DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION
Chapter 7
By Donny Mumford
It's one-thirty Saturday afternoon and Ryan's driving us to downtown Marietta in the Mini Cooper to pick up my dry cleaning. Right after we do that we're going to the plant for a training session Ryan needs to attend, and later I'll meet my co-workers. At a red light, I ask, "Are you nervous about being the boss of six guys, five of whom you don't know?" He looks at me, "What do you think?" and I go, "I'd be nervous," Ryan says, "Double the amount of nervousness you think you'd have and that's probably right around how nervous I am, but I'm going to fake being confident." "Good luck, Albert, and you can count on me being supportive." He pats my leg, "Thanks." While Ryan sits in the idling car in a 'no parking' zone, I run into the dry cleaners for my stuff. Amazingly all of it's ready on time, so I pay with my debit card leaving me with under one hundred dollars in that account. I was rich last September and now I'm almost broke. I lay the cleaned and pressed clothing in the back seat, partially on my duffle bag that's laying on the floor back there. "Seatbelt, Daniel," and we're off with me smirking at my new name. I go, "Can't you call me Dylan outside the house?" He shakes his head, "I need to be consistent or I'll fuck up putting mother in a bad mood. By the way, I had no idea my mother was going to do that name thing. It pissed me off, but you handled it so fucking good I let it slide. Thanks for that, babe, really!" I shrug, and fifteen minutes later, for the second time today, we're at the Lockheed-Martin Aerospace facility.
After showing our IDs at the guard house Ryan drives down and parks around the back of this large plant. We get out of the car looking around seeing maybe two dozen other cars, so somebody's working on Saturday. Inside we show our IDs again with Ryan asking the guard where the Equipment Verification
Unit is located. The guard, a large African American man, frowns, "Say what? Equipment what?" Ryan says, "It's a new unit for the AD-607 project." The guard goes on the computer muttering, "I'm always the last one to know about shit like this. What was that project number again?" Ryan tells him and he goes, "Oh yeah," and looks up at Ryan, skeptically asking, "You're Albert Wilcox? The supervisor?" like he can hardly believe it. Ryan adjust his eyeglasses nodding his head and holding up his ID again. The guard stands up and bending forward to look at Ryan's ID, closely this time, then says, "Yeah, you're Albert Wilcox. Okay, ya wanna go through those door to the end of this hall and take your first left, then it'll be straight ahead. That space used to be the main storage area, but it's been totally converted for you." Well, not really for Ryan, but he nods his head at the guard again and looks important. Ha ha.
As soon as we make the left turn a man is walking towards us asking, "Wilcox?" Ryan says, "Yes, sir. I'm Albert Wilcox," and the man holds out his hand, saying, "Nice to meet you, I'm Josh Day. I admire your father, he's a pioneer in this field." Ryan says, "Thank you," and nods at me, "This is Daniel Newman, one of my crew. He, um, thought he was suppose to be here at two
o'clock." Throwing me under the bus again, huh Albert? Josh shakes my hand , "No, not two o'clock, Danny, the crew checks in for about ten minutes at
five-thirty for a quick meeting with me and Albert. Sorry but you'll need to leave the facility and come back then. Where'd you ever get the idea you were suppose to be here at two?" I look at Ryan, then Josh, "Um, I don't know, I'll come back at five-thirty." Josh's cellphone rings and he answers it turning his back. Ryan quietly says, "Sorry, but I did try to talk you out of coming with me. I wanna get off on the right foot with this guy so don't say anything, okay?" I go, "Yeah, sure," and Ryan's like, "Here's the key to the Mini." I nod my head, and Ryan's boss says, "Albert, walk your boy out and I'll meet you through that door right there," as he points to the door at the end of the corridor. I mumble, "Nice meeting you, Mr. Day." He goes, "It's just Josh, see you at five-thirty, and ah, paying attention to details is vital for what you'll be working on, so you're off to a poor start, Danny." He turns around and walks away. I stand here a second looking at the guy's back, then at Ryan, who shrugs, "Forget him, I'm your boss... come on."
