Dylan's Georgia Vacation

DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION

Chapter 9

by Donny Mumford

Sunday's church activities are finally over and now we're on our way to have a family lunch at Mr. Wilcox's Country Club. Driving out of the church parking lot, Mr. W. asks, "What did you think of our little Baptist church service this morning, Daniel?" Hmmm, I'm pretty sure lying is called for here, "I enjoyed learning about the Bible, sir, and both the music and the 'message' were kinda uplifting. It was nice." Lukewarm endorsement although an upgrade of my true sentiments. I was also cognoscente of the fact I shouldn't overdo my positive comments, in this case about the church service and social hour. Ryan's cautioned me that his father's a whiz at detecting obsequious and/or sarcastic comments, sometimes when neither is intended. I could have actually been effusive about the social hour considering the unexpected sex I had compliments of Bradford Blake. Probably best if I keep that to myself for now though.

Ryan's father is mulling over my unenthusiastic appraisal of this morning's service, and is just about to ask me a follow-up question when fortunately Ryan's mother interrupts, "Oh, you young people and your rock 'n roll music during worship. I much prefer the more conventional hymns with an organ accompaniment and the entire congregation joining in and singing along. But I get it, it's all about catering to the youth in today's society. It wasn't like that when Junior and I were growing up." Ryan says, "Mother, everyone likes the 'praise and worship' music." She sighs, "I guess I'm old fashion, yearning for things to be the way they were." I'd like to tell her: A little overly dramatic there, Mrs. Wilcox. I mean, you're not even fifty years old yet, plus you grew up with rock 'n roll music yourself. Yeah, but she's probably referring to just the music in church, so best to follow Ryan's lead by remaining mute. His mother likes to have the last word anyway. Looking straight ahead, Ryan slides his hand over on the seat and holds my hand. I glance over seeing him grinning and staring at me. Nothing wrong with being loved.

After a fifteen minute ride we're turning onto a winding driveway leading to the country club. I can see it at the top of the hill. I also see the sloping golf course's beautiful manicured fairways, tees, and greens thinking there's something uniquely cool about playing golf in surroundings like these. I ask Ryan, "Do you play golf, Albert?" He says, "Yes, I've played with my dad a number of times," and his father says, "He's tried playing, but he won't put in the practice time at the driving range or the practice putting green. It's not actually golf if one is just hacking a golf ball around not knowing what they're doing or where the ball is going." Hmmm, that sounds a bit fucking harsh wouldn't you say, dad?! I don't glance at Ryan because he's probably blushing, or maybe I'm wrong because Ryan lets go of my hand and says with a little oomph to his voice, "That was when it was just me. It's no fun doing it alone, but I'll practice if Daniel and I can do it together." His mother likes that idea, "That's an excellent idea, Junior! It'll keep the boys busy and out of trouble. And they'll need some sunshine and fresh air after being cooped-up in a warehouse, or wherever you'll have them working all day." She makes it sound like we're ten years old boys working in a sweatshop. The father sighs, "Yes, dear, golf for the boys is indeed a good idea. Um, but you'll need to be the one who sets them up. Call Merriweather at the pro shop and arrange everything with him. I'd do it except I'll be out of town on business through Wednesday." She turns to look at us in the back seat, "Well, Albert, do you want me to get junior memberships and arrange lessons for you two?" Ryan looks at me and I nod my head, so he goes, "Yes, thank you, Mother," and she turns back quietly saying to her husband, "We'll need to get Daniel some clubs I suppose." His father parks at the country club, mumbling, "He'll use Albert's old clubs," and as we get out of the car, he tells her, "Have Merriweather fit Albert with whatever new clubs he feels are right for him now that he's older." Oh goodie, I get Ryan's kiddie golf clubs. 'Don't be an ungrateful bore!' That's what I tell myself.

While walking towards the front entrance of the country club Mrs. Wilcox is seemingly excited about the golf, "It'll be fun entering father/son and mother/son tournaments, won't it, Albert?" He sighs, and says, "Yes, that'll be fun." Huh, I heard reluctance in his voice and I think his father heard it too because he glances at Ryan about to say something, but his eyes drift over me for a fraction of a second and he doesn't say whatever it was he was thinking. That's twice in two days I've seen him hold his tongue when I

thought he was about to say something hurtful to Ryan, perhaps because he doesn't want me to witness it. I assume it was a hurtful comment or else he

would have gone ahead and said it. Actually, most of the time his parents seem okay, even sort of nice in a stiff kind of manner, but there's some kind of underlying tension that goes along with it that I just don't get. And why should I get it? I don't know them to start with, and I've been here less than two days so making a judgement about his parents this soon is foolhardy. I murmur to Ryan, "What are your golf clubs like? Are they regular size?" He nods, "Sure, I got them when we moved here, they're like new actually. TaylorMade irons and woods." Then he goes, "Well, they're not actually woods, they're metal, but dad calls them woods. A driver, fairway woods, you know what I mean, right?" I go, "Huh, yeah, sure." I better do some Googling to learn golf terminology and shit. For instance, what do you call those little sticks that you put your golf ball on before hitting it, and why wear only one golf glove, and on your left hand? Lots of questions I should know the answers to before our first lesson. I don't want to look like a dork so I can't ask Ryan.

But yeah, it'll be cool learning to play golf. I guess we'll take lessons after work, and then maybe we can play a round of golf on the weekends. Ha ha, playing golf is something I've always wanted to do, and miniature golf or chip 'n putt do not count as 'golf'. Inside we walk past a ritzy-looking formal dining room that apparently isn't open during the day. Instead we get seated in the club house that features casual dining and boozing. Golfers are apparently big on drinking and some of them are eating too. Play a round of golf, get something to eat and then get hammered lying about your golf score. Cool, but we look out of place with our suits and ties. Speaking of being out of place, a busboy wearing a white shirt with a black bow tie and black pants hands us each a menu; then, as I stare at him, he pours all of us a glass of ice water with lemon slices floating in it, saying, "Your server will be right over." Mrs. Wilcox smiles, "Thank you, Michael." His name tag said, 'Mike'. Mike is an awesome looking light-skin African American in his late teens with a cool shortish Afro hairstyle. And, I'm not sure, but I thought for a second there our eyes met and something clicked. Aww, it's probably nothing, but he is one sexy hot dude! Damn, those eyes of his sent a chill down my spine. Ryan and I will definitely be eating here every time we get the chance.

