DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 17
by Donny Mumford
Pretty good weekend, and then last night's sex with Rob was icing on the cake, a cherry on top, or however that goes. Sleeping until almost eleven o'clock, then I lie in bed watching Robby sleep; wow, what a boyfriend! He's so good looking, and now he has the beginnings of a cool looking beard pattern. It goes just along his jaw without reaching his chin. There are some whiskers on the tip of his chin though, and a thin mustache that barely reaches past his top lip. More like hair than whiskers, but who knows how much continuing growth is yet to come. His dad has a fairly light beard, as far as I can tell anyway since he's always clean shaven. Yeah, and the last time I saw Rob's brother, Dodger, he had a ratty looking mustache and some chin hairs, but that's about it. As for Chubby and me, we've both got some fine light hairs growing on our upper lip and below our sideburns. We shave maybe once a week because of the rumor that hair comes in thicker after being shaved. You couldn't prove it by either of us though. I'm going to investigate the Filipino connection that Pony mentioned 'cause I'd kinda like to know some plausible explanation for our lack of a beard, and scarify of body hair.
Easing out of bed, being careful not to wake Robby, I pad into the bathroom. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Huh, with the sun shining brightly through the window just right it highlights the almost invisible blond hairs I do have on my face. I'd like to have a sparse beard so I could run around with that three-day beard look. It's sort of a 'I don't give a shit look'. Heh heh, that's kinda cool. Oh well, time will tell.
After washing my hands and face, I brush my teeth then apply shaving cream and shave, just in case. Taking a long hot shower feels good, plus it's a
fun new experience having hair to shampoo. While doing that a thought passes by my consciousness, and it's this: yesterday was the first time in a while I've enjoyed sex three times the same day. First with Daryl after his haircut, then twice with Robby last night. Huh, I've had a lot of sex after haircuts. After my haircuts, with Ryan mostly, and after haircuts I've given quite a few different guys. Man, the hottest my fetish has ever gotten was Ryan giving me those fucked-up haircuts in Georgia. Haircutting and sex for me is like double dipping; my fetish, then sex. Yeah, but what did Golden tell me about people who have a haircut fetish? Something about fear of emasculation, or something bitchy like that. I honestly don't think it applies in my case, although my subconscious mind remains a secret, so who the fuck knows what's going on in there? Whatever, there are times I kinda like having the fetish. Ryan doing those Marietta haircuts had my fetish smoking hot and generating bombastic orgasms, ones that would be hard to imagine by people without the fetish.
When I'm out of the shower drying off, Robby comes in and gives my ass a pat, mumbling, "G'morning, sexy," and I mutter, "Right back at you, boss,"
then leave the bathroom to give Rob the privacy he deserves for certain toilet maneuvers. Closing the door behind me and dropping the towel, I open the closet and look at my naked body in the full length mirror. The one on the inside of the closet door. Huh, not bad. I'm always checking out other guys' bodies and rating them in my mind, so how do I rate my body. Being unbiased and completely objective I'd have to say, I'm pretty hot! Then I laugh at myself for having that thought... heh heh. Seriously though, last year's weight lifting helped, but even before that I was pleased with the body Mother Nature bestowed on me via Dad's and Mom's genes. Chubby's and my dad was a very slender, beardless lad at seventeen, which is the only age we've seen him in a picture. Cute guy too, although that's a weird thing to say about your father. He was just a boy when he died so it's impossible to know what he'd look like as a man. Chubby and I have some common traits, appearance-wise from our dad's genes. The differences between us come from our moms' genes. Tris is short at five foot, one inch, and she has dark hair. My mom is almost as tall as me, and blond. Well, she's a couple inches shorter, but she says her father was over six feet tall.
Getting over myself, I move away from the mirror and get dressed, then check my backpack to be sure I've got everything I'll need for the one class we have today. Satisfied that I'm ready for class, I make a mug of coffee and consider making breakfast, then decide against it. We'll get a burger for an early lunch on the way to our one o'clock class. Robby joins me in the kitchen, and he's still in his very good baseball-frame-of-mind mood, smiling and looking handsomely cute. We kiss good morning; then, as he makes himself a mug of coffee, he tells me, "The team gets new uniforms today; brand new ones, plus locker assignments for the year." Sipping my coffee, I'm like, "Um, isn't there a class we need to attend before your first official Fall baseball practice?" He smirks, "Hey, I'm the conscientious one between us, remember?" I nod, "Yep, but all you can talk about is the baseball team. Maybe I better check your backpack to be sure you have what you need for class." He chuckles, "Yeah, babe, you do that." Today we have our second exposure to the 'Management Supply Chain' course with Professor McGovern.
It's a fifty minute class Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. We did the assignments from the first class last Thursday at my lover boy's insistence. He
is actually the conscientious one, more than me for sure.
Around twelve-fifteen, bringing our backpacks, we get in the pickup and drive to Burger King, which is a five minute drive from the campus, so no rush. After a quick lunch we're on campus ten minutes before class, smoking our first cigarette of the day and reviewing our finished assignments from last Thursday. There are no surprises during class. Professor McGovern is her normal loud, but monotone self and eventually the fifty minutes is up, but not before she assigns twenty pages of reading, plus a two-hundred word summary of what the reading material was about. Going outside the building, Robby says, "Practice isn't until three o'clock, Dylan, so we have almost an hour. What I'd like us to do on Mondays, during the three weeks of baseball practice at least, is do the homework assignments in the library. No sense wasting time going back and forth to the apartment. How's that sound to you?" I shrug, "I just follow my leader, like a good soldier." He pats my shoulder, saying, "That's my boyfriend, Mister Cooperative."
Walking to the library, Robby asks, "Are you going to watch practice?" I go, "Yeah, I thought I'd walk down to the ballpark with you. I don't know how long I'll stay though, so can I have the keys for the pickup truck?" He passes the keys to me, mumbling, "Sure. I'll text you when practice is over." The library is a sensible place to do homework. Actually I was wondering over the weekend if Robby would insist on doing homework before practice, and now I know the answer to that. It takes both of us most of the hour to finish the homework assignment because the printing is so tiny in this fucking text book. Twenty pages is like forty in a normal text book. Then the two-hundred word summary, and we're finally out of there. Big smile on Robby's face as we head on down to the ballpark. He says, "Ya know, it's nothing serious, but I've got a few butterflies for this first official practice with the coaches. They're gonna expect a lot from us juniors on the team because there's only four seniors left, and none of them are probably going to be starting." I nod, "You'll do great, Rob." He nods and smiles, acting happy go lucky, but I know he's more uptight then his smile indicates. Robby expects so much of himself, and never wants to let his coaches or teammates down. Not that there's much chance of that.
We split up at the entrance; he goes into the clubhouse and I wander through the general admission entrance. Obviously no admission charge for watching practice. There's only about twenty people in the stands, three of whom I know. Frankie, Beth, and Tootsie. At least the pierced-nose girl isn't with them. Frankie yells, "Over here, Dylan!" Jesus, what a pain in the ass!
I walk over determined to be nice,; as opposed to the grouchy guy they're always accusing me of being. I sit next to Frankie and happily she doesn't wrap her arms around one of mine like she's done a couple of times before.
I kinda snapped at her a little the last time she did it. I go, "Hi ladies, whassup?" They're their usual friendly selves, taking turns telling me about the Blue Man Group show they saw in Boston yesterday afternoon. I do my best to appear interested, but I've seen Blue Man Group and thought it was kind of stupid. Then, gratefully, their attention turns to the players as they come out on the field. Practice looks much different now that the coaches are present. The groups are organized, and there's a lot less goofing around. It's also not as much fun to watch. Soon the girls are mostly talking and laughing among themselves, so that's a break for me. If the sun were out it'd be kind of relaxing and enjoyable sitting here in the bleachers.
Mostly I'm watching Robby and remembering how sweet and sexy he was last night. Thinking about last night, I get a little baseball bat in my pants.
Nice!