Walking back the way we came, Ryan goes, "Gee, I wonder how he knew you're my boy," and he squeezes the back of my neck to show he's teasing. I go, "I am your boy, Albert, and now Josh must think your boy's an idiot." He mumbles, "This is all new, Daniel, we'll have a few missteps at first, but so what?" At the main entrance for this back half of the building Ryan pats my shoulder, "See you later," and I nod at him, then walk outside. Okay, Ryan was right earlier when he suggested I not come with him at two o'clock, and I don't care what Josh thinks. I'll drive around and kill some time or something like Ryan suggested in the first place. What was I thinking? I was going to sit in a reception area for three and a half hours, really? As I'm starting the Mini I try remembering how to get from here to his house so I can drop off the dry cleaning, and then I don't know what I'll do after that. It's a nice sunny day with the temperature in the low eighties, but I don't dare put the top down or some of my clothes might blow out the back. The air conditioner makes more sense and I switch it on as I drive up and out of the Lockheed-Martin complex. Then, driving back to Ryan's house is easier than I expected. Parking the Mini where Ryan parks, I get my dry cleaning from the back seat and go in through the side door. The house is eerily silent, just the ambient hush of the air conditioner, and quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. As quietly as I can, I go through the kitchen and dining room to the large foyer, then up the carpeted steps to the second floor and down the hall to the narrower stairs leading to the third floor. Safely in my room I plop down in one of the two armchairs with all my plastic covered dry cleaning in my lap. I feel odd. It's very uncomfortable being in this house without Ryan, and not all that comfortable with him. This kinda blows.
Sitting here smelling the back of my hand I'm wondering for the umpteenth time why I got myself into this mess. Ryan's been great, but I'm homesick and feel every bit the stranger that I actually am. Finally I sigh and get up to take the plastic bags off the dry cleaning and hang each item in the big double door closet. Aimlessly walking around the bedroom touching everything I'm thinking of all the days Ryan's probably wondered around this house feeling lonely. Then I look out one of the dormer windows and it's a long way down to the driveway. The oblong manicured garden area in front with the driveway encircling it is very pretty. From up here I can see that the flag stone paths through the shrubbery and flowering plants forms the letter 'H'. Huh, well that was swell, now what do I do? Hmmm, I'll email people back home, but first I need to get my laptop and it's in the duffle bag on the floor of the Mini. Creeping back down both staircases, I'm almost to the kitchen when Mr. Wilcox comes out of the library off the foyer. He's talking on his cellphone, but lifts his head holding a finger up to me, like... wait! I stop as he ends his call, then, "Ah, Daniel, are you busy?" I shake my head, muttering, "No, sir, I was just getting my, um, stuff from the car. Albert's at..." He says, "Yes, I know where he's at. If you've got the time I'm sure you'll want to help him out, am I right?"I say, "Yes, sir," with a question mark inferred by the way I said that. He goes, "Well, it's Saturdays and you boys need to cut the lawn in front of the house each Saturday morning, but today was an unusual day so the lawn's been neglected. The landscapers take care of the gardens and the lawn plots in back, but..." I ask, "Would you like me to do the lawn?" He says, "Yes, that's it exactly. Albert's very conscientious about his chores so he'll be relieved you've covered for him today."
He puts his hand on my shoulder and sort of walks me to the kitchen, asking, "Did you notice the supply building out back?" I'm like, "Supply building, um...?" He says, "Yes, the gray one with a copper weathervane on the roof." I'm thinking, 'Oh, that's a storage shed? It looks like a little house'. I'm like, "Yes, sir," and he goes, "There a ride-on mower in there. Use it for the front lawn. Have you ever used a ride-on mower?" "Yes, I worked all last summer for a landscaping crew." He pats my back, "Good for you! Well, there we are then, get to it." Another pat on my back as I mutter, "Yes, sir," and continue out the side door as he opens the refrigerator. Guess he's fixing himself something for a late lunch. I've no idea where nutty Mrs. Wilcox is, but oh well, this is something worthwhile doing and it'll be a surprise for Ryan. In the shed there's a rather nice ride-on mower that starts right up. I turn it off to check for oil and gas. Both are low, but everything is here: the oil cans are on a shelf and a five gallon fire-proof gas can is full. After filling the mower tank with gas and oil I drive the mower around to the front and begin cutting a pattern in the lawn. Cutting the grass one way pulls the unclipped grass in one direction and coming back right next to the preceding cut pulls the uncut grass in the other direction. It makes the grass cut in one direction appear a different shade of green from the cut going in the opposite direction. This is a big lawn, but not the biggest one I worked on last year, not even close.
