DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION
Chapter 8
by Donny Mumford
Wearing a pale blue button down dress shirts, khaki pants, and loafers I'm with my security blanket, Ryan/Albert. Side by side we're walking down the wide staircase to the foyer, then down a short hall to the dining room. It's a large formal dining room with an Oriental rug covering about eighty percent of the dark hardwood floor. There's an elaborate chandelier over a mahogany dinner table that Ryan says can seat twelve, although presently it's set up for six as three 'leaves' have been removed. Around the table are six mahogany arm chairs, all with a dark blue cushioned seat. In the middle of the wall to our right is a marble gas fireplace, and four feet away on either side of the fireplace are matching mahogany China cabinets with glass doors displaying lots of sparkling crystal. Against the opposite wall there's a long credenza with a mirror over it. The Wilcoxs eat here every night of the week, even when it's only his mother and father having dinner. It's a bit over the top considering what I'm used to, although I have experienced even more over the top dinners at Willie's. In the two years I've known Ryan, he's never mentioned how well off his parents are financially, and I give him credit for that. However, over time little things he's said led me to believe his father was in a much different income tax bracket than the one my mom and Tris are in. Ryan getting a Mini Cooper for his birthday last year more or less confirmed my assumption, and then seeing their house today it's apparent I under estimated their tax bracket.
His father's standing at the head of the table acknowledging us with a little head nod, saying, "You boys look nice tonight," and Ryan goes, "Thank you, father," while I give a little smile, keeping my mouth shut as instructed. Ryan looks at me as he's holding his hand towards the seat on the left, so I go there and he goes to the seat opposite mine. The three of us stand here now, I assume waiting for Mrs. Wilcox to make her entrance, and yes, this is as awkward as it sounds. There's already food on the table that looks good, and then here she is carrying a platter with a standing rib roast on it. Very impressive, but much too large for just four people. Down the center of the table are serving dishes containing oven-browned baby potatoes glistening with pan drips from the roast, a green bean casserole, a salad bowl, and a platter of rolls along with butter balls on ice. We remain standing until his mother's at her place, then we sit down together. I'm watching Ryan and doing whatever he does. When we sit Ryan holds his arms out to hold hands with his mother and father so, gulp, I do the same. His father says, "Albert, if you please," and Ryan bows his head, which I do too assuming he'll say grace, and he does just that: "Thank you, Lord, for this good food and for my family and friends, especially my best friend ever, Daniel, and thank you for allowing Jesus in my life. Amen." We let go of each other's hands and his mother says, "Very nice, Albert." His father says, "This is a beautiful dinner, Cynthia," and Ryan echoes that sentiment "Yes, it is beautiful, Mother." I merely smile, nodding my head in agreement.
I gotta say Ryan has some balls including me for 'special' mention in his dinner grace, especially with his parents opposed to homosexuality and after we just swore on the Bible we wouldn't have sex in the house. Obviously his parents are unaware of the fact we had sex in the house five minutes after swearing we wouldn't. From my limited experience with the Wilcox family its apparent there's no doting on Ryan, like he claimed. No doting, but thus far his parents are no where near as awful as I expected. In fact, so far I don't think they're awful at all. The hang up his mother has about my name is extremely weird of course, and swearing on the Bible is unusual, but neither of those things were done in a mean-spirited manner.
His father stands while carving the roast and we pass our plates around the table for him to put slices of roast beef cooked medium rare. My mouth is watering as Mrs. Wilcox is enthusiastically telling us about her day. Mostly about her participation in a charity barbecue for under privileged children and their families. It was held at a food pantry, I assume that is located in the poorer section of Marietta. The monthly barbecues are sponsored by their church, so that's very nice of them. Mr. Wilcox and Ryan ask questions about the barbecue with seemingly sincere interest, even mentioning some of the names known to the three of them. When we all have roast beef on our plates, the side dishes are passed one after the other to the right until everyone has what they want. The parents have glasses of red wine and we all have ice water. It's a formal dining room setting, but the Wilcox family isn't acting especially formal. As for the food, Mrs. Wilcox's prime rib of beef is as well prepared and taste as good as Ken's Saturday special prime rib nights. Everything is very good, so obviously Ryan mother is a good cook.
When he's sure his mother is through with her story, Ryan tells his mother about his afternoon's training session with Josh, again impressing his father, who says, "I was thinking about what you told me earlier about the training session and you did very well indeed, Albert. From what I hear Josh isn't known for his tactfulness, but you seem not to have incurred his wrath and gotten through the day unscathed. Nice job." Of course, I didn't get through the day unscathed of Josh's lack of tact, but it isn't mentioned. Mr. Wilcox was casual with his praise of Ryan, but there was an unmistakable trace of surprise in his voice, like he didn't expect Ryan to do so well. Or maybe it's that he doesn't believe it went as well as Ryan's described. Or maybe I'm reading something into his voice inflection that wasn't there. I
don't yet know them well at all, so I'm merely guessing. Then Ryan, to include me in the conversation, tells his mother, "Daniel cut the front lawn while I was in my training meeting." She raises her eyebrows, looking at me, saying, "Really? When I drove up our drive this afternoon I was thinking how nice the lawn looked. I honestly thought Junior had called the professional landscapers, but then... you're a professional yourself, aren't you, Daniel? How was it working all summer doing landscaping?" I say, "I enjoyed it," then Ryan and I talk some about the landscaping job we had before he moved here last summer. We leave out the parts about us making-out, and even having a couple of fast fucks in the back of the truck between jobs. That was back in the days when we were experiencing out of control sexual heat for each other. After dinner Ryan and I clear the table, leaving everything in the kitchen sink until after dessert.
Dessert is cherry vanilla ice cream with a plate of crisp chocolate cookies of which Mr. Wilcox eats a half dozen while telling us, in between mouthfuls of ice cream, that he'd be away on business three days next week. Mrs. Wilcox, pats my hand, saying to me, "Oh Lord, between Albert and Junior, you and I have heard all we need to about work, haven't we, Daniel?" Loaded question, so I straddle the fence, "Yes, ma'am, for sure, although it was quite interesting." Mr. Wilcox chuckles, "Very tactful, Daniel," and then he chuckles again while grabbing another cookie. The ice cream is from a shop downtown that features home made ice cream 'the old fashioned way'. I don't know what the old fashion way is, but it's the best ice cream I've every had. The dinner went very well I thought. My fear of awkward silences where all you hear is the fork's tines clicking off the china plates and the subtle sound of people chewing and swallowing never occurred. My fear of that proved to be unfounded, and no one chewed with their mouth open either, or did anything especially annoying, so it was good. We have coffee last while Ryan's parent have after dinner drinks. Finally done, I thank Mrs. Wilcox for a delicious dinner, without being obsequious about it. Ryan and I clear away the dessert dishes while Junior pours another after dinner drink for himself and his wife, Cynthia. It looks like brandy.
