DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 20
by Donny Mumford
Rob and I are still in bed at ten-thirty Saturday morning, three days before Halloween. I'm not sure if I'm Rob's date for the party, or if Frankie's his date. Rob says what difference does it make since we're going as a group of six or seven. It makes a difference to me.
He's sleeping on his side facing me, while I'm looking out the bedroom window at a harbinger of winter; there's frost on the outside near the windowsill. For a change the sky is very blue this morning and that reminds me of a grade school poem, 'October's Bright Blue Weather', written by somebody whose name I don't remember. Hell, for that matter, maybe I don't even remember the poem's title correctly. Many rainy or gray-cloudy days all through October, so this bright blue day is very welcome. The temperatures have been dipping below freezing some nights and then topping out in the high forties to low fifties during the warmest part of the day. My Warriors sweatshirt isn't cutting it anymore, not if I'm outside for more than ten minutes in the morning. Cold nasty weather notwithstanding, I still see idiot guys and girls coming to class wearing pajama bottoms and slippers. What enormous assholes they must be. They probably read that silly paperback, 'College Humor's Guide to College' and thought it'd be cool to do all the crazy shit they read in the book.
My eyes glance around our bedroom, which looks clean and neat as usual.
Everything's in it's place while outside our bedroom lurks disaster. That's a common condition for our apartment Saturday mornings after the Friday night card games. The second Friday night we were in the apartment we had a card game with a manageable eight guys and girls. That night we played pinochle with four, two-player teams. The Friday night games were Frankie's idea, who's also known as Francesca Flores, and with her copilot, Beth Underwood. The games caught on and since that first Friday night the two girls have been running card games every Friday night... in our apartment of course.
It's poker or gin rummy some night, pinochle other nights. I don't even know some of the guys and girls who showed up last night. They're dormitory students, of course, so from their point of view what better place for a Friday night card game than a strangers' apartment....
Actually I like the card games, but not the mess left behind in the kitchen and living room. Then there's also the traffic through our bedroom to the bathroom, and that's not too cool either. Even though a lot of beer is consumed, so far no one has thrown-up in the bathroom, or anywhere else. No hard liquor is allowed, but because of the large beer consumption there's lots of pissing being done in the bathroom with an occasional guy's aim not as
accurate as one would hope. Sometime today Robby will texts Frankie and she'll comes over with Beth. The four of us will clean the apartment, which usually takes about an hour. The girls helping with the clean-up is the good part. The bad part is the girls will often hang out with us the rest of the day, and sometimes into Saturday nights as well. I'm resigned to it, and wouldn't really mind too much if it happened less frequently. It's not always just the four of us either. Our apartment has become like a mini frat house with guys and girls hanging around with no better place to go. I'll take my share of the blame because most Saturdays I'll give two or three free
haircuts here. Huh, even to me it sounds like I'm whining. I guess I am, but it's justified because I'm pretty sure the girls are here long term.
Rob and Frankie have become close, but I'm not really worried that Rob will someday give me a Dear John letter because, for one thing, my name isn't John, and for another thing we're gay guys in love. Frankie can't compete with that. My jealousy centers around the amount of time Rob spends with Frankie when he should be spending it with me. So, as I lie here in bed next to my sleeping lover, I've got this little nervous feeling, like butterflies, in the pit of my stomach. The reason being I've decided finally that I can't put off having a heart to heart discussion with Rob about the amount of time he spends with her. That, and the other matter of me tasting her lipstick on his lips at least three or four times in the last six weeks. It's a sticky situation because of our agreed upon relationship wherein discrete side-sex is allowed. His discrete side-sex with Danny Monday, for example, doesn't leave behind telltale lipstick flavors, so I have no knowledge when or if they make-out. The discussion I'm planning with Robby I've named the lipstick conundrum because it's the first incidence where one of us has basically advertised side-sex, even if it's only making-out. I'm hoping Rob can assure me that's all it is. Frankie's lipstick situation is baffling because I hadn't considered the possibility Rob could be bisexual until recently. Because of Frankie the thought has crossed my mind. As for me, I'm most definitely not bisexual. I can't conceive of making out with a girl.
Not because I hate them, I actually enjoy the company of some girls, but my brain came wired for guys only. To my knowledge I had nothing to do with that.
The lipstick conundrum aside for the moment, during last night's card game Rob and I each drank only maybe five beers over a five hours period, and consequently I'm feeling fine this morning, and I expect Robby will feel fine too. I'm feeling fine except for being, like I said, a little nervous about confronting Rob, and unsure when to do it. It'll be some time today.
Not when he first wakes up though; he's not a morning person. Yeah, but then the girls will be here to clean up. Maybe this will be a Saturday they don't hang around all fucking day, and I'll find a good time for a heart to heart talk with only Rob right here in the apartment. What I'm going to do is: I'll bring it up casually, like it's no big deal... no problem, Rob, I'm just curious is all... you know, like that. Hmmm, or better yet maybe I should wait until after we have a few beers tonight. I'll get him alone and...
well, dammit; It's an awkward topic for me to bring up. And then, oh boy, the very thought he'd tell her about our lipstick conundrum discussion, well that almost makes me think I'd be better off leaving well enough alone. Rob leaves well enough alone as far as Ryan's and my side-sex goes. Yes, that's definitely the right thing to do, leave well enough alone, except I'm not going to do that. This situation is different. And it's simple; the telltale fruity-flavored lipstick Frankie wears makes it different. I mean, Ryan doesn't wear lipstick, and neither does Danny Monday, so Frankie's lipstick creates this unique situation. Funny how I didn't even think Frankie wore lipstick when I first met her. Her make-up is very subtle but, what the fuck, I'm no make-up-ologist, so how the fuck would I know. My knowledge of girls in general is quite limited, never mind knowing anything about make-up.
