DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 12
by Donny Mumford
After parking the Jeep near Merrimack's ballpark, I take a quick glance at my cellphone confirming there's been no text from Ryan. I didn't expect one. If I don't text him first he won't text me. That's the way it's been for a very long time now and that needs to change. I'd partially decided on my own, even before Chubby's 'talk', that Ryan needs an attitude adjustment or he and I won't be spending much time together. With that in mind, it's unlikely I'll see him before the class we have together Friday morning.
Maybe I'm being a prick about this, but I don't care. My latest attempt to pacify him only worked for one afternoon, and then he was right back into his moody act again. Well fuck that! Marietta, Georgia was one thing, but we're in an entirely different set of circumstances now and we both need to recognize it and act accordingly. I admit if Chubby hadn't had the talk with me it's possible I'd eventually reach out to Ryan, like always, but that's not gonna happen this time. Not after I agreed with Chubby's analysis of things. And, between Chubby and Ryan it's no contest who I'm not disappointing, so that's that. I still feel kinda bad for Ryan though.
As Chubby and I walk through the entrance to the ballpark he points to the
bleachers, asking, "Aren't those the girls you and Rob were with at the quad a couple of days ago." Looking to where he's pointing I see Frankie and Beth sitting with two other girls; all of them apparently ogling the ballplayers. Horney little creatures. I'm like, "Yeah, the two girls in the middle. They represent some bogus fan club for Rob, or some such shit. I think he's flattered." Chubby mutters, "Oh yeah, I remember now. Huh, they're, um, kinda hot. Odd that they're both single."
We sit six rows behind the girls and silently watch the players' doing their thing. That cool sound of aluminum bats connecting with hard balls, the muted shouting back and forth between the players, and the ball smacking into baseball gloves makes for a pleasant and familiar atmosphere for those who enjoy the game like I do. The leisurely pace of actual baseball games drives some people batty, but I like it. After a while, Chubby's like, "There's that cool freshman dude, the one who was at your place for dinner the other night. The kid Rob's mentoring." There are about thirty-five guys either in the batting cage, fielding grounders, or snagging fly balls in the outfield, so I'm like, "Where, which one?" Chubby goes, "In right field; the kid with the long hair?" I tell him, "Oh yeah, that's Golden Summers," and Chubby chuckles, "Ha ha, he's a good kid, but what a name, huh?" I go, "Yeah, and he's really good at barbering too, although he doesn't especially like doing it." I gotta admit, long hair and all, Golden looks sexy from where I'm sitting. He's clean shaven and his wavy long hair is flying around below his baseball cap as he runs down a fly ball. He's an infielder though, so I guess he's just having some fun shagging balls in the outfield. I can't see it from here, but in my humble opinion Golden's chin ruins what otherwise would be an almost cute face. Not that it matters since he's sexually as straight as an arrow. And there's Robby at shortstop smiling while smoothly fielding a hard hit grounder to his left, then he pivots, plants his feet and makes a long strong accurate throw to first base, beating the runner by three steps. It looks like Robby's having a lot of fun out there. Wish I had the talent to be on the team with him.
Instead of watching the ball players, I take a minute to glance around the
stands hoping to see Hoodie Boy, but he's not among the fifty or so students in the stands. College students have so much free time on their hands it's not uncommon to see them killing some of that free time watching practice for the various sport teams their friends are on. Or they're involved with pranks like the microphone tiny penis prank. Oh, and there's my kissing buddy, Lawyer Ross, standing near first base talking with the first baseman. Damn, he's a cool looking dude. I'm hoping Lawyer works up enough courage to ask me for further lessons in gay intimacy among buddies. Heh heh.
That's probably unlikely, but maybe if I get the chance to give him a haircut the intimacy of that might lead to another kind of intimacy. It did with some of the ex-posse boys, so ya never know.
Frankie stands up, probably going for soft drinks or snacks at the vending
machines. Unfortunately for me she turns my way and sees me, then yells, "What are you doing hiding up there, Dylan? And is that your brother you're sitting with? It is, isn't it?" She was introduced to Chubby briefly in the Quad earlier in the week. Frankie taps Beth's shoulder, saying, "Guess who's here?" Beth turns around, then the other girls turns around, all of them gawking at us. Chubby smiles at them, saying, "What's up, ladies?"