My earlier assumption that Ryan's parents live separate lives in the same house appears to be incorrect. I can hear them talking in the dining room, and laughing once or twice as Ryan and I work in the kitchen. We deal with the leftovers by saving the roast beef and the potatoes. Roast beef for sandwiches and Ryan says his mother will make potato salad with the potatoes. The other leftovers get tossed, then we scrape the dishes and put them in the dish washer. After that I clean all the counters while Ryan uses a sponge mop on the floor. It looks like we're done until Ryan inspects the counters, saying, "Daniel, redo the last counter top you did, and then we're done." I do that while thinking this wasn't mentioned in the list of chores Ryan told me would be our responsibility. Not a big deal, but I wonder how many other 'chores' he forgot to mention. We stop in the dining room so Ryan can tell them we'll be in his room watching TV. His mother says, "I'm glad you're in for the night, boys," and that's the official end of dinner.
In Ryan's bedroom I flop on his bed, asking, "Are we really staying in your room on a Saturday night? Isn't there someplace guys hangout, or a bowling alley, or something?" He says, "This is our first night home so we'll stay in. I don't want them thinking you're a bad influence on me by staying out late doing God only knows what." I mumble, "How about we go to a movie at least? That's not doing 'God only knows what'. Twenty year old guys do not stay in their bedroom on a Saturday night." He goes, "These two twenty year old guys do, so stop nagging." He's surfing the cable channels looking for a good movie. I'm like, "At least lay on the bed with me, Albert, so we can mess around a little." He shakes his head, and I ask, "Is something wrong?" He looks over, "Wrong? Hell no, today went better than I ever envisioned
it in my most optimistic scenarios. They like you, I can tell. Mother especially, but dad too. Today was almost perfect and I don't want to take a chance of something happening to ruin it by going out." Yeah, it went better than I envisioned too, but I can't get over how blasé he is about us fucking right after swearing on the Bible we wouldn't. That's what I thought was on his mind, and as sort of a self-punishment thing we're staying in tonight. That's apparently not the case because I don't think he's given sex tonight a second thought, which actually bodes well for future sex.
Ryan does eventually lay on the bed with me as we watch 'The Godfather' on his sixty-inch flat screen high-definition TV that's on the wall in front of us. It's obviously a very old movie, but a classic one that I've seen a couple of times before. It's a period piece so it never gets old. Every now and then I glance at Ryan seeing the TV picture glinting off his eyeglasses, and realizing that so far he's pulling off being 'the man'. Plus he's had my back a couple of times today. Not big things, but they meant a lot to me, and then mentioning me specifically in his blessing before dinner impressed me too. Plus, tonight he stood by his decision that we're not going out even though I wanted to, and then on the bed he got his arm around the back of my neck and pulled my head over to his shoulder just like a guy would do on a date. I like all that stuff so I snuggle in close against him until he mumbles, "Stop fidgeting." If he continues with his present demeanor I'll be getting a boner any minute now. Ha ha, this is alright.
It's actually relaxing not to think I've got to do something simply because it's a Saturday night. Yeah, it's okay staying in. In the movie, when the big oaf gets a knife through his hand, stapling it to the bar, I reach over with a finger and push Ryan's bangs off his forehead. He grins at me, "Next time cut my bangs a little shorter to keep them out of my eyes." I nod, "Okay, Albert." He gives my neck a hug and that's all we say throughout the entire movie. It's eleven-thirty when the movie's credits are rolling and Ryan lets go of me, saying, "Time for bed, Daniel," and it hits me for the first time. The name, 'Daniel'! Josh called me 'Danny' this afternoon and I didn't make the connection until just now... Danny Monday, Robby's other boyfriend. What a coincidence that's the bogus name I came up with in the spur of the moment. I look at Ryan wondering if he picked-up on the name thing. I'm convinced Ryan had no more idea than I did that she couldn't abide 'Dylan' as a first name. Weird of her obviously, but Ryan wasn't involved in the name change because I saw the look of shock on his face as he was blushing when she told me I need to change my name. He apologized for her later,
as a matter of fact. I don't think Ryan has made the connection either... hell, I just thought of it myself. Obviously I'm making a mountain out of a molehill about being called 'Danny', like Robby's boyfriend, and I really should stop making mountains out of mole hills. And what's a mole hill?
As I'm getting off his bed, Ryan says, "Thanks for a great first day," and he whispers in my ear, "Dylan." I whisper, "Nice hearing my name, my forbidden 'Dylan' name." He rubs my head, "Mother's eccentric about the oddest things, so thank you for letting it slide." Then he gives me a kiss on the lips, smacks my ass, and mutters, "Good night, see you in the morning. Don't forget, church tomorrow. Wear your suit." Another ass smack, "Get going, Daniel." Oh shit, that was so cool of him. I mumble good night, but still stand here staring at him... wanting him. He smiles, "I know, but we can't right now. I'm sorry, go ahead upstairs now." I shrug and do what I'm told, but damn Ryan's actually pulling-off this in-charge shit, and without pissing me off while he's doing it. Smelling the back of my hand walking out of his bedroom, I'm thinking,'To hell with swearing on the Bible, I won't hesitate the next time Ryan wants to do it.' He's all I've got. Walking down the hall to the stairs for the third floor, Ryan's parents are coming up the wide main staircase. I take my hand away from my face as Mr. Wilcox asks, "What'd you guys watch?" I say, "The Godfather," and Mrs. Wilcox says, "There's too much violence in movies." I mutter, "Yes, ma'am," and they both say, "Goodnight," which is what I say too, then hurry up the stairs into the safety of my room on the third floor.