After forty-five minutes though, I'm trying to think of something else to do when my cellphone rings. Taking it from my pocket I see the caller ID; Daryl Ponti. That makes me frown because it's hard to believe he's up for buddy sex again already. "Hi, Pony, whassup, dude?" He asks, "Hi Dylan. You wanna jog with me?" I'm like, "Um, jog, what the fuc...?" and he goes, "I jog three miles a day, rain or shine. I've determined exactly a three miles run, according to the speedometer in Tom's car. After that we can work out at the fitness center for half an hour or so." Ha ha, this is maybe the last thing I expected when I answered his call. I go, "Where are you?" He says, "I'm walking from my last class to my dorm. Can you pick me up at my dorm?" I'm like, "Yeah, but is this three mile run for real, or what?" He laughs, "You wimp, can't you jog three miles." I go, "What the fuck you talking about? My brother and I ran more than three miles every fucking day. We'd jog
from our condo complex to Parker's Park and back. Um, until our senior year when we had jobs during the summer." He says, "Great! Then this will be a breeze for you." Glancing around and seeing the girls blabbing, a three mile run seems like a better idea than sitting here.
Putting my cellphone back in my pocket, Beth asks, "Who was that, Dylan?"
As if it's any business of hers. I mumble, "A fitness guy I know. We jog three miles a day before working out in the fitness center." She goes, "Ouuu, how macho." I'm like, "Yeah, well, I'll she y'all later," and I saunter down the bleachers to the exit ramp. Robby's at the on-deck circle for the batting cage and he sees me getting ready to leave. He grins, nodding at me.
Then shows me the palms of his hands, like, 'What's up? Where ya going?' I mouth, 'I'll text you'. As I'm walking towards the parking lot I leave a text on Robby's cellphone, 'Rob, I was on my way to jog and then workout a little at the fitness center. Text me when practice is over.' He'll still be baffled, ha ha, 'fitness center, what the fuck?' Unlocking the pickup, I'm trying to remember something I said to the girls that was weird.
What was it? Oooh, wait a fucking second! I said, 'y'all', and that's the first time I used that Southern colloquialism since leaving Georgia. Everybody said, y'all, in Marietta. It was enough to drive me batty.
Driving down dormitory row I pass Ryan's dorm. Huh, I can just picture him hunkered down at his desk refusing to go out for fear of seeing me. Or more likely, he's out and about without even thinking of me. Maybe he has a split personality, or maybe he's bipolar, or he hit his head on something and he has amnesia.
Pony's on the steps of his dorm wearing running shoes and dressed in sweat pants and a hoodie sweatshirt. I'm wearing what I wore to class; jeans, boat shoes, and my recently purchased hoodie sweatshirt that has 'WARRIORS' on
the front. Pulling over I drop my window, yelling, "Pony, over here." He looks up and grins, then walks over. Cute kid! He says, "Ready to work up a sweat?" I'm like, "It's barely fifty degrees! Ya can't work up a sweat when it's this cold. I'm thinking about wearing gloves." He comes around and gets in the passenger seat chuckling, then he says, "Ya know, I'm always a little startled when I first see you." I'm like, "Why's that?" and he says, "Because you're so cool looking." I go, "Oh, for Christ sakes, I know that!
Everyone is always telling me that." He laughs, then goes, "You're not planning to jog in those clothes are you? And you're wearing top-siders. You can't jog in those!" I mumble, "Oh, no? And here I was planning on running backwards in these shoes. Of course I'm not jogging in these things! I didn't
know I'd be jogging at all when I got dressed this morning."
I drive us to the apartment and, while Pony waits in the truck, I change into sweatpants and sneakers. Going down the back stairs I'm sort of getting in the mood for some exercise. This is a good idea. In the driver's seat again, I'm like, "Okay, where do we start?" He says, "At my dormitory," and during the ride back to his dorm, he tells me, "I normally jog at an average seven-minute per mile pace. That's if I'm only jogging three miles. In any case, that pace is too fast for you since you haven't done much jogging for a couple of years. Our goal will be to average ten-minute miles, and see how you handle that, okay?" I nod, then say, "I could run a seven minute mile; I'm no pussy." He says, "You're definitely not a pussy, but if you ran a seven minute mile in your present condition, you'd be hurting for a week," I let out a big exhale, then mumble, "We'll see about that." Parking the pickup, we walk to his dorm with Pony describing the route we'll take. He says, "It's exactly a quarter mile from my dorm to Merrimack's track and field facility. It's a one mile track so we'll go two and a half times around the tract, then a quarter mile back to my dormitory." I ask, "Is it okay if I smoke while we jog?" He laughs, "No, no smoking while jogging" I mutter, "Too many rules," and he laughs, then says, "Be serious. Here we go..."
and we start jogging, but a lot faster than I expected.
He explains, "It's always wise to run slower than normal for the first mile, and then run each succeeding mile a little faster." I grunt, "Yeah? Why's that?" He says, "As everyone knows, it takes eight minutes or so of continuous cardio-respiratory exercise before your body transitions to an aerobic state. We'll jog this slow first mile at eleven minutes, the next at ten and a half, and the third mile at nine and a half minutes." Nodding my head is all I can manage at this point because I'm out of breath already, and we haven't even reached the track. On the track, Pony says, "Okay, when we're three-quarters of the way around the track we'll pick up the pace." What the fuck? Pick up the pace? I manage to ask, "Are you sure this isn't the seven-minute speed?" He holds up a stop watch, saying, "Yes, I'm sure.
We're on pace for an eleven-minute mile, um, like I just fucking told you," and he laughs, running backwards for a few yards. Showoff! No response from me as I'm thinking to myself, 'Holy shit, this blows!' I have to admit though it's easier running on the track. And to me this is
definitely running. It's too fast to qualify as jogging. Running my balls off, side by side with Pony, I'm frustrated because his breathing is normal, as he tells me, "This is a very slow pace for me, but it's probably a good idea for me to work at this slower pace for a week or so. I took a couple of weeks off my jogging schedule with a bad case of the flu just before arriving at Merrimack, and I should really work my way back into a normal per-mile pace." Whatever. I say nothing because all my energy is going into gasping for my next breath, and poking at the stitch in my side. As we run Pony tells me about the training program he was on for the swimming team, and how he trained differently when he was on the gymnastic team. Most of what he's saying is shrouded in esoteric terminology that makes no sense to me whatsoever, but then I'm not really paying much attention anyway; I'm concentrating on getting oxygen into my lungs, both of which apparently have shrunk somehow.
The first mile was a struggle, but curiously the second mile, although at a faster speed, seemed maybe a little easier... a tiny bit easier. Well the word 'easy' misrepresents the total effort needed for me to run two miles, never mind three. Almost finished the second turn around the track, Pony asks, "How you doing, Dylan?" I nod, muttering, "This blows," and he laughs, then says, "You're never serious." I'm dead serious! I simply don't have the stamina to tell him that. Past our starting point on the track, he says, "Just halfway around the track this time, but we really do need to pick up the pace." Why do people insist on jogging? Then, as if reading my mind, Pony yells, "I love this!" I barely have the energy to look at him. He goes, "Yes, Dylan, I'm a fitness geek!" and he runs in a circle, telling me, "I love jogging and working out on the fitness equipment. It makes me feel strong, and running is mostly a solitary endeavor giving me time to think about stuff, and for long distance running there something called a runner's high that's spectacular to experience.
I've no response to any of that, and I apparently look like shit because when Daryl glances over at me this time he gets a concerned expression on his face, asking, "Hey, are you okay, buddy?" Fortunately I have incredible willpower so I'm able to gasp, "Lets run another mile," which gets a big laugh from Pony. He goes, "You're doing good, although I'd feel better if a couple of paramedics were standing by." Pony's still not breathing hard as he, in a conversational manner, tells me, "There really is something called a runner high, ya know. It's like endorphins create in you a state of euphoria. There's a very close connection between the mind and the body while running." No reply from me.