We all look at the menu as Mr. Wilcox mutters, "No sense looking at the menu, I always end up ordering the same thing anyway." Ryan asks, "What's that, dad?" His father says, "An old fashion cocktail to start with, then a cheeseburger with fries. What are you boys going to have?" That was the friendliest Mr. W. has been so far, not that's he's been mean or anything. More like he's stiff and aloof. Ryan and I both get chicken salad on rye, with fries and a Coke. His mother gets the same cocktail as her husband, an old fashion, and for lunch she orders scrod with rice pilaf and creamed spinach. Okay, I'll avert my eyes from that as I'm eating my sandwich. The waiter is a disappointment. He has the same uniform the busboy was wearing, but he's an old dude with gray hair and he acts superior, like being a waiter is beneath him.

When Ryan's parents have their cocktails, and us guys our Cokes, Mrs. Wilcox ask Ryan about his meeting with Revered Martin. I'm surprised it took her this long to get around to that. Ryan goes, "It went very well and I learned something too. Did you know that there are biblical scholars who interpret the passages Daniel and I read from the Bible yesterday in conflicting ways? Some claim historical content suggest various interpretations of the rare and unusual original words in Hebrew and Aramaic from which the Old Testament was translated. Some of them claim the Bible doesn't explicitly condemn gays." His mother raises her eyebrows, "You're not implying Revered Martin feels that way, are you?" she looks around and lowers her voice, "He didn't infer the Bible doesn't condemn homosexuality, did he?" Ryan shakes his head, "No, of course not, but he wanted me to know that not all biblical scholars agree with the majority opinion. He believes, like you, that the Old Testament's translated version is correct: 'You shall not lie with a male as you would with a woman' and 'If a man lies with a male like a woman, both men have committed an abomination and shall be put to death', except he doesn't believe they should be put to death." Mrs. W. does not seem pleased that the minister felt it necessary to offer Ryan another interpretation, but she's apparently not going to discuss it in the middle of the country club. Both Mr. and Mrs. W. wave at a man and woman who just came in off the golf course, then they exchange comments about the Kelso's cocktail party, whoever they are. With other adults Mr. W. seems like a regular guy laughing at something the other guy yells back. They yell because it kinda noisy in here. Ryan doesn't even glance over to see who they're waving and yelling at. Mr. W. chuckles, saying to his wife, "Ollie's never going to live that down,"and she gets the giggles. Yes, the giggles, as he chuckles. They're apparently more comfortable with contemporaries than they are with Ryan and me. I don't blame 'em.

Mrs. W. gets her giggling under control, and asks, "How long did Minister Martin talk with you, Albert?" Ryan shrugs, "Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes." Her expression indicates she's not happy with that either, or the fact that the minister apparently didn't even chastise Ryan for being gay. After a big slug off her Old Fashion, she says, "Well, just for the record, I agree with our minister that the death penalty shouldn't even be in the discussion, that's absurd! And Albert, I'm happy you memorized those two passages. You and Daniel should read them every night before saying your prayers," and she takes another gulp of her Old Fashion. To me it seems awfully convenient to be able to cherry pick from the scriptures the parts that support your belief and ignore the parts that don't. The minister and Ryan's mother both believe laying with another male is an abomination, but not the part about putting them to death. Of course I don't agree with that part myself, but then I don't agree with the first part either. The thing is, I've rarely gotten into trouble keeping my mouth shut, so that's what I do. The father isn't interested in further discussion, so he points an end to it with this, "You boys will pray on it and we'll leave it at that for now." Mrs. Wilcox says, "Well, I hope the boys realize they're choosing a more difficult way to go through life." Ryan's father gives her a stern look and she wiggles her shoulders and stops talking, then finishes off her cocktail. I bite my tongue, although I'd like to mention that being gay is not entirely a matter of choice.

Our lunch is served by the haughty waiter, and when he leaves I take a bite of my sandwich realizing there's now an awkward silence at our table. When I'm with people I barely know, like Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, I can't stand an awkward silence, so after thirty seconds, I say, "Oh, I met someone while waiting for Albert during his meeting with Reverend Martin." Ryan goes, "Who'd you meet?" I say, "A good guy, Bradford something. I can't remember his last name," and Mrs. Wilcox says, "It's probably Irma Blake's son, Bradford

Blake. A big boy with curly hair? He's your age Albert, and I think he's in your Wednesday Bible study group." Ryan goes, "Oh, yeah, him. The big kid. I've never talked to him, he's kinda stuck-up." I remember Ryan saying I was stuck up before he ever met me. And Brad's hair is not curly, it's wavy. Anyway, I go, "He didn't seem stuck up to me. I thought he was self deprecating more than anything else." Ryan shrugs while frowning, but he has nothing more to add. This is yet another conversation Mr. Wilcox isn't interested in, so he ignore's it and while frowning he changes the subject, "Cynthia, how's your scrod? I'm becoming more and more disappointed in Charles. This burger is well done and I asked for medium rare." Ryan's parents talk the rest of the lunch about how the Country Club is letting it's food preparation standards drop noticeably since someone name Bruce Carson was voted in as president and he hired someone named Charles as the new chef. Mrs. W's scrod is dry so they're going to mention the unsatisfactory food coming out of the kitchen at the next members meeting in July. While we eat and they talk about that, I notice Ryan's acting pouty now. The only reason I can think of for that is me mentioning Bradford's name. I can only imagine how pouty he'd be if I mentioned the name Zeke Dickerson too. Bradford told me there were rumors about Zeke and Ryan all last summer. He'd also probably be more than pouty if he knew what Brad and I were up to while he was with the minister.

After lunch, on our way to the car, I thank Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox for lunch, and Mr. W. says, "You're welcome, Daniel, and I appreciate your polite manners." Mrs. W. goes, "Your parents have raised you correctly which is more than I can say for that Winslow boy," and Ryan's parents argue about that during the first five minutes of the drive to their house with Ryan continuing his silent treatment. Done with the discussion of what's wrong with the Winslow boy, Mrs. W. moves to a new topic. She's now chattering away about the summer dance at the club that's coming up in the middle of June, suggesting Ryan and I get dates. I'm thinking it'd be more fun if Ryan and I went as a couple, but I'll wait for a more appropriate time before mentioning that idea. Ryan and I could get matching tuxedos and dance the night away. Mr. Wilcox is content with interjecting snide comments occasionally, but it's mostly the Mrs. doing the talking. What the hell, boring or not, it's better than awkward silence. I glance at Ryan a few times, but now he's looking out the side window. My shaky early analysis of Ryan after only two days is that he puts on a good act in his parent's presences, but he's only happy when it's just him and me doing something together. Otherwise, it's like he's so used to being sad and lonely he now feels comfortable being that way, wallowing in his sadness and loneliness, which is what probably led him to believe being ridiculed and mistreated is better than sad and lonely. Wonder why he didn't put his energy into finding a friend instead of taking the abuse?