Now that I think about it, it would have felt uncomfortable and strange sleeping in Ryan's bed with his parents knowing what we're probably doing in bed together. Not that I wouldn't have done it anyway if we could. Huh, and Robby told me Danny's sleeping in Dodger's room, not with him. His parent, while not especially religious, don't want their son sleeping with another gay boy either, or like Mrs. Wilcox said, she wouldn't allow it even if Ryan had a girlfriend stay with him. Not under their roof, and I get that. Yeah, I do. Ryan will figure out how we're going to satisfy our sexual needs, so I'll leave it to him. I'm actually gaining more confidence in him every day. First of all he's just as motivated as I am to have sex. He knows his parents habits and what to expect, like right after swearing on the Bible he knew it was then perfectly safe for us to fuck on the third floor. Getting undressed I'm feeling admiration for him, but a little confusion too. If his parents aren't the cause of his low self image, then what is? Why did he subject himself to all the abuse from the sadistic doms? For that matter, why did Willie? Fuck if I know! In bed I think of Robby and picture him leading his lawn cutting crew with his flat top haircut, and wonder how it's really going between him and Danny. And damn, I didn't check to see if anyone answered my earlier emails. Thinking about that I fall asleep.
If I had a dream last night I don't remember it when my laptop alarm wakes me. Stretching and yawning, I'm thinking, 'Oh, so this is how you feel waking-up rested, without a hangover?' Ha ha, I know how it feels waking up without a hangover because more mornings than not, that's how I usually awake-up. Yeah, but I wouldn't feel this rested at home because they'd be some reason I didn't get to bed until much later than eleven-thirty. I'm thinking positive thoughts, looking at the bright side of staying in and watching TV on a Saturday night. That's me, Mister Bright-sides, like Brandon Flowers sings about in his hit song from like ten years ago. Church service is at eleven, and I can't say I'm looking forward to that, but it's part of the deal. The third floor bathroom isn't elaborate, but it's not too shabby either. Everything looks almost new and rarely used. It's only a little after nine o'clock, so I take my time in the bathroom, especially showering. There the main shower head with sort of a rain flow of water, but there's also a handheld shower head that has various settings, from gentle to sharp water flow. I shampoo and bathe under the rain fall flow, and then do a good rinse with the brisk water flow from the handheld shower head. The sharp spray feels awesome on my privates. That baby could give guy a boner. Nice!
Drying off I can't help but think how everything would be so much better with some morning sex. You know, like Ryan and I had in the motel rooms during our drive here. He got me used to that big boner of his by fucking me at least twice a day, and right now I've got that squirmy feeling yearning for a good hard fuck. Maybe Ryan feels the same way and will come sneaking up the stairs. Damn, we've got to work on the back staircase in his bedroom closet. So far no Ryan sightings, but I don't get dressed hoping he'll appear any moment with a mischievous grin on his face and that big cock of his swinging between his skinny legs. At ten-fifteen though I abandon all hope and finally get dressed, and holy shit does this suit fit me perfectly! I feel like I'm wearing almost nothing. Looking at myself in the full length mirror, I look sexy hot! Damn, I don't wear a suit very often, but maybe I should because it looks kinda cool. Hmmm, I wonder how much Willie paid for this tie? I keep telling myself this is a $3000 suit when it was actually $3300. I'm still determined to pay Willie back for this thing, but I'm not as determined as I used to be, and I'm thinking my determination might continue to fade with time. After all I didn't want him to buy this for me, it wasn't my idea. Yeah, I'll work on rationalizing that fact a little more later. For now, this summer weight light gray suit rocks! Glancing at the bottom of my reflection in the mirror, and oh no! My loafers don't go with this suit at all. They look scurfy compared to what I'm wearing. Dammit, why didn't Willie tell me I needed new shoes?! Ha ha, that's it, blame Willie.
I go down to the second floor to see how my security blanket is doing. In his bedroom I find Ryan getting frustrated tying his tie. He looks at me smiling, "Good morning, Daniel. Wow! You look unbelievable in a suit and tie. First time I've ever seen you wear one, dude, you clean up awesome. That suit is, um, beautiful. Where'd ya get it?" I shrug, "I forget. Let me help you with your tie." He complains, "The fucking ends are always too long or too short." Huh, I guess cursing is allowed on Sundays for Baptists. With my arms over his shoulders, standing behind Ryan looking in the mirror, I tie his tie with the ends coming out perfectly. He's making a frustrated 'face', like: 'Why couldn't I do that?' I'm enjoying his scent, then hug him from behind. He grins, murmuring, "I love you too." Letting him go, I help him on with his suit jacket like his valet, and he says, "Thanks, now my pompadour," and I comb it for him, mumbling, "Ya know, as your big brother it's
my duty to inform you that pompadours haven't been in style any place in the world I'm familiar with for at least our lifetimes." He goes, "They're popular with me, Dodger, and his little boyfriend, what's-his-name." I mutter, "Vinnie."
Remembering my concern about my loafers, I go, "Look at my loafers, Albert." He looks down, asking, "Jesus! Wear your have dress shoes. Loafers shouldn't be worn with a suit. They're okay with a sports jacket, but not a suit." I say, "Thank you for that, mister fashion plate, but I didn't bring dress shoes because I've never owned a pair. What size shoes do you wear?" He goes, "Eight and a half," and I mutter, "Perfect." Yeah, I know, I have small feet for my size. "Um, Albert, do you have another pair of dress shoes?" He's wearing a tan suit with a pale blue dress shirt, very similar to the shirt I had on for dinner. On his feet, cordovan dress shoes. He goes, "Yep, black ones, which will go with your suit, although with pale gray you could also wear a tan belt and tan shoes. That look works... tan and gray. I say, "Like that beer with the same name," and he shakes his head, "No, the beer's called Black and Tan, not gray and tan." Whatever, I nod, "Well, can I borrow your black shoes?" He's checking himself out in the mirror, mumbling, "Yeah, there in that closet." Looking in his closet I see loafers, sandals, sneakers, and a pair of shiny polished black shoes with wood things in them. "Albert, what are these wood things doing in your shoes?" He goes, They're shoe trees to keep the shoes looking like new." That's weird, why call these things trees? Taking out the shoe trees, I try the shoes on and they're tight, but they'll do. There's something unusual about walking in these shoes though, so I take one off to look closely. Huh, it's got a thicker sole and heel than most shoes. I suppose it adds some height to Ryan. Putting the shoe back on, they make me feel taller too. I gotta get a pair of these myself.