Concentrating on maintaining perfectly straight cuts keeps it from being a totally boring endeavor, and I want it to look good. The temperature's pleasant and I can feel the sun on my face so hopefully I'll get some color, maybe a bit of a sunburned nose like I always get the first day at the shore during our Wildwood vacations. It takes just over an hour to finish the lawn. There's no need to bag grass clipping like a professional landscaping crew would do because the grass is mulched by the mower's blades on this machine. A homeowner's short cut, but the lawn looks good! After putting the mower away I feel good too, like I contributed to the Wilcox household and I'm not just a mooch. Grabbing my duffle bag finally, I carry it through the kitchen not feeling quite the outsider I felt like an hour and a half ago. In my bathroom I strip and shower, taking my time. By the time I'm showered and dressed it's four-fifteen, so I've got an hour before I should head back to the plant. Feeling okay about things I email Chubby, mom, and Robby. Mostly I mention how much I miss them, but I'm doing okay. In retrospect the emails probably got a little maudlin at the end, but that's how I'm feeling.
Driving back to Lockheed I tell myself that things we'll be more relaxing in a week or so when I get in a routine and feel more comfortable with everything, which I don't feel at all presently. My ID card on the lanyard around my neck gets me past both guards and then I'm walking towards the door marked 'Equipment Verification Unit' thinking that's a weird name. Entering the room there's a counter straight ahead near the back wall, and a door behind that. On the counter are a telephone and a Dell computer, and against the wall to my right are lockers and another door that's probably a coat room. On my left are two rows of five chairs each. In one of the chairs an African American guy sits with his legs stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed. He's texting with his thumbs as his eyes look up for a glance at me, then back to his texting. This guy's wearing baggy shorts and a baggier t-shirt with what looks like a brand new pair of Nike Kobe IX high sneakers on his feet. They're neon green surrounded by a black outline and a gold swoosh in the green. Probably cost two hundred dollars. Corn row hairdo, but I'm mostly staring at his hairless face because this dude is cute with a capital 'C'. No, he's more like pretty than cute, but in an all-boy way with implied arrogance from his posture. Creamy light brown complexion with full very pink lips. Without looking up he asks, "What the fuck you looking at, snow flake?" I blush turning away, mumbling, "Not you, that's for sure." Okay, that was a lame come back by me. I wander over to the counter feeling a little intimidated. Enough so that sitting down in one of the chairs is out of the question. Bad start. My back's to the counter with my elbows resting on it, trying for cool.
Obviously this guy's got a chip on his shoulder. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye I'm guessing he's about an inch taller than me and he probably weighs less than me, but I can't tell how old he is. Early twenties at the oldest, but damn he's good looking. He's thin, as in almost skinny so I
hope he's up for the heavy lifting. Then through the door comes a kid who appears to be about fifteen years old. He looks around nervously, asking me, "Are you Mr. Albert Wilcox?" I shake my head 'no', then push off from the
counter, saying, "I'm Dy, um, Daniel Newman." He bumps fists with me, muttering, "Sam Workman, you waiting to meet the boss?" I nod, "Yeah, but we're early. It's like twenty after five." Sam is an two inches shorter than me and he doesn't look very strong either. I guess he was hired by Josh, so maybe the heavy lifting has been exaggerated, assuming Josh knows what he's doing. I noticed earlier that Josh looks strong enough for all of us, but so far counting Ryan, me, Sam, and Mr. Surly over there still texting, we aren't lifting anything over sixty pounds. Sam is a blond headed kid with a neglected, too long flat top, or whatever it's suppose to be. He's got a too wide mouth with thin lips and a flat nose that looks like it's been broken a few times, and altogether he's not registering on the cute-o-meter in my brain. Doesn't mean he's not a good kid though. He seems humble and more than a little bit shy. If it were possible to average-out Sam and Mr. Surly we'd have two normal run-of-the-mill young guys. I ask, "How old are you, Sam, if you don't mind me asking?" He goes, "Nineteen, and I know I look younger." Standing there he sort of jitters without actually moving. I ask, "Did you interview for this job with Josh Day?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm a temporary transfer from another department. I've never met either Mr. Day or the supervisor, Albert Wilcox." I guess it's not common knowledge that Albert's the son of the top man at this facility and I respect that.
Sam walks over and sits in the end chair glancing at Mr. Surly, but doesn't saying anything. Then in comes the muscle. Two more African American guys in their twenties, both smiling and both about five foot eight or nine inches tall, but real muscular, and one of them has very long arms. That's probably the first thing you'd notice about him. Long arms looks at me, asking,
"Albert?" I shake my head introducing myself with a fist bump, as he says,
"Jayden Smith, nice ta meet ya. This here's my little brother, Stinky." Stinky says, "It's Aiden, not Stinky, was sup, Danny?" I bump fists mumbling, "Not much," and they look around, then sit in the back row of chair with Stinky saying, "Yo bro," as he walks past Mr. Surly. Without looking up, surly says, "I ain't your brother," and continues texting as the brothers frown at him. I'm the only one standing and it'd be awkward now to walk over and sit, so I go back to my original plan of leaning against the counter trying to look like everything's cool with me. Huh, three black dudes, a white kid who looks fifteen, and me. Some crew Ryan's got going for him, but one is still missing, and then he's not. Another African American comes through the door looking at me, then the guys sitting, and asks, "Who's Albert?" Again I shake my head, then introduce myself and he holds his hand out to shake, mumbling, "Aaron Black, how ya doing." Aaron is maybe fifty years old with graying hair, cut very short. He ask, "What are we suppose to do now?" I shrug thinking how different this crew is from Robby's crew last summer. It doesn't look like it's going to be a lot of fun for me at work this year. Aaron leans against the wall and soon the silence becomes fucking awkward.