Balls! The four girls walk up the bleaches as Beth's saying to one of her friends, "Was I lying? Aren't they adorable!" Oh man, this is getting fucking old...
really old! Beth sits next to Chubby and wraps her arms around Chubby's left arm, saying, "I'm ready to smoke that joint with you now, Jeff." Chubby goes, "Oh, yeah? Do you have one on you? We can smoke it here, but um, first you gotta let go of my fuckin' arm?" She asks, "Why?" and Chubby goes, "This is a bit
embarrassing for someone my age, but I have an artificial elbow and it easily gets pulled out of it's socket." She goes, "What?" as she lets go of his arm, horrified, murmuring, "You poor thing. I'm so sorry." Chubby's pretending to twist his artificial elbow back in place, as he mumbles, "Yeah, well, I manage." Frankie introduces her friends to Chub and me. I give each of them a half-hearted smile, immediately forgetting their names. Chubby gives both of the new girls a nickname, but I'm not paying attention to their bantering. I'm thinking that neither of the two new girls has anything special going for them, unlike Beth and Frankie who at least have noteworthy attributes, appearance-wise. Beth's sexy with big jugs and Frankie is cheerleader-cute and perky. And, both of them are infuriatingly wearing our baseball caps: Beth's wearing mine and Frankie has Robby's on, wearing it backwards. I'm getting my fucking hat back from Beth, and I mean today. Huh, one of the two new girls acts kinda butch and aloof, or maybe bored or uncomfortable. Who the fuck knows with girls? The other girl is overweight and shy, but smiley and friendly. I like her, and feel kinda bad for her at the same time. I'm guessing she's the wallflower type, always ready to fetch something or run an errand; just happy to be allowed to hang-out with the other girls. A boyfriend is too much for her to hope for of course... she strikes me as that kind of girl. Hell, there are guys like that too. I always feel bad for them as well.
Of course Chubby's entertaining the girls, calling each one by the nicknames he's assigned to them. He's telling them, among other things, about the tiny penis megaphone pranks. Then he goes into a wildly impossible lie about a trip he took last summer as a Boy Scout, scaling the heights of the Himalayas. At least one of the girls appear to believe him; the heavy-set girl. Chubby can be a sincere and believable liar when he wants to. Frankie sits down next to me, whispering, "Your brother is so full of it, but apparently Tootie is believing every lie." I ask, "Which one is Tootie? I forget."
She goes, "Tootie's wearing the turtle neck sweater." Oooh, she's the large girl; the one I feel bad for. I go, "She seems nice," and Frankie says, "She's one of the nicest girls I've ever known and one of my best friends.
Oh my God, and she has this awesomely hunky sophomore boyfriend too." In disbelief, I look at Frankie, muttering, "Really? You're kidding me, right?"
and she goes, "Why do you find that hard to believe?" I mutter, "No, no, of course I believe you, I'm happy for her." Huh, I didn't exactly analyze Tootie's situation a hundred percent accurately. I was off by about ninety percent. I got the part about her being overweight right. Frankie says, "Aman, that's Tootie's boyfriend, he's Jamaican. Anyway he says he likes his women oversized, and he's so romantic. Tootie loves him to death." I'll be dammed. I go, "Huh." Then my cellphone buzzes, and when I get it out of my pocket I see a text from Steve Church: 'Bro, can I get that haircut tomorrow instead of today?' I text back, 'No problem. Text me tomorrow.' Ha! I forgot all about that it. And no mention of Ryan, although there's no real reason for Steve to mention him.
The conversation turns to a discussion about tonight's off-campus frat party. To hear the girls tell it, all five thousand Merrimack students, plus half the population of North Andover will be there. Grinning, Chubby asks the aloof standoffish girl for the first dance tonight, and she goes, "Humph," then says, "Not a chance in hell. You're way too, um, short... for one thing, and I could come up with a few other reasons as well." Without missing a beat, Chubby says, "Oh my God, you're so sweet to notice my handicaps."
The aloof girl frowns, but Chubby's now complimenting Beth on her choice of
sweatshirts as he taps her left tit with his index finger, saying, "This color is perfect for you. It matches your eyes." I know Chubby was just trying to include the aloof girl in the conversation, and then she says that to him. What a cunt! And you know what? I've definitely been in the company of too many girls lately! I have nothing against girls, except for the fact they're not guys. It's like, when I'm in the company of more than one girl
I'm mostly on the alert that they might be having fun at my expense somehow. Not having detected that in these girls yet, but maybe that's because I'm still struggling to understand they're signals. It's hard to tell if they're joking or being serious. I'm out of my element and at a disadvantage when a number of girls are part of the conversation. Of course, if I spent more time with girls I'd probably eventually understand them better; understand where they're coming from and all that. It does seem like a lot of work though.
Fortunately Chubby and I got here late, so the light of day is already fading and the practice is just about over. I'll soon be able escape these four girls, and do it without being rude. And yes! Now the players are beginning to head inside, including Robby and Golden. Chubby abruptly stands, and says, "I hope to see you girls at the frat party, but my bro and I need to quickly be someplace other than here." I go, "Yeah, see you all later," and
slip around Frankie to follow Chubby down the bleachers with Beth yelling after us, "See if you guys can pick us up earlier then ten o'clock, Dylan?"