Rob rolls over on his back and I stare at his face for a minute. His eyes are still closed as he grins, asking, "Are you staring at me, Dylan?" I mumble, "Don't flatter yourself, but your mustache is starting to show nicely, and just the thought of feeling it against my top lip is giving be a hard-on" He opens his bright blue eyes, "Did you notice my sideburns?" I rub the back of my finger up the slight beard growth below his left sideburn, saying, "Holy shit! They feel like whiskers," then I feel his chin whiskers which feel a little bit stiff too. Definitely not hair-like anymore. Robby groans sitting up and pulling him pillow behind his back, muttering, "Yeah, well it's about fuckin' time my beard started coming in. I'm tired of the baby face look." I go, "Hey, what the fuck?" He goes, "Not your baby face look, mine. Your's gives me a hard-on," and he runs his fingers through my hair, then gets a fitful of my bangs and pulls my head over. I yell, "Morning breath!" but his lips cover mine, ignoring my warning. My mouth automatically opens slightly; it's on autopilot for Rob. We have a very sexy kiss without me noticing the dreaded morning breath. Of course brushing our teeth and gargling with mouthwash the night before helps a lot in that regard.
Robby gets his arm around my back pulling me over as he lies on my chest. My dick is already hard because I'm now totally addicted to Rob. The way he just took charge of us like that is exciting, thrilling even. And then there's everything else about him that I simply can't get enough of. I've built him up in my head to hero status, rock star status, and I can't help myself.
He is perfect and when doing his in-charge act he's also awesome. He's my man alright! Time is meaningless during romantic make-outs with Rob, but it's gotta be ten minutes that our mouths have been basically attached, while our bodies rub together, his whole body on top of me now, his arms around the back of my neck as we try swallowing each other's tongue. His scent is so different from anyone else's. It's magical and brings memory flashes of all the most wonderful loving moments I've had with him. In my mind it's like an album of love and sex... starring Rob and Dylan. Then, it's like I read his mind when I pull my legs back, an arm behind each one. He fumbles my boxers below my asshole and I feel wetness at my hole. Precum wetness as I think, 'Or did Rob murmur, pull your legs back, Dylan?' He may have, in which case I didn't exactly read his mind. He's on his knees between my legs now, grinning down at me as he pulls his boxer shorts down so they catch under his nuts. He murmurs, "I love you so much, Dylan, I just wish I had the words to express it better." My body shudders with anticipation as I murmur back at him, "Me too, Rob," and he adds, "This year, sharing the apartment with you has been so fucking wonderful, so perfect it almost makes me cry with joy."
I mutter, "Joy?" as he leans over to the night table and plucks the lubricant from the drawer. Ahhh, how considerate of him! Staring at me, he strokes shiny lubricant up and down his boner, grinning and saying, "Ooou, this feels good. Maybe I'll jerk off." He's so cute. I go, "Don't even joke about that." He wipes his slippery hand on the sheet as he casually humps his hips, plunking the head of his fat cock inside me. I go, "Waaaa, ooh! Love the lube, boyfriend."
Robby leans forward, a hand on either side of my chest, and jabs his boner another inch inside my rectum, then leans down kissing me as he pushes the rest of his cock up my ass. I can't do much with the kiss because I'm holding my breath against the pain, but by the end of his sweet kiss the pain is fading quickly. A flicker of recognition flings past my consciousness.
It's that Ryan is partially responsible for opening me up with his huge boner the past five weeks or so. That thought flies off and is forgotten almost before it happened as Rob's humping against my buttocks, saying, "This will be fast, Babe. I feel like I'm going to shoot off right now," and, leaning over me, his face above mine, he thrusts his boner back and forth in my ass fast and hard, grunting with every thrust. The ensuing "Slap,slap,slap, slap," sounds are partially muted because half his bare crotch is smacking against my boxers shorts that he pulled down just barely under my asshole.
He's moves his hips smoothly, fast and hard, fucking my ass awesomely. How to describe the pleasure inside me? It's all overwhelming: the sizzling intense pleasure coming off my anus and prostate, plus the image of Rob as my man being in-charge; in charge forever, and the love we have together, his scent, the picture in my head of his thick hard cock disappearing inside me over and over, shiny with lube and his precum. There's the subtle plop, plop, plop sounds as perspiration drips from his forehead pinging off my face, and the beautiful look of ecstasy and love in his eyes... simply put, there is no greater height of sexual pleasure and love for me than this.
It's three, then four minutes of exquisite, thrilling pleasure until I make a squeaky sound with my climax ready to blow up. It's desperate, "Ooh, oooh, ooooh! Robby!" followed by my squeal at climax... cum shooting from my hard cock splashing against my chin, then another streak of cum, my body stiff as a board, my eyes tightly closed to better absorb the sensations coming off nerve endings around my asshole and inside my rectum. Sparkling electric sensations that deliciously spread out all over me. Ooh, then the gooey extra pleasure of retreating sensations just beginning their decent into oblivion. Just as I reach the deep-breathing, limp-body, after-orgasm stage Rob's cock goes off with a gasp from him and a look of surprise in his eyes. He did one last hard desperate hump against my butt cheeks and I felt his stream of spunk hit inside me. It's immediately squishy and warm and wet in there with some of his cum already drooling out, squeezing out around his fat cock. My arms are around his shoulders trying to pull him forward, on top of me. A last moan from Rob and he falls forward with his cock flopping out of my ass. He gasps again and we both breathe deeply, our hearts slamming against our rib cages for thirty seconds, then all is quiet. We're both perspiring in the overly heated bedroom. With a last deep breath I begin rubbing my hands on his back murmuring deep feelings of love for this wonderful young man who I've known, loved, and shared sex with since we were boys. No one can ever break the bond we've forged.