Now we're off the track heading for his dormitory a quarter mile away, and for a second I feel like crying with relief, then tell myself, "Please don't cry," and laugh at myself. Pony says, "That's the spirit. Running's fun!" Uh huh... bullshit! The last hundred yards are agony because now I see the finish line but it looks so far away. We pass the entrance to his dorm with Pony mockingly raising his arm, saying, "We made it." He's as fresh as when we started. We stop and my legs immediately begin cramping. He see me winch, and says, "Move, do some light jogging for a couple of minutes, Dylan.
You're tightening up." He jogs slowly with me up and down the sidewalk in front of his dorm until I slow to a walk, still breathing deeply, muttering, "I'm good. No problem."
Going inside to his dorm room I'm limp and sweaty, looking like something the cat dragged in. Pony's roommate, Tom Higgins, laughs, saying, "I see Daryl talked you into jogging with him. I begged off because jogging is for pussies and weirdos." Pony chuckles, "Tom's a runner too. He was on the track and field team in high school, so he runs ten miles like it's nothing. He calls a three miles run at seven-minutes per mile, a nice girlie jog." As he talks, Pony hands me a bottle of water. I force myself not to guzzle it down as though I just came off a week in the dessert. I'm sweating like a race horse, while Pony looks calm, cool, and collected. Well, he's sweating too, but other than that he look's calm, cool, and collected. He and Tom break each other's balls discussing long distance runs and working on the fitness equipment, some of which I've never heard of. Finally I've got my breath back and manage to repeat what Pony said on the track, "Yeah, I'm a fitness geek!" and they both laugh, then Tom says, "That's a badge of honor, being a fitness geek, like me." I go, "Yeah, but can you dance?" Tom gets up and shows me a couple of dance moves, and he's looking good too, so I go, "Okay, you can dance too, but can you cut hair." He goes, "Sure I can, but very poorly." He's a pretty good guy.
Pony invites Tom to join us in the fitness room, but he's got reading to do for a class tomorrow. What I'd like to say right about now is, 'Let's take a fuckin' nap' but I don't because I'd seem wimpy. This is just one more example of peer pressure rearing it's ugly head. The fitness center is a ten minute walk, not jog, and definitely not run. We walk with Pony asking, "Will you jog with me tomorrow, Dylan? I do it almost every day." I say, "If I live until tomorrow, sure I'll do it with you. I'd like to get in better shape." And I would too, although I wouldn't do it on my own. Doing it with someone else will force me to do it because I don't want to look like a wuss. It's peer pressure again. In the fitness room I mostly just goof around with the equipment, then do some free weights lifting, telling Pony about the weight lifting Robby and I did last year with a couple of our friends. Pony has a regular routine on four different apparatuses, and we're both sweating bullets after a forty minute workout. Daryl's breathing hard by now too.
Leaving the fitness center Pony goes, "We're invigorated now so whaddaya say we top off our workout with a quick buddy-fuck?" We've both got beads of sweat on out foreheads that are cooling us off quickly in the chilly air.
My ass is dragging, so I burst out with a laugh at his suggestion, sure that he's joking. Then mutter, "Invigorated, my ass." He says, "Sorry, to be a nag about the buddy sex. I forget you have a boyfriend and don't need me begging you for sex." Damn, I should have known he was serious. He reminds me of myself during that first month of sex with fat Carl. I'd get pouty when he'd tell me to get lost, so I say, "Oh, I didn't think you we're serious, Daryl, that's why I laughed. Um, but sure, I'd like a little buddy sex."
He goes, "No, I feel like a jackass for asking again. It's okay. Another time, huh?" I'm like, "Well, at least ride over and hang-out in the apartment with me. I mean, I'm in serious need of coming down off this runners high." He grins, "You get a runner's high while long distance running, not a fter a short jog and lifting a few weights." I go, "Oh, well then, I guess it's not a high so much as it's my ass dragging from this heavy workout day."
We're standing at the end of dormitory row with Pony's smirking, "For the record, Dylan, this was a light workout day." I put my arm across his shoulders, "Yeah, that's what I meant to say, Pony, a light workout day. C'mon, hang-out with me at the apartment. I'm just waiting around for Rob to finish practice."
We start walking towards the parking lot, with Pony saying, "Please excuse
my mentioning sex a few minutes ago, Dylan. I'm in the process of sorting out this gay infatuation I'm embroiled in at the moment. It's brand new to me and frankly it's a little bit scary." I nod, "Sure, I totally get that, no problem." Then it's awkward time, neither of us knowing exactly what to say next. There's an uncomfortable silence during the short drive off campus. At the traffic light on route 114, we're idling at the red light when I finally break the silence, "Oh hell, Daryl, it's no big deal. Of course we can have a quick buddy fuck. I'd like that." He says, "You're too nice, Dylan. It's like I don't know how I should act, or what's appropriate behavior in this situation. What was you're experience right after you realized you were probably, um, gay." The light turns green and I drive us across the intersection and onto the apartment complex's front driveway, saying, "I don't know that I recall exactly, Pony. I think my reaction was pretty much one of acceptance. It's as if I already knew I was homosexual, but needed someone to turn the switch on." He asks, "Did you go overboard like me, nagging that guy for sex?" I park and turn off the engine, then look at him.
"First of all, you are not nagging. Not compared to me back then with fat Carl anyway. My nagging got so bad it turned him off. I had an insatiable desire to catch up on the sexy years I missed out on. You, on the other hand, are casually asking if I'm up for a quickie with you, that's not nagging.
Anyway, yes, I'd like to have buddy sex. How's that?" He nods his head, asking, "Really? I, um, don't want to overdo it and turn you off." I say, "You're handling this buddy sex situation very well; don't be so hard on yourself." He mumbles, "Thanks. So, um, does this mean we're doing it?" He's so sincere! I nod my head trying not to laugh at the expression on his face.
Rubbing my face with both hands, I go, "Yes, we're doing it, but I'm so sweaty it'd probably be a good idea if we wash up and change out of these sweaty clothes."
We get out of the truck and while walking to the back door, Pony says, "Hell, I don't mind sweat. I like to sweat, and I'll bet your sweat is awesome." I glance over and see him grinning, so I go, "Yeah, well you're right about that. I've got awesome sweat," and I give his shoulders another one-arm squeeze as we go in the back door. Inside the apartment, I ask, "Would you like a soda or anything?" He shakes his head, "No thanks, I'm good," so I go, "Well, do you want to do this sweaty or after we clean-up?" He rubs his mouth looking at me with his eyes shiny, "Sweaty would be my first choice." Rubbing his head, coming away with a sweat drenched hand, I say, "Sweaty is good," and we go down the short hall and through my bedroom into the bathroom. Pony immediately drops his sweatpants, but his jockey shorts are soaked through and sticking to him. Some guys sweat more than others.
I'm thinking how Robby and I have gone in for grungy sex occasionally, so being sweaty is no problem as far as I'm concerned. As Pony peels his underwear off, I drop my pants. Pony pulls the shower mat over and kneels on it.
He's very anxious. I'd be flattered he's so anxious to do this with me, except I'm pretty sure he'd be just as anxious with, say his roommate. I mean, if Steve were gay. Pony's embracing his newly discovered sexual urges, and I can relate to that very well.
Looking up at me, he asks, "Is it okay if I start now?" I nod, "Sure," and he picks up my limp damp dick and without any hesitation, licks the head.
Gay, or straight people for that matter, who are afflicted with mysophobia, or people I call germophobes, must have a difficult time with oral sex acts. Pony is obviously not dealing with that problem as he sucks my sweaty cock into his mouth, again without covering those bottom incisors of his.
I'm wondering if maybe he filed them last night to make them sharper. Just kidding because I kinda like the contrast of the scrapping on my dick while the head gets sucked and bathed with a wet warm tongue belonging to a cute guy with a buzz cut. This time Pony also strokes my foreskin using this thumb and first two fingers of his left hand; the same way he stroked his own dick last time he sucked my cock. I'm running my fingers lightly over his sweaty buzz cut hair as my dick begins getting hard. Damn nice treat getting sucked off like this. The combination of his incisors scraping my cock and his warm wet tongue sliding around the head is very arousing. Less then two minutes into it, I push his head away feeling precum already drooling out of my very hard cock.