Two minutes seems like two hours with the only sound being the subtle noise of Mr. Surly's texting. A sound you almost don't hear, but you do. I see what Ryan means when he said my texting was driving him crazy during the drive down here. Oh how I wish I was on Robby's crew. No sense lying to myself, this blows! In the silence my brain makes me think I need to clear my throat, but I don't want to draw attention to myself, then one of the guys sitting in the chairs coughs, and that makes two other guys cough and I'm about ready to fucking scream. After what seems like eternity, but is actually less than five minutes, Josh and Ryan come through a door that's behind the counter with Josh saying to us, "Come on back here guys," and the six of us follow them into a large room without windows. There are many metal shelves taking up half the space, and two twelve foot long tables with three computer terminal on each, and computer chairs in from of each computer. At the back there's a big bay door that a pickup truck could fit through. I'm guessing it opens onto one of the loading docks. Ryan says, "Have a seat, guys," Ryan and I exchange eye contact with Ryan's lips almost forming a grin. He's probably as happy as I am to see a familiar face.
Josh introduces himself as the manager in charge of our ten week project, then he introduces Ryan as the crew's supervisor. When Ryan's introduced I glance at Surly and see him move his lips saying something to himself with a sneer on his face as he rolls his eyes up, like, 'Can I believed this shit?' Josh wants us to introduce ourselves and we all say our names with Surly mumbling, "Da'george Hall." Ryan gives a brief introduction, "Monday I'll go into more detail, but for now as an overview, we'll be unloading material from trucks, unboxing it, logging it into computers, verifying the registration number of each piece to insure it matches what's on the inventory, then storing each item on the shelves with each piece labeled, it's location
noted on the computer. So it's unloading and logging in every single item no matter how small. That's it in a nutshell." The old guy, Aaron, asks, "What's all the pieces for," and Josh says, "It's a new project for Lockheed, so far a secret project. I only know what our job is, and it's as Albert outlined. They'll be some large, very heavy pieces and some as small as a screw. Every piece needs to be catalogued." Aaron grins, "Some kind of secret weapon, huh?" Josh, goes, "This section of Lockheed-Martin has Aerospace as part of it's name, meaning it specializes in things that fly, including missiles, but I haven't been privy to the exact nature of this project yet." Aaron goes, "Oh, space ships and stuff." That's ignored as Ryan says, "Save your questions for Monday," and he holds up a t-shirt, "This is our uniform, a t-shirt. You'll each pick out three of your size from the boxes there on the table. Wear them to work, don't change into them here. Other than that you all need to sign a confidentiality form that indicates you're not to divulge the registration numbers or description of anything you're logging in."
He passes out the forms that nobody reads except Aaron. Five of us sign it and pass it back to Ryan, then wait for Aaron to read the both pages before he signs it. Ryan says, "Thanks for coming by this afternoon, and as a thank you for your time lunch all next week is on Lockheed in their cafeteria. I'll pass out lunch vouchers Monday. See you then, eight-thirty sharp." Guys get up and look in the boxes of T-shirts choosing three of their preferred size and then file out with Ryan saying to me, "Would you meet me at the car? Josh wants to tell me something else." I nod, and follow the last guy
out the door while I'm looking at the t-shirt. It's good quality, not Fruit of the Loom. A cool shade of bluish/green with a Lockheed Martin logo on the left chest area. The guys drift to their cars without any interaction, and none from me either as I light a cigarette shaking my head, thinking, 'No fun for Daniel this summer, not at work anyway.' The Smith brothers drive past me with Stinky in the passenger seat, saying out the window, "See ya Monday, dude," and I give him a little hand wave, mumbling, "Dude." Five minutes later Ryan comes out smiling at me. He comes over, squeezes my shoulder, asking, "How'd I do?" I say, "You da man, Albert. You did great." We get in the Mini and Ryan puts the top down, saying, "Good, it's only twenty to six... we finished early. What do you think of the crew?" I go, "It don't look like a party crowd, not like last year when you were on Robby's crew for a month." He drives away, mumbling, "That was fun, wasn't it? Give these guys a chance though, it'll be okay." As we pass the guard house. I say, "I did the lawn for you," he goes, "Really? That's awesome! Thanks. Did my dad ask you to do it?" I go, "You know it, Albert, and he didn't seem shy about it either." Ryan mumbles, "No, dad's not shy."