We lay together side by side now, holding hands no less, while talking about how good our sex was this morning. As we continue discussing it we end-up laughing, claiming we're the best fuck-duo in North America, and how we're gonna keep trying to get better so we can over take Brazil on our way to the number one spot in the world. Why we choose Brazil is anyone's guess, but it makes us laugh and say other dumb-shit stuff like that. I love laughing my ass off and being totally silly with Robby. He used to be too serious, too stodgy for his age. It's his father's fault because that's how he is and Robby copied that until I got a hold of him. I've done one hell of a good job with him too. Ha ha, well I actually have been a good influence on him in the fun and games department. We eventually roll out of bed and wander into the bathroom. Robby says, "Check to see if anyone is sleeping in the tub, or God forbid, threw up in there." I look, "Nope, we're good."
Robby's taking a piss, saying, "Look at this, Dylan," as he points at the toilet, and adds, "What's so fucking hard about hitting the water in the toilet when these guys take a piss? Look at the piss stains all around the rim." I go, How do you know it's not one of the drunk girls?" and we chuckle picturing how a girl would miss the toilet bowl while pissing. He goes, "Your mind is just a little bit warped, babe." Taking my dick out through the front slit of my boxer shorts, I let go a piss stream standing next to Rob, muttering, "Jesus, check out the tile floor around the toilet," and I cross my strong piss steam with his.
After our piss we get cleaning materials and, on hands and knees, clean the bathroom floor, toilet, and sink. It takes the two of us ten minutes to produce a disinfected shiny-clean bathroom again. We can't say the same for ourselves though, so we drop our shorts and get under the shower together.
Looking at Rob, like I do all the time, I'd believe a psychiatrist if he said our love for each other may have started with conceited self-love. I say that because Rob and I are so alike physically. Not athletically because Rob far exceeds me there, but we're the same height, the same weight, almost to a pound one way or the other, we have blue eyes and the same two-tone blond hair, and we're attractive facially, although we don't look a lot alike. Among the few differences are the size of our private parts and the changes in appearances as we've grown older. Robby's more handsome than cute now, although we both used to be boyishly cute. Obviously, I can only have these thoughts privately because saying observations like these out loud would make me a conceited asshole, but facts are facts. Another difference is Rob's quickly developing beard of pale blond hairs; hairs that are now beginning to have a slightly stiff feel to them. What else? Oh yeah, he can sing, carry a tune really well, whereas I'm like most unmusical individuals.
While singing 'Happy Birthday' as part of a group, for example, my singing voice wouldn't ruin that stupid song, but a solo rendition would leave listeners awkwardly uncomfortable.
In the shower we stand under the flowing hot water in each other's arms.
Okay, that's another difference between us. While my arms look good because Mother Nature gave me defined biceps, Rob's arms looked equally good but his are stronger and it's not really all that close. He more or less lets me stay even with him when we occasionally wrestle as part of rough foreplay, but we're both aware he's only half trying. We're not wrestling now though, we're into the feel of each other's body, and there's no other body I'd rather feel than Rob's. We sway a little under the water-flow from the shower head with me imagining us doing this under a real waterfall in Hawaii on our honeymoon. Right now in the shower I'd be content hugging him until the water runs cold, but that's another difference between us. Rob's realistic, more sensible than me and he finally lets go of me, mumbling, "I'll bathe you first, Dylan. Just stand there." I do what I'm told, springing another boner in the process. Rob's fingers and hands feel sexy as he's washing my body and shampoos my hair. Robby grins, asking, 'What's this, babe," and his fists closes around my boner. He strokes it while grinning at me, then keeps stroking it as I lean against him going up on my toes, the sensations coming from my hard penis have me moaning and right on the verge of another orgasm. Just before I'm positively going to climax again, Rob sinks to his knees and sucks a small orgasm out of my cock leaving me shaking under the water spray, my hands on Rob's head. He lifts up showing me his smile and we snuggle together again without saying anything. A couple of minutes later, when I've recovered from my orgasm, I shampoo and wash Rob's body slowly, almost getting another boner. No further shower sex for us this morning as he turns the water off and we dry ourselves. I hope Rob feels as good as I do.