Huh, I don't think I've ever been sad and lonely in my life. Well, not like I suspect Ryan's felt. I've been sad at certain specific things, but not sad and lonely. Sad like when Chubby was in a coma, or sadness for the life Connor had to live at home with his druggie mother. I get sad anytime a friend is hurting for whatever reason. Yeah, but it's a passing thing and I get over it quickly by trying to do something about what's causing me to be sad, like adopting Connor as a friend and being a good friend for him. And fuck, that sounds exactly like what I'm doing with Ryan without realizing it

until now. Huh, well, I know what I'm going to do! We have Bible study this Wednesday night from seven o'clock till eight-thirty. Guess we'll miss dinner, but that's not the point. The point is I'm going to see if I can make friends with a couple of guys at Bible study, and then bring Ryan into that friendship. And it'll help me too because as of now Ryan's all I've got. He's a good friend, but it's more fun hanging-out with a group of friends, and it'll be a good feeling knowing that when I leave I won't be leaving Ryan friendless. Aren't I great though! I'd pat myself on the back if I wasn't in this car with the Wilcox family. They might ask me why I'm congratulating myself. Ha! No, seriously, I'm gonna try to do that, mostly for Ryan, and a little for myself. Hmmm, or maybe it's actually closer to fifty-fifty.

At home Ryan and I change into shorts and his motorbike t-shirts, then at the garage we put on those awesome helmets and go for a ride on his motorbike. Ryan's again driving like a daredevil, but I don't think he's doing it to try to impress me or to show off, I think he always rides his motorbike this way. Anyway I enjoy hugging around his taut slim body with my dick pressed against his ass. A long-lasting boner is a very good thing, ya know. The weather's good too with temperatures in the mid-eighties, and again with a hot sun. With the air rushing by us at high speed it doesn't feel all that hot, and then it feels almost cool when after almost a half hour he rides

into a park with trees forming a canopy overhead. We're on a narrow road for miles passing nothing but forest and an occasional bicycle rider. We go

roaring by them, the mufflers growling loudly, and with most of the sweaty

bicycle riders yelling shit at us and giving us the finger as we fly by. Friendly Southerners, ya know. It's exhilarating if a bit scary, but I've got my security blanket with me and he seems surprisingly competent handling this bad-ass machine we're on. We roar across a wooden bridge over a wide stream with the wheels making a loud rattling sound against the bridge's wood roadway. On the other side there's a dip in the road and then we're air-bound for a couple of seconds before bouncing hard when landing, Ryan's pumping his fist in the air, yelling, 'Yeaaaah!" having himself a ol' good time. As for me, I'm hoping there's a roll of toilet paper somewhere on this bike 'cause I might have had an accident in my pants. Not really, but my heart was in my throat for a couple of seconds back there.

From beginning to end it's a nonstop, hair-raising forty-five minutes ride before Ryan comes to a sliding stop, one foot on the ground, almost going in a circle spraying dirt and gravel in a wave around us, then stopping abruptly. I sit back taking my arms from around him as the dust he created floats past us and I gaze at the forest that's very green and thick with trees and bushes. I hear what's gotta be a waterfall nearby too, but other than that the only sound I hear is a mysterious series of rapid, "Rat-tat-tat-tat" sounds. Ryan turns his head towards me as he's taking off his helmet, smiling, "You're still with me, Daniel, good! I was afraid I lost you going across that bridge." I shake my head, mumbling, "Invigorating ride, Albert, but I have the utmost confidence in your handling of this sweet machine." He goes, "I wish I did, ha ha! No, just kidding. Hop off the bike my awesome boyfriend-brother." Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "That's me, alright, " and swing my leg over the back fender and get off feeling a tiny bit wobbly. Then, "Rat-tat-tat-tat," again as Ryan gets off the bike. He lifts my helmet off my head, mumbling, "That's a woodpecker," and I go, "Duh," like it was obvious, but I didn't know what it was till he told me. Ryan's holding both helmets giving me a hug with his other arm. He rubs my head giving me a quick kiss, then hands me the helmets, saying, "Hang these on the bike, Daniel, and follow me." I hang the helmets on the handlebars, like I've seen him do, then he takes my hand pulling me along behind him until I catchup and we walk side by side holding hands with Ryan glancing at me and grinning. I'm thinking that I could do with less of Ryan's random kisses. He acts like we're in love and I emphatically told him we're not. After twenty yards or so into the woods, I ask, "Where we going?" and he goes, "Wherever I want us to go, babe," and he pulls my hand to his side and gets his arm around my waist hugging our sides together. Whaddaya gonna do? He's being in charge, like that's his mission. Ha ha, I kinda like it... so far. We're both wearing sunglasses and I gotta say Ryan's looking and sounding very cool and in-charge now that it's just him and me again.

We walk a good fifty yards into thick woods before coming out at a small clearing, and there's the waterfall I've been hearing that's right in front of us now, and of course it's much louder. The falls drop down twenty-five feet from where it flows over the rock ledge endlessly splashing into the pool of water below. Ryan says, "I found this place last summer. You and me are going to climb down there and go skinny dipping in the pool." With some trepidation, I mutter, "Okay," and follow him down the steep bank thick with all kinds of forest stuff. He knows where to step though, sometimes sideways, sometimes sliding and grabbing tree branches steadying himself down the steeper inclines. The climb down is a bit hairy, but I do what Ryan does and we make it to the bottom without breaking any body parts. Now it's the climb back up I'm worried about, but that's for later. There's a ten or twelve foot clearing around the pool of water that collects in what must be a rock basin, and then there's a runoff maybe forty feet to our left forming a bubbly stream with visible rocks in it. After another ten yards the bubbly stream gets a lot wider and calmer although it's moving along briskly before flowing around a bend and out of sight. I'm surprised how steamy and muggy it is down here in this natural bowl. The waterfall created a cool breeze when we were standing near it on top, but we don't feel much of the breeze down here. Under foot in this clearing there's a weird moss-like ground cover that's almost spongy.