At the house we go in the same door we always use and Ryan gets us Cokes from the refrigerator, saying, "Let's drink them outside and have a smoke." Then we hear, "Albert, is that you?" and his father comes into the kitchen, asking, "How'd it go," so Ryan tells him about the training session with Josh, which takes a few minutes, then a quick recap of his meeting with us workers. His father's pleased, saying, "Well okay, you did me proud. You boys
need to get cleaned up before dinner, but you've got almost an hour." Then to Ryan, "You unpacked yet, son?" Ryan hits his forehead, "Oops, not yet," then turning to me, he says, "Daniel, run out to the car and get my stuff from the trunk, both suitcases." I glance at his father, then says, "Sure thing, Albert," and go out to do what I'm told. I saw his father raise his eyebrows and nod his head, then pat Ryan's shoulder, obviously pleased with his son's authoritative manner. As I leave he mutters, "See you at dinner," and he heads back towards the library, which is his office too apparently. Ryan's bossiness, sending me on an errand like this, is to impress his father and help him get over the fact Ryan's gay. Whatever, I told Ryan I'd help him with that, and I will within reason.
When I come in with his two bags, Ryan says, "Run them up to my room, if you don't mind." I'm like shocked until he laughs and hugs my shoulders saying in my ear, "Thank you for playing along with me." He takes the suit cases from me and we go upstairs to his bedroom. I flop on his bed, asking, "What are we gonna do about getting reacquainted sexually?" He goes, "Shhh, Jesus, keep it down." I'm smelling the back of my wrist getting horny thinking
about us in bed this morning. Ryan unpacks, first putting the dirty clothes from the trip in the hamper and the random clothes he didn't wear on the trip go in various drawers of his bureau. As I watch him do that I'm feeling my cock stiffen up a little because I've got this sexual heat thing for him. Done with that little chore he looks at me, saying, "Look at this," and he open his big closet. Getting off the bed I follow him into the closet where he moves clothes on hangers and taps the wall, "It's just dry wall and a couple of two by fours." He takes ballpoint pen and twist it against the wall until it pops through the other side. Pulling out the pen, he looks through the little hole, saying, "The staircase is on the other side, but the door's closed in the back attic and it's too dark to see the stairs. We'll come down stairs from the unfinished part of the attic and you'll see this hole I poked through the wall." I look through the hole but just see darkness.
I'm like, "Lets go up now and check it out." As we come out of his bedroom his mother calls up to us, "Albert! Bring your Bible and your friend downstairs right away, please." We exchange frowns, then he says, "Oh fuck, we'll need to swear on the Bible that we won't have sex of any kind in the house." I go, "Seriously?" and he says, "Cross your fingers when you swear because we're gonna have a lot of sex in this house." He gets a Bible off his desk as I'm thinking it couldn't be a very powerful thing to swear on the Bible if the childish idea of crossing your fingers negates the whole thing. We go down to the living room where his mother has us sit side my side on the sofa with Ryan's Bible on the coffee table in front of us. She hands another Bible to Ryan open to a certain passage and says, "Read this out loud, please." Ryan reads, "Gen 19:5-8, they called to Lot and said to him, 'Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us that we may have relations with them.' But Lot went out to them at the doorway, and shut the door behind him, and said, 'Please, my brothers, do not act wickedly." He looks up as his mother's nodding her head, then she takes the Bible and turns to another section that she has separated my a red string, passing the Bible to me, "Now you, Daniel." I read, "1 Cor 6:9, um, Or do you not know that the unrighteous shall not inherited the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals." She says, "It's the word of the Lord." As I pass her Bible back to her, I'm think, That's it? That's proof homosexuality is evil?' All it proves to me is gays have been around for at least a couple thousands years, and more likely five thousand and before that in some form too.