We get dressed in jeans and long sleeved button-up-the-front shirts, then make our way through the rubble on the floor of the living room. In the kitchen Rob sits on a stool watching me make a late breakfast for us as we talk about what we feel like doing today after cleaning this place. Then, sitting side by side at the kitchen bar eating fried eggs, bacon, and toast, Rob reaches over and pinches hairs that have grown over the tops of my ear, saying, "We need haircuts, babe. I'll give Golden a call and see when he can take us." As much as Golden claims to dislike giving haircuts, he gave Rob and me haircuts the second day he was at Merrimack, and over the past six or seven weeks he's been giving haircuts to many guys, mostly his teammates on the baseball team. Even though I was pleasantly surprised and glad for his expertise in the haircut he gave me, I act shocked, saying to Rob, "Golden? Jesus, Rob, I'll do your haircut! I've been doing it for three years, um, up till the last one Golden did." He goes, "Yeah, but we both liked our haircut from Golden, and we'll have identical haircuts again. Plus, your professional clippers are still at your other boyfriend's dorm." Yeah, he's right, I still haven't taken the toiletry kit with me when I leaves after getting fucked really good by Ryan. That happens after every Friday's class. I never think to bring the toiletry kit with me until I'm walking on campus afterwards. I whine to Rob, "He's not my boyfriend! How many times do I need to tell you that? Anyway, I have the drug store clippers here, and they work fine." He grins at me, then bites off a strip of bacon and chews it, then asks, "Who the fuck is the head of this household?" I hate when my best laid plans comes back to bite me in the ass. I go, "You are, Rob. Okay, call Golden if you want. He did a good job last time, you're right again, boss."
After breakfast he takes his cell phone out and texts Frankie that we need to start cleaning the apartment. Frankie texts back they're ready any time, so Rob says, "Dylan, would you get the girls," and he lobs the pickup's keys to me, adding, "I'll call Golden Summers and see what's up as far as us getting haircuts today." I'm like, "Does anybody from Merrimack go off campus and pay for haircuts?" Robby raises his eyebrows, "I think we're about to start paying on campus." I like, "Whaddaya talking about?" He goes, "Golden mentioned he's gonna start charging five buck for a haircut. He says it's still fifteen buck cheaper than going to a North Andover barber, and mostly it's way more convenient getting a haircut on campus." I'm like, "Well, he's obviously intent on making a business out of it. I only give haircuts to guys I know and like." Then I remember giving haircuts to Steve's alleged friends, and add, "Mostly they're guys I know and like." Robby waves his hand for me to be quiet because he's on the phone with Golden. I wave back at him sarcastically, but he doesn't notice, so I leave to get the girls.
I kinda liked the way Robby asked me if I'd get the girls while he was already tossing me the keys. He actually said, 'Dylan, pick up the girls!' and not 'would you get the girls? It wasn't a question so much as an order.
He's the head of the household alright. Little things like that resonate with me and make my dick wake up.
When I drive up to their dorm Frankie and Beth are standing outside wearing winter jackets and knitted hats with a fuzzy ball on top, like they're going skiing. It's not that cold! They get in the pickup's front seat both leaning over to touch my shoulder, saying, "Hi. Dylan. You look extra cute this morning!" I go, "It's afternoon, girls, but thanks anyway. You both look
adorable in your ski outfits." I've been trying to be extra friendly recently because they're always complimenting me and treating me very nicely.
It's hard to hate them, although with Frankie's monopolization of Rob's free time it's not as hard in her case. Well, not hate, that's a very nasty overused word.
Not for one second during the six minute ride back to the apartment is there silence, not that I'd want any. Frankie makes me laugh describing Beth's and her experience yesterday afternoon in a hair salon on Newbury Street.
It's the street with the most expensive stores and boutiques in Boston.
Both girls had a snooty experience being served espresso while they waited to get their hair done. Then Frankie takes off her hat and I see she got a haircut almost as short as a guy's. She had fairly short hair before, but this is a lot shorter. Beth and her both burst out laughing about the extravagantly gay hairdresser, as they call him, and that Frankie was afraid to complain about how short he cut her hair. Then Beth says, "No offense, Dylan."
I guess she said that in reference to her extravagantly-gay gay comment.
I say, "Why would I take offense, Beth," then, "That's a guy's haircut, Frankie." She goes, "Do you think Rob will hate it?" That pisses me off, but I stay cool, mumbling pleasantly enough, "How the fuck would I know?"
Parking in a spot near the back of our parking lot, we get out as Frankie's saying, "Why are you so mean to me, Dylan?" I go, "I am not mean to you!"
realizing I may have added a little venom to my earlier, 'how the fuck would I know' comment, I say, nicely this time, "I mean, seriously, Frankie, how could I possibly know what Rob will think about your haircut." She snuggles against me saying, "My bad, I thought you were yelling at me simply because you raised your voice quite a bit." To make conversation, I go, "Rob and I are getting haircuts today too." She says, "I know, sweetie, I told Rob you boys needed one." Oh my God, that royally pisses me off too! I use my world famous will power and only mutter, "Well, la-de-fucking-da, what do you know about that?" Meaning, well-meaning nothing I guess. We go upstairs with Beth leading the way and, to prove I'm not grumpy, I go, "Your ponytail looks nice, Beth." Both girls laugh out loud and my face gets red.
Then Beth says, "Thank you, Dylan, that's sweet of you. Frankie and I were laughing at our dumb selves, not you. We both paid a $125 for a wash and haircuts; Frankie's is a too short boy's haircut, and mine was a simple ponytail wash and trim." I give her credit for admitting how mind-bogglingly stupid it was to pay $125 for a haircut. Inside the apartment Robby's already making some headway cleaning the kitchen. The girls exchange a too-friendly greeting with him. So, as I'm putting the pickup's keys in the bowl near the front door, I covertly sneak a peek to see if there's any kind of a peck on the lips between Rob and Frankie as part of their greeting. There isn't which works out well for Frankie because she probably wouldn't be too thrilled about her hair getting pulled out of her head after paying so much for the haircut.