Pony's silently licking his lips as he looks up at me. I mumble, "Damn, that felt good." He smiles standing up, saying, "I knew I'd like sucking dick,
and I really like sucking yours. Stupid thing to say, but I don't care..."
He turns around then and leans over grabbing the rim of the sink like he did yesterday. Looking at him submissively waiting to get fucked hard and fast is a sight that makes my boner quiver. I stroke it, asking, "Did you forget the condom?" He goes, "Oh shit, no I have one," and he leans down to go through the pockets of his sweat pants, adding, "Guess I'm overly anxious, huh?" Playing at being dominant, I say, "Open that packet and roll the condom on my hard pecker." He nods his head, mumbling, "Oh yeah, sure." Whoa, it feels good having his fingers moving on my boner rolling the condom on.
Biting his bottom lip, Pony wipes his hand on a hand towel, muttering, "Gooey," meaning the lubricant. I tell him, "This time lean down and support yourself on the toilet seat lid. I want your ass below me so I can drive my cock in harder." He does what he's told without questioning it. Then I smack the hell out of his ass, "SMACKSMACKSMACKSMACK," until he finally yelps. My boner is tight up against my belly now, still drooling precum. His butt cheeks are dark pink and he's breathing noisily through his nose. He looks back, "I almost shot off again. Spank me some more." I give him another four hard smacks, seeing my hand print in white with each one. He's moving his feet now and a hand comes back to block the next smack, so I stop.
Rubbing my hands up and down his back a few times, giving his stinging ass a minute to settle down. Then I say, "Push your ass up, Pony." He pushes it up as I'm pulling my boner down away from my belly, then jab the head in past his sphincter. He goes, "Aaaah!" Grabbing his hips I roughly pull him back onto my boner. He again whines, "I'm gonna cum," so I stop, wait a little bit and rubbing his back again. He murmurs, "It's past, I'm good to go," so I pull my awesome-feeling boner almost all the way out of his tight rectum and then shove it right back up his ass hard. Pony arches his back making that hissing sound of his. I'm tight up against his butt cheeks humping against him a few times, Pony goes, "God, this feels soooo good...." Wow, he's a lad after my own heart. I should have spanked him harder yesterday, but I was a little bit anxious for sex myself.
It's hard to explain how fabulous it feels having my boner surrounded by his tight gel-like rectum. And it's definitely a turn-on seeing Pony bent over holding on to the toilet lid. My boner throbs inside him as his rectum does that pulsating thing. Pony has to be tightening his muscles without realizing he's doing it. It sure feels good! Taking a deep breath, I fuck him as hard as I've ever fucked anyone, "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds ringing in our ears. Pony's moaning and groaning, bouncing to and fro as I'm thrusting my hard cock back and forth in his ass. This hard fucking is giving me such a rush! It's like I almost forget everything except the souring sensations coming off my cock and the pleasure moans coming from my 'bottom boy'. It sure appears Pony likes being submissive, or am I projecting that onto him? At the moment I really don't care one way or another as millions of nerve endings in my hard penis reach a state of delirium creating swarms of sexual pleasure. It's insane how good this feels. My hips are humping, my teeth clenched, my hard boner moving fast and really hard back and forth in Pony's pulsating rectum.
As with almost all hard, fast fucks there's a too quick orgasm right around the corner, and Pony's erupts first. He gasps and goes, "Ooooh, eeee, aaaah," humping his hips forward as cum streams against the front of the toilet tank. I glance to the side seeing a second shot of cum spiraling from his hard boner. His penis is so hard it doesn't move sticking straight out, the swollen head dark red, the pee slit gaping open. Three more fast flying squirts of cum shoot out of Pony's steel boner as I squeal now humping against his butt cheeks, filling the condom with my load of spunk. Then another desperate hump so hard Pony hits the top of his head on the front of the toilet's tank getting his own cum in his buzz cut hair. I'm totally into my
orgasm as stars flash brightly behind my eyes. We're both gasping for air as I lean against his ass, my hands cupping his damp shoulders, and hump a few more time getting a few more squirts of cum to shoot into the condom.
Pony's takes a hand off the toilet seat lid and feels his cum-saturated head, as he grunts, "Oh my God. That was, um... it gets better every time." I pat his shoulder, then chuckle at the spunk he's smears around on the top of his head.
Straightening up, still grinning about the cum in his hair, I pull my softening cock from his ass and there's a quiet wet sucking sound when the still swollen head pops out. Pony takes another deep breath as he straightens up pulling on his dick with one hand and showing me his other hand, the one with the cum on his fingers from his hair, asking, "How the hell did I get cum in my hair?" I point at the front of the toilet tank. The streams of cum he shot out would have probably landed five feet away if the toilet tank weren't there. He puts out a lot of cum with his orgasms.
Both of us showing little grins, I say, "Except for the cum on your head, can you think of a better way to spend three minutes." He goes, "Nope!
Wish it could last longer though, and I really got off from the spanking.
That's what surprises me the most. I didn't see that coming." I go, "Yeah, I surprised myself smacking your ass yesterday. But then, I like a few ass smacks myself, so I guess I thought you might get aroused a bit too. It's just a touch of sub/dom sex... spanking your ass like that." He goes, "Guess we're like two peas in a pod, sex-wise, except you've had a four year head start on me." I'm pulling the condom off as Pony lifts the toilet lid. In goes the condom, as I mumble, "Would you do the honors?" He flushes, saying, "My
pleasure."
I clean up a little at the sink, then have Pony lean over the sink and I give him a mini shampoo getting the cum out of his hair. Drying his head, I tell him, "Wipe your cum off the toilet." He leans over using a damp washcloth cleaning his mess as I pat his ass, then can't resist the impulse to push my middle finger up his ass. He does the arching back thing, moaning, "Mmmm, yeaaah." A short finger fuck, then I wash my hands again. Pony says, "How soon after fucking can you go again?" Finished cleaning-up his cum, he dumps the washcloth in the hamper with the one we used yesterday. I tell him, "It depends on who I'm doing it with and how long it's been since the last time I did it. Sometimes I've had a quick turnaround in maybe fifteen minutes." As I'm drying my hands, Pony's at the sink washing-up, and saying, "I've jerked off three times in an hour." I burst out with a laugh, then pat his back, saying, "I couldn't do that, but then I think your nuts are bigger than mine." We both get laughing.
In the living room, he says, "I'll take that soda now if the offer's still good." We drink the Cokes on the balcony as I smoke a cigarette, saying, "We should make this part of our workout. Whaddaya say, Daryl?" He goes, "Man, am I glad I met you! Holy shit, yeah! This is definitely an excellent addition to any workout." I tell him that I'm not sure what I'll be doing when Robby's three weeks of baseball practice ends, but until then we can do the run, work out in the fitness room, then come back here to finish our workout. He's all smiles, which makes me feel good. Not just because he's happy, but because it's all pretty fucking cool from my point of view too.
Robby texts me a half hour later. I drop Pony off on the way to pick-up Robby, who I find standing with Golden at the general admission entrance. Both
of them are wearing brand new baseball caps, with a third cap in Robby's hand. I toot the horn and they both look up, then come over. Robby passes me the third hat through my open window. I go, "For me? Thank you, Rob!" He says, "You're welcome, babe. I invited Golden for dinner." I'm like, "That's cool, maybe he'll let me give him a haircut." Golden grins, saying, "He probably won't," as he's getting in the back seat. Robby follows him, sitting shotgun, saying, "Golden told me his hair has never been shorter than it is now." Pulling away, I go, "You're shitting me," then to Golden, "You've always had a girl's hairdo, huh?" He goes, "It's not a girls hairdo, numb-nuts. And, yes, from my toddler years to the present I've had long hair."