Ryan's taking his t-shirt off so I take mine off too. I'm like, "You've swam in this pool before, right?" He nods his head, "Yeah, it's shallow for a couple of feet and then drops off sharply to at least fifteen feet. I've never tried to see how deep it actually is, and you're not going to either because it could be dangerous." I go, "Right you are, boss, no worries there." As we take off our clothes we hang them on a tree limb so they don't get wet on the damp ground around the pond, or pool, or whatever it's called. The mossy ground is damp from the spray created when the waterfall hits the pool. The pool's only about five yards across and ten yards from where the falls hits to where it drains off forming the bubbly stream. Naked now, Ryan says, "Come here," so I step to him and he puts his arms on my shoulder, locking his fingers at the back of my neck, and looking me in the eyes, he asks, "How's everything going for you so far, Daniel?" I mumble, "Fine." He goes, "How about the church service, did you survive that okay?" I nod my head, muttering, "It was okay," and he asks, "Are my parents getting on your nerves yet?" I shake my head slowly, "Um, not really." He asks, "How pissed-off are you we're not sleeping together?" I go, "Fairly pissed-off, but I know you'll see we get our proper amount of sex somehow, somewhere." He nods his head, "Yep, I won't let you down."

It's kinda weird standing in this strange place naked with Ryan continuing to clasp his hand behind my neck looking serious, asking, "How about the 'Daniel thing? Pissed-off at that maybe?" I shrug, "I should be except I've decided to take it as a funny almost unbelievable oddity. It's gonna make for a good story to tell the boys back home. It's not a big deal for now although not one other person in twenty million would pull that shit on a guest." Ryan grimaces, "That's my mother you're talking about," and I go, "Yeah,

it is, but we'll just say she's one in a twenty million. Sound better like

that?" He bumps his forehead against mine, muttering, "Yeah, that sounds better." I ask, "What else, Albert?" and he grins at me, "What if I asks Dylan the same questions, would he give the same answers?" I laugh, "Yeah, whaddaya think? I am Dylan, Ryan. We're just temporarily Albert and Daniel to please that little one-in-twenty-million idiosyncrasy your mother seems to have about names. Me being a 'Daniel' doesn't change what I'd do or think as Dylan. The exception being the 'yes, sir', 'yes, ma'am' stuff." He nods his head, "So you're okay with everything?" Making a face at him, I mumble, "Well, I guess it is a little whacked being a Daniel but you're worth the trouble." He grins, "I'm a lot of trouble, huh?" I go, "Yeah, but you fuck good, so ya know…" I reach up and push his sunglasses up his little nose, then swipe his bangs to the side of his forehead. He nods his head, murmuring, "You're my dream come true, Daniel. I love you." Smiling, I mutter, "Yeah, I know."

We look into each other's sunglass-covered eyes a few second before he goes, "One last question: What did stuck-up Bradford say about me?" "Well, Albert, he said he didn't know you, but he knows you're in his Bible study class. Says you're quiet." Ryan sucks on his sexy bottom lip, then asks, "Anything else?" I shake my head, "Nope, but he said I have a Boston accent and I told him I don't." Ryan goes, "Well, you don't, so he doesn't know a Boston accent from his asshole." I go, "Well, I'm not totally sure about that." He grins, leans in and kisses me, then leans against me and really kisses me with our arms going around each other and me pulling him up on his toes. I like the kissing if it's leading to buddy sex, and Ryan's really good at sexy kissing, so there's that too. One wet sloppy kiss leads to another and the more we get into this hot make-out the sweatier we get in this humid heat with a sun shiny hotly down on us. Sweaty can be sexy too. In short order Ryan and I both spring raging boners 'cause we're both horny guys. I've known for almost as long as I've known him that Ryan's right up there with Robby, and Willie as the horniest guys I know. Chubby probably qualifies too although I can't verify that as he plays in the other league. Ryan and I break off our make-out, gasping for air, our chins on each other's shoulder as we continue to hug our sweaty bodies together with our hips humping lightly against the other's.

Maybe thirty seconds of getting our breathing back to a somewhat normal condition, then Ryan has his hands on my cheeks holding my head still as he's kissing my lips and then licks up the front of my nose leaving it wet with his clear, odorless saliva, then slides my slippery body across his and turns me around. I bend my knees slightly lowering my ass so it's level with Ryan's dick, and sticking out my ass so he can fuck it. Instead I get four hard slaps, "Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!" and that awakens a little submissive sense with my boner tightening up a tiny bit more. After the quick spanking, Ryan's hands are on each of my butt cheeks squeezing, and then his finger goes up my ass making me lean forward a little. He pokes it in roughly with his knuckles bumping my left butt cheek. His finger lifts up making me go up on my toes. That gets a moan out of me, then Ryan finger fucks me a half dozen times or so before concentrating on just rubbing my prostate. It's gets me feeling even more submissive which is the whole point of him doing that.

More rubbing on my prostate, and now he begins stroking my cock with his other hand. As the sensations grow I begin squirming and arching my back. His fist is very tight around my cock pulling the foreskin on and off the head and my body shudders as I lean back into Ryan moaning quietly feeling very aroused with my head laying back on his shoulder with feelings of submissiveness continually growing. His finger comes out of my ass and I get four more smacks, "Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!" with Ryan sternly saying, "Stand still, Daniel!" and I'm feeling put in my place like a submissive bottom needs to be from time to time. With my butt cheeks red and stinging, and me standing very still, Ryan lets go of my boner and gets my balls in his hand squeezing while the hand he spanked me with pushes a finger roughly back up my ass and it's back to rubbing my super sensitive prostate gland getting it's millions of pleasure nerve endings buzzing awesomely. I do a few quiet moans, biting my lip expecting he'll milk my balls dry again, but he doesn't. He lets go of my nuts and his finger comes out of my ass leaving my prostate buzzing and sizzling as the head of his dripping boner pushes against the lips of my anus spreading them. Both of Ryan's arms come around my stomach and he pulls me tightly back against his body while forcing his over-sized boner all the way up my ass with me trying to move my hips away as firecrackers of pain are exploding in my rectum. When his crotch is tight against my ass and his chest is tight against my back, his arms drop down to just above my cock pulling my hips back with him humping against my buttocks, hump, hump, hump. I groan at the pain for a second before just gritting my teeth and taking it like Ryan usually tells me to do. The side of his face is against my cheek, his sparse beard feeling sexy, and the hairs on top of his head tickle the skin next to my left eye making me blink while his scent surrounds me and I inhale the scent that's always captivated me.

