DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 15
by Donny Mumford
Sleeping till noon, then awesome sex with Robby followed by a casual brunch in the apartment, and that's a damn near perfect Sunday morning for Robby and me. We're putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher when my cellphone rings. Caller ID shows Daryl Ponti. I go, "Hey, Pony, how ya doing, bro?" He talks so fast his words run together, saying, "Um, I'm okay I guess, but I want to apologize for acting like a dork last night. How are you doing this morning?" I exclaim, "I'm doing super-fine," and smirk at Robby who knows why I'm feeling super-fine, and he's grinning back at me smirking. Then I grin back at him, and shoot him with my index finger. Turning my back and walking away from the kitchen, I quietly ask Pony, "Why do you say you were a dork last night? And there's no reason for you to apologize." Pony goes, "Oh, um, you're a really good guy, Dylan. Anyway, can I still get that haircut?" I'm like, "Yeah, of course. Can you use your roommate's car again?" He goes, "Yes, no problem. Um, I sort of told him you'd give him a free haircut too, um, sometime when he needs one," and he laughs a little. I go, "Jesus! Don't offer haircuts to anyone else, okay? I mean unless you're going to do the haircut yourself." He goes, "Oh fuck, I'm sorry." Damn! What if his roommate's some goof? I exhale noisily, and mumble, "Nah, never mind, it's okay, Pony. Let's say you come over here around three o'clock. Does that work for you?" He's like, "It's perfect! See you then." He seemed very nervous, although I can't imagine why. I mean, we kinda got to know each other a little bit last night. Nothing to be nervous about.
Putting the phone in my pocket, I tell Rob, "That was a Merrimack sophomore guy I met last night. We hung out together for a couple hours at the party." Robby nods his head, asking, "Do I know him?" I go, "No, I don't think so. His name is Daryl Ponti, nicknamed Pony. We've been bumping into one another on campus the last few days, then again last night, so we finally introduced ourselves. He's a pretty good guy." Robby's like, "What'd he call about?" I go, "He called to take me up on my offer to give him a free haircut." Robby makes a face, "What the fuck? You meet someone and, just like that, you offer to give him a free haircut?" I go, "Well, it wasn't just like that. First of all, I was abandoned at the frat party by my friends, and my boyfriend was off hustling some girl. I was in need of someone to hang out with. What I did was... I made a big sign advertising free haircuts and walked around the party showing the sign..." Robby butts in, ignoring the bullshit sign-story, saying, "You weren't abandoned, you were with your brother!" I go, "Yeah, for ten minutes and then he's off hustling some girl too." Robby comes over, "Awww, my poor baby. You were all alone, huh?" As much as I'd like to milk a guilty conscience out of Robby for hanging with Frankie instead of me last night, my love for him won't let me. I say, "No, not really, Rob. Actually, I spent the first half of the night with Danny Monday and the last part with this kid, Daryl. Danny and I played beer pong with some drunks, among other things." He asks, "Um, what were the 'other things' you did with Danny?" Hee hee, jealous are we? I muss his hair, saying, "None of 'those kinds' of other things. I wouldn't do that to you!" He mumbles, "I didn't mean sexy things!" Robby's got his pocket comb out standing in front of the living room mirror re-combing his hair, saying, "Yeah, but seriously. How in the hell did you windup promising this Porky kid a haircut. How does something like that even come up in conversation?" I say, "First of all, it's Pony, not Porky, and if you saw him you'd know why the topic of a haircut came up. His hair sticks up three inches all over his head. It's like he was struck by lightning in a cartoon and all his hair stood up at the same time, and stayed up." Robby turns around, mumbling, "Yeah well, let me guess... he's cute." I mumble, "Huh, I suppose he's sort of cute. I hadn't given it any thought, but yeah, he is kinda cute." Robby goes, "You attract cute stray boys like cheese attracts mice." I go, "What a bizarre thing to say. I saw Daryl twice before last night, and we said 'Hi'. Then I see him at the frat party so we just started talking. I like him, that's all. And I like giving haircuts..." Robby finishes my sentence, saying, "to cute young guys."
I mumble, "I wasn't going to add that last part." Robby's in the kitchen closet getting his glove, hat, and baseball cleats, asking, "Are you coming to the park to watch our last informal practice? We're choosing sides and playing a seven inning game." I ask, "Hey, do you think I could play in the game?" He puts his baseball cap on my head and pulls the bill down on my forehead, saying, "Sorry, babe, it's an inter-squad game." Taking his hat off and putting it on his head, I go, "That's sucks," then shrug, mumbling, "Yeah, I'll ride over with you and watch for a while, but I can't stay very long. Ryan's roommate wants a haircut too." Robby shakes his head slowly, mumbling, "You promised Ryan's roommate a haircut too? You do get around, don't you?" I'm like, "Get real, Rob. You know many more guys here at college than I do. Christ, your teammates alone represent twice as many students as I know." He's checking to make sure he has his phone, wallet, and keys, asking, "So you're coming with me," and I go, "Yes, and a little later I'll drive the pickup back here to do those haircuts. I'll come back for you when you text me." He says, "No problem, but c'mon, we gotta leave right now.