His hair reaches his shoulders. I go, "At least wear a ponytail, maybe with bangs." Golden says, "You and your haircut fetish." Huh, I never admitted to him I have a fetish. My clever retort to that, is, "Eat me!"
They tell me about the new uniforms for the team, and I don't say this to them, but their description sounds like softball uniforms. They're happy with them though. Our dinner is cheeseburgers on the grill with French fries and cole slaw. After dinner we watch Monday Night Football, drinking a few beers. At half time Robby drives Golden back to campus. Before bed, Robby and I have some hot rough sex with only a short make-out preceding it. Robby was horny and pretty dominant, for him anyway. We never made it to the bed.
After sort of wrestling together, doing a rough making-out with our teeth scrapping together and my bottom lip bleeding a little, Robby pulls my pants down below my buttocks and fucks me with his boner sticking out through the fly of his jeans. Even though I had a good climax with Pony, I really blast out a strong stream of cum after a five minute hard fucking from Robby.
Yesterday morning Robby used lubricant, but not tonight. He got too aroused to be bothered with that. Man, that was some damn good sex! We take a shower together and don't get to sleep until after midnight.
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday follows very closely the pattern established Monday. Robby and I do our homework in the library, then I go to the ballpark with him and chat with the girls until Daryl's finished his last class. I pick him up, then change clothes at the apartment. Pony jogs three miles, while I run my ass off for three miles, then we spend time in the fitness room working-up a good sweat. The run on Thursday is no easier for me than it was Monday. Back in the apartment, without discussing it, we have sweaty sex every day. His blow jobs don't improve much, but I like them just fine anyway. Each day his sharp teeth get me more aroused then the day before, and then we fuck hard and fast. After fucking we talk about the sex and how Pony thinks he could climax again in fifteen minutes. It's great fucking him, and I really get off on it, but it's not arousing enough that I could do it again in fifteen minutes. I explained that to Pony, eliminating the part about him not getting me aroused enough to do a quick turn around.
He's starting to talk about me using a dildo to see if he can get off again in fifteen minutes. He's into experimenting with sex like newbie gay guys are wont to do. When Robby texts, I drop Pony off and pick Rob up. He only requires a general answer to, "What'd ya do this afternoon, Dylan?" I say, "Nothing much, just a three mile run and forty minutes in the fitness center, then hang out with Daryl until you text." He's like, "When am I going to get to meet the mysterious Daryl, the boy who can get you to run three miles every day."
Wednesday night we have the three girls over for dinner; Frankie, Beth, and Tootsie. Then after dinner, at the girls' urging, we play nickel/dime poker until eleven o'clock. Robby drives the girls home and when he gets back we have sex in bed; slow lover's sex and I can't even begin to describe how awesome it was. Robby used lubricant again and it makes for a awesomely smooth fuck. Thursday, after Pony and I do our quick hard fuck, he showers at the apartment and borrows some things of mine to wear. We pick up Robby together and I introduced them, explaining to Rob that Daryl/Pony was one of the guys I gave a haircut to last Sunday. They get along pretty good talking about sports teams they've been on. Robby glances at me with a slight grin and a 'look' in his eyes, like he knows what's going on, but it's no big deal. And it isn't, actually. Then after dinner, the three girls come over again wanting to play pinochle with two people teams. While Robby and the three girls play, I teach Pony the rules for pinochle and we're partners playing the winners of the first game. Robby and Frankie won, so we play against them. Playing cards is one of those activities where time seems to fly. You look up and it's almost midnight. I drive the girls and Pony to their dormitories. No matter that it's after midnight, Robby and I again have awesome sex. It's one of those times when I worship Rob's body, sucking and licking my way from his lips to his toes, giving special oral attention to his cock on the way down his body, and when working my way up his body I rim his ass for a few minutes. Robby fucks me in a feverish heat after that.
We do it doggy style and both of us climax in less than ninety seconds.
The foreplay had us near climax before his hard cock went up my ass. No lubricant, but his cock was slippery with his precum.
Friday morning I wake up feeling tired, and with a touch of nervous anticipation flicking around in my head. Tired for the obvious reason of not getting enough sleep, and as for the nervous anticipation, the reason occurs to me almost immediately. Today's only class is 'Modern Society' and I have it with Ryan. I haven't seen or heard from him since last Friday's class.
Chubby's talk reinforced my vow to wait for Ryan to contact me. He didn't do that, so I didn't either, and now I'm wondering if I should have. If I'd at least sent him one text I wouldn't feel, I don't know, guilty, or like I didn't keep my word. I told him he's the boss of me when Rob isn't around, so he probably thinks it's my responsibility to contact him and ask; reach out to my leader. The only reason I mentioned the 'boss' thing to Ryan in the first place was to try and help him loosen-up, be comfortable here at college so we can be friends. Maybe that was stupid of me, and it didn't work anyway. Of course this is an entirely different situation than back in his hometown. He doesn't seem to want to acknowledge that. I'm not sure exactly how he does this, but Ryan makes me feel like I need to please him. It's fucked-up, but when he compliments me about something, like I did something good, I get all gooey inside. I've got this thing for him and I always have had it to varying degrees for as long as I've known him, and he knows it.
Robby's Friday course starts an hour before mine, so he's already in the bathroom getting ready. I get out of bed, in boxer shorts, and look through the few clean clothes I have left. Jesus, I need to do a wash, and soon!
Then I ask myself, 'What difference does it make what you wear today?' I mean, I don't give it much thought any other day, so why is today different? I want to look good for Ryan I guess. Balls! This feels so fucking awkward.
Robby comes out of the bathroom and leans over kissing my lips quickly, "It's Friday, babe! In a couple of hours we'll have what amounts to another three-day weekend." I mumble, "Yeah, cool," and he stops, "Hey, is something bothering you?" I shrug, "It's goofy, but this morning's class is the one I have with Ryan, and we haven't spoken a word to each other all week. It's like an uncomfortable situation developed, and I'm not sure how it happened." He's pulling on khakis, saying, "Huh. Yeah, he acted strange when we had him over for dinner last week. You haven't seen him since then?" I go, "Well, not since last Friday." Robby's got a t-shirt on, getting ready to put
a sweatshirt on over that, mumbling, "Yeah, well he's not a bad guy, and you two have been tight for so long. He's a good friend of yours, right? So why don't you get him over for dinner again, or ask him to play cards with the gang some night." Getting dressed, I mumble, "Okay, I'll invite him. I talked to Steve, that's his roommate, when Steve was here getting a haircut
and he didn't know much about what Ryan's been up to either. He said Ryan seems fine though when they eat together and all. You know, as roommates."
Robby's like, "C'mon, Dylan, I'm gonna be late, Hurry up!" He doesn't care one way or the other about Ryan. He knows I'm totally dedicated and head over heels in love with him. He's right not to care too; Robby's my man forever.
I hurriedly wash up and brush my teeth, then finish dressing. Combing my hair, I hear Robby shout, "Now, Dylan!" Oh fuck, my hair looks like I just got out of bed, which makes sense since I did just get out of bed ten minutes ago. Grabbing my backpack I catch up with Robby on the stairs. We use the Dunkin' Donuts drive through for coffees, and then we're parking on campus fifteen minutes before Robby's class. Getting out I'm like, "It's rush, rush, rush with you, and we're here fifteen minutes early." Wearing our backpacks and carrying our containers of coffee, Robby says, "We're here right on time, babe. You don't want to be running to class and get there all sweaty
and hassled." I mumble, "Yeah, you're right, Rob." Robby gives my shoulders a hug, saying, "Brighten up, Dylan. Sort-out whatever problem you and Ryan have. You're going to have that class with him at least through this semester. Every Friday you don't want to feel uncomfortable, do you?" I shrug, "No, of course not," and he smiles at me, rubbing his fingers in my hair knocking off the new baseball cap he gave me earlier this week, saying, "Three-day weekend, baby." We split up as he heads for his class, shouting over his shoulder, "Text me after class."
