albert, and I want to stoke it so badly. Whaddaya think, can I?" He chuckles, "I think you better not touch it because it's my job to fuck your orgasms out of you." I ask in a hushed whisper, "Do you think you could do that now?" He runs the back of his fingers through the quarter inch hairs on top of my head, murmuring, "In a while. For now I just would to lay with you and enjoy this. It's no surprise to you that I love when you're showing me this much affection and demonstrating the way you feel about me." His hand's cupping the back of my head pulling it over so the side of my face is resting on his chest, then he goes back to rubbing his fingers through my very short hair and I think of that fucking haircut and the thrill it gave my fetish and a quiet moan, one I wasn't expecting, slips out, 'Mmmm, umm, Albert." He goes, 'Shhh, just lay with me awhile, Dylan, I wanna enjoy my living fantasy a little longer. My arm goes across his stomach and I snuggle in closer with Ryan's scent filling my head. His pecs are hard and as my hand goes lower on his torso the six pack of tight muscles in his stomach give me chills. "Your body is soooo hot, Albert," and my fingers feel his pubic hairs damp with the precum I was spreading around. He quietly says, "Isn't it nice, the two of us laying together like this?" I go, "Hmmm, so nice."

After awhile I can't resist getting my fist around his big boner and stroking it twice, all eight inches and he lifts his hips as precum runs down the back of my fingers, so I stroke it again, bring my head down and taking it in my mouth. Ryan groans and squirms a little himself. Awkwardly I get some of it in my throat but I'm not in the right position and anyway Ryan pushes my head away, "I'll cum, baby. Roll up on your other side." I do that as he gets on his side and guides his huge hard penis to my asshole and humps it in with a thrust of his hips. I gasp with my shoulders shuddering and my head bobbing a little like a tremor. Sensations off my anus make me moan again and my rectum muscles throb, but it doesn't really hurt enough to bother with. His arm comes over my side as he's pushing his boner up my ass with Ryan making a long quiet, "Aaaaaah, oooh," and he tight against my buttocks humping gently, then a gasp from Ryan. He takes a deep breath, murmuring, "Feels so good, babe, mmmm, ooh yeah."

Leaving his boned-up cock up my ass his hand goes under my chin pulling my head around so he can reach my face. He licks the side of my lips, then does a long wet kiss, "I love you," he whispers and begins a steady fuck making quiet, "slap, slap, slap," and I smelling the back of my hand, my eyes open wide at the wonderful way this feels. Slowly steady while hugging me against him and Ryan kissing or licking the side of my neck and after every few deliciously sexy thrusts in a hush whisper I can barely hear he says, "I love you, Dylan Newman," and I get in a different kind of trance than the submissive kind. I don't know what kind, but a different one where it's dreamy to and I get chills, hunching my shoulders at them and shaking a little as his marvelous hard boner makes the eight inch trip back and forth in my rectum causing such pleasure it's like bliss in the middle of a fireworks display. Ryan's mantra of love and the fireworks of sexual pleasure from being fucked so well is a condition that should last much longer than it does. Nature's a bitch like that, providing ultimate pleasure so exquisite it can't be described, but only for a few minutes before I start going, "Ohh, ooh, ooh, Albert, ooh, ash, I'm going to cum," then the body gets stiff and the sensations of pleasure reach a brilliant phase and my squeal smothered by the pillow Ryan holds over my face. My hips hum as I gasp at the supernova of climaxes. Moaning and struggling as another string of creamy semen flies from my cock, and then whimpers at the pleasure spreading over my shuddering body. A last desperate tightening of every muscle in my body gets a nice droll of cum that can't quite make it away and flops down on the inside of my thigh. I'm spent, quietly moaning and feeling so good. Ryan has no trouble rolling me over and pounding my ass hard, thrusting his cock up my ass in his desperate last seconds before lift off and then he's still whining quietly as he humps against my buttocks, his boner inside me shooting his seed into my bowels again, then an, "Ooooh, ooh," from Ryan as he lays on my back with his fast beating heart thumping against me.

I'm so relaxed now, so contented and now very tired. Ryan rolls off pulling his softening cock from my ass with me complaining, "Noo, na, mmm." We get in each others arms and kiss, then the sides of our faces slide together and we do some heavy breathing. We're both a little damp with perspiration but it feels good and he smells good. No talking for awhile then Ryan kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "I better get down to my room." I go, "No, stay with me tonight. My alarm goes off early." He hesitates, "I shouldn't, but I will," and we get comfortable. I put my lips to his ear, "Thank you, Albert." He nods his head and we go to sleep together. As I fall asleep I'm thinking it was nice of Albert to stay the night with me.

to be continued... Donny Mumford thinkat20@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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