The first eighteen guys who show up will make-up the two teams, and I wanna be on one of those teams."
We go down to the parking lot where Robby flips me the keys, saying, "You drive so you can drop me off at the park. Save me the time walking from the parking lot." I mutter, "Yes, boss," and get in the driver's seat. During the short drive Robby asks for more details about Pony, and I know what he's
really asking: is Pony gay? I give a brief physical description of Daryl, mentioning his claim that he's straight, then add, "He was on his high school's swim team, and I forget the other team he said he was on. He's an athlete, like you. That's about all I know about him except he seems like a regular guy." Huh, I could have mentioned that Pony's got the sexiest ass I've ever seen, and the best one I've ever fucked. No, I better not 'cause we don't talk about buddy sex on the side. What is unusual for me though, is the fact that Pony's the only side-sex I've had since a week ago with Ryan.
And even weirder: I wasn't especially horny last night. I did it more for Pony than me. So, yeah, Robby's been taking care of that area of our relationship quite nicely. Even so, if I'm honest with myself, I do kinda miss the variety of buddy sex I used to enjoy before becoming this boring mature guy I've turned into.
After dropping Rob off at the ballpark, I park the pickup legally in the closest lot. While walking back to the ballpark Danny Monday catches up with me and pats my shoulder as he runs by, saying, "Hey, Dylan, see you at the game." He obviously wants to be on one of the teams too. I gained some insight into Danny's world last night, and I like him even more then I did before. He's lost all his brashness too. I don't know how much his home life situation has to do with that, but he surely is more down to earth than he used to be, or maybe he's just more comfortable being around me. Good looking dude too! I'm almost at the ballpark when, oh no! Coming from dormitory row is Beth, Frankie, and the heavy-set girl, um, Tootsie. I think that's her name, as in Tootsie Roll. Frankie yells, "Wait up, Dylan!" Balls! I stop, then force half a smile on my face when they get to me. Beth says, "I'm sorry I had to dump you last night, Dylan. No hard feelings I hope. It's just that Golden has this thing for me." I go, "Uh huh," and Frankie says, "You were welcome to hang-out with Rob and me if you wanted to. Anyway, where'd you get off to so quickly last night?" We're walking towards the ballpark as I tell her, in a bored monotone voice, "I didn't go off anywhere, Frankie. It's you guys who took off for the other end of the porch to buy shots of Tequila.
I got in line with my brother at the beer tap; the one straight ahead of us when we walked down from the cars." Frankie wraps her arms around my arm, saying, "Well, you were with Jeffrey then, so you weren't alone. And, damn, why are you acting grumpy again today?" Shaking my arm loose of her arms, I say, "Because I feel like being grumpy, okay? And please stop grabbing my arm." Beth says, "Oooh, Frankie! I think our boy, Dylan, is a tiny bit jealous of you being with Rob last night." I ignore that and smile at Tootsie, who never says a word, "How ya doing, Tootsie?" She goes, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Dylan?" I nod as Frankie puts her face in front of mine, asking, "Is that it? You're a tiny bit jealous?" I go, "What, jealous? Don't be absurd! No offense intended, but you don't make me jealous one little bit." She fakes a pout, "That hurts my feeling." Jesus Christ, these girls are a pain in my ass! Still, I don't like hurting anyone's feeling, so I say, "I'm sorry, Frankie. That didn't come out the right way. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." She says, "You're forgiven because you're so fucking cute." Oh my God! The girls start with none-stop chatter among themselves, mostly about last
night's party and how Tootsie's boyfriend is such a hot, hunky guy, and blah, blah, blah. We go through the ballpark's general admission entrance and
take seats halfway up the bleachers. The players are on the field arguing about who's going to be on the two teams. Glancing over at my hat, that's sitting sideways on Beth's head, I listen to her bragging about having Golden wrapped around her little finger. All of a sudden it occurs to me that I don't want that fucking hat back. And, I'm not saying that just because Beth's been wearing it for three days; it could have been anybody wearing it for three days and I'd feel the same way. The allure of the hat for me, frankly was that it's the baseball cap Ryan's wore the last two years as equipment manager for the team. I liked wearing it because it was his. No one had ever had the hat on but Ryan until he gave it to me, and now it's been, um, contaminated by a third party. She can keep the fucking thing for all I care. I mean, the hats contaminated, plus Ryan's acting like a jackass, so you know... fuck the hat.
From force of habit, I check my cellphone and see I missed a text. Nothing from Ryan obviously. It's from his roommate, Steve, asking what time he should meet me for his haircut. It's one-thirty now, so I text back, 'Stop over around two o'clock, Steve'. He texts back, 'Thanks. See you then.' I don't want to sit with these girls all afternoon anyway, that's for damn sure.