Standing here a few seconds, I'm thinking about what Robby said. It kind of contradicts what Chubby advice was about Ryan, but Robby is mostly concerned about my mood this morning. He wasn't thinking about anything more than that. It was a throwaway line by him, 'Sort out whatever the problem is...
invite Ryan to play cards some night... whatever'. Like it's not important enough to dwell on, and it isn't to Robby for the reason I already thought about; Ryan's no longer competition in Robby's mind. I'll have this class with Ryan all semester, so it makes sense, I suppose, that I somehow pacify him. At least to the degree it's not awkward being with him. Maybe there's no problem anyhow. He was just busy all week and I'm making a mountain out o f a mole hill. I've been known to do that, but I don't think that applies in this situation.
Okay, I've got forty-five minutes before class so a normal thing to do would be find out if Ryan's up yet. Like last Friday, I'll knock on his door.
No wait, I've got a better idea. Sitting on a bench, putting my coffee beside me, I take out my cellphone and text Ryan, 'Hey, Ryan, I'm on campus.
Can I get you and Steve a coffee or something?' Technically speaking, I just gave-in and texted him first. He wins, but so what? Well, my point is, I don't need to feel guilty about not texting because I just did. Lighting a cigarette I stare at my cellphone, then pick up my coffee and drink some.
Coffee and a smoke are like a beer and a smoke; one makes you want the other.
Well, I finish the coffee and the smoke without getting a text back from Ryan. Big deal, he's probably still sleeping. Dumping my Styrofoam coffee cup in the trash I walk to the Quad trying to convince myself I already feel better about seeing Ryan. That text was a good idea.
To me, Ryan's always been a unique person, and a pretty important one in my life for over the past two years. And I don't just mean the incredible sub/dom sex we have together, which he does as close to perfection as anyone I've ever been with. We've also shared some good times together other than the sex. I still hear Chubby's points regarding Ryan; they're playing in my head right now. The thing is though I painted a slightly distorted picture of Ryan's and my relationship to Chub. I was pissed-off that Ryan hadn't texted or called so I concentrated on negative aspects of Ryan and me. What else would Chubby suggest when I gave him only one side of the story? Thinking these thoughts as I'm walking into the Quad, I bump into Lawyer Ross.
He goes, "Hey, Dylan! Wha'cha been up to, dude?" I go, "If it isn't my favorite kissing buddy," and Lawyer puts his hand over my mouth, mumbling, "Shhh, quiet about that shit." I chuckle, "Mum's the word, Lawyer." He says, "But I do need some more practice with you." I go, "Not unless you let me give you a haircut," and he runs his fingers through his hair, asking, "Do you think I need a haircut?" I go, "Duh!" and he says, "Okay, I'll text you.
Gotta run for class, see ya, you hot shit." He hurries out and I watch him going down the steps thinking that it'll be uber cool if he does let me cut his hair. Making out with him ain't bad either!
The Quad is loud and crowded of course. I wander around for a couple minutes thinking what I often think: There's so many fucking people who I don't know! On the other hand, I probably wouldn't like many of them if I did know them. This is bullshit. I'm going right over and knock on Ryan's dorm room door. Walking out of the Quad and heading toward dormitory row, I'm telling myself that there isn't any reason I should feel uncomfortable or guilty about anything. I'm standing outside his door before I know it and, gulp, I'm wondering where my bravado of five minutes ago went. Fuck it, I knock on the door and it opens right away with Steve saying, "Ah, my favorite barber. Hi Dylan, um, Ryan left for class five minutes ago." I'm like, "Damn, I can't believe I didn't run into him on my way over here." Then I can't resist asking, "So, how's the haircut working out for you?" He picks a comb up and runs it through his hair, saying, "It's perfect! You rock!" I nod my head, "Yeah, well thanks, you look good. Um, Ryan seem okay this morning?"
He nods, "Yeah, sure, Ryan's fine." Shrugging, like everything's cool, I tell him I'll see him around campus, then head outside to walk to class. What
a waste of a half hour this has been! The Modern Society class is in a lecture hall, and I'm outside the building ten minutes before class joining the milling crowd of students. For something to do I light a cigarette and look at my cellphone; always a good thing to do when you're feeling a little self-conscious about being alone. The cellphone announces to the strangers around you that, Yeah, I've got friends, I'm texting with one right now'.
Jesus, that's pathetic...
Smelling the back of my hand, getting pissed-off all over again that Ryan didn't return this morning's text, I hear, "Don't do that," and a smiling Ryan gently pulls my hand away from my face and kisses me quickly on my lips. I'm looking around startled. Kissing me in the middle of this crowd of students isn't cool. Ryan doesn't care about shit like that though. He grins, as he's taking my cigarette from my fingers and drags off it. While exhaling, he asks, "How ya been, Dylan. I've missed you." To me he's always had a magnetism about him, something so sexy it makes me shudder a little just being this close to him. I've always been attracted to him and I feel a strong attraction right now, probably because I haven't seen much of him recently. Hell, I didn't see him at all the two months preceding our return to Merrimack. Still, he's so sexy and cool.
I'm aware I may be the only person in the world who notices his sexy magnetism, and his scent. He's shorter than me by a few inches, but stronger with stubbornness like a, um; what's a stubborn animal? A jackass maybe, ha ha. But seriously, I'm drawn to him like a moth to the flame. I've used that metaphor any number of times describing how sexily irresistible he is to me, and I've never been able to explain the reason why, not even to myself.
Passing the smoke back to me, he asks, "The cat got your tongue, or what?"
I start to say something, but I'm swallowing at the same time and it comes out sounding like I'm clearing my throat. Then I notice he has a new haircut, and say, "Hey, you got a haircut! Why didn't you let me do it?" He says, "Sorry, Dylan, I should have. It was a spur of the moment thing. I was with Felix at the Mall and afterwards he was getting a haircut, so I went with him. SuperCuts, you know. Can't you tell?" I'm frowning because his haircut looks like shit. He takes my cigarette butt from between my fingers just before it burns them, and flicks it over a parked delivery truck, then takes hold of my arm, and says, "C'mon, lets get to class."
Inside the building, walking down the corridor, he says, "I see you got a haircut too. Wouldn't it have been funny if we ran into each other at SuperCuts?" I say, "I'd never go there. The freshman kid Robby's mentoring, Golden Summers, gave me this haircut," and Ryan goes, "Huh, it looks just like the one I got." No it fucking doesn't !!! Why argue though. Guys can't see the subtle differences that I notice. Sure, Golden did square off the neck line like they do most places now, but he did tapering and blending too.
Not so with that ass of a haircut Ryan has.
We sit approximately halfway back from the professor, like we did last week. Ryan takes notes, but he doesn't say anything about me not taking notes like he did last week. I copied his notes last Friday with him getting all snooty about it, so I'm not asking for today's notes. I'm jumpy and out of sorts. Ryan's got me all fucked-up and I just don't feel like taking notes today. I find myself glancing at him every couple of minutes; even with a bad haircut I think he looks cool and sexy as hell. His scent I can detect from here and it makes me feel squirrelly. There's like vibrations coming off of him and I feel dizzy and my groin is all squirmy feeling. Dammit!
When he kissed me earlier his scent was like an aphrodisiac to me and I got half a boner in my pants. I'd like to press my face against his cheek and feel his soft sparse beard and inhale his personal scent. His skin is so smooth and perfect. No blemishes or scars or moles, or anything. I reach over and run my fingers up the back of his head, feeling the stiff shaved stubbly where the barber used trimming clippers to square off the hair at his neck line. He looks at me frowning and nodding at the professor, so I murmur, "Sorry,' and feel like such an asshole.