I yell over my shoulder, "I'll get back to you about that, okay?" And dammit, I didn't get my hat back! Outside the ballpark, Chubby goes, "That one bitch, the tall one with a ring through her nostril. " I go, "The one you asked for a dance tonight?" He nods, "Uh huh, that twat. I gave a fleeting thought to punching her right in her bee-stung lips and maybe dislodging a tooth or two." I don't know what bee-stung lips means, but I say, "Yeah, well lets walk faster so they don't catch up with us." We're not especially hurrying in the direction of the Jeep, with Chubby chuckling and telling me, "Beth, on the other hand, is a definite maybe." I don't know what that means either. At the Jeep we light a cigarette and share it as I'm texting Robby, 'Chub and I will see you at the apartment. What do you want to do tonight before the frat party?' Robby has the pickup, so I drive the Jeep to the apartment. Inside the apartment Chubby and I grab a beer and sit on stools at the kitchen bar. He says, "I'd kinda like to see a movie tonight. We could catch a seven o'clock show if there's anything good playing." That doesn't sound like a realistic idea to me considering we're going to the frat party later. Chubby's looking at his iPhone for movies playing at the Loews Theater in Methuen.
There are twenty screens and twenty different movies at Loews. None of the movies with a seven o'clock starting times seems especially interesting.
Halfway through our beers, Robby comes in and gives me a quick kiss, then says, "My apologies, Jeff, but your brother looks so cute I couldn't help myself.
I had to give him a kiss." Chubby, still scrolling down the movie listings, mumbles, "No problem, I kiss him too." Then he looks over at me, grinning, and says, "Don't I, bro?" I say, "Yes, and it only took me most of my life getting you to do that. I used Rob and Dodger as a perfect example of kissing brothers." Robby gets a beer and pulls the last stool over, saying, "Ya know, when we were youngsters Dodger and I thought all brothers were as affectionate with brotherly kisses as we were. Not so of course, as we found out from other boys who made fun of us back when we were young and innocent and clueless. Brotherly, and even manly kissing is not unusual in other parts of the world." Left unsaid by Robby is the incest he and Dodger frequently participated in, which isn't an acceptable custom anywhere in the world I'm aware of. That's best left unsaid by me as well because Chubby and I aren't exactly innocent in that regard. With us though it was an extremely infrequent anomaly, but not so for Dodger and Robby. Obviously they haven't had many incest opportunities since Dodger joined the Army. Fact is, incest between the brothers had just about fizzled-out by the time Robby and I became boyfriends. But, yeah, we were a sexy group of lads in our early days.
Now I don't even have a side-sex buddy, assuming Ryan continues his paranoia, or whatever his problem is. Things change, ya know? The three of us veto going to the the movies and decide to eat dinner out instead. We'll eat at Bertucci's again tonight, then after dinner we'll have some beers at a bar in Haverhill Chubby and John Beverly frequented earlier in the week. It's a sports bar with flat screen televisions on all the walls, a couple of pool tables and a shuffleboard. Not the electronic kind of shuffleboard, a real shuffle board. Robby asks, "Hey, should we invite the girls?" Chubby's like, "Sure, why not," and I look at Robby with an expression of incredulousness on my face, and he goes, "Ahh, c'mon Dylan, they're kinda fun, don'cha think?" I say, "We're going to the fucking frat party with the girls later tonight. How about if this part of tonight is a boy's night out, at least until the frat party?" Chubby says, "Oh yeah, absolutely! Dylan's totally right about that." Chubby would back me up if I suggested we go skinny dipping while it's snowing. Robby shrugs, "Sure, okay,"
and he asks about inviting Golden for dinner, but we don't do that because Golden's underage and couldn't go to the bar with us later. Robby and I are picking up the girls, so Robby arranges for Chubby to pick Golden up on the way to the frat party. I say, "Robby, why don'cha ask Danny if he wants to join us for dinner? That way, later on we can have teams playing pool." He has a surprised look on his face for a second, then says, "Yeah, okay, I'll text him," which he does and a minute later Robby's cellphone pings.
Robby looks at his cellphone, and says, "Danny says he'd be delighted to join us, if we'll pick him up." Chubby chuckles, mumbling, "Delighted, really?"
Earlier today Robby texted Frankie that we'd pick her and Beth up at ten o'clock for the frat party. Beth tried to get us to go earlier naturally, but things don't start popping until ten o'clock at most college parties.
Everyone's busy front-loading before showing up.
We all have a second beer on the balcony, smoking cigarettes. Halfway finished his beer, Chubby says, "I'd better take this beer and get back to my dorm to shower. I'll pick Danny up first, then come here for you guys. Does seven o'clock sound okay to you?" We nod, mumbling, "See you then." We goofily wave at Chubby when he comes out the back door underneath our balcony.