Down the steps we go with Ryan and me glancing at each other, exchanging, "Looking good, dude," comments, then in the kitchen we find his father's in the same seat as yesterday morning, again reading the paper with coffee on the table in front of him. His mother's in her same seat too, again sipping tea and nibbling on buttered toasted raisin bread. They both say, "Good morning," and his mother adds, "Aren't you two the handsome ones. Daniel, that's a beautiful suit." I say, "Thank you, Mrs. Wilcox," and Ryan tells me, "Breakfast is informal, we get our own. What would you like?" I say, "Coffee, thank you, Albert." We both have coffee and a piece of pastry with raspberry filling and strips of icing on top. I could go for another one, but maybe that would be rude so I settle for just the one as I eye the plate with
two pastries left. Mr. Wilcox puts the paper down, reaches for one of the remaining pastry, and asks me, "Does your family regularly attend church, Daniel?" I say, "Not on a regular basis, sir." I don't think occasional Easter or Christmas services would be considered 'regularly attending church'. He nods, "I'm afraid you and your family represent the majority of families in America, but we find Sunday services uplifting, don't we Albert?" "Yes, sir," and that's the end of that discussion.
We leave in Mr. Wilcox's big silver BMW with us children in the back seat, both of us holding one of Ryan's Bibles like a couple of dweebs. I've got the Bible that was part of Ryan's ninetieth birthday present. He told me the other presents he got were the two helmets we wore on his motorbike yesterday, plus the motorcycle jacket made from miracle fabric. I think that jacket's about the coolest thing ever, clothes-wise. Parking in the church parking lot I see that the church is a fairly large white clap-board building with a big cross high on the front of the steeple. The parking lot's fairly full as are the pews when we walk inside to the vestibule. There's organ music playing and at the door leading into the church proper a nice looking kid in his teens is passing out programs for today's service. He hands a program to each person entering from his side of the entrance, gives them a big smile, saying, 'Good morning, welcome!" He maintains good eye contact too. It's my turn and up close this kid is damn cute with his big smile showing very white teeth with a little too much pink gum above the teeth, but on him it's adorable. He's probably fifteen or sixteen and a fairly confident lad. I disturb his demeanor a little by winking at him as he hands me a program, but he recovers fast and gives the person behind me the same cordial greeting I got. Glancing quickly at the other teen who's giving the same cordial greeting on the other side of the church entrance I'm disappointed to discover that while he's the same age approximately, he's no where near as cute as my guy, so I don't wink at him.
The organ music continues as Ryan and I walk down the aisle behind his parents. I'm looking at the side of the alter where there's a four piece band. A keyboard player, a drummer, and two guys on electric guitars. I sure didn't expect that. The band's seated presently, as are members of a choir dressed in robes. There's about twenty-five of them with more than half being African Americans. Gazing around the church I see that only about half the men, and no teens, are wearing a suit and tie. The rest are wearing casual attire, although I don't see anyone in jeans. Mingled in the pews I'd guess African Americans represent about a third of the congregation, and almost all those men have suits on. It makes me feel good about their church that it's inclusive. I wonder about their stand on being inclusive for homosexuals, although Mrs. Wilcox provided a clue that they might not be as inclusive as I'd like. We slide in a pew with me the last one in, so I'm on the aisle. Ryan and his parents have their heads bowed with their eyes closed holding their Bibles, and I'm taking a wild guess that they're praying. Considering where we are I can't imagine what else they'd be doing in that position.
I'm not praying so much as I'm exchanging eye contact with another boy about my age who's in the pew across from the one I'm in. He won't break eye contact, so it'd be a good guess that there's at least three gays in church today, me, Ryan, and the staring boy. He puts his tongue in his cheek for a crude imitation of a blow job and I look away, not being a fan of crudeness. The guy looked alright though, if a bit on the heavy side. He's a little above average looking with sexy eyes and his wavy, light brown hair. He's got a cool hairstyle, shortish hair combed forward on top and flipped up in front. The waviness and fullness of his hair takes the coolness level of this particular hairstyle up a couple of notches. I glance over again, but he's now looking towards the front. Two seconds later however he seems to feel me looking at him and he slowly turns his head towards me, his eyes opening wider as he sees me again staring in his direction, and he nods his head subtly, raising his eyebrows and giving me a cute grin. It's like he's asking for confirmation about something, so I grin back because I think I know what he wants confirmed. He does another subtle head nod, then looks forward as the organ music stops and the band stands up and begins playing with a rock beat. A black woman from the choir walks forward and sings Christian lyrics to the rock beat, and she's got a pretty good voice. The choir stands and joins in on the chorus with big voices of their own, clapping their hands to the beat. It gives me chills. There are six or seven teenagers in the choir, but mostly adults. Only one teenage boy stands out, looking cute and old enough. From here he looks cute, but a close up might prove disappointing. Sandy hair recently cut in a buzz, and what looks like a nice slim body although it's hard to tell with him wearing that choir robe. Anyway he's someone I can look at and maybe fantasize about if the sermon drags on too long.The song's a good one and when it's over they get a big ovation and some shouts from the congregation. Huh! That's cool.
The minister, who had been sitting on a chair at the other side of the alter wearing a maroon robe, gets up walking to the podium at the front of the alter. Checking my program I see it's Pastor Martin, or reverend Martin, or Joel Martin. He's referred to three ways in various parts of the program. Wonder why the different monikers. He's in his middle thirties I'd guess, and an okay looking man. Nice speaking voice as he looks at the choir and band thanking them , "Thank you all for that wonderful song with it's inspiring message." I missed the inspiring message, but I liked the song. Then the minister thanks everyone for coming this morning, giving a sincere welcome to, "Members of our wonderful congregation, and friends." I guess that's the category I fall into... friends. The minister has a small microphone clipped to his robe so his pleasant voice comes from speakers all along both sides of the room in a normal conversational manner. He has a nice manner about him over all, without a trace of a superior attitude coming through, so I relax a little about the lecture Mrs. Wilcox arranged for Ryan and me after the service from the minister. It pisses me off a little that I need to endure that, but so far everything else has been within tolerable range for me, and some things like last night's dinner were way better than tolerable. The name thing still irks me, but in some ways I'm getting a kick out of it too. It's almost like Ryan and me aren't here because Albert and Daniel have taking our place. Anyway, over all, I'm beginning to think this summer
might turn out okay. The big unknown is our job. That may become a problem considering I'm not thrilled with my coworkers so far. I shouldn't assume something bad before it happens though. Mister Bright-sides wouldn't do that. As I'm thinking my thoughts the minister had some announcements that I missed, then the band and choir do two more songs, one of which is definitely a rock song, again with a Christian message. The other song is slow and tedious with words that don't even rhyme During that one Ryan leans over and whispers, "These are called, 'Praise and Worship songs'. Some of them are pretty good, don'cha think?" I nod my head, murmuring, "Yeah, I wasn't expecting anything like this." He bumps my side as he looks at me smiling. He's a good kid and I'd like to give him a hug right now, but obviously I don't.