The class drags by, but finally ends and as we're walking out of the lecture hall, Ryan says, "Would you please pick up your toiletry kit. It's been sitting on my desk all week." I nod, "Uh huh, I'll walk over with you. Um, what are you doing the rest of the day? If you want, we..." He interrupts,
"Steve and I and a couple other guys are going into Boston to hit a couple of bars. Just for the fuck of it. You're welcome to join us." I go, "Thanks, um, I don't know though..." He says, "Sure, check with Dickers first. See if he'll let you go." I stop and take hold of his arm, stopping him, "Did you say that just to get a rise out of me? Why would you say that?" He shrugs, "Forget it. My bad. You don't need to get approval; you can do whatever you want, right?" We start walking again and I tell him, "He's my boyfriend, and my roommate, and we share a motor vehicle, so of course we communicate what are plans are. What's so odd about that?" He goes, "Nothing! I already told you I'm sorry for mentioning it." He's not upset so much as he's smirking and getting a kick out of my reaction. Fuck him!
After a couple of steps, he puts his arm around my waist, squeezing me, saying sternly, but while grinning as he's talking sternly, "Don't pout, baby, how many times do I need to tell you that?" I can't help but grin back a little, mumbling, "I'm not fucking pouting." Another squeeze, "Yes you are, Dylan." I lean against him, inhaling his body scent and say, "Okay, I was pouting slightly, but only slightly." He takes my hat and puts it on his head, saying, "A new hat! Nice!" On the way to his dormitory I text Robby, 'Hi Boss, I'm gonna hang-out and mend fences with Ryan, following your advice. Catch up with you later, Love you!' Ryan says, "You wouldn't be texting your boyfriend, would you?" I go, "Yes, we're considerate of each other."
He makes a face at me and pulls my hat down tighter on his head. Jesus, I hope he doesn't ask what happened to the hat he gave me.
Inside his dorm he drops his backpack on the bed and slips mine off my shoulders, saying, "Seriously, I was being a smart ass. I just meant to kid you about you asking permission." He takes my hat off his head and puts it on mine, pulling the bill halfway down my forehead, saying, "You used to have a better sense of humor. Remember, we were always making fun of ourselves back home." I don't remember doing that, but shrug and adjust my hat, muttering, "I may have overreacted," and he says, "Stay and keep me company for a while, okay?" I nod my head, "Sure, Ryan, Um, could I ask you something? Um, why do you hate Rob so much? You won't even say his first name anymore." He sits on his desk chair, saying, "Sit on the edge of my bed. Sit there,
right in front of me," and that slight sound of authority that seems to come out so naturally when he's around me makes me bite on my bottom lip as I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my hand on his backpack. He says, "There's something I want to tell you that I know you're not going to like.
I'm probably transferring to The University of Georgia at the end of the semester. It's where Jeff's going to university. Jeff and 35,000 other students. I want to get lost in the crowds and experience something different from this little college." I'm stunned, just staring at him without commenting.
And he's right that it's upsetting because I don't want him to go. He sees I'm not going to say anything, so he adds, "I'll miss you, but miss you in the way I missed you when you left after two months with me at home. You know, instead of the way I miss you now."
He's talking quietly and seriously. Knowing him so well, I believe he's going to do it. I'm confused though, "What do you mean the way you miss me now? You never text or call me." He says, sternly, "That's because it's your job to text and call me, and if you don't want to do that, so be it." My eyes feel stingy because I hate when he chastises me like that. Looking down, I ask, "Why is it my job, Ryan?" and he says, "Because that's the way it's always been, and that's the way I insist on it being, and it's the way we're best together. You know, like in Georgia when you were totally my boy."
My stomach muscles and the muscles around my groin tighten up as I bite my bottom lip again, trying to think what to say to that rather bizarre statement.
I'm speechless for a minute as Ryan's stares at me, but with a pleasant expression on his face now. Not the stern look he had when he chastised me for not doing what he perceives is my responsibility. I kinda thought that's what he was probably thinking when he didn't text or call. It means so little to me to text him, but so much to him that I do. He has sociability issues that I helped him with back in Georgia. Knowing that, I really should have contacted him this week. Finally, not coming up with anything else, I mumble, "You like me being your submissive boy, huh?" He shrugs, "Yeah, of course I do, but don't make it sound like some horrible thing. You loved every second of it in Georgia, Dylan, and we got into it a little last year here at college too. And you know damn well nobody can come close to sexually arousing you like I can. I've done it a hundred times or more for you."
I'm like, "That's all true, mostly true anyway, but we're friends and you're acting disappointed in me. I hate that. Can I say I'm sorry for disappointing you, and we can get over this odd way of acting with each other?" He says, "You don't need to apologize, Dylan. Anyway, you think by saying you're sorry makes everything okay." I'm like, "You just contradicted yourself somehow, I think."
Ignoring that, he say, "You know what? I knew the first thing you'd mention when you saw me was my haircut. You notice guy's hair because of your haircut fetish, right?" I shrug, muttering, "So what?" He goes, "So, I was giving your fetish a smoking hot workout down South, as well as for the six weeks last spring before you came home with me. You and your fetish got to roaring pretty loudly when I gave you those Marietta haircuts, which I admit
were a more severe version of the college haircuts I was giving you." I mutter, "Yeah, you're right, they were too fucking severe." He goes "Oh sure, you bitched about them, but that's part of your fetish, isn't it? Getting a forced haircut, and you never once said 'No' to me, did you?" I go, "I was doing my part about you being the boss. I kept my word." He goes, "Your word huh? It was more like you'd be trembling with anticipation when I'd tell you it's time for your weekly haircut." I'm like, "Why the fuck are you talking about this now?" He says, "Why not talk about it? Hell, none of what I'm saying is a put-down of you; it's just the way it was." We stare at each other with him grinning, like, 'What...?' My face is getting red, mostly because he's right and it's embarrassing to have it thrown back in my face like that. Pissed, I stand up shouting, "I'm not listening to anymore of this distorted horses-shit from your delusional imagination." He stands up too, steps to me and puts his arms around me going, "Shh, shh. I didn't mean to get you upset, Dylan. Honestly I thought we'd both be laughing about those haircuts. Memories, you know? Calm down now, baby. Hell, there's no shame admitting you loved those sexy haircut while, at the same time, you were hating on them. I fully understood all that, but the love part exceeded the hate part. Am I right?" I'm standing here stiff in his arms, hating to admit to myself he's right. He's rubbing a hand up and down my back and I relax a little enjoying being in his arms, and I can't help putting my arms around him to hug back a little. I know he's treating me like a little kid again, but he does it so well, and it feels kinda good so I relax completely now, and he murmurs, "There, that's my boy. Everything's cool.." We hug each other as I feel my dick firming up.
He feels me leaning against him, more than I'm hugging now, and he kisses my cheek, then says, "You smell so good. Nobody smells as good as you," his
hand ruffles my hairs at the back of my head, then he pulls his head back,
looking me in the eyes, and says, "Now please sit your ass back down, Dylan, and stop acting like a baby. I'll try explaining myself further." Oh fuck, I fantasize if it were only possible for, say one day a week, Ryan and I could play our roles to the hilt. He's so good at his dominant role that I just slide right into my submissive one. It's so fucking relaxing and carefree to feel like someone is totally taking care of me. My two months in Georgia had some really high points, but I know that was mostly play time, and not reality.
I sit back down and Ryan takes his seat at the desk chair again, chuckling and muttering, "I gotta try harder to remember how sensitize you are, Dylan, and that's okay, I'm not criticizing you at all. Your sensitivity shows up in many good ways too." That's another thing about Ryan; his voice has a hypnotic sound to me. It would be easy to let myself drift into one of those trance-like states of mind, but I fight it off this time for some reason, and say, "What do you have to further explain, Ryan. You said you had..."
and he holds his hand up, "Yes, well, like I said, I'll miss you if I transfer out of Merrimack, but I'll miss you in the way I missed you when you left Marietta. And like I also said, here at college I'm missing you while you're here. You're here, but you're not here," and his arm sweeps around indicating this dorm room. Well fuck, I'm not his roommate. He goes, "You're never here because all your time is controlled by Dickers. Frankly, I can't stand knowing Dickers, um, Rob, has you wrapped around his finger like he does. So, missing you when you're close by, but unavailable to me, is much worse than missing you when you're out of sight and sometimes out of mind.