He gives us the finger as he's getting in the Jeep, then and a big grin and a small wave as he drives past us. Robby asks me, "I'm curious. Um, what made you think to ask Danny to join us?" I go, "Why not? He's a good guy, right?" Robby nods his head, "He is, although he sure screwed-up my work crew last summer when he quit during the first week." On a bit of a fishing expedition for information about those two, I'm like, "Jesus, that was months ago! You guys have patched things up by now, right?" Robby tells me, "
Well yeah, of course we have, but I'd be hard pressed trusting him again with anything important. He used the excuse that he was messed-up in the head about his parent's divorce." I'm like, "That's kinda understandable, wouldn't you say?" He mumbles, "Well, there was more to it than that, but yeah that part was understandable." Probing further would be too obvious, so I just go, "Huh." Hmmm, maybe I'll get back to that topic later; probably getting Danny's version of their temporary break-up. I'm just curious, no big deal.
We finish our beers and go inside to warm up. New England weather gets colder the closer to October we get. Robby goes, "I'm almost afraid to ask, but how come you didn't suggest inviting Ryan?" Ah ha, Robby's on a bit of a fishing trip himself. Casually shrugging, I tell him, "It's weirdly complicated, Rob. Ah, the short version makes both Ryan and me seem petty." He's smirking, saying, "Come on, baby, tell your head of the household what that means." I shrug again, "Oh fuck, um, it's like I always need to be the one who initiates doing things together. I need to text him or call because he'd never ask me first. It's stupid I guess, but that's the bottom line."
Robby goes, "Jesus, that is petty," and I go, "Yeah, um, and I need to let him be the boss or he gets moody. Things like that don't bode well for us continuing much of a friendship." Then I recall just the other day when I called Ryan my best friend, but I was basically trying to get him in a better mood, and even that didn't work for very long. Robby's raising his eyebrows, "Really? You two aren't on the best of terms, huh?" I say, "It's more like I don't know what terms we're on, if any. Lets leave it at that, if it's okay with you, Rob." He comes over and gives me a hug, "Sure it's okay, Dylan. I'm sorry you two are, um, having whatever problems you're having. That's all I'll say, except this: I'm glad you're... no! Now's not the time. I'll complete that thought some other time." Duh, as if I don't know what he was going to say. Not the exact words, but with the same meaning as Chubby's message during our talk at Rolf's Bar, to wit: Ryan's not good for me.
Robby's still got his arms around me so I drop my head to his shoulder and lean against him. His body feels good against mine. He tightens his hug, quietly asking, "You okay, babe?" I nod my head against his shoulder, although I'm not sure how okay I am. It's like Ryan and I had something sexually special; a unique special relationship that I'm being told isn't a healthy one. Sadly, I'm beginning to believe it's true. The problem is I'm gonna miss that side sex with Ryan something terrible. And even as I say that to myself, it proves Chubby's point. My first Ryan-thought was not about how much I'll miss our time talking about stuff, or simply hanging out together.
Nope, my first thought was about our sex together. Hell, our conversations were usually more of a lecture from him than anything else. Even golfing together he was mostly pissed off at one thing or another, and our time at the waterfall pond was only a prelude to sex. He's been nice too though, but being honest about it, his niceness was more in the form of him being condescendingly nice to a younger brother or underling. That how he saw himself; someone who needed to look out for me. I don't want that anymore, not from him anyway. Oh man, I gotta get out of this thought pattern. Luckily Robby gets me out of it by asking, "Do you wanna shower together? Or, how about a nice hot bath together." I give him a little smile, murmuring, "I'm good with either, as long as you're doing it with me." He goes, "Oooh, that's sweet," and he kisses under my jaw giving me shivers.
It's becoming almost routine; us showering together. Robby's fingers shampooing my hair leaves my scalp tingling and I like the hard scrubbing he does on my body with the bath sponge filled with lots of bath gel, especially on my back. I return the favor and then our slippery clean bodies slide together and we have a hot make-out under the pouring almost-too-hot water.
It's very sensuous and, later stepping out of the shower; we have sex without
drying off. I'm leaning over, holding onto the rim of the sink, water dripping off my head, as Robby's pounding his hard cock back and forth in my ass. It's a fast rush to climax and in three or four minutes my orgasm splatters off the front of the sink while Robby is pumping his load of semen up my ass. We're both shaking from the intensity of our climaxes, breathing deeply and noisily, gasping for air. My heart's pounding like a drum and it takes a full minute for it to calm down. The experience is magical and leaves us both limp and hanging onto one another. Gulping in air, I mumble, "Awesome sex, Rob. Unbelievable that it continues getting better." Squeezing my arms around him, I murmur, "You fuck the best and I can't imagine living without you." He smothers me with kisses, his body seemingly touching every part of mine. This love affair with Robby gives me the sense that we're special somehow. I don't believe anyone could possibly enjoy sex more than I do with Robby. No way to measure that of course, but I can measure who's the best sex partner for me, and it's this strong, cutely-handsome boyish young man who's hugging me right this second.