After the songs the Minister returns and delivers a long sermon about, "Us Southern Baptists regard the Bible with great seriousness. It's God's divinely inspired revelations of himself to mankind. The Bible is true, trustworthy, and without error," and he goes on along those lines for what seems like four hours. The Bible's infallible or something like that and as it drags on I turn my attention to the sandy haired boy who appears to have gone to sleep. My attention drifts away from the minister's twenty-five minute sermon, which the program calls the 'message'. Imagine my surprise checking my watch and discovering this 'message' was only twenty-five minutes and not four hours. Time can play tricks on your mind sometimes. My attention was divided between the sandy-haired sleeping choir boy and glances over to my gay staring partner in the pew across from mine. Neither is yielding anything of a sexual nature now as one's asleep and the other seems engrossed in the minister's 'message' and no longer has his tongue in his cheek. He was leaning forward listening to every word as he holds his Bible. Guess he's religious. Ryan and his parents hold their Bibles too, as do I because what other choice do I have? There's no place to put it down. When we first came in I tried putting it on the pew between Ryan and me, but he handed it back to me with a little shake of his head. Now my hands are sweaty from holding Ryan's nineteenth birthday Bible ever since leaving the house. And I am not a complainer, just stating the facts of the matter.
Well, the 'message' maybe has gone on for fifteen or twenty minutes too long, but he's finally saying, "God bless you all," as the organ begins playing again and there's a rustling in the pews. The same two teens who passed out the programs are now passing baskets around. I check the program and this is the 'offering' part of the service. The rustling in the pews is apparently people getting their 'offering' out from wherever it was. Mr. Wilcox is holding an envelope so I assume there's money in it representing the Wilcox's family offering. I assume that because I don't see anything in Ryan's or his mother's hand. Our pew is about halfway between the alter and back of the church, so it takes a while for the basket to travel down one pew, and then up the pew behind it, and then the teenage boy takes it and starts the process for the next pew. Unfortunately for me we've got the unattractive greeter-boy on our side of the church. He's the one who was on the other side of the door when the cute 'greeter' handed me a program with his awesomely sincere smile, and said, "Good morning, thank you for coming." Ha, if he only knew about my cumming. Nah, he's too young for me. Anyway, when the
basket has traveled from left to right down the pew in front of our's, the
unattractive, serious looking boy passes me the basket while looking me in the eyes. I give him a little nod of my head, trying to look as serious as he looks, and take the basket from him rubbing my finger over his youthful hand as I do it. He looks at me with disdain in his eyes and actually, up this close, he's not as unattractive as I first thought. Taking a quick look at the basket filled with cash and envelopes before I pass it to Ryan, I'm eyeing a hundred dollar bill. No, I do not think about palming it! Ryan passes the basket to his mother with none of us putting anything in it. Damn, I feel self-conscious about that so don't. l glance back at the kid for one last look. I listen, but didn't hear him mutter, 'Cheapskate' as he waits for the basket at the pew in back of ours.
The offering takes some time to complete, and then it's another 'Praise and Worship' song with a lot of volume and a big beat. After that there's more applause before the minister says a lengthy closing prayer, and then that's it. The organ starts up again as people stand and begin filing out. It's an orderly retreat beginning with the pew closest to the alter, and then pew by pew empties with the congregation walking down the center aisle. There's some stoppage of progress as some stop to shake hands with friends, and there's lots of chatter now. Well, all in all, that wasn't too bad. There's a logjam at the front door because the minister apparently went out a back door and ran around to the front to greet the congregation as they leave. He's shaking hands, accepting praise for his 'message' today, as well as him saying a nice word for everyone and greeting many by name. My gay playmate is behind me with one of his parents in between us. Damn, I'll bet I'd get a goose if he were right behind me. Fate obviously isn't always on my side. Then I wonder how come 'gay boy' locked eyes with me in the first place, you know, instead of someone else. Some of my past casual sex partners, those being mostly in the 'one 'n done' group, have said there's something about me that's like a sign advertising, 'Ya wanna have sex?' although I've never noticed anything about my looks that would indicate that. I'm thinking they don't know what the fuck they're talking about, while on the other hand I did hook up them, so there's that too...
When we get to the minister, Ryan's mother introduces me as Daniel Newman and he acts like he couldn't be happier meeting anyone else in the world. He does have an engaging way about him. Then good news, he tells Mrs. Wilcox he'll speak with Albert alone, and if I'd like to speak with him he'd be happy to talk with me next week. Hallelujah! I've been saved. Ryan frowns as we exchange 'looks', but he doesn't complain. We're past the minister now and Mr. Wilcox lights a cigarette as the Mrs. talks with a women. "Smoke if you want, boys," Ryan's father tells us, then he's see's someone he wants to shake hands with. Those two laugh about something, then walk over and begin talking with a couple of other men. Mrs. Wilcox comes over handing Ryan her's and her husband's Bibles, saying, "Albert, put these in the car, dear. Here's my key and take Daniel for a coffee and a donut in the basement. The reverend will see you in twenty minute... and put those cigarettes out. You get yourself to his office in twenty minutes, don't make me come looking for you." Ryan politely says, "Yes, ma'am," but doesn't put his cigarette out, so I don't either. A woman grabs Mrs. Wilcox's arm and they walk away with their heads together like they're gossiping about something or someone. Ryan does a deep sigh, "I'm glad you got out of hearing the lecture I'll be getting, Daniel, I really am. Um, do ya want a coffee or something?" I mutter, "I'd rather just leave," and he shakes his head, "Sorry, but now it's the congregation's social hour. Tedious, huh?" We wander over to the car and get rid of all the Bibles, then go around the side of the church finishing our smokes. Ryan nods his head in the direction of the church so I follow him through a side door and down some steps. In the basement there's about a hundred members of the congregation drinking coffee and eating donuts. Nothing wrong with that except there's lots of loud talking with little kids running around chasing each other. I ask, "Where'd these kids come from? I didn't see them in church." Ryan says, "There's Sunday school down here for kids under twelve and under while our church service is going on."