And now I've got an excuse to leave. When Frankie stops telling the other girls about how successful she was teaching Robby to dance, I mumble to no one in particular, "I wish they'd start the game. I've got to meet someone at two o'clock." Frankie stops her dance-instructor monologue, to ask me, "Who you meeting?" Like it's any of her business. I'm looking at the players, who have now formed two teams, telling Frankie, "A friend. You don't know him." She mumbles, "Grumpy," and I leave it at that.
It looks like there's about thirteen guys on each intra-squad team, so I wonder how they're gonna make that work. Actually I'd kinda like to watch because, for one thing, I like baseball and today is probably one of the last warm sun-shiny days of the year, but listening to these girl chattering away non-stop ruins it for me. The game finally starts and I see Robby, Danny, and Golden are on the same team. All three of them are worth watching, but I can only stay for half an inning. Then, standing up, I mutter, "See you girls later. Enjoy the game." Frankie gives me a cute smile, saying, "Cheer up, Dylan. These are supposed to be the best days of our lives." I nod and give her a thumbs up and a partial smile, then turn and walk towards the exit admitting to myself that I'm not being totally fair with the girls.
They're not intentionally being rude or unfriendly to me. I suppose I am jealous that they're taking time away from what used to be pretty much an all-guy experience for me. I feel like they're horning-in on my all-guy world.
Fact is, I'm the only one who seems to be upset about that. It makes me feel like the outsider when it should be the girls who are the outsiders. It's not like I've never been around girls. Girls were involved during my summer with the posse-boys, but it was different back then, and I know why. Back then I was having different buddy-sex partners a few times a week, so the girls seemed very peripheral in the whole scheme of things. Now that I'm having basically little to no buddy sex, the girls seem like a much bigger part of everything.
While walking to the pickup, I'm trying to decide what my mood is right now. I shouldn't be upset. While Robby and Frankie were making-out last night he had to picture me in his head in order to get through it. Robby and I had this great morning, and nothing's happened since then to make me feel unhappy, except that minor twenty minute exchange with the girls. Okay, right now I'm making a resolution to stop acting grumpy around the girls. I don't believe they're going away any time soon, so I'll deal with the situation in as pleasant a manner as I can. As for the rest of today, I've got two good guys coming for haircuts, and I like giving haircuts. Plus, with Pony who knows, I might get another buddy sex opportunity, so yes, goddammit, I'm happy, not grumpy.
Getting in the pickup I find I can't shake being disappointed with myself for letting a brief encounter with the girls throw me off my game. They were friendly enough. It must be that up till now I've led this mostly insular life with gay friends and acquaintances, plus straight male friends. I almost always get along awesomely with guys, gay or straight, but continuing an insular life like I've been living isn't realistic. The world is full of both sexes and, while I don't necessarily need to like all the girls I meet, I need to interact more socially with the nice ones. Expand my social skills. There's nothing seriously wrong with Beth, Frankie, or that Tootsie Roll girl, although there is something unpleasant about that aloof cunt in their little group; the one with the ring through her nose. Nice look! Yeah, but three out of four ain't bad. Damn, that was a good talk I just had with myself! When parking the pickup at the apartment complex I see Steve Church walking up the driveway. I get out and walk towards him, saying, "I'd have given you a ride over, Steve. I just came from the campus." He smiles, "Ah, that's okay, Dylan. Actually until the last minute I thought I'd be able to borrow Ryan's Mini. Then he took off for somewhere in the car like fifteen minutes ago. I didn't want to impose on you. Anyway, it's only a ten minute walk, no big deal." We bump fists as I say, "Yeah, okay. We'll go in that back door," as I point to it. Approaching the door, I ask, "How'd you know which building I was in?" He says, "Friday afternoon Ryan drove me over here and showed me your building, and I know the apartment number." I go, "Did you ring my doorbell when you were here Friday?" He shakes his head, "No, we just drove by. Ryan didn't want to stop." That's weird, and so is Ryan driving off when Steve was about to borrow the car. Maybe he didn't know the time Steve would need it. I ask, "Um, did Ryan know what time you were coming here?" He shrugs, "Yeah, we talked about that right after I texted you."
This is curious, so to be clear, I ask, "So, ten minutes before you needed a ride here he just took off without saying anything to you. Is that it?" He
goes, "Pretty much, but he's been down in the dumps. I think he's having some kind of disagreement with his friend, Jeff, back home."
Going up the steps, I get off that subject, by asking, "Were you guys at the frat party last night?" He says, "I was, but I don't know about Ryan. I went with a couple of friends I've known since freshman year. Ryan was invited to join us, but like the last time I invited him, he said no thanks.
Said he had another thing he had to do." Inside my apartment, I ask, "He had something to do, huh? What was that? The other thing he had to do..." Steve shrugs, "He didn't say. I don't know much about what he does because I'm not in the dorm room hardly at all, except to sleep and do homework." Well, if I ask any more questions about Ryan it might seem odd, so I drop it.