Mrs. Wilcox says, "Put your hands on the Bible," which Ryan solemnly does, and to be a brat I put my hand on top of his and squeeze it, then glance at his mother. She says, "I know you're his boyfriend and think you love him, Daniel, and you have my reluctant blessings, but for now please just put your hand on the Bible." I feel like a jerk now that she was so nice about it. Blushing a little, I put my hand on the Bible and we repeat what his mother wants us to swear to, which is that we not participate in any sexual acts in her house because it's against her religious beliefs. She says, "If you two were boyfriend and girlfriend, which obviously you're not, but if you were I wouldn't want you having unwed sex in my house either." And, interestingly enough, she didn't have us swear not to have sex together, just not in here. Damn, the way she puts it, I really should respect her wishes. Done our 'swearing on the Bible', she says, "Thank you, that's a head start for your lessons with Minister Joel." Joel? It better not be that Joel. She says, "I'll be fixing dinner now," then she stops, and says to me, "That was touching the way you put your hand on Albert's. A mother wants her child to be happy and I don't dislike gays, I'm merely committed to my religious beliefs. But you two are sweet together." Then she leans down to us, "Don't tell the mister I said that though," and she smiles and walks toward the kitchen as I look at Ryan. He asks, "Did you have your fingers crossed?" I'm like, "You were serious about that?" He goes, "Yes, did you cross your fingers?" I nod my head, "Yeah," although I didn't. He grins and rubs my head, "Come on, we'll do a quickie in your bedroom." Huh, I feel guilty about doing that right now. It's his parent's house and we should respect that. Ryan pulls my arm, "Come on, Daniel," and I get up and kind of reluctantly follow him up two flights of stairs.
In my bedroom, as Ryan's closing and locking the door, I ask, "Shouldn't we at least let our swears hang in the air until after dinner? Or we can drive some place, or do it in the Mini." He grins, "No," and he pulls my shorts down to my knees and smacks my ass really hard twice, "SMACK!SMACK!", saying, "I'm supposed to be the religious one, Daniel, not you," and, "SMACK!" again. As he drops his shorts, I gripe, 'Ow, those smacks sting!" He grins, "I like spanking you as long as I'm not really hurting you. It doesn't really hurt, does it Daniel?" I go, "Yes, sometimes, and that name is getting on my nerves." Ryan says, "Shh!" and strokes my cock a few times. Surprisingly I notice a submissiveness beginning to developed already, and I'm starting to think he's not playing a role anymore. He's being dominant from habit. Furthermore he's been fucking me hard for five days straight now, twelve times at least, and it's probably my brain playing tricks on me, but it's getting like his big boner is becoming extremely familiar with my rectum and vice versa. It's like he's reshaping my rectum for his cock. I don't mean he's thinking that's what he's doing, and like I said it's probably just in my head, but his cock is fitting up my ass easier and easier each time. And now, as he strokes my cock, I'm being docile for him, and he's definitely comfortable being consistently dominant with our sex, which is very attractive to me, so it's not like I'm complaining so much a acknowledging what's developing here. And he's in-charge so if he says it's okay to fuck after swearing we wouldn't, who am I to disagree. As I run my fingers through his hair with his scent all around me, I yearn to feel him inside me again. He stops stroking my cock, saying, "You know what comes first, Daniel," and, "SMACK!" on my ass again getting me yelping, but I drop to my knees and pick up his cock. As I'm sucking on it I hug around his ass with both arms looking up at him. Oh yeah, this is sexually hot and the one constant that I felt I had going for me here is Ryan dominantly fucking me so I'm going to let myself go and enjoy the hell out of it.
Ryan's looking down at me as he rubs my head, almost purring, "Good, that feels good, Daniel, mmm, yeah, suck my cock, boy." His cock is getting harder and harder right along with mine. By the time saliva's drooling down my chin his cock is plenty hard, so without being told I put my head back and feed the head of his cock past the gag reflex area at the back of my mouth, gagging like mad and a almost hurling. Ryan goes up on his toes, leans over
slightly and drives his cock almost straight down my throat until his pubic hairs surround my nose, mouth and chin. He strokes my head, "Good boy, that's my boy," and begins moving his hips dragging his boner out of my throat and then pushing it back down it. It's the smoothest deep throating yet as I get more relaxed and with experience I'm able to tolerate it better. And, oh god, does this ever get me aroused. Two minutes of gagging deep throating has me just about blowing my load right now. I sense precum dripping from my cock, and while I can't see it, I know my cock is so hard it's sticking straight out again. Ryan and I are really in a sexual grove already, and it's only the first week. I shiver at the dominate way he's deep throating me and instead of being relieved, I'm disappointed when he pulls his hard pole out of my throat all sloppy with his precum and my spit.