Robby says, "What the fuck, Frankie, why not just come with us to Golden's and get a regular haircut for free." She hits his arm, saying, "This isn't really a boy's haircut. Beth and I are just joking around with that. There are obvious differences in my haircut, but I admit it is too short." and the three of them talk about the girl's Newbury Street adventure, laughing at things that aren't all that funny. The reason I don't join in is because it's a dumb boring conversation, much like I hear girls have routinely.
The only difference is that one of the participants in this one isn't a girl.
Every opinion or judgement I make about the girls, I need to ask myself how much has jealousy played into my opinion or judgements, and it's getting to be a pain in the ass second guessing myself. Frankly, a lot of the negative thoughts I have aren't the result of jealousy at all, some of them are directed at Rob. Why is he acting this way? He acts much differently with the girls then he does with me. I like the way he acts and reacts to me, and he needs to be consistent with that when he's interacting with the girls.
With me he's more assertive, but with the girls it's like Frankie and Beth are running the show. Rob has no problem letting Frankie make decisions about almost anything. Is that the way straight boyfriends and girlfriends are: the girl's the boss? Like now when Rob puts on one of our favorite CD's.
Frankie says, "C'mon Rob, not the Counting Crows again," and she takes a Rap CD from the bag she carries with her everywhere and plays that instead.
I stare at Rob, but he purposely doesn't look in my direction.
Today we complete the cleaning in an hour, but by then I'm ready to ring Iggy Azalea's throat. We heard his rap CD twice when once would have been twice as often as I'd care to hear it. Frankie announces, "Okay guys, that should do it, huh? Good job," and she pats Rob's back. That was completely the wrong way around. Rob should announce when we're done, and if he must he could pat her shoulder. Beth says, "I was thinking we need to enact and enforce a few rules for the card games, and I mean starting with this Friday night." Rob's like, "What kind of rules?" and Frankie say, "We need receptacles for empty beer cans and bottles, then one for food like pizza crusts and chicken wing bones, another for paper products... like that. I've had all I can take, so I say to Rob, in the form of a question, "I'm gonna answer some emails in the bedroom, if..." and he gives me his special smile, "Sure, babe. Oh, Golden wants us in his dorm at four o'clock. Just an FYI, Dylan." I nod and drift back to the sanctuary of our bedroom as the three of them continue making plans to help keep the mess down on Friday nights. Closing the door, I'm thinking, 'That's actually a good idea'.
Not really feeling much like answering emails, I flop on our unmade bed and lay my face in Robby's pillow. Yes, I do need a heart to heart talk with him, but I can see all kinds of negative responses from him, like, 'Don't be silly, Dylan,' or 'The girls aren't around that much, babe', you're exaggerating, to 'You're not jealous of Frankie, are you?' It could be a no win situation for me. And what's my problem anyway; I mean looking at it from Rob's point of view. Our sex together is frequent and has never been better. We get along wonderfully and he's not all business anymore like he used to be. He jokes around and he's fun to be with. Yeah, my problem has gotta be jealousy, pure and simple. I need to be more mature about this; I really do. I'd make an ass of myself telling Robby he's spending too much time with Frankie and he needs to spend more time with me. I'd sound like some kind of nagging cunt wife. I mean, I never tell him he's spending too much time with the baseball team. He meets guys at the clubhouse to BS, or goes out on the diamond and throw throws the ball around, do some informal batting and stuff. I never complain about that, or when he's missing in action for an hour or so, and Danny happens to go missing as well. I don't complain then, but now I want to complain about Frankie. No, I can't do that! There can't be any heart to heart talk about the lipstick conundrum. Rob has a right to spend his time with whomever he wants. I do, so why not him. Well,
that's not quite accurate because we get right back to me wanting to spend more time with him, except Frankie's always present. So I can't spend my time with the person I want, except when Frankie's sleeping. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration.
I hear the three of them laughing again so I hug the pillow over me ears and think about acting mature. Fuck it! I hop off the bed and go in the bathroom to decide how I want Golden to cut my hair this time. He did real good last time so I trust him to do any kind of hair style I want. Now that I have a fully grown-out head of hair almost any hair style is in play. It's been months since Ryan last scalped me in Georgia. Whoop-dee-do for me; I'm twenty-one years old and I finally have hair. Wow, but Georgia seems a long time ago now.
Picking up the comb from the sink's ledge, I try combing back the hairs on the sides. My hair is plenty long enough to do that. Some time ago Ryan was asking what he could do with his hair. He said it was boring looking. I had to tell him that after he got that regular haircut at SuperCuts there isn't anything he can do with it. It just lays there, too short on the sides and back at only a half-inch, and too long on top compared to the sides and back. With my hair now, with just a touch of gel, I can comb the sides back and do a little something with my bangs. Not exactly a pompadour although my hair's long enough for that, but a little lift in front. Fucking around with my hair I'm trying different things, including combing it all straight back, top and sides. Nah, too Hollywood or something, so I try other styles. The point is maybe I'll just have Golden do some tapering around the ears and neck and even-off the hair on top, and leave it at that. It does look raggedy now with hair growing over the top of my ears, so Rob's right about us needing a haircut. Oh man, Rob's always right... ha ha. Yeah, well mostly he is. Can I believe Frankie told Rob that he and I needed haircuts? I
wonder if she's ever heard the phrase, 'Mind your own fucking business!' I'm staying in the bedroom until they leave. Yes, I'm fucking pouting...
poor me. No, no I'm actually not. I'm just exercising my right to do something
other than what they're doing. In this case I'll go online looking for different hair styles. Jesus, some guys look so cool with very different haircuts and styles. I soon tire of that though and flop back on the bed to hug Robby's pillow again thinking how wonderful he's been since we moved into the apartment, and how much more wonderful it would be without the girls.