Pain pulsates in my rectum, thud, thud, thud as Ryan goes hump, hump, hump against my still stinging buttocks while I'm oozing with sexual arousal, feeling deliciously submissive to Ryan's dominant way of having sex. The feeling I'm having is incredibly sexy and my cock throbs in it's hardness. Ryan's learned how to get me enjoying my fetish without taking it too far. His hand drops down and strokes my throbbing boner a few more times making my hips hump and a spurt of precum plops out getting my shoulders shuddering again. My ass is so full it feels fat. Out of my dreamy, floating state of mind comes a quiet moan of submission from me as Ryan quietly murmurs, "Good boy, Daniel," and swivels his hips moving his boner inside me activating more pleasure signals from my prostate. He squeezes my balls a little before stroking my boner again and my back arches, as I let out a breathy moan, "Oooh, aah, aah, Albert, ooooh." Letting go of my wooden penis he humps against my buttocks as the hurt in there begins drifting away. Then it occurs to me I didn't scream out or think of screaming out as his large hard boner went quickly up my ass two minutes ago. Maybe because I know from past experiences Ryan's big cock hurts at first, but for shorter and shorter durations the more often he does the full thrust. Quick entries is also a quicker route to the pleasure that comes after.

My body's still tense from the shock of the first rush of pain, but the pain's fading quickly now and soon I'm relaxing as Ryan murmurs, "Is it okay now?" Nodding my head I let out the breath I've been holding and my rectum begins glowing and then little by little the pleasure nerve ending take over the situation and begin shooing the pain away, and then I'm all Ryan's. "It feels really good, Albert, really good as always. Fuck me hard like you do so awesomely." He moves the side of his face against mine, again murmuring, "That's my boy," and he pulls his cock back fairly slowly. I hold my breath waiting for him to shove it right back up my ass, and he does too with the pain making a brief comeback over pleasure and I grunt at that, but it's only a momentary thing not lasting five seconds before I'm back on the pleasure train that I stay on with the pleasure intensifying as Ryan begins fucking me hard, steady, and fast. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," until I'm almost delirious from the wonderfully delicious sensations occurring inside me. Pleasure sensations of a sexual nature that are only possible from being fucked up the ass really well. Ryan's rougher today than usual, but it just gets me all the more submissively aroused, the back of my head on his shoulder docilely as my body jerks with each thrust up my ass. I'm picturing in my head Ryan's cock engorged with seminal fluids disappearing quickly and tightly up my ass, then reappearing only to disappear again, over and over. He grunts with the effort of his fast thrusting while tightening his arms around me, his hips driving his big boner back and forth inside me as I moan at each thrust and each moan gets louder and louder, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, ooh Albert, fuck me… umm, ooh!"

Ryan's steadily thrusting his boner, his belly slapping against my butt cheeks making the sounds of male fucking, 'Slap, slap, slap, slap," but they're muffled by the sound of the waterfall's endless splashing into the pool close by. All the usual brilliant pleasure sensations are vibrating from my rectum while my incredibly hard cock is barely moving even as my body is jostled with each hard thrust up my ass. My dominant little sex buddy really knows how to fuck and the continuing sounds, "Slap,slap,slap,slap," are like applause for him. Along with the slapping sounds are my continuing moans,

"Um, um, um, ooh, ooh, ooh," and Ryan's aroused grunts. There's a slap, moan, grunt with each thrilling trip Ryan's hard member travels up and back inside me. Incredible sensations build and build becoming almost intolerable. My balls expand with spunk until they're as hard and heavy as golf balls, but relief is approaching in the form of nature's miracle known as 'climax', and it's the only thing on my mind. Then it's here and my back arches as my hips spontaneously hump forward with my head further back on Ryan's shoulder, my neck stretching and me squealing at the volcanic explosion of climatic pleasure with cum from my overloaded nuts zooming from my cock in a big arching line of creamy cum. I don't see where it lands because my eyes get squeezed shut dealing with the bombardment of pleasure that frazzles my brain a fraction of a second after my orgasm flew from my cock. That first orgasm ignited every pleasure nerve ending in my body and nothing else in the universe is like it... sexual climax is truly a magnificent thing. Another quieter squeal with more cum pumping out of my boned-up penis creating more scintillating sensations and then my stiff body goes limp just in time for Ryan to gasp, humping against my buttocks filling my ass with the prodigious amount of semen his large gonads manufactured. Then another hump against me with Ryan gasping, and now were both gasping and so limp we're sort of leaning together holding each other up. Ryan staggers two steps back pulling his penis out of my gaping asshole. Breathing deeply, he's bending over with his hands on his knees, his semi-hard cock between this legs drooling

the last of the spunk from his nuts.

Without Ryan holding me up I plop down on the damp moss-like ground breathing hard and concentrating on the fleeting remnants of my orgasm. Another deep breath from Ryan as he comes over to stand in front of me. He gasps, then murmurs, "You need to suck my cock, boy." He's staying in character, and I'm sufficiently submissive to take his big sloppy sausage in my fingers and guide it into my mouth sucking and licking the half I can fit inside. Two

minutes of that, then taking it out I lick from his nuts to the head all around the shaft and feel it getting harder and harder in my fingers unit it's another nice big boner. Ryan pushes my forehead back, rises up on his toes and then comes down driving his cock down my throat, leaving it there with his pubic hairs all around my mouth, chin, and nose. I begin struggling but Ryan holds my head between his hands while moving his hips sliding his boner back and forth in my throat. I stop struggling when a much larger cloud of submissiveness descends dreamily over me. Relaxing and floating in submissiveness I try getting my head back further for him. Then he slides it out of my throat and leaves it on my tongue as I gasp for air while he rubs my head, cooing, "Good boy," and then it's goes down my throat again with longer trusts as my cock gets boned-up again. We keep it up until we're both feeling follow-up climaxes and Ryan begins moaning along with me as I'm stroking my hard cock. He shoots off almost at the same instant my hips hump shooting out a little stream of something with me shaking and shuddering. His cum shot went straight down my throat so I never got to taste it.