Then I see my gay playmate with the cool hairstyle, the one from the pew next to mine. He's with a small group of girls and guys his age, two of them with choir robes draped over an arm, neither of them the sandy haired kid. This guy is staring at me again and doing his almost imperceptible head nod. This time I merely stare back without any expression on my face. Why encourage him and be a cock teaser when I'm not going to do anything with him, that's assuming he's even gay and wants to do anything with me. I can't imagine any other reason for his behavior, not that it matters one way or the other. Anyway, Ryan's been emphatic about me not having side-sex while I'm staying with him. He overlooked that minor detail of me sleeping with whats-his-name during the trip down here. I've already forgotten the guy's name.
Sleeping with that guy motivated Ryan to reinforce his rule about no side-sex for me. I really wouldn't have needed any if we're sleeping together like he originally said we would. A quick friendly fuck would hit the spot right about now, but obviously I have enough self control not to get involved with anyone from a church in Marietta, Georgia. Not that I actually gave my word I wouldn't. I told Ryan I probably won't, and that I'd try not to, blah, blah, blah.
We have a coffee, but before Ryan's finished his, he says, "I gotta go, Daniel. It's fucking time for my lecture about being gay, jeez..." Huh, I guess it's okay to curse in a Baptist church too. I commiserate with Ryan, "I feel for you, Albert, I really do," and I squeeze his shoulder. He shrugs, "Thanks. What are you gonna do while I'm being lecture about the evils of homosexuality?" I'm like, "How long could it take, fifteen minutes? I'll go out for a smoke and see you soon." I walk out with him as he tells me his father and mother will probably stay until one o'clock and then take us to lunch. He pats my shoulder, saying, "I'll text you when we're ready to leave," and off he goes, but not as a happy camper. I watch him go, gulp down the rest of my coffee, and leave the basement to wander around to the front for another cigarette. The cigarette's more for something to do than me wanting one. Oops, there's Ryan's mother talking with three other women. I walk off sharply to the right because I don't want to be introduced to anybody else. Yeah, but I'll bet Mrs. Wilcox is talking about me right now. Hey, I wonder if Ryan's mother is showing my picture around again? Before I can light my cigarette, someone grabs my arm, "What are you doing with the Wilcox family?" Glancing up, and it's him of course, the gay kid. He's actually two inches taller than me, and bigger than I suspected when he was sitting in the pew hunched down a little. I'm like, "Who's asking?" and he says, "That accent, I hear some Boston in it," and I go, "I don't have an accent, you do."
He's not intimidating, just big. Not fat big, body big with a bigger frame than I have, wider shoulders and all that. I loosen the knot in my tie and unbutton the top button, saying, "I'm from Framingham, Massachusetts, so you're partially right." He nods his head, "Nice suit, dude, whaddaya doing with that family? You a cousin or something?" I shake my head, "No, I go to college with Albert and I'm working here this summer staying with his family." He goes, "He's a loser ya know, and a dork." I go, "No, he isn't! You don't fucking know him, and I do. He's a good friend of mind so if you've got something else negative to say about him, don't! Keep it to yourself." He wipes under his nose with his forefinger looking at me through squinting eyes, then he says, "Okay, you're right, I actually don't know him. I'm Bradford Blake, by the way," and he holds his hand out to shake. Puffing my cheeks out I shake his hand, mumbling, "Hi, Daniel Newman, nice to meet ya." He holds onto my hand a tick too long, then lets go, asking, "Why were you staring at me in church?" I shrug, "I don't know why, my mistake. Maybe it's because of you've got a cool hairstyle." He laughs, repeating, "Cool hairstyle," as he touches his hair. I say, "I cut hair so I'm interested in hair styles, that's all." He goes, "Cool, that's cool, um, thanks. Maybe you can give me a haircut," I now, then shrug, "Sure."He shrugs too, then I go, "That's my reason for staring, what's you're? You like my suit or something?' He looks down, mumbling, "That's not really it, although I do like your suit," and I'm like, "Thanks, but that's not answering my question, is it?" Another shrug from him, then still mumbling, he goes, "I looked over and felt we're on the same wave length, that's all. There's nothing wrong with that." I go, "Uh huh, could you translate that for me?" He looks right in my eyes, and goes, "I was staring at you because you're fucking hot and sexy looking, but you already know that, don'cha?" It's my turn to rub my nose as I tell myself to ignore that last remark, and come up with some way to break off this conversation, so I ask, "Are your folks still here?" and I look around like I'd recognize his folks if I saw them. He laughs a little, then asks, "Am I making you nervous, Danny?" I mumble, "No, I'm gonna have a smoke now, but I'm not doing it here in the sun, so it's been nice meeting you."
I drift towards the humongous shade tree in the front of the church where I see some people smoking. Good plan except Bradford drifts over with me, saying, "You can call me, Brad." Lighting my cigarette, I shrug, "Hi Brad," and he laughs again, "I am making you nervous, aren't I?" Not nervous so much as he's making me uncomfortable. He grins, "Well what do you know, a sophisticated northern city boy in a thousand dollar suit being nervous of a southern hick like me." I go, "I don't live in the city, I live in a town. Framingham's at least twenty miles from the city of Boston." He asks, "Can I have a drag of your Marlboro?" I roll my eyes holding the cigarette towards him and he takes it from me, smirking. Taking a drag, and keeping the cigarettes, he exhales the smoke in my face, saying, "We're wasting time, follow me." I try swallowing the lump in my throat, staring at him like he's speaking Greek. He grins, "Come on, Danny. Let's stop fucking around with each other," as he puts his arm across my shoulders and I begin walking with him. Brad continues smoking my cigarette, saying, "Thank God you showed up 'cause these country boys are reluctant to let themselves go. They're uptight except for one good ol' boy I can introduce you to. I think you'll like him 'cause he's cute like you." I want to stop, but what the fuck, why not see what happens. Maybe they fuck differently in Georgia.