Actually I think I'm feeling bad for Ryan. Yeah, but I need to remind myself that he's the one isolating himself. I can't let myself fall into my old habit of accommodating his every whim. I don't like thinking negatively about anyone, but it's a nefarious fact that Ryan thinks he can wait me out and I'll give in and reach out to him, or apologize for whatever. He has a mysterious power over me, maybe because I find him sexually attractive in a major way. And, he doesn't think I can resist his, admittedly awesome, version of sub/dom sex for any extended period of time. That's kinda stupid of him considering I hadn't seen him for two months prior to his arrival at college. Well, we'll just see if I resist the temptation, won't we? Inside my apartment, Steve asks, "Um, how do we do this haircut thing?" I go, "Usually I shampoo a guy's hair first. Hair cuts easier when just washed." Then I run my fingers through his hair, adding, "Since you've obviously just finished wasting your hair we'll skip the shampoo." He chuckles, "I shampooed twice. Didn't want to freak you out with greasy hair." He has brown
hair that's grown over the top of his ear since his last Super Cuts haircut, which was probably six or seven weeks ago. He's also clean shaven; the first time I've seen him like that. Pulling the stool away from the kitchen bar, I pat the seat, saying, "You sit here, Steve. Oh, and take your shirt off so I don't get hair clippings on it." He says, "No barber's cape, huh?"
I go, "Nope, this is a no-frills haircutting establishment, but with a super-excellent, although modest barber." He chuckles, "I've heard the barber's excellent, but not the modest part." Taking his shirt off reveals a pale-pinkish average-looking un-athletic body, with a smattering of hair on his chest. He hops up on the stool as I ask him, "How do you want it cut, Steve?" and he says, "I always answer that question saying a regular haircut, and let the barber decide what that means. They all interpret it pretty much the same although some do a little shorter version than others, but basically it's pretty much the same. So, does that make sense to you?" I say, "Sure, I know exactly what you mean. No problem."
The only thing especially sexy about Steve, as far as I'm concerned anyway, is his mouth. Nice lips and a nice friendly smile with white teeth, and everything in his mouth is pink and clean looking. He also has rosy cheeks, which are especially apparent now that he shaved his light beard. As I'm laying out the barber equipment, I ask, "Do you plan on going home most weekends? I mean you live like a half hour away, right?" He nods his head, "Yeah, my folks are in Salem, New Hampshire, but I only go home when my girlfriend is going to be there. She goes to the University of New Hampshire and gets home one or two weekends a month." I mumble, "Guess you miss her," and he
says, "Being separated sucks in some ways, especially after spending so much time together last summer. Ya know though, there's a lot of truth to the
idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder." And he said that very seriously. It sounded corny, and it's a bit of a nerdy thing to tell another guy, but then Steve has a reputation for saying whatever is on his mind without any kind of filter. The words just come tumbling out.
Combing through his hair I'm thinking I'll replicate his last Super Cuts haircut, which is simple enough to do. With a half inch guide on the clippers I run them most of the way up the sides and back of his head. After that I do some minimal blending of the short hairs with the longer hairs using scissors and comb. I've seen guys with recent haircuts where the barber left an obvious rim around the poor bastard's head; a line where the clippers stopped and the longer hairs begin. It looks like an amateur doing a home haircut, but charging $20 for it. But then, why would barbers bother blending the lengths when so few guys know the difference. Not one guy out of twenty would even comprehend what I just said, nor would they care even if they did know what I was talking about. Fine! Ignorance is bliss. And I admit to having an abnormal interest in boy's and men's haircuts, so I'm actually not faulting their ignorance. Haircutting is a fetish of mine, but not one I try forcing on anyone else.
As I do his haircut Steve talks again about how coincidental it is that he
and I were in the same freshman advertising course, and how he thought I was the best looking guy he'd ever seen. I take a deep breath because he can't help himself; he just says dorky shit like that. It's simply more of his un-filtered dialogue. The thing is though, he unintentionally put me in an awkward situation with that compliment. If I say, thank you, it infers I think he's right, but if I poo-poo his compliment it might seem like I have false modesty. I can't win, so I have no response to that whatsoever.
Instead I mutter, "Oh, ha," and change the subject, asking, "Did you work a job last summer?" He's a pleasant conversationalist telling me about how he worked part time for a professional cleaning service. Mostly they cleaned restaurants after hours; sub shops and pizza joints, those kind of restaurants. I almost puke when he tells me about mice and cock roaches running all over the place at night. When the cleaning service turns the lights on after hours all those filthy creatures scurry into hidden spots, like they're not even there. Gross! Then, as I'm finishing his haircut, he talks about his girlfriend and how they were both virgins when they first 'did it', and how that experience formed a bond that just keeps getting stronger. Another awkward moment. Mostly I say, "Huh!" or "Really?" in response to the things he tells me. Steve's quite the talker, but he has this awesomely pleasant voice, so I don't mind listening. And basically he seems like a very nice guy, if a little bit too wholesome. I'm guessing some of the things Chubby and I went through growing up would be inconceivable to Steve, not that there's anything wrong with that. Good for him. He grew up in a much more normal environment than we did.