Ryan pulls his cock from my throat and mouth and wipes some slippery matter off the head on my cheek, then slowly sits down beside me moaning quietly. I'm still in a submissive fog and, ooh it feels so sexy good. I lay over resting the back of my head on his thigh with the top of my head against what is a still fairly firm cock giving me a shiver. He's sighing and rubbing my head absently, then takes a deep breath and says, "Wow, that was really random, huh? Did you like it?" I'm chewing on my bottom lip feeling my submissive sense drifting off, and then it's gone just like that. Huh! I think it was Ryan's normal speaking voice that broke the spell. Sitting up I go, "Yeah, it got me feeling that dreamy submissive sense again. Nobody does that as good as you, Albert." He nods his head, "Yeah, I was hoping the deep throating would have that affect," and I'm like, "Yeah, but ya know it's not happening nearly as often as it used to, and it's never as intense as it was when you and I were exploring all that sexy shit together early on." He says, "Yeah, well that train has left the station I'm afraid, but so has my submissiveness. I totally lost that somewhere along the line with fuckwad, Marty, as you call him. The last half of sophomore year I was sticking with him thinking it'd come back like it has in the past, but it never did. Then I stayed with him because I was basically afraid of him and his asshole sadistic friend. Thanks to your help I finally snapped out of it entirely, and now I'm like… what the fuck was I thinking back then?" I go, "Well, you're still my best bet for a dom, and you have been since I met you. You know, not many guys have the hot buddy-sex we have." He says, "Really? Well, you and Rob are the only two guys I've ever had buddy-sex with so that's all I have to go on. Um, don't tell Rob, but he can't even compare with you." I am not getting into a discussion with Ryan about Robby and sex. I just mumble, "Thanks, buddy," and he gets his arm around my neck pulling my head to his, forehead to forehead, murmuring, "We're going to make the leap from buddy sex to lovers sex, and when that happens I won't even say, 'I told you so'." I just shrug and grin at that pipe dream of his.

Leaving his arm around the back of my neck, he asks, "We both know I'm not experienced with what you call buddy-sex, but you sound like you know what you're talking about, which naturally makes me curious as to exactly how experienced are you?" Uh oh, I don't like the direction this conversation is headed, so I go, "Oh, for chrissakes, I'm just guessing obviously. All I meant was, how could anyone have hotter side sex than us? Common sense and the laws of physics dictates there's a limit to how sexually hot two guys can get before setting themselves on fire, right?" He laughs, "Thanks for that scientific double talk, which I interpret as you not wanting to admit how many guys you've been fucking around with over the years." I shrug, "Well, fuck, it's kinda personal, don't ya think. I don't ask you how many side-sex partners you've had over the years." He yells, "I just told ya! You and Rob are it. There's been no one else other than the dominant perverts, and that's not buddy sex. That's more like master/slave shit than buddy sex." I go, "Well, did ya ever consider I might be a helluva quick study from my limited adventures with side-sex buddies, that's all I can tell ya, dude." He's shaking his head, chuckling. Then he goes, "I don't actually care anyway because day by day my irresistible charm, awesomely macho looks, and my amazing ability to satisfy you sexually will soon have you falling head over heels in love with me." Laying back on the damp, spongy ground, I mumble, "Uh huh, I'm sure you're right, boss, but so far my brain's a little tardy picking up on those vibes."

Ryan lays back down next to me and we look at the sky with some puffy while clouds floating by in the sky with me pointing out a cloud that I claim looks like a penis. He laughs, saying, "That doesn't look the slightest bit like a penis." I'm like, "Look! Two dogs fucking," and we get to laughing making-up absurd cloud formations of sexual acts from ordinary clouds that look nothing like we say they do. A little later we slip into the topic of sexual intercourse and how freaky-odd it is that we think screwing up the ass is so 'hot', but the idea of screwing the way the vast majority of human do it, penis in a female's vagina, is like… eeeeeew! Ryan says, "Heterosexuals sometimes do anal fucking too, ya know," and I'm like, "Yeah, I've heard that. Ya know what I wonder? I wonder the percentage of all teenagers of either sex who have had a same-sex experience growing up?" He goes, "I've Googled that and there are a wide range of percentages. Hell, if you include circle jerks or just making-out, stuff like that, I imagine the percentage is pretty high. Then if you include those who have at least thought it would be something they'd like to try, but never worked up the guts to actually do it, god only knows how high a percentage that would is. It doesn't need to be penetration to be sexual, ya know." I shrug, "Yeah, fer sure. And, like everything else in the world, some people are better at sex than others." He says, "Well one thing I know for sure, it's always one hundred percent awesome with you, Daniel, and then sometimes it's so fantastic it's like 'oh-my-god I think I'm gonna have a fuckin' heart attack', ya know?" I nod my head, "Dude, I know what ya mean, and that sex we just had was really nuclear hot. You got me off good, Albert," and I lean against him, jokingly mumbling, "Hug me, Albert," and he wraps both arms around me hugging me tight. But no exaggeration, that was good sex! And I need to take another deep breath just thinking about it.

The grounds kinda wet so we sit up, neither of us saying anything for a few minutes, then he rubs my head and helps me stand up with his arm around my waist, saying,"We're both sweaty, dirty, and hot so lets jump in the pool and cool off. Let me warn you though, that water's fuckin' seriously cold so it'll be a shock to your system at first." We walk over and I put my toe in the water, "Jesus! Why's it so cold?" He shrugs, "I guess the water comes from under ground then drops from the falls and runs off into the stream before the sun can warm it." Ryan hands me his sunglasses, saying, "Put these with my clothes hanging on the tree limb over there. Your's too." I do that, then come back and we step back a few feet from the pool, hold hands, then get a running start to insure we don't chicken out because that water is going to be really cold. SPLASH! Wow, what a shock! I go under the freezing water and I'm in shock alright. I'm shivering under water for a couple of seconds. Water this cold instantly cooled off my overheated body and the immediate change is almost too drastic to comprehend initially. Coming up and splashing with my arms, I look around for Ryan feeling a moment of panic, and then he comes up with water pouring off him. He's all smiles so I splash water in his face and he chases me as we swim around in this clear water pool. When he catches me he dunks my head under water and it's childish water play for a few minutes as we get used to the cold water with the sun helping.