Brad's arm has slipped off my shoulders and it's now around the back of my neck sort of hugging me against his side. I finally get my wits about me, "Brad, what exactly do you think we're doing?" He goes, "We are gonna do a forbidden sex act together, but we gotta be kinda quick about it today. We'll plan better next Sunday, or maybe we can hook up during the week." He squeezes my neck pulling me against tighter for a second as he grins at me, then says, "I'll tell ya right up front I'm a one-way guy. I only 'top' and you'll need to do all the dick sucking. We got a deal?" I laugh out loud, then mumble, "Of all the fucking nerve. First of all, why do you think I'm interested in doing anything with you, forbidden or not?" He squeezes me against him again, this time putting his face close to the side of mine, "Because you came with me, of course. Your eyes gave you away, and I have the sense you're always up for it, am I right?" Well yeah, I did come with him, plus he's just dominant enough to interest me. Mostly I don't sense any malice in him so why not a quickie to relieve my horniness? He's a good ol' boy. Gosh gee, let's fuck, y'all, ya wanna? That's how he comes across to me anyway.
We stop at a fairly new van and Brad takes his arm from the back of my neck, mumbling, "Better get the air conditioning pumping or it'll be like fucking in an oven." I stand here slowly shaking my head, kind of amused and feeling surprisingly blasé about this whole thing. Could it be I'm glad there's finally something I'm familiar with here in Georgia. "This your van, Brad?" He hops out, "Nah, I've got a hot set of wheels at home. How old are you anyway?" I go, "Would it make a difference?" He says, "Yeah, it would, but you go to college so it's unlikely you're underage, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I'm twenty," and he goes, "Me too. We'll get in the back," which is what we do as I'm asking, "Um, you're sure your parents won't show up?" He goes, "I'm positive! They volunteered to help clean-up after social hour this week, and that's got a half hour to go. Plus, right now they're helping serve the coffee and donuts." He pulls his pants down revealing an average size cock five to six inches long and not especially fat, just normal." His pubic hairs are a darker shade of brown than his hair, but not black. He helps me off with my suit jacket, and when I take my pants off he folds them properly, laying them over the back of a seat, saying, "Light weight material, dude, damn nice suit." Then he pulls down my underwear, not at all shy, and exclaims, "Danny, ya got no pubic hair! Are you sure you're twenty?" and he laughs, then adds, "Timmy Dulson does the same thing. He's the kid I told you about. It's a hot look alright, but I don't have the balls to do it myself."
In the interest of time we don't take off our shirts, so this will be a first for me. I've never gotten fucked wearing a tie before. Brad's holding his cock out between his shirt tails nodding his head at it with a questioning expression on his face, murmuring, "Please..." Nice, polite Southern touch right there. Sucking a young guy's cock is nothing new to me, and after all it is Sunday so getting on my knees seem appropriate. I drop down staring at this penis I've never seen before. Not all penises are alike, but Brad's cock is very similar to the vast majority of penises all over the world. It's not crooked, or short and squat, or extra long... there's nothing unusual about it except it's uncut, which is kind of unusual in America. Taking it from his fingers, I'm noticing a totally neutral body scent from Brad, like zero scent. Uncut penises always looks cool with the foreskin covering the head like a sock. I'm a tad concerned about what's under the sock though, because poor hygiene can cause bacterial or yeast infection under the foreskin. Pulling it back I'm pleased to see it's just a clear, clean, pink cock head with one eye staring back at me.
Without hesitating I slide his cock into my mouth on my warm wet tongue, then close my lips on it as Brad says, in a low conversational voice, like we're tossing a football around instead of having sex in the back of his parent's van, "Dude, what's with this haircut? You in ROTC or something?" and he rubs both hands on my head, adding, "Feels sexy though." I take his dick out of my mouth, "No, I'm not in the military, I just like short hair," then I remember what Ryan wants me to say, and add, "My boyfriend gives me a haircut every week." He goes, "Cool," but doesn't ask who my boyfriend is. His dick goes back in my mouth as he's mumbling, "Well, I'll tell you something, Danny, and I'm not pumping your tires, but, dude, you'd look hot with any haircut. You, my friend, are a ridiculously good looking boy." I nod my head acknowledging his compliment, then really get my tongue and lips moving on his cock and he starts grunting, "Umm, umm, aah," then he chuckles "Damn, that feels good!" as his cock starts getting hard. When it's hard enough I push it down my throat, and damn it's like child's play compared to Ryan's big cock. Brad's moaning and grunting now, but quietly because somebody could be walking by outside. Brad's got himself a boner now and it's sliding smoothly in and out of my throat and then I'm sucking on the head again. He's moaning, and now humping his hips a little, then he gasps grabbing my head as he goes up on his toes humping harder climaxing in my mouth, another strangling sound from Brad and more cum shoots out. I'm swallowing it easily as his body relaxes for a second, then gets stiff again with Brad moaning, "Ooh, fuck, ummm," and another little shot of spunk shoots out, then
two little spurts. A gasping sound from Brad as he steps back pulling his cock from my mouth. I sit back on my ankles looking up at him, asking, "Premature ejaculation, Brad?" He takes a deep breath, "Fuck, nobody's sucked my dick like that. Holy shit, Danny."
I stand up as Brad's breathing deeply while going through the pockets of his pants that are hanging on the back of the seat next to mine. He pulls his wallet out, chuckling, "Dude, I'm dizzy after that, can you believe that? What a climax!" We're still basically whispering and I'm wondering what he needs a condom for, assuming that's what he's after. Another deep breath from Brad, he grins, whispering, "Let me get this fucking prophylactic on, as my old man calls them, and I'll get off again fucking you. How'd my jism taste?" I suck my tongue, "No taste, Bradford. Nice cock though. A good size for fucking," he mutters, "Yeah, thanks, you too," as he rolls a condom on his still amazingly hard cock. "Do you care how ya get it, Danny?" Very considerate of him, so I say, "You choose," and he goes, "Sure, just bend over, you can support yourself with your hands on the floor. That's a good position for me to give you a good fucking, ya know, considering your the right height and all." Huh, this is new, but my knees bend some because I'm not
a fucking gymnast. Brad mutter, "Nice ass," as he spreads my buttocks, "Clean, and I 'preciate that, Danny." Then he forces the head of his boner in past my sphincter. The lubricant on the condom helps a lot as Brad humps his cock all the way up my ass and leans on my buttocks as I'm swaying forward in this awkward position. It hurts momentarily, but nothing like when Ryan does that. Hurt or not, I go, "Mmmm, ooh, umm," because it feels good too.