While outlining around his ears and behind them, I'm contemplating tapering his hairline at the neck, but finally decide to block it straight across with trimmer clippers like they do at Super Cuts. That's normal for him, and hell, that's what Golden did for my haircut and it looks okay. My crusade against squaring off the back of guy's haircuts is fizzling out I guess.
I'm surrendering to the masses. Yeah, but even as I say that there's this new style haircuts called 'fade haircuts' that's bringing back tapering and blending of hair lengths. Mostly though it's done for only extremely short haircuts on the sides and back of the guy's head, with long hair on top.
Anything to be different I guess; some guys just gotta be styling! Those were laughable haircuts at first, but then they became stylish at hot salons and are spreading in popularity, like fads tend to do.
Anyway, Steve's haircut is done and the finished product is a slightly improved version of a random haircut one will likely get at any of the over-advertised Super Cuts locations. I brush hair clippings off his shoulders as he stands, brushing the clippings off his lap. I hand him a mirror and he checks out his haircut, exclaiming, "It's awesome, Dylan. You sure I can't pay you at least something? It'd cost me twenty dollars, plus tip, normally." I shake my head, "No thanks, Stevie. I like giving haircuts; it's like my hobby of mine, and I've been doing it since I was ten or eleven." Putting his shirt back on, he goes, "Well, thanks, man. I really appreciate it." I give him a ride back to campus, sneaking in another question or two about Ryan, "So, you have no idea where Ryan rode off to, huh?" He goes, "No, not really. Sometimes he just goes for a drive because he says it's fun driving his Mini convertible." Pulling up to Steve's dormitory, I ask, "Would you say he seems generally okay, I mean other than being a little down about Jeff?" Steve shrugs, "Yeah, he's fine whenever I'm with him. We eat together most breakfasts and dinners. We do homework together, plays Xbox, whatever.
He's fine... good roommate." Giving him a pat on the back as a clue he should get the fuck out of the car now, I say, "See you around, Steve." We bump fists, "Thanks again, you rock, Dylan," and he gets out of the pickup. Huh, I didn't learn much about what's up with Ryan. Maybe I need to brush-up on my interrogation technique.
I check my cellphone and see a couple of tweets, two missed calls, and a few emails. Nothing I need to deal with now though. I was checking for something from Robby or Daryl. Nothing from either of them means we're on schedule. It's only two-thirty though, and Daryl won't be over until three, so I park and wander down to the baseball park. Standing at the beginning of the bleachers I watch the game for a couple of minutes, seeing Golden bat. He pops out, then two guys I don't know are up to bat next. The second guy gets into a heated discussion about balls and strikes with the home plate umpire. The ump is probably one of the coaches, I'm guessing, because the batter backs down pretty easily. If it were another student umpiring, the argument would likely go on much longer. It's a sunny and surprisingly warm Sunday, so I could get a little color sitting in the sun-soaked bleachers. Yeah, maybe I'll come back after Pony's haircut.
Driving to the apartment complex, then around to the parking lot, I see Pony's borrowed shit-box Oldsmobile parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. That's one way to get a good parking spot. Pony's at the back door wearing a University of Drexel sweatshirt, ringing the doorbell. Then he goes in. Ha ha, he must have rung everyone's apartment until someone buzzed him in. Maybe he's a cat burglar. After parking, I punch in my apartment code at the backdoor and it clicks open. Going up the steps and through the doorway to the first floor I see Pony leaning against the wall next to my apartment's door. Holy shit! He's got those horned-rim glasses on and his hair is plastered down with gel. Oh shit, I need to bite my bottom lip too keep from
laughing out loud. He looks nervous, doing his cute grin with a dimple on each cheek, as he asks, "Where ya been?" As if I'm late for our appointment. He asked that so fast it was like one word, werysaben? Looking at my wristwatch, I say, "I'm right on time; it's two minutes of three. How'd you get in the building?" We do a slightly awkwardly quick one-arm hug, as he tells me, "I pretended to forget what your apartment number pushing random buttons until someone talked to me through the intercom. I explained my situation to a nice lady and she buzzed the door open. Inside my apartment, Pony mumbles, "Um, nice crib," as he adjusts his large eyeglasses. I almost laugh again, but don't because Pony looks a little nervous and uncomfortable.
After last night I'm not at all sure why he'd be nervous. He certainly wasn't shy asking me for sex.