"Lets swim under the waterfall," and he's hesitant, "Um, do you think it's safe to go under there? I didn't want to try it the couple of times I was here alone." I go, "We'll find out if it's safe," and we swim over. The closer we get the louder it gets and we feel spray from the falls ten feet before we get there. The water fall isn't that big. From the left side of it to

the right it's only about three feet wide, and I'm including the much lighter flow at both ends. I swim under the lighter flow at the edge of the roaring falls and the water hits kinda hard falling from twenty-five feet above. Ryan's right behind me as we go under more of the falls, but it's not comfortable. There's too much really cold water landing on us heavily, plus how do I know there isn't a dislodged rock or something tumbling over along with the water. We swim away without getting under the main part of the falls. Guess I'm getting cautious in my old age. Years ago if Chubby and me had discovered something like this he'd be right under the main falls and I'd follow him there. Probably a good thing we never found something like this. Ryan and I swim around in the pool now that our bodies have becoming accustomed to the temperature, plus the sun shines down on us warmly. It's a very nice combination. When we try floating though, it quickly becomes obvious we'll end up in the rapids of the creek because the water continually exits the pool. Everything's on a slope going lower and lower the further away from the falls we get and gravity is pulling the water flow away from the falls. We don't want to mess with the bubbly creek because it's only a couple of feet deep and there are all kinds of rocks sticking up, which is the reason for the bubbly water. Swimming back to our starting spot we get out and sit on the funny mossy ground in the hot sun shivering for a minute until the sun warms our bodies. "That water's fucking cold, Albert?" He says, "Yeah, like I said, it's coming from underground and one time when I was up there at the top I got close to where the water rushes out of the rocks. The opening is only like a couple of feet before the falls." I mumble, "Well, it's cool looking, but this isn't the safest spot I've ever swam at."

When we're mostly dry and warmed by the sun we walk bare-ass naked to our clothes, get our sunglasses and two cigarettes. I light both, passing one to Ryan, "Here ya go, boss." He takes a drag, asking, "You don't mind me bossing you around, do you?" I shrug, "Not yet, I don't," and he asks, "Whaddaya gonna do when you do mind?" Swiping my finger across his forehead getting the hair out of his eyes again, I go, "Simple, I'll tell you, 'hell no', and I won't do whatever it is you're being bossy about." We walk down near the pool where the sun's rays are the strongest as Ryan says, "Let me get this straight… I'm only the boss as long as you approve of what I'm being bossy about." Squeezing the back of his skinny neck and grinning at him, I mutter, "Exactly." He shakes his head, "Well, fuck! I mean that's not actually me being an in-charge boss for real. It's you letting me be in-charge, which isn't the same thing at all." I blow exhaled smoke his way, saying, "I know, but why nitpick minor details? We're getting along famously 'cause you're an awesome boss." He says, "How about on the job when I actually am your boss." I go, "Same thing, boss," and he's like, "You mean you'll only do what I tell you if you want to?" I turn my head to the side looking at him funny, "Of course! Any employee has the right to say, 'Fuck you, I quit'. Slavery is over, Albert." He nods his head, "I never looked at it that way before." We sit down again and I add, "Of course it's not actually that cut and dry because some men and women have families they support and they don't have the luxury of saying, 'Fuck you, I quit'. They have to do whatever they need to do to keep their job. Not so with me at this point in my life, but there's also this: there might be something I don't want to do, but I'll do it for you anyway because I like you so much." He makes a face at me, saying, "You're smart, huh?" I go, "Sometimes I am and sometimes I'm not, just like you." He leans against me, "I love you, Dylan," and I go, "Yeah, I know, and I'm flattered, and I'm also telling your mother you're calling me by my real name. She's gonna be pissed!" He asks, "Why can't you be serious for one minute?" I grin at him, but don't say anything because I don't want to get into the subject of Ryan loving me.

We smoke our cigarettes in silence gazing at the falls and the solitude of this place. I'll bet not a hundred people living right now know this exists. When he's flicked his cigarette butt, Ryan lays back on the damp ground, muttering, "I wish you and me could hang-out together forever, just the two of us." To change that subject, I lay on my side supporting myself on my elbow, looking down at him, then reach over to again push his bangs to the side of his forehead, as I mumble, "Well, not to change the subject, but I was just thinking that if I cut your bangs shorter like you want, you won't be able to do the pompadour." He mumbles, "Whaddaya mean, 'not to change the subject'? You just did change the subject," and I lean over and lay on his chest with my face above his, "I know I did. What do you think about what I said though?" He laughs, "You like getting your own way, don'cha?" I go, "No," and he laughs again, then says, "Um, what do you think, should I stop with the pompadour already?" I go, "Yeah, I think maybe you should, Albert. Bossing that crew at work will definitely be easier without the pompadour. You wanna look, um, more serious." He chuckles, "What? A person with a pompadour doesn't look serious?" I'm laying on him now, again ignoring what he just said, "Do you know why I'm laying on you? It's because the ground's damp, but you're not." He wraps his arms around my back, saying, "Good, I like your body on mine," and we lay like this until our boners are throbbing between us. Ryan asks, "Would you liked to get fucked again?" I nod my head, talking into his shoulder, "You're the boss, Albert," and he rolls me off him onto my stomach, then gets between my legs and spreads them. I stick my ass up and we fuck for ten minutes or so with me so turned on I'm groaning like I'm in pain. Not so though, it couldn't be pain because when I climax underneath myself onto the damp mossy ground it's like one of the hardest climaxes I can ever remember having, and then I'm so spent I lay in my own cum shaking with sexual pleasure. Sometimes it hits me perfectly, just like it did now and I'm not sure why. I don't even feel Ryan's orgasm shooting off inside me a minute later.