With a hand under each of my armpits he helps me up and turns me around with my shorts dropping to my ankles. He put the palm of his hand over my mouth, his other hand guides his boner to my asshole and he humps it in as I groan into his hand. His arm goes around my waist holding me in place as his cock gets pushed all the way up my ass steadily and quickly with him saying in my ear, "Shhh, take it, Daniel, this is the quickest way to get you used to taking it right up there. By the end of the week you'll hardly mind it at all, and pleasure will be all you feel almost from the first thrust. You remember our early days together, don't ya" I nod my head, and keeping his hand over my mouth, he begins moving his hips fucking me. The pain is pretty bad at first and I'm struggling against him, but it's almost like wrestling with Ryan having the distinct advantage position, plus his arms are stronger than mine now that he's been lifting weights for a year. He gets control of the situations fairly easily because the pain in my ass has most of my attention and therefore my struggles aren't coordinated, and now Ryan's got a good rhythm going, "Slapslspslapslap," and he knows he's got me as I stop struggling and lean back against him docilely, and let the pleasure from my rectum spread over my body. It's like in my submissive frame of mind I feel lucky to have Ryan fucking me. It's a mind thing, but that doesn't detract from the immense pleasure I receive from being fucked hard and dominantly by someone who knows how to do it and insists on doing it his way. I'm putty in Ryan's hands by now and he knows that too, but it feels so good I can't think about anything but the sounds. "Slapslapslapslap," and the awesome sensations of being fucked, and after a minute or so Ryan begins grunting from the effort.
My head's back on his shoulder as I'm feeling a delicious sexual buzzing in my belly, groin, and rectum that's captivated my senses. After three minutes of sexual bliss Ryan stops his fast thrusting and does it more deliberately now that he has me completely addicted to his cock. He knows I'm not going anywhere but where he wants me, so he dominantly makes me wait with bated breath while he takes his time pushing his fully sensitized hard penis back and forth in my ass at the speed he feels like. I picture in my brain ever bit of his hard cock sticking out arrogantly from his dark pubic hair, the head engorged and red looking angry and totally in-charge. Ryan's behind me, his arms at his side as I stand perfectly still for him awaiting for more explosions of sexual pleasure and then his big organ begins again to tightly slide back up my ass, slowly at first, inch by inch it disappears inside me and when seven fat inches have stretched my rectum Ryan humps the last inch in extra hard and hold it there a tick or two as I'm up on my toes, "Ummm, oooh, ooh," and then his boner comes back the same way it went in as sensations from my prostate and anus cloud my mind with a mixture of tantalizing pleasure and anticipation and need to experience it again... and, yes!, the big hard head of his cock again begins it's journey disappearing further and further up my ass electrifying nerve ending on it's way until it once again creating an indescribably, almost unbearable rush of pleasure, and then that last dominant hump with Ryan's belly plasters against my buttocks, him leaving it there with me on my toes again, and another hump against my butt cheeks before the withdrawal that's almost as scintillating as the trip up, "Um, um, oh Albert, ooh, ooh!"
Gasping for breath, his big hard boner fitting my rectum like a glove now, tight and a perfect fit... if the cock won't fit, you must acquit. Ten, fifteen, eighteen slow thrusts up my ass with the final hard hump following each one sending me up on my toes waiting for the beginning of his withdrawal. He holds his boner up there a second or two which seems so dominant I'm gasping and gulping and unable to think straight. All I want is one more time, and then another, and another, "Ooh! Ooh! Oh my god, ooh." Thrust, pause, thrust, pause thrust, "Ahhhh, god," thrust! Pause, thrust!, Ryan's grunting now and again grabbing hold of my hips. I know he's near his climax when he pushes the back of my head roughly and I bend over with my hands on my knees licking my lips as my orgasm is almost at the tipping point. Ryan finishes me off with a minute of incredibly hard and fast rabbit fucking that almost immediately creates an overload of sensation and with me squealing and him whining and doing out of control thrusting we both climax. I can't tell which came first, his spunk hitting and warming the walls of my bowels or if it was my sharp stream of cum flying out between my legs in a low arc splattering again the closet door, then I can't hear or see as my follow up stream of cum soars up my incredibly hard penis and out into the air leaving me shaking all over. Ryan humps against my buttock again, moaning and now laying his chest on my back, then a whine and another hump, and another weaker one. We sway and take deep breaths, then I feel limp but wonderful as I'm grinning and recognizing the various fizzling sensations of my orgasm fading, fading and then blink out altogether. Now it's heart pounding, lung expanding time as I slowly straighten up with Ryan straightening up with me, his arms around me as we stagger together backwards until he bumps into the bed and lays back on it bringing me with him, his cock still inside me with cum drooling out of my ass and me dizzy, but feeling fantastic too.