I always come back to that. Anyway, how the fuck did they wiggle themselves into our lives like this? Why don't they want to hang out with straight guys? It would make more... Then, interrupting that thoughts, Rob opens the bedroom door, saying, "C'mon, Dylan, lets get some lunch." I ask, "Are the girls still here?" He goes, "No, they left a half hour ago. I've been on the phone with my Dad. Sorry to tell you, but I might need to go home next weekend to work. The company is six months away from the ground breaking of our huge project." I go, "Oh yeah?" getting off the bed, then put my arms around him for a hug. He hugs back giving the side of my face a kiss, asking, "You're coming home with me next weekend, right?" I grin to myself imagining me asking, 'Will Frankie be coming too?' Instead I say, "Chubby and I haven't been back home since we got here. We were planning a family weekend together." He runs his fingers through my hair, saying, "Well I probably won't have much free time anyway, but I'll miss you."
On the way downstairs to the back door, I ask, "Did Frankie tell you we needed haircuts?" He chuckles, "Yeah, about ten times this week, she told me and I quote; you and your boyfriend need haircuts." I'm fuming inside, but he goes off that topic, saying, "Golden is being a bit of an ass about our haircuts. He said to come at four, but we'll probably still need to wait.
He's telling everyone, all his clients, ha ha, that from now on he's only doing haircuts once a month. The last Saturday in the month is his haircut day, and today he's only doing regular haircuts. Everyone gets a regular haircut. Mostly baseball players." I go, "He's getting too popular as a barber, and he's getting a big head about it." Robby goes, "Yeah, well, whatever.
Us getting haircuts from him further bonds me with him as his mentor this year. Plus, most of his so-called clients are freshman or sophomore ballplayers. I want them and Golden to know I don't think I'm better than any of them." I'm like, "Oh great, I'm just a pawn in the game of you bonding with underclassmen teammates." He shrugs, grinning and saying, "Exactly!" In the pickup I'm like, "Um, you said Golden's only doing regular haircuts. You mean like we got last time, right?" He shrugs, "Yeah, I guess, what else?"
Hmmm, what else indeed.
Our lunch at McDonalds is okay. I mean you know what you're going to get, right? After we've eaten we stay at the sticky table finishing our soft drinks talking about us, and it's nice. No girls. Finally Robby says, "C'mon, it time for our haircuts. Haircuts by appointment, huh? Classy." We can't park in the lot near dormitory row because it's full, so we park near the Quad and walk down. Even though the weather's cold and windy there's still a lot of foot traffic on campus. It's not the largest campus ever, that's for sure, plus there are five thousand students so some of them are bound to be out and about most of the time. Robby goes right to Golden dorm room and knocks. It's opened by a youthful looking guy, who says, "Welcome to Golden's barbershop, boys," and inside the small dorm room I see a guy sitting in the desk chair with a barber's cape around him. Golden's holding clippers as he talks to someone on his cellphone. There's a pile of various colored cut hairs on the floor near the desk's trash can. It looks like Golden's just about done with the guy in the chair and when he finishes the phone call, his back's to us so he doesn't know we're here. My eyes are bugging out of my head watching Golden finishing up the guy's haircut. He's using trimmer clippers outlining around the ears and squaring off the neck, and I immediately see a huge problem for me! Rob and I are still standing just inside the door until the youngish looking guy, who let us in, says, "Don't block the doorway," and he points, saying, "I want you boys to have a seat on the floor over there while you wait your turn. He's probably a freshman ballplayer who doesn't recognize Rob as a junior team co-captain. I'm like, "Who the fuck, do you... "but Rob jerks on my arm hard, and I go with him, giving the youngish looking ballplayer a dirty look. Rob leads me to where the guy pointed, making our way around three more youngish-looking guys waiting for haircuts, They're freshman, talking and giggling annoyingly. Rob motions at the floor, so we sit on the floor against the wall, under the window. Golden looks over, "Yo Rob! My mentor's here. There's only three or four guys ahead of you and Dylan." Rob flicks his hand, like no problem, then mumbles, "No problem, Golden." Well yeah, there's a major fucking problem! I'm glancing around to see if any of these children can hear me, then lean my head near Rob and, with my hand covering my mouth, I whisper, "Jesus Christ! Look at that guy who just got out of the barber chair, or desk chair, or whatever it is. Look at his fucking head." Robby looks over, asking, "The redhead? He's Josh McDonald, a freshman walk-on. Outfielder I think."
I'm like, "I don't give a shit if he's Babe Ruth, look at the fucked-up haircut he just got from Golden," and Robby looks, then turns his head looking quizzically at me, "Yeah, what about it, Dylan?" I say, incredulously, "What about it? It's a SuperCut replica of every horrible regular haircut I've ever seen. It's cut a half inch all around his head, sides and back, and all the way up the asshole's head. Golden left only a thatch of orange hair on top of the kid's head. Look at the part on the side. It looks ridiculous.
Don't you see?" Rob goes, "What are you talking about. It's a good haircut, um, a little short maybe." I'm exasperated, "He looks like an orange mop.
There's no style, no nothing." Rob whispers back a bit sternly, "Okay, stop being so critical, Dylan! Keep your voice down too, please. You'll embarrass me!" I'm astonished, "Embarrass you? It's Josh what's-his-name who should be embarrassed with that haircut, and so should Golden."