Yeah, but I feel kinda weird too. It's a very different feeling being under the influence of adult beverages, like we were last night, and being sober now and realizing we basically had sex with a stranger like fourteen hours ago. Plus from my perspective, he looks different with his hair full of gel and combed straight back. Those eyeglasses are cool though. I mean, they're goofy-cool. I ask, "What's with the hair gel, Pony?" He does a nervous, "Heh heh," adding, "I don't know, it's like I didn't know what I should do with my hair before getting a haircut." Then, pointing at his head, he goes, "This was a pretty stupid idea, huh?" Yeah, he's feeling a bit uncomfortable.
It's extra awkward because both of us are just standing here, so I pat his shoulder and, walking into the kitchen, I ask, "Can I get you a soda?"
Opening the refrigerator, I go, "We have Cokes and, um, Peach Snapple." He mumbles, "No thanks, I'm good." His arms are folded across his chest, then his
hands go in his pockets, as he's saying, "About last night, Dylan. It's like, um, I don't know what got into me. That was so crude of me pestering you to, you know. I've never done that before in my life." I snap the tab on a can of Coke, "Yeah, it was an unusual night, but it's strictly between you and me, Daryl. It's nobody else's business." He goes, "Um, sorry, but I think I will take a Coke now." I get him one, saying, "You didn't have that much to drink last night, so I assumed you knew what you were doing." He nods his head, and this time I can't help snorting out a laugh. He looks so silly with his hair plastered down like that, wearing those big eyeglasses that he doesn't need to wear for eyesight reasons in the first place. He probably put them on because last night I said he looked sexy-cute wearing them.
Pony's frowning as I chuckle, so I quickly add, "I'm sorry. Don't think I'm laughing at you, certainly not about last night. It's just your hair; oh my God, it's got so much gel in it. You must have used the whole jar." He blushes a dark red, mumbling, "I'm such a dork. I was so embarrassed when I woke up this morning, you know, remembering how I acted last night. Oh fuck, I almost didn't call you for the haircut, and then after I put the gel in
my hair I was like, what the fuck are you doing, you dumb ass?" I'm like, "Chill, man. You're too hard on yourself! You were drinking last night, and we're in college, so you know the drill: no matter what fucked-up things you do at college when you're drunk, you say, 'Oh fuck, I was so wasted last night' and it's like, no problem!" I'm grinning at him, as he mutters, "Yeah, I know, but I only had parts of three beers," and I go, "Yeah, and those three beers fucked you up totally." He nods his head, "You're right there. I can't drink for shit, which is why I'm not a drinker normally, but last night it was like... Oh, I don't know, I had a brain aneurysm or something..." All that in a rapid-fire speech pattern. He's talking even faster than usual, and now I'm feeling bad for him because he's so stressed. Stressed about nothing, really.
As Pony runs out of words, I'm shaking my head, "There's no problem, Daryl. You're fine; everything's okay." I give him a one-arm shoulder hug, adding, "We're the only two people out of seven billion presently inhabiting this planet who know about last night. And anyway, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. We didn't do anything a million other people weren't doing."
Seeing his reaction about our sex last night, I gotta wonder how upset he must have been the other two times he got fucked? I mean, we were very civilized about it, while the other two times were borderline rapes. Sipping from his can of Coke, seemingly a bit more relaxed now, he goes, "So you don't think I made a totally jackass out of myself last night?" I go, "Well, let's not get carried away," then smile and give him another one-arm shoulder hug, saying, "I'm just kidding you. No, I don't think you made a jackass of yourself at all. One way or another everyone, except rapist, ask to have sex. You came right out and asked, while other's ask in more subtle ways.
That's not saying there was anything wrong with your way; it's as good as any." He asks, "Really?" and I go, "Yeah, it's perfectly fine as far as I'm concerned. You cut through the small talk and asked directly." He drops his head mumbling, "I still can't believe I did that."
We've pretty much covered this topic as much as I care to, so I'm like, "Why don't we move along to the next matter at hand, which is your haircut.
Do you still want a buzz cut?" He adjusts his glasses, "Definitely. That way I don't need to think about another haircut for months, but will you be able to do it with all this gunk in my hair?" I shake my head, "No, no way.
It would clog up the clippers. That's too much gel. It'll have to be washed out." He feels his hair, mumbling, "It dried firm too." I ask, "Have you ever considered a more stylish hairdo? I mean, I think buzz cuts are cool, don't get me wrong, but you might look extra hot with any number of other hair styles." He asks, "Like what?" and I go, "First the shampoo, and then we'll look online at some current hair styles for college guys. There are about a million pictures of haircuts online." He asks, "Should I go back to the dorm and wash my hair? Is that what you mean?" I go, "Nah, I'll do it for you here," and he makes a face, mumbling, "That's so nice of you."