Brad doesn't mess around, he grabs my hips with his big hands, and begins moving his hips fucking my ass grunting, "Aah," with each thrust. It's obvious he's done this before and he has a little technique too. He's bending his knees slightly with each thrust up my ass, finding the angle that gives his boner the most pleasure sensations as the swollen head tightly plows up my ass and then gets dragged back. I glance at his big feet thinking, "Hey, I thought big feet are supposed to indicate a big penis.' It's obvious to me pretty quickly that this boy is all about pleasuring himself as he does a semi-fast fuck pulling me hard back into his thrusting. Right off the bat it's a steady, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," with him quietly moaning, but keeping a good rhythm with his thrusting. He's settled on bending his knees slightly as he pulls his cock back and straightening his legs while driving it back up my ass so the head drags tighter against the upper wall of my rectum. The pain is forgotten quickly and it's now all about the nerve endings in my prostate and anus greeting this new hard cock that's creating sizzling sparks of pleasure signals and it gets me moaning quietly. I love this stuff. My cock gets really hard now, really tight. I had a fairly good boner from sucking him off, but now it's an extremely tight boner that barely bobs between my legs as Brad rocks me slamming into my buttocks with each thrust. It's impossible not to moan at the pleasure, the unique pleasure that's only achieved from anal fucking. It's indescribable, but such a deliciously sexual pleasure that nothing else can compare to it. Brad's fucking my ass good and fast as I try not to make a dork of myself moaning too loudly, but these sensations are mind-blowing and it has a little to do with Brad being a first timer for me, and because this is the purest form of unencumbered recreational sex done just for the hell of it... just for a quick thrill.
Ooh, I'm sucking on my lips now as the sensations in my rectum and throbbing boner begin accumulating and intensifying. No more than three minutes and it's already seriously sexually hot as my hard overloaded nuts move upwards in their sac. My climax is reaching the point of no return. Brad's into a whining stage as he must think his climax is approaching too, although I can't imagine how that's possible considering he just had a significant orgasm. "Oh, fuck, Danny, your ass is choice, mmm, umm," and "Slap,slap, slap, slap." I drop to my knees into the doggy fucking position because I'm so close to climaxing I can't be bothered holding that odd position Brad chose, "Oooh, umm, oooh, yeah, Brad fuck my ass," and he's been doing just that, pounding his cock up my ass, slamming into me so hard now I'm sliding forward on the floor of the van with each, "Slap," and now I'm really groaning, my face scrunched-up," Arrr, ahh," my back arches and I lift off my hands doing a squeal, my hips hump and cum shoots out in four spurts making my shoulders shudder, another hump of my hips and three little squirts of cum fly out. Little sprays of cum, but they leave me limp as my boner starts losing it's boned-up condition and I'm down with my forearms resting on the floor of this slightly rocking van with my forehead on my arms as I'm quietly sighing, savoring the fleeting tasty buzzing of orgasmic sensations... and then they fizzle away. I'm keeping my ass up because Brad's still pounding his boner inside me, but after my climax I've lost interest, hoping he gets off soon. Another minute of fucking with my limp body jostled with each thrusts of his boner until he does a long exhale, his crotch tight against my ass humping against it, and I'm guessing a tiny orgasm shoots into his condom. Some heavy breathing from Brad, then ten seconds later he pulls his cock out, saying, "Whoa, that was a damn good fuck considering we did it in a church parking lot... heh, heh. You okay, partner?"
I get up with one last deep breath and look at my cum that landed, glistening, on the back of the seat. Luckily it just missed Brad's dress pants over the other seat. Getting my handkerchief from the back pocket of my pants, I wipe the lube off my ass, mumbling, "Good fuck, Brad, nice job." he pats my shoulder, "Oh, I can do better, but I got off good, how 'bout you?" I go, "Yeah, nice orgasm, dude." We get our clothes back on and step out of the van's back door, looking around. Good, nobody in sight so I pass a cigarette to Brad and light one myself. We walk back to the church ground exchanging text numbers, with Brad saying, "Stop for a second. Lets check each other out. See if there are any tell tale signs of what we've been up to." He walks around me, then says, "You're put together okay, check me," so I give a quick look at his clothes, and shrug, "You're fine, Brad." Then I check out his hot ass a second time, asking, "You never bottom, is that right?" He shakes his head, "Nah, not yet, I'm chicken." I mutter, "I'd like to get my dick up your ass, Brad, 'cause you got yourself a good one." He shrugs, "Maybe, I can do it with you, Danny, but no way am I taking Timmy's big dick up my ass. That dude is huge, whooeee." Then he's like, "Wait a second, you're staying with the Wilcox kid, right?" I go, "Yeah, for part of the summer anyway," and he's like, "Oh man, tell me he's queer, he is, isn't he? Is
he your boyfriend? " I shrug, "Ya really should ask him, Brad" He goes, "Jesus, I've never said a word to him. He's like a little mouse scurrying away as soon as he can. No offense, he's your friend and all, but there's some rumors about him and Zeke Dickerson last summer. Never been proved though." I say, "I don't wanna hear it, Brad."
He drops that and turns to sports. Brad's a sports fan like me, and he goes on about how lucky I am to be able to root for Boston's professional sport teams because we've had so many world champions in all the major sports. His Atlanta Braves, Falcons, and Hawks in baseball, football, and basketball haven't won a championship in recent memory while New England teams have won nine or ten world championships in the past decade. We're just two guys talking about sports and smoking a cigarette, the casual buddy-sex forgotten by now because it was intended merely to get our rocks off and we helped each other do that. It doesn't have any more meaning than that. Sure, we both feel good from our climaxes, but it's over for now. That's pretty much the perfect side-sex. It was done with a willing partner I just met who was attractive enough in my mind to do it with, and then when it's over, it's over and you go on to something else. We're leaning against a bench talking until Brad sees someone he knows, yelling, "Fish! Wait up, dude!" and then he asks me, "Next Sunday, Danny?" and I shrug, "I don't know, Brad," and he
goes, "I'll catch you later, give you ring," and he jogs away. Huh, that was as random as it gets, but it felt good. Before I get to the shade tree where I'll wait for a text from Ryan, I get a cellphone call. Ryan says, "We're ready to go, Daniel, you all set?" I go, "Yep, I'll meet you at the car," and then feel a little guilty that I couldn't even get through two days without cheating on Ryan. I say out loud, "That's just not right, Daniel!" Yeah, but damn it's a nice feeling being sexually satisfied.
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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