Golden brushes hair clipping off the chair, saying, "C'mon Fredrickson, you're next." A tall skinny kid gets up and walks over, asking, "Can't you do buzz cuts, Summers?" Golden looks at the guys waiting for haircuts, and says, "There's always that ten percent who never get the word, " then he laughs, patting Fredrickson's back, saying, "Next month for the buzz cut, today I'm only doing regular haircuts. Did you see the sign on the clubhouse bulletin board?" Fredrickson mutters, "Yeah, I saw it, I'm here ain't I, but buzz cuts don't take no time at all," and Golden puts a shocked expression on his face, asking, "You're gonna be on the fucking team aren't you? You're a team player, right?" Tall and skinny, says, "Yeah, a'course I'm an asshole," and he sits down on the barber chair, muttering, "A regular haircut is alright with me." Golden puts the cape around him, still chuckling. I guess Fredrickson is the team's running joke. Golden starts running the clippers up the sides of the guys head as I'm nudging Robby again, whispering to him, "We gotta get outta here. Fuck the bonding or whatever other reason you think you need to subject us to this mutilation. I'll pretend I feel sick, like I'm going to throw up." Robby grabs my bicep and, squeezing amazingly hard, hisses, "Stop it right now! And shut the fuck up." My face gets red and my eyes sting, but I can't say anything else or it'll bring attention to us and we'll both be embarrassed. I'm fucking pouting hard now, but you'd never know it because I can keep a straight face while pouting in my brain. Thirty seconds later, Rob points at me, hissing under his breath, "Stop that pouting. Act your age, Dylan!" I drop my eyes thinking to myself, 'Go fuck yourself with that tired, act-your-age bullshit'.
Smelling the back of my hand I'm silently watching in horror as Tall and Skinny get the horrible regular SuperCuts haircut. With my other hand I'm absently feeling the hair on the sides of my head; the longer hairs I combed back earlier. They're slightly wavy, and I think stylish and cool. There's a wave, sort of, in the longer hair on top of my head too. It's taken since the last half of August until two days before November for my hair to grow long enough to comb anyway I want. And now Golden's idea of a regular haircut will cut it all off down to half an inch. Double balls! I look at Rob,
but he steadfastly isn't looking my way. He's pissed off, when it's me who
should be pissed off! And I am! It only takes seven or eight minutes for Golden to do the cookie-cutter regular haircuts he doing for each guy, but no one is giving Golden five dollars. I guess that starts with next month's haircuts, or whatever Rob said.
I think Rob got that wrong too. I'm not about to mention it though and get yelled at again. Smelling the back of my wrist now, I'm thinking: There's one thing's for fucking sure, and it's that I'll never find out about the five dollar charge first hand because I'd cut my jugular vein with a really sharp kitchen knife before that butcher of a barber gives me another haircut after this one that Rob's making me get. I glance at Rob again, out of the corner of my eyes this time, and he now appears pleasant enough, but that's probably for show so none of the players will know how pissed off he is at me. It's all so unfair! Fredrickson's haircut is finished and the cape comes off him. He stands and bumps fist with Golden, muttering, "Thanks, man." A hefty guy silently gets up off the edge of bed where he's been silently sitting, and he goes over to Golden for his haircut. When he sits in the victim's chair, he goes, "Seriously, Golden, am I always gonna need to wait this fucking long every time I get a haircut? Set up some kind of a fucking schedule, dude! I hate waiting around in your dorm this long for a fucking haircut ." Golden says, "Fuck you, Fredrickson, go to a barbershop in town if you don't like it."
Hefty says, "Whatever, dude, I'm high right now, so talk quietly, okay?"
What a jerk-off. Plus, I can tell from that asshole's previous haircut it was exactly like the one he'll get from Golden right now. None of these numb-nut clowns, including my boyfriend, knows shit about haircut styles. They've all been brainwashed since childhood into accepting this abomination of a haircut as nothing out of the norm. Morons! Robby grabs my arm again, and I sort of jump 'cause he's got me a tad gun-shy. His hold on my arm isn't as tight as earlier though. Anxiously, I look over, wanting to be friendly. Rob whispers, "Do you see the kid sitting next to the door?" I nod, "Uh huh," and Rob says, "After he gets his haircut I want you to get right up, without being told, and go right over to Golden 'cause you'll be next. And with a smile, God dammit. Golden's doing all of us a favor. Be friendly and I don't want to hear one negative word from your mouth about his haircutting." Trying not to frown again, and feeling like Rob's little boy in the hometown barbershop, I mutter, "Yeah, alright,"
and he tightens his grip on my arm, whispering, "This is a time when me being me the boss matters. Do you understand me?" I nod, "Yes, I understand."
He goes, "You don't see a single guy complaining about the haircuts; everyone is satisfied with them. You're the only one who thinks it's not good enough for you." I'm blushing, glancing around again to see if anyone is hearing this. Robby is a sweet guy ninety-five percent of the time, but he has a wicked temper that I swore I'd make sure never gets directed my way, so I say, "Okay, Rob, but I don't think I'm special." Now I'm frowning like mad again seemingly unable to stop. He goes, "Don't frown, I'm serious, Dylan.