He takes his shirt off and I do his shampoo the regular way with a chair backed-up at the bathroom sink. It gets tilted back so the front legs are off the floor, and I put a folded hand towel between his neck and the front rim of the sink. I hook up the short hose with the spray attachment to the faucet and begin wetting his hair. Pony repeats himself, "This is unbelievably nice of you, Dylan." I go, "I've been doing shampoos before haircuts for a few years now and, as hard as it is for most people to believe, I like doing it. If I had my choice I'd open a barbershop near a big college campus and advertise low cost haircuts for students. Discourage the old timers, so to speak." He says, "You only like doing hair for young guys, huh?" I mutter, "Yeah, but not too young." We're quiet as I lather shampoo into his hair and vigorously rub my fingers all over his scalp. Like most guys, Daryl relaxes after the first minute or so and his eyes close. I stare at him and see he has the beginnings of a faint mustache, plus a little bit of fuzz growth on his chin and next to his ears. Hardly any beard though, especially considering he's twenty years old. That's another thing he and I have in common.
As I'm rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, I ask, "How often do you shave, Pony?" He goes, "I hardly need to shave at all. My grandfather is a Filipino and has no facial hair, so I have him to thank for my lack of a beard."
A light bulb flicks on in my brain. Chubby's and my dad has a Hispanic surname from his father, but I wonder if his mother may have been Filipino, or was partially Filipino. That would be our unknown grandmother. That beardless gene could go back generations and maybe explain the scarcity of beard for Chubby and me; scarcity of body hair too. I'll ask mom if she knows.
Pony has a very good head of dark brown hair and it contrast sexily with his pale facial complexion and dark blue eyes. What the fuck, the world is a melting pot of all kinds of genes combining and mixing together going back thousands of years. It's like that kid, what's his name, with red hair who lives a few condos down from mom's condo. His parents were shocked when they saw red hair on their baby... heh heh, probably got the father thinking, hmmmm? They traced back in their genealogy though, and found a great grandparent with bright red hair. The red hair gene is recessive and can skip generations before reappearing. Genes are fascinating things. I'm going to tell Chub about this Filipino possibility and see what he thinks.
Finally done rinsing Pony's three inch long hair, I'm using a towel to roughly dry it, telling him, "I'll use a hairdryer after this." He goes, "I wish you were just starting the shampoo. This is the first time I can remember
someone other than me shampooed my hair and your fingers felt amazing, Dylan. It felt so good I had shivers down my back." The hairdryer drowns out further conversation and when his hair is shiny clean and dry it's all sticking up again. He stands up, murmuring, "Nice experience, dude." Good to see he's finally comfortable with me again. He's almost my height with a similar body, although his shoulders are more developed; most likely due to his swimming background. I'm like, "Your hair is sticking up again, Pony. If you decide on a hair style you'll need to train your hair to lie down." He says, "If it's okay with you, Dylan, I'd really prefer a buzz cut." I pat his shoulder, "Well that's mighty adventurous of you." He's a sensitive fellow, frowning again, so I go, "No, I'm only teasing you. Buzz cut is no problem at all. I've had versions of a buzz cut most of my life, that is until just a few months ago. C'mon into the kitchen area; that's where I gave this other guy a haircut an hour ago."
Pony sits on the stool that I left there after Steve's haircut. I use a five-eight inch guide on the clippers and make quick work of his hair. It only takes five minutes, and I went over his head a few times with the clippers to insure evenness. Normally for buzz cuts I use a half-inch guide, but the extra eight of inch gives Pony a slightly less severe looking buzz cut.
Buzz cuts are fun to do for me, watching big batches of hair falling away in the path of the clippers is a rush, a slightly sexual rush. Pony has an excellent hairline in front, so he looks real good with the buzz cut, although it makes his already youthful face look even younger. Without his three inch long hairs sticking up from his head like a clown wig, his face now becomes the focal point, and he's a cute dude.
As I finish outlining around and behind his ears, I tell him, "You made a good choice, Pony. A buzz cut looks really good on you." I do a little tapering at the neckline hairs because I'm not abandoning that concept entirely. I'll go to the trouble for special guys. When I mumble, "All done," and start brushing long hair clippings off his shoulders, he rubs his head with both hands, saying, "Oh yeah! That's what I'm talking about." He stands, brushing hairs off his lap, asking, "Do you have a broom? I'll clean all that hair off the tile floor?" I point to the utility closet, "Sure thing, Pony. The cleaning stuff is in there." He gets a brush and dustpan out, then does a nice job sweeping up the cut hairs as I finish my Coke. Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh, thinking how good that buzz cut looks on Pony.
Damn, that was fun and I even got half a stiffy cutting all that hair off h is head. He comes out on the balcony with me while I have a cigarette.
Lighting my Marlboro, I ask, "Did you check yourself out in the mirror yet?"
He goes, "Of course! You sure know how to do buzz cuts. Somehow it looks better than the ones I get at Frank's." I'm like, "Oh, you don't go to Super Cuts," and he shrugs, "Frank's Barbershop is closer to my house." I ask, "Where you from anyway? Where's your hometown?" He says, "The last year and a half we've lived in Worcester, Massachusetts, but the first eighteen-plus years of my life was in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. The Plaza District to be specific. I was a cowboy, Dylan, yahooooo, ride that steer, motherfucker!"