Robby rubs noses with me, then with our faces are touching, his soft scraggily beard tickling my chin, his lips moving against mine, he murmurs, "I love you and I always will. You're my fantasy come true, Dylan; a real life reality dream." We walk into the bedroom with an arm around each other's waist and then start kissing again falling on the bed with me on the bottom, my back on the mattress as we do a silent slow make-out. Five then ten minutes with the heat rising between us. I wrap my legs around his waist, and his cock, hard as steel once again, slides tightly up my ass. The cum remaining in my rectum from our after-shower sex makes it a more slippery trip for his iron penis this time. It's slow penetrations minute after minute until we're gasping moist breath into each other's face. Robby's face is red with tiny perspiration bubbles on his forehead as we stare into each other's eyes concentrating on the sensations Robby's hard organ is creating in both of us. Steady slow thrusts until time loses meaning and it's like we're going to do this forever. Then a point is reached where something turns-on in my brain, and it can't be turned off. I begin struggling and humping back as another climax takes hold of me; the second one in less then a half hour. Then it latches on Robby too, and he begins moving his hips with faster
and harder thrusts. Both our eyes shut tightly as my head goes back stretching my neck, my back arching off the mattress and, oh my God, it feels so good. My normal squeal gets strangled in my throat as cum pumps out of my hard throbbing cock in little squirts; little squirts that feels like long strings of creamy cum. A last hump up against Robby's thrusting hips and then I'm limp as a dishrag and overcome with spectacular pleasure sensations that one second ago exploded and now the after affect sensations are swarming all over my body. Intense pleasure for another couple of seconds before retreating into tiny electric buzzing here and there around my groin...
then they all blink out. Robby gasps, collapsing on me for the heart-pounding minute following his orgasm blast off; my heart's pounding against his chest too. Our breathing is loud and raspy, then it all slowly calms down and with a final exhale we lay together a little sweaty and a little sticky, and slightly exhaust, but sighing with contentment.
We don't move, just breath for five minutes or so before Robby lifts off me, giving me his special smile. I can't help but blurt out with a laugh; everything is so perfect it's almost absurd. Robby takes my hand, pulling me up and I'm like, "I think you're right, Rob, we are going to fuck ourselves to death one of these days." With his arm across my shoulders we walk back into the bathroom as Robby tells me, "I hope we do fuck ourselves to death, but not for another sixty years or so." Getting back in the shower stall we lean against one another letting the water pour down on us again, then use the sponge and some bath gel going over part of our bodies that need re-cleaning. Rinsing off and getting out of the shower stall, we dry ourselves this time. Robby exclaims, "Damn, I feel good! So fucking good!" I nod, grinning, "Good doesn't cover it for me, Rob; I feel fantastic!" Fact is, I'm so happy it's sick. As we walk into the bedroom, Robby goes, "Tonight before bed we gotta do something similar, don'cha think, baby?" I'm putting jockey shorts on, saying, "That's not a bad idea, and then there's the rest of our sexy lives together after that." We smirk at each other feeling so smug it borders on obnoxious. Good thing we're the only ones who see how smug and pleased we are with ourselves. Dressed in cargo khakis, a long-sleeve polo shirt, and my new black Converse high top sneakers, I'm looking good.
Robby and I stand side by side looking in the mirror on the wall over the chest of drawers, combing our hair. Robby asks, "Shall we go for a small pompadour tonight?" I have to laugh, "Jesus, this is the first time in my life I've been able to think about a pompadour," then I comb one in front, and Robby mutters, "Hmmm, that looks a little faggy, babe." I go, "Hey!"
We've got hoodie sweatshirts on over our long sleeve shirts standing out here on the balcony having a smoke after sex. Feeling awesome, we're watching for Chubby and Danny Monday to drive up in the Jeep. Chubby's not a slave to punctuality so I'm surprised to see the Jeep pull onto our parking lot at five after seven. Only five minutes late is like arriving early for my brother. He sees us on the balcony, but toots the horn anyway. Going down the steps to the back door, Robby says, "I'm thinking about ordering that lemon chicken piccata I had the other night with the girls." That sounds so odd, him saying 'the other night with the girls'. I say, "I'm hoping someone will share a pizza with me." Down on the parking lot, Robby and I bump fist with Danny, then pat Chubby's shoulder as we get in the back seat. Chubby says, "We gotta go back to Danny's dorm; numb-nuts forgot his ID." Robby reaches up and playfully smacks the back of Danny head, muttering, "Dummy."