Ya know what I mean?" I go, "I know what the words mean, but they don't represent the facts of the matter. You know damn well we can get together plenty of times at college. Rob and I are doing different things for hours at a time, almost every day. Plus, he doesn't hold a grudge against you, not at all, so you could join us when we're doing stuff." He says, "No, not after having you all to myself for two months. It's too painful seeing you sucking up to him, and that's mostly why I'm gonna transfer. That, and wanting to be with Jeffy." He gets up and shrugs, like he's made an irrefutable case for why he needs to transfer to another college. In other words I caused him to transfer.
After a long five seconds of silence, I mumble, "So you don't want us to be together here?" He says, "Not an hour here and an hour there, no. The rest of the time you're sucking up to him." I go, "Instead of sucking up to you? Is that it?" He grins, "Exactly!" Frowning, I mumble, "Anyway I've sucked up to you ten times more than I've ever done with Rob because he doesn't need that. I do it with you because you do need it, so I do it because you're my friend." He goes, "Don't be so dramatic, Dylan. I seem to do okay without you sucking up to me, as you claim you do. And anyway, I never asked you to do that. You've had a serious thing for me from the day we had that lunch at your apartment early freshman year. I could tell you had the hots for me then and that's why I knew you'd say yes when I asked if I could fuck you after lunch." I go, "Alright already! How about this? What if I agree
that it's my job to text you? I'll do that and then we can, you know, experience our role playing sub/dom sex occasionally and be best friends again." He goes, "That's just it, baby, it's not role playing to me anymore. Not after you and I were the perfect couple in Georgia for two months. That was the real deal and, as a matter of fact, I've never seen you more relaxed or happier than you were with me back home. If only you'd admit to yourself how much happier you were with me last summer, and..." he stops, waves his hand like he's disgusted, and says, "No, enough of this. I've told myself ten times that I've given up that battle. I lose. If I couldn't convince you to stay with me in the two months I had you to myself, I give up. And you and I both lose, not just me."
The thought of never feeling Ryan's big cock up my ass again, and never enjoying every other thing about him that I'm attracted to, plus those delicious deep submissive trance that gets me climaxing like the world's coming to an end, is not something I want to contemplate. Ryan's being a hard ass about this because his feelings are hurt, and I feel bad for him. I say, "But, Ryan, you know what I've told you a number of times: if not for Rob I would have stayed with you. You're absolutely right, I liked what we had together in Georgia and we can still experience some of that here, only it can't be exclusively us two. Not like in Marietta, and remember above everything else we're friends! Jesus, don't you see that. And doing our sub/dom sex wouldn't be sneaking around either; Rob knows we're sex buddies." He goes, "Fuck Rob!" then a quick, "No, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, he's a good guy. Never mind him. It's you... you're blocking out important memories and not giving either of us the credit we deserve. It's the sexual heat I generate in you, and how well adapted you are to accepting me being in control of you right down to your submissive soul."
Astonished he'd say that, my eyes open wide, like WHAT? He hesitates then says, "Well, it's true," and I go, "Please, get real, Ryan! Down to my soul? Are you shitting me?" He goes, "What I meant, um... try to remember how you were during freshman year. Remember how smoking hot we were together when you were uber submissive to me and hanging on my every word to do what your told, wearing my dog collar when I told you to, and the way you'd get like jelly when I'd lay that super dominant shit on you? That's how we could be again, but it doesn't work once or twice a week. Not with me knowing the rest of the time you'd be with him." Puffing out my cheeks exhaling, I go, "We're different people now then we were back then, Ryan." He says, "No, we aren't. You're just acting like you feel you should act at this age.
There's still the same boy inside you who couldn't get enough of me. If you'd let yourself go I could take you on that magic carpet ride, like you called some of our sexier times together back then. Actually you could have it forever!" I just stare at him, so he adds, "Well, you are a little bit right about us being older. We are older, and we tempered things down a little, right? I mean, that's the way it was when you lived with me at home." I go, "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about, our sub/dom sex that you did in a much more under-control and sensible manner. Not that dog collar shit, although I liked wearing it. Everything last summer was still very hot though, but within reason as sub/dom side-sex buddies."
Ryan comes over and sits next to me on the bed, asking, "So you're saying if I don't transfer out of here, we could have a relationship likes we had in Marietta?" I nod, "Sort of like that. Remember I already told you, and it was just last weekend, that I was fine with you being the boss," and he adds, "When Dickers isn't around, you mean." I nod, "Well, yeah." Ryan says, "Okay, that Dickers part sucks, but here's an idea that could maybe make it all work. How about, if we do what I half-jokingly suggested last week when I first saw you." I'm like, "Ahh, what was that? I'm sorry, but I forget." He goes, "We need a symbolic contract between you and me that a few times a week for a couple of hours, we'll be like Danny and Albert were last summer." I go, "Really? Okay, what kind of symbolic thingamajig?" He shrugs, "The most obvious one would be me giving you the Marietta specialty haircut once a week. I was giving you that haircut last spring at college before we ever left for home. Dickers.., um, Rob, didn't mind. He thought the haircut was silly, but he didn't mind. And it's give you that fetish thrill you love so much, and afterwards we'd have hot sex with me giving you the hard rough fucking you crave. Symbolically the haircut would be like you throwing me a crumb of good faith. We'll have buddy sex in between your haircuts too. That'll satisfy me, and I won't have to miss you so painfully; now if I know we'll have our time together, especially on your haircut days.
We'll make haircut day be every Friday." I'm blinking my eyes trying to wrap my head around this. I'd really like to get Robby's reaction to the haircut part first. The side-sex with Ryan is, of course, very enticing. He's looking at me, so to say something, I go, "You know, Ryan, you flatter me way more than I deserve." He shrugs, then gets me in a headlock and kisses the side of my face four or five times, and mutters, "You deserve all the flattery I give you."
Letting go of me, we continue sitting side by side on the bed. He sees me thinking about everything, then reaches over to ruffle his fingers through my hair, saying, "You looked distinctive with my haircut, Dylan. Sexy and tough, a cute bad-ass. And frankly you're too pretty, too cute to be rocking this pretty wavy blond hair. I hate to say it, but it looks a little faggy and slightly girlie. Just being honest with you." I frown at him, "I don't look faggy! What the fuck you talking about?" He goes, "Just my opinion, baby, no need to snap at me."
Huh, the fact is no one's especially liked my longer hair anyway. Tracy hates it, and a couple of others asked me why, after all these years, I changed my appearance. I can't think of one person who's commented favorably about my hair. My mom always says whatever haircut I have is her favorite.
And Robby joked about us having the same haircut, and then he called my pompadour girly, just like Ryan said." He squeezes the back of my neck, saying "C'mon, you know you're going to agree with me. You can't resist. There's the toiletry kit right there on my desk. I want you to lay out the barbering equipment the way I taught you, and take your shirt off. We'll recreate a little bit of our old selves." I ask, "Are you still thinking about transferring to another college?" He says, "Put the barber equipment out like I just said, Dylan! Do what you're told." Getting off the bed, I pick up the toiletry kit, as he's saying, "Lay the stuff on my desk the way I like it. I guess we'll keep the barber stuff here since I'll be doing your haircuts here." I'm in a daze again listening to his hypnotic voice. "You know what, Dylan? I'm getting psyched about everything again. You have the other barber tools in your apartment, so you can use that when you need to, right?" I go, "Huh, what...?" I'm feeling that gooey sense in my stomach and my groin is
buzzing. I ask, "And you're not transferring to The University of Georgia, right?" He goes, "Goddammit! Put the barber equipment out the way I want it. We'll talk more after your haircut..." Yeah, when I'm your submissive boy again. Still, my dick is getting hard as I look at him. He raises his eyebrows, looking stern, saying, "Just fuckin' do it, Dylan!" Unzipping the toiletry kit, I see the big clippers on top with little hair clippings of Jeff's from his last Ryan specialty haircut. My dick tightens up some more.
to be continued.... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@outlook.com
========================================================
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
========================================================
Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous free story site. Thank you very much.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html