He lays next to me panting, then he asks, "Did you get off?" I chuckle, "Yeah, you might say that since my boner turned inside out when my orgasm was soaring out. God, that was awesome, Ryan!" and I get my arm across his chest. He says, "You called me Ryan. Anyway, it's always awesome for me when I'm fucking you." I'm like, "It's you doing the dominant fucking, that's what

makes it so special, so you get the credit." He runs his fingers through his hair, quietly saying, "It's hot sex because of both you and me." Then we lay here on the damp spongy ground without talking, until he says, "We gotta stop kidding around calling each other by our real names or we'll make a mistake in front of my 'rents." I give a thought to asking him why he's so hyper about upsetting his parents once in a while. Christ, some teens, and we're not that far from being teens ourselves, argue and fight with their parents so much they stop talking to each other completely. It's natural for parents and their kids not to see eye to eye all the time. I'd like to hear what he has to say about that, but think better of asking him now because of the sex we just had. I don't want to ruin this nice way I'm feeling. Instead I change the subject again, "Ya know, I didn't even think about my sore rectum when you jammed your magical cock up my ass this time." He goes, "I told you it would become almost painless sometime this week. I didn't think it'd be this soon, but that's even better." I ask, "How'd you know my ass would be conquered and surrender to your boner's specifications?" and he says, "For one very obvious reason, your ass got used to my big cock last year when we were doing it regularly, and for another thing my own asshole adapted last summer to some really big cocks, but I told you about some of that already." Yeah, he did, and I don't want to hear anymore about it. Feeling sticky and mossy we go in for another swim acting like little kids again dunking and splashing each other for twenty minutes or so. Oh man, that takes a lot of energy so after awhile we get out and dry off in the sun, then get dressed. I think to check my watch and it's running like the waterproof champ it is. That's what you'd expect from a $500 sports watch.

Then we're sweating all over again by the time we climb up the hill slipping and sliding getting scratches on our legs and hands… sweaty and dirty. There was also a large dose of cursing going on as we were slipping and sliding grabbing tree limbs on our way to the top. Finally standing on solid ground looking down at the pool, I'm like, "Fuck! That climb was such a bitch I'm not sure I'd venture back down there." Ryan mutters, "Ya big baby," and I walk over to see where the water's coming out of the hill, or the mountain, or whatever the fuck it is. It's pouring out, but from what source? Shrugging we make our way back through the fifty yards or so of forest to where Ryan parked the motorbike. It's just like we left it. Our helmets go on, and with me on the seat behind Ryan holding around his waist, he does a wheelie in the dirt and gravel, then zoom! Our perspiration quickly evaporates as Ryan drives his motorbike at break-neck speed down this narrow winding road. We get the finger from three different girls on bicycles as we fly past them noisily. I'd return the favor with my own one-finger salute except I've got a death grip around Ryan's taut stomach. After fifteen minutes he slows down a little because we're back on regular roads mixing in with the cars and trucks. It's another cool half hour ride from here, and then at his house Ryan parks his bike in the garage next to the Mini. It's five minutes after six when we get off the bike, and again I'm a little unsteady on my feet for a few seconds. Walking towards the house, he says, "Plenty of time to shower this dirt off us and get ready for dinner. Remember, we're Albert and Daniel." I mutter, "I got it covered, boss" and inside we see that his mother isn't in the kitchen, but she's got the dinner in the oven. The kitchen smells like roast chicken, and as we go up the big front steps I hear Mr. and Mrs. W. chuckling about something in the family room. Ryan says, "It's their cocktail hour, every day from six to seven." I mumble, "Uh huh," and start to head down the hall to the steps for the third floor, with a murmured, "See ya, Albert." He grabs my arm though and rubs my head, "Yeah, see you, Daniel. Today was a really good day, I had fun thanks to you."

Going up the stairs to my bedroom I feel bad for him because he probably couldn't say the simple phrase, 'I had fun', too many times here in Marietta, Georgia. It's never as much fun doing anything by yourself as it is doing it with a friend. The shower is awesome and I think about Robby and Chubby, and Seth, the moms, and all the Framingham boys, feeling bad for myself instead of feeling bad for Ryan. He has what he wants, why should I feel sorry for him. Then while getting dressed in the Wilcox's dinner attire: dress shirt, khakis with a belt, and loafers, I remind myself that I'm supposed to be testing myself to see if I can handle the world without my brother and friends. Fuck, it hasn't even been a week since I left them, and I haven't even started my ten week work project yet, and I'm homesick already. I call Chubby, but his phone's off. Huh, I wonder what he's doing and then I almost feel like crying. Get a fucking grip on yourself, Daniel! I'm wondering how brunch turned out this morning with just the moms and Chubby? I start to call Robby but see it's almost seven o'clock and I don't want to start a conversation and have to cut it off abruptly. One thing's for sure, I don't want to be downstairs before Ryan, so I wait until two minutes to seven before skipping down the two flights of stairs. At the bottom I hear Ryan's voice in the family room. I venture in there, and as soon as I walk through the door his mother asks me, "Daniel, do you think Albert's a safe driver on his motorbike? June Carter said she was driving through town this afternoon and someone on a motorbike cut her off going very fast and she suspects it was Albert." Yeah, and my leg almost hit her fender. Missed it by an inch! I say, "Oh, no, ma'am, Albert's a very cautious driver. I was on the bike with him and we never came close to another car. We barely went over the speed limit driving down here last week." Mr. W, rolls his eyes while clearing his throat, as Ryan's mother says, "I'm so glad to hear that. I wouldn't want my friends thinking my son was some motorcycle Hell's Angel." Huh, I'd have thought her first concern would be for Albert's safety.

We go in for dinner, and tonight is the same routine as last night. My. W. carves the chicken as we pass out plates, then the side dishes, and once again Mrs. W. proves to be a very good cook. There's creamy mashed potatoes, roast chicken with yummy gravy, a cranberry dish that was good too, and I usually don't do cranberries. There's cole slaw and a succotash of corn and limas that I put on my plate to be polite and then accidentally eat them. They were okay, all buttery and salty. Plus corn bread and butter. Nice! Dessert's cherry pie and I can't remember the last time I had that. She didn't

bake it, but the bakery shop that did get's a 'A+' from me. So okay, the food isn't going to be a problem. Ryan and I clean up the kitchen, switching the last chore. Tonight he does the counter tops and I mop the kitchen floor. We leave the kitchen shiny clean with the dishwasher humming away.

In the dining room, as his parents have coffee and after dinner drinks, Ryan announces we'll be staying in again tonight. Actually I don't feel like going out anyway, so in his room we play games on his Xbox One, and if you want to kill some time just get hooked on one of those unbelievable games. We finally call it a night at eleven o'clock because tomorrow is our first day on the job. I'm hoping for the best and trying to think positive thoughts, but that crew doesn't look promising. Certainly not when compared to the all-cute-boy crew I worked on last summer. We'll see...

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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