Danny turns his head to look back at Robby, grinning and mumbling, "Jeez, I'm sorry." He's another rare example of a guy who's retained some boyish cuteness into his twenties. Danny's a very nice looking young man. And, the way he looked back at Robby for that split second just now told me he and Robby still have something sexy going on between them, and that Danny's the submissive bottom whether he and Robby call it that or not. Neither participant needs to acknowledge, or even realize they're doing sub/dom sex, but that's basically what those two are probably doing. Yeah, it's obvious to me that Robby's the head honcho in that twosome. Huh, and I'm not even all that jealous about it. Whatever Danny means to Robby is insignificant compared to what I mean to him. That's something I'm positive of now, and without a hint of doubt about it. I couldn't say that with this much conviction a year ago.
After driving back on campus for Danny's ID, we're inside Bertucci's this Saturday night standing in a crowd reevaluating choosing this restaurant.
It took us a few minutes to even get inside and, when Robby puts his name in on the waiting list, we're told we have at least a half hour wait. No, not
really... we file out of there, as I'm asking, "Where should we try now?"
We have a brief discussion about that and decide we'll get something to eat at the sports bar; the one we planned on going to after dinner. The bar is in Haverhill. 'Butch's Sports Bar and Eats' and it's a twenty minute drive from here. As Chubby's pulling into the bar's parking lot I'm thinking that this place looks too new to qualify as a 'dive'. Then inside, the interior is fairly new too. Okay, it's not a dive, but there's a beery smell to the place, with a touch of disinfectant and a fried-food scent in the air.
After two minutes I don't notice the smell. This is obviously more a bar than a restaurant. Eight tables with seating for four are along one wall, and opposite the tables is a long bar with stool-seating for at least thirty, plus a big game room to the left of the bar. Only one cocktail waitress in front of the bar but two bartenders behind it. Half the tables and two-thirds of the bar stools are occupied. We sit at the bar with one or two empty stools on either side of us. This place is Chubby's recommendation, so I have his back, saying, "Really nice place, Chub," as I take a twenty dollar bill out of my pocket to put on the bar. He says, "No, Dylan, they run a tab here."
Danny asks Chubby, "Do they have menus or is that all the food they offer?" and he points to a high-gloss teepee shaped advertisement for tacos and chicken wings on the bar in front of us. Chubby picks up the teepee, saying, "These are specials. Fifty cents each for any kind of chicken wing: barbecued, plain crispy, or the red hot Buffalo kind. Also all kinds of tacos for a buck each. We could fill up on appetizers for under six dollars." I hear, "ID fellows," and look up to see a burly bartender, who looks about twenty-five. He doesn't give a name or a smile,; it's just routine bar business for him. He adds, "And yeah, we have menus." Danny and Robby already have their licenses out and while burly-bartender checks those, Chubby and I get ours out. Without commenting, the bartender puts the first two licenses down in front of the guys and looks at Chubby's and mine, then, "What'll it be fellows?" We all say draft beer, and the bartender asks, "Sam Adams okay?" Robby says, "Yeah, sure." Fuck! I don't like Sam Adams because it's bitter, but Burly already has the Sam Adams tap running. He pours two at a time, then two more and somehow carries the four beers, two in each hand, setting them down in front of us without spilling a drop, asking, "Run a tab for you guys?" Chubby goes, "Yes, we'll be here a while. Can we see the menus?" Burly nods, reaches under the bar and plops four sticky menus in front of Chubby, then he walks down to the middle of the bar and refill drinks for five guys wearing ties. They probably came here right after work, which means they've been drinking for almost two hours. Mixed drinks for the guys in the ties.
The bartender goes about his business in a routine way, not especially grumpy, or jolly. Drinking in bars is still basically new to me and I need to suppress a grin because it's so cool. I feel cool sitting here at the bar, finally a member of the twenty-one and over club. Chubby passes the menus down. He's on one end of our foursome with me on his left next to Robby, and Danny's on the other end. It's a limited menu, basically subs and tacos, plus hamburgers done a few different ways, French fires and the chicken wings as pictured on the bar teepees. Glancing around I see that the people sitting at the tables are eating and drinking, while the people at the bar are just drinking. Maybe we should have sat at a table. While it's cool sitting at the bar, I still feel an uneasiness in bars, not quite sure what's the right thing to do.