The world returns slowly at first, and oh god that felt so good I've got a little smile on my face in awe of the power of sex, and the way Ryan can take it to the next level. He lay's on the bed under me quietly moaning. He's right though, our sex is getting better and better, but now that the climax sensations, too many to count, have faded into just hard to believe memories, I begin feeling guilty again. Ryan's mother was nice when we were swearing on the Bible and she said we were sweet together. It was almost in an apologetic way that she explained she needed to be faithful to her beliefs. I wasn't convinced at all that the Bible condemned homosexuality, not from the vague passages we read. She believes it though and it's her house, and therefore we should have respected that. Putting my hands on either side of me on the bed I push myself to a sitting position, move my hips a little to feel Ryan's cock slide in his cum up my ass, then with a quiet moan I stand and his cock slides out of my ass and flops on his leg with a quiet, "Splat." Standing and looking back at Ryan, I murmur, "That felt good, Albert." He sits up wiggling his finger at me and giving me his confident grin while pointing at his cock. I hesitate a second, but feel a strong submissiveness to him and it makes me shudder in a pleasant way. Dropping to my knees between his leg I pick up his sloppy cock to suck and lick it, then his balls as he lays back on the bed, then inching forward until his asshole is exposed over the edge of the mattress. I lick and suck his privates, then rim his asshole feeling deeply aroused by this luscious submissive sense until he sits up and again pulls me up with a hand under my arms. We lay in bed for ten minutes or so as the submissive feeling drifts away just like orgasmic sensations do.
Back to my normal senses I feel sticky, hot, and spent. I feel like I did something I'm not proud of, and now the memories of my orgasm aren't enough to erase those other feelings, and I need to brush my teeth and take a long shower. How am I going to rationalize away my guilty feeling, and why doesn't Ryan feel guilty too? I get up and off the bed, "I'm gonna take a shower," and Ryan says, "Come back here, Dylan." I go, "Oh, you made a mistake with my name," and I said that in a sing song fashion dragging out the word 'mistake' and 'name in a joking way. He grins, "No, I didn't, I meant to say your name because no matter how many times I say, 'Daniel' in my mind I'm
thinking, 'Dylan'. I said it on purpose." I go, "Oh okay, why'd you say, 'come here'?" He goes, "Because of your expression, and I know you. You're looking guilty, and acting like we did something wrong, and we didn't. Why should my mother's beliefs be more important than ours?" I go, "Because it's her house?" I say that as a question, and he goes, "It's my house too, isn't it?" That does make me feel a little better. If only his mother had been nasty about us being gay I'd more easily feel like Ryan and rationalize that it's okay to defy her. She had to say we were sweet though, and that makes it harder for me to justify getting fucked three minutes after swearing we wouldn't. Ryan gets up, "I'm going down for a shower too, but try being open minded... see both sides of this situation and I'll think about it some more too, but right now I'm thinking our beliefs are every bit as valid as my mother's." I nod my head, not sure what I think. We do a quick hug with me mumbling, "Okay, Albert, we'll both think about it some more, but um, just so ya know: that was spectacular sex, and I think you're awesome." Another hug and he asks, "Yes, but are you in love with me yet," and I'm like, "I don't believe so, not the way you mean anyway." He shrugs as he lets go of me, "I'll check back with you later on that." I grin, nodding my head, "Yeah, you do that."
He stops at the door, "Oh, another family tradition. At dinner it's a button down shirt, not a t-shirt." I go, "Got it, Albert." After showering I put on one of the button down-the-front shirts from the cleaners and, to be safe, a pair of skinny khaki pants instead of shorts, then decide on loafers rather than sneakers, and then go down the stairs to the second floor looking for my security blanket. He's in his bathroom trying to comb his pompadour the way he likes it. When he sees me he grins handing me the comb. I feel like his big brother combing his hair for him, and that makes me pause. Yes, I feel close to Ryan like a brother would feel, not like a lover. Brothers who fuck, like Ryan said. There's a huge difference in this kind of love from the love Robby and I have, and the past six days with Ryan has reinforced that to me. It's the opposite effect that Ryan was hoping would be the case. His pompadour's the way he likes it, so I give his cheek a brotherly kiss smiling to myself that Ryan can be my brother who fucks me, but Robby's always going to be the one I'm in love with. I pat Ryan's shoulder, and as we go down stairs he says, "Your mood has improved, Daniel, I'm happy to see that." I go, "Thank you, Albert, I feel pretty good."
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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