I go, "Really?" and he shakes his head, "Nah, I never saw a horse or a steer in our neighborhood. We were in the suburbs. I liked Oklahoma better than Worcester though, but my dad got what they call 'downsized', which means he got his ass fired, All that summer he was sending resumes all the fuck over the country, he finally got a job offer from a firm here in Massachusetts and we moved after I graduated high school." I go, "No shit?" He says, "Yeah, and I wanted to attend a college someplace other than here, and finally settled on Drexel University in Philadelphia because it's a big-ass city, and I thought I'd like that. Didn't especially like it though, so I transferred here and didn't exactly love here either, not until I met you last night... and now Merrimack rocks!" He's still talking fast, but not like when he first got here. He's calmed down a lot since then.
I chuckle at his implied compliment, but feel good about it too, mumbling,
"Thanks, I think." Then, just like that, it's a quiet awkward time with neither of us having anything else to say, and I know why. It's because last night we both expected that we'd have sex again after his haircut, but when he saw me this afternoon he got all flustered about last night, thinking he acted like a dork. Consequently he can't bring himself to ask me to fuck him again. It's no major loss as far as I'm concerned because Robby and I had that smoking hot sex this morning, and I'm not all that horny. Daryl probably is though and, horny or not, I'd like to feel my dick in his special rectum again. It's probably not going to happen this afternoon though because I can't see him asking, and I don't feel right suggesting it myself. I say that because he's so inexperienced I'd feel like I'm taking advantage of him. Instead, to break the awkward silence, I finally ask, "Do you wanna check out the baseball game at the ballpark? That's what I'm about to do.
My boyfriend is the shortstop on one of the teams, and wait'll you see him! He's gorgeous." As I flick my cigarette butt over the railing, Pony asks, "Who they playing?" I give the back of his neck a squeeze as I get him walking in off the balcony, telling him, "It's an informal inter-squad game.
College baseball season doesn't begin until next March, dummy." As we walk inside, he mutters, "That's what I thought."
At the front door he stops and says, "Um, I've been wanting to ask you something ever since I got here. At the risk of making an ass of myself all over again, I've got to ask you this." Looking me in my eyes, he says, "Do you think I'm more gay than just slightly bisexual?" That's certainly not the question I expected, so I hesitated, and he adds, "Please be honest with me." Nodding my head, I say, "Ahh, yeah, Pony, I do think you're closer to gay that just being slightly bisexual, and I think you do too. You'd know better than me though." He rubs his nose, and looks down but I feel I should be honest with him, so I add, "To be brutally honest about it, the only thing you can be sure of is the gay part. I mean, you've experienced orgasms with three different guys. It's the heterosexual part of bisexuality that's unresolved." He nods his head, "That's exactly what I was thinking about in bed this morning. It's scary thinking I might be a homosexual. When you knew you were definitely gay, did it scare you?" I go, "No. It made me come to terms with things I didn't even realize I'd avoided thinking about. The guy who took my cherry was far from the ideal first time sex partner, but he actually did me a favor. After that I could be honest with myself about my sexuality." Pony's nodding his head again, then says, "In my mind I've always skipped over the part about sex with a girl, assuming it was a given, but now I'm seriously doubting that." I give him a one-arm shoulder hug again, mumbling, "You'll figure it out, buddy," and walk him out the door.
Going down the steps, he goes, "I'd like to do it again with you sometime, Dylan, if you're willing. I know I can do the oral sex better. You know, covering my incisors better." I don't know why it should, but that strikes me funny so I'm doing two fake coughs to cover up a laugh, then seriously say, "Yeah, you've got some sharp incisors alright, but I'm willing to put my dick in dangers way again." I was kidding, but he gives me a serious, "Thanks, Dylan. I was right about one thing; you're a really nice person."
Rubbing his buzzed head, I go, "I already know that, Daryl. It's what everyone tells me." He grins, saying, "Hey, stop stealing my compliment comeback-line." Getting in the pickup, hoping to get off the topic of how gay he is, I say, "Pony, that fucking buzz cut looks cool on you. Let me see you with your glasses on." Shrugging, he reaches in his pocket and takes out his glasses, saying, "Sure, I'll go along with you making fun of me again." He puts on his glasses and I go, "Dude, you're a cute motherfucker!" Blushing slightly, he muttered, "Fuck you, Dylan." Inside the truck, still trying to keep to light banter, I go, asking, "You ready to see some college baseball?"
He shrugs, "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." I back the pickup out of the parking spot, asking, "Don't you like baseball?" He goes, "I don't follow it very closely. I'm a swimmer and Lacrosse player and a gymnast; none of which is a big spectator sport. Baseball's okay, but you know what I've decided I'd much rather do right now? I mean, since no one is in your apartment and your boyfriend's accounted for, and you and I both agree that you're a really nice guy?" I'm like, "What would you rather do right now....?"
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 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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