We drink our bitter beers as Chubby and I talk about what we're going to order for dinner, settling on a hamburger platter for me and a cheesesteak for him. Robby asks, "Did you try the food the other time you we're here, Jeff?" and Chubby's like, "No, but I saw what was being served to others and it looked okay." Chubby gets the bartender's attention by holding his menu up and the bartender nods at him, then calls to the waitress, "Tina!" and when she looks up he points at us. Tina comes over to us five minutes later with a big forced smile on her face. She's the opposite of Burly, smiling like mad and uber cheerful, every bit as sincere as an undertaker, "What can I get for you handsome young men?" Oh brother, I'm gonna barf!! We give her our orders and she tells us to be patient, "It could take a half hour, boys. The kitchen's working behind tonight." We all nod or shrug as I'm thinking we should have waited the half hour at Bertucci's. At first the conversation is about Frankie and Beth stealing Robby's and my baseball caps, then we talk about tonight's frat party, and then Chubby's trying to make-up his mind whether to hustle Beth or play the field. I mention to Chubby that Beth's interested in Golden, and he shrugs, "I'm pretty sure they'll be a couple of single girls there too." When it's time for another round I think about changing my beer to Bud, but our bartender is quick, already doing the two-at-a--time pour from the Sam Adams tap, so what the fuck.
Our food arrives while we're ordering our third beers. The meals are served on wax paper in plastic baskets that I'm guessing do not get washed in between servings, so that's on my mind as I pick up my hamburger. The food is hot and the French fries obviously came directly from the hot grease to us. So that's good, and so is everything else we ordered. Most everything on the menu is priced between $7 and $8 dollars so it's not much of a rip-off, and no complaints except from Chubby who, with his winning smile, motions for the waitress to come over, and then he says, "You forgot the napkins, Tina, and I'm sorry to say but that could have a negative effect on the size of your tip." She laughs, saying, "Oh, you're too sweet to do that to me,
darling. I'll get you a big handful of napkins." Tina's probably on the other side of forty years old, and I'm guessing she's been at this waitressing profession a lot of those years. She makes me think of Chubby's and my mom. It can't be easy everyday being smiley and cheerful no matter what problems they might have on their minds, or how big of an asshole they need to be nice to.
After eating, we order a forth beer and by now I don't care what brand I'm drinking. We settle up the bill and leave an appropriate tip, then carry our beers to the game room. Both pool tables are in use by guys about our age. There's a sign stating 'House rules: challenge winners by putting a coin on railing'. After watching the guys shoot pool for a minute, Chubby puts a quarter on the railing of the table with the worst pool players, saying, "We got the winners." It's $1.25 per game and the pool tables only takes quarters. Fortunately there's a coin-changing machine that Danny puts a five dollar bill in and out come twenty quarters. We discuss who the best pool shooters are among the four of us and decide on Chubby and Danny, not that they're much better than Robby and me; none of us are all that good.
Nevertheless, we hope Chubby and Danny win the table so the four of us can play each other. As they starts their game against the winners of the previous game, I'm trying to think back to the pool lessons Ryan's friend, Felix, gave me freshman year.
Robby and I play a game on the shuffleboard deciding we like the electronic game better than this authentic shuffleboard. Times flies when drinking and shootings pool, or watching. The beers flow down our throats faster the more we drink. Happily none of the strangers we shoot pool with is an asshole, and there's no tense moments. During the first game Chubby somehow organizes everything for us and the other eight guys shooting pool at the two tables, calling the guys by their names. Funny how he can do that seemingly effortlessly. I end up partners with a guy named, Markie, who's kind of a funny looking kid, but by nine o'clock, after drinking beers for almost two hours, I could definitely see some cuteness in the guy. He's goofy cute, and about my height with kind of a long face, reminding me a little of Willie. Markie has too-long, light-brown hair and a sexy short scraggily beard with a thin, soft-looking mustache. An awesome grin too and a very likable disposition. He's almost certainly straight of course, although he's big on hugs and chest bumps with me for anything approaching a good shot by either of us. He has the shiniest brown eyes too. After Markie and I lose our game, we're standing near the shuffleboard with bottles of Bud in our fist.
Finally Markie asks "Dylan, do you smoke?" I go, "Do I smoke? Does the tin man have a sheet-metal cock?" Markie hangs on me, laughing his nuts off, then sputters, "Does the Pope shit in the woods?" and we're both laughing so hard we're bent over, hands on our knees with the sides of our heads bumping together.
Gasping to catch our breath, we straighten up still snickering at those silly imitations of the off-color rhetorical question, 'Does a bear shit in the woods?' Heading for our sweatshirts that are draped over a bar stool, I blurt out another laugh and Markie picks up on that and we both starts laughing all over again. Sometimes it happens where something silly strikes me so funny that every time I think of it I burst out laughing. We both get our laughing under control putting on our sweatshirts, and then walk outside for a smoke. Right outside the door are three girls and two guys shivering while having a smoke, so we walk down to the left of them and turn the corner of the building before lighting our cigarettes. Taking a drag, then exhaling, he asks, "Where you from, Dylan?" and we do that question and answer nonsense for a minute or two while dragging on our cigarettes and exhaling smoke into the chilly breeze. He's a local lad who works in the downtown Haverhill Rite Aid drugstore as a clerk. He's had the same job since graduating Haverhill High School three years ago, and he's now thinking seriously about joining the Army. I give him my brief partially-true personal background, without mentioning I'm gay. We smoke for a minute without saying anything, until he mutters, "Getting fuckin' cold, huh, Dylan?" I nod; then, for comic-relief, I purposely mix-up the words to the rhetorical question we screwed-up earlier, mumbling, "How 'bout that fuckin' sheet-metal cock on the Pope," and he coughs on his inhaled cigarette smoke and we're off to the races laughing our asses off again with tears in our eyes. It's so stupid but we can't stop laughing and hanging on one another, and then somehow our lips come together and we do the sexiest kiss, our fingers in each other's
hair. After like ten seconds we both move our heads back and look at one another with matching startled expressions on our faces. He sputters, "I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that. Um.... I've never done that with a guy before in my life. I, um..." I'm shaking my head, muttering, "It's the beers, Markie. Don't worry about it. C'mon, lets go inside... fuckin' cold, huh, dude?" It was so unexpected, so surreal, I can hardly believe it actually happened.
Markie says, "Let me buy you a beer. I... um, I really didn't..." I pat his shoulder, "It's totally cool, Markie. Hey, I liked it, okay?" He nods his head, then glances at me, nods his head again, then orders the beers. The kiss isn't mentioned again. We challenge another game of pool and play two of the guys whose names I've forgotten, but most of the hugs and chest bumps of our earlier games are replaced with fist bumps and subdued 'Nice shot' as we lose another game. By now Chubby, Danny, Robby, and I are all legally drunk, but not seriously drunk or incapacitated, and that's because we didn't do any shots. It's almost ten o'clock when we decide we've got to pick up the girls. As I'm putting on my sweatshirt, I'm looking around to say goodbye to Markie, but he must be in the men's room, or maybe he left after our last lost pool game. Whatever the reason, I don't get to say goodbye.
Walking to the Jeep I'm thinking that since he's a local guy, Markie probably frequents this bar on some kind of a regular basis, and I'll probably see him again. That was an intensely hungry kiss he gave me now that I've had time to think about it. And, damn, that scraggily beard of his was as soft as the hair on his head. Yeah, I'd like to see him again although he's probably so humiliated for initiating our kiss that he won't be happy seeing me; not if he's sober anyway. We pile into the Jeep with Chubby insisting I'm the designated driver. Robby and I will switch to the pickup at the apartment and then Chubby can take over driving the Jeep with Danny riding shotgun on their way to pick up John Beverly and Golden Summers. We'll meet up with them at the frat party. I have no problem driving down route 125 to route 114, although twice Robby said, "Yo, slow the fuck down, Dylan, please." The first time he said it I heard the clicking of seat belts from Danny and Chubby in the backseat.
Safely back at the apartment's parking lot, there's fist bumps and general agreement of, "Good time. Lets do that again," then, "See you at the party." Chubby drives away with Danny in the Jeep and we get in the pickup.
Robby drives us to the girl's dormitory, saying, "Sorry about my backseat driving earlier, Dylan." I go, "No problem," and he adds, "Ya know, maybe if you
could keep it under sixty when driving on route 125 where the speed limit is thirty-five; that'd be good." I glance over because that's bullshit, I wasn't going sixty! He grins at me, which makes me grin back at him as I flash my middle finger at him.
Robby parks at the curb in front of Frankie's and Beth's dormitory. The girls are sitting on the steps and they get up, saying, "We thought you stood us up!" Robby goes, "Never! We're extremely dependable, although occasionally late." Beth says, "That's a contradiction, sweetheart." then, "C'mon, Dylan, sit in the back with me." I'm like, "No, you two get in the back," and Frankie says, "Robert?" making it a question. Robby says, "Oh jeez, go ahead, Dylan, hop in the back." Dammit! I get out and get in the back with Beth following me. I tell her, "Golden will be at the party ya know," and she raises her eyebrows, "Really? I might need to dump you when we get there if that's the case," and I mumble under my breath, "If there's a God in heaven..." Frankie's getting in the front, then slides over on the bench seat right next to Robby, asking, 'What have you bad boys been doing all this time?" Robby goes, "We went out to dinner with a couple of guys," and Beth says, "Dylan, smells like a brewery back here," and she rummages in her small purse, then passes me a breath mint. Frankie says, "Rob needs one too." He chuckles, asking, "What? You detect beer on our breath after we've had a mere two beers?" Frankie says, "Two beer beers? Get serious. It's settled then, Beth and I will need to do a few of shots to catch up with you two." Oh fuck!
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@yahoo.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 usually around 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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