Do not fucking embarrass me in front of these guys." Irrationally, I think, big deal, there's only four of us left in the room plus Golden's roommate, who already been scalped. The roommate sweeps up after the haircuts. And who the fuck cares what these nobodies think anyway? My hearts pounding because Rob's making me nervous, and he's scaring me a little. And at the same time I'm furious about the bad home-haircuts Golden's putting out. Why can't he do a haircut like he did for Rob and me five or six weeks ago? It's all so stupid and yet I'm the only one who seems to realize that. Golden has his hand on Hefty's shoulder with the clippers running in his other hand, as both he and Hefty are laughing their nuts off about something. Golden looks at Robby saying, "Rob, remember the walk-on guy who stutters, the guy with all the tattoos? Him in the batting cage?" Rob starts laughing, saying, "Ahh, Jesus, don't mock the poor guy," and Hefty turns around, saying, "He said he was the best hitter in Rhode Island. The fucker couldn't even hit a seventy mile an hour fastball, never mind a curve." The young-looking guy sitting on the floor next to the door is laughing along with the other three ballplayers. Just like jock-snobs to mock some guy who isn't as good a baseball player as they are. Then there's general laughing among the four of them about things that happened during walk-on day. What the fuck, they're just getting around to laughing about that now? For fuck sake, walk-on day was a month ago. Robby looks at me, seemingly in a much better mood as he tries filling me in on what's so funny. It must be one of those deals where you had to be there because it doesn't sound funny to me, although I'm grinning and nodding my head as though I get it. But not really. Robby pats my shoulder and I feel a little better about things; he doesn't seem pissed-off at me anymore. I look sideways at him and feel a tingle in my nuts: he's my leader and I'm not being a very good follower.
Soon Hefty's haircut is finished and the youngish-looking guy who was sitting on the floor next to the door is in the butcher's chair now, so I'm next. I'm rationalizing like mad trying to convince myself that Rob's right about this being no big deal. Not a single ball player that I've seen in the last half hour thinks it a big deal. Rob's absolutely right about that.
It's a fucking free haircut, and like the other guys, I should just say, thank you, and leave it at that. Not one guy has complained about the haircut, so why am I different, or think I'm more special than they are? That's how I'm rationalizing this situation, but it ain't working too good, not so far anyway. Rob turns and asks me with a smile, "What should we do tonight, babe?" Oooh, I'm so glad he's back to being friendly to me! I smile, "I don't know. Go to Tracy's maybe?" Rob nods, "Yeah, we'll make it a slumming night getting a little high at Tracy's," then he smiles again, asking, "You and me, we're good, right?" I shrug, "Why wouldn't we be, Rob?" He says, "Thanks, Dylan. This is no big deal, right?" He's fucking brainwashing me. But still, it's weird how relieved I am that Rob's back to being nice to me. He's
still looking at me with a pleasant expression on his face, waiting for me to confirm that the haircut is no big deal, so I shrug again, "Nah, it's no big deal. I was just, I don't know, acting like a baby, I guess." He gives my shoulders a one arm hug and I feel all gooey inside. I love and respect him so much. Right now I'd like to sit in his fucking lap, or suck his dick, or I don't know what.
I'm sneaking glances at Rob, thinking how a stupid haircut is a dumb reason for me to get Rob mad at me. Smelling the back of my hand again, I'm day dreaming about Rob and me in the condo he's buying for us. I mean, obviously that'll be after we graduate. How many guys right out of college move into a cool condo like that with Granite counter tops, two and a half baths, and a nice little back yard off a deck that we can... Rob nudges me, breaking into my day dreaming. I'm like, "Huh?" then I look up to see the youngish-looking guy who was sitting on the floor next to the door getting up off the barber chair. My heart starts hammering in my chest as I stand up and walk over, like Robby told me to do.
Golden's bumping fist with his latest victim as they laugh about something. I'm just sort of just standing here feeling awkward until Golden turns his attention to me. And, when he turned his head, his almost shoulder length light-brown slightly-curly ponytail flies about, seemingly mocking us guys getting haircuts. Golden smiles at me, doing a one arm hug, saying, "Hey, Dylan! I'm sorry you guys had to wait. It's been nuts today." I go, "No problem," and he's like, "Yeah, um, well sit down." I reluctantly sit and he snaps the cape around me, saying, "Next month everything will be better organized," My groin is buzzing out of control and I feel slightly sick to my stomach. It's my subconscious haircut fetish taking over control of my brain, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. Golden fastens the cape around my neck as his roommate lazily sweeps the hair from around the chair into the pile near the desk's trashcan. This is becoming like a bad dream for me, and I feel so helpless as Golden puts a finger in between the cape and the back of my neck, making sure it isn't too tight. Then he turns on the clippers with the half inch guide on the blades. Without hesitating Golden pushes the clipper all the way up the right side of my head, as he casually asks me, "What are you guys doing tonight?" When the clippers are near the top of my head Golden flicks his wrist to the side slightly and a big batch of two-inch long blond hair flops onto the cape and drifts down to my lap.
I gasp, "Um, we might check out Tracy's tonight. Rob calls it slum.... and the word catches in my mouth as another clump of my hair hits the cape sliding down to join it's brothers. Golden asks, "What did Rob says? Slumming?"
and another batch of hair scatters on the cape. I mutter, "Uh huh."
Golden's chuckling again, saying something to his roommate as the clippers finish off the right slide of my head with a lot more of my hair sliding down the cape. Making his way around to the back of my head now, I feel the clipper at the nape of my neck, then he pushers my head forward slightly.
Remembering Ryan's haircutting, I'm used to moving my head forward until my chin hits my chest. Golden's oblivious to that as he runs the chattering clippers all the way to the crown of my head. He's saying something I can't hear because there's a loud ringing in my ears as my haircut fetish begins boiling over. Over ten weeks of growing my hair, and just like that, the slightest move of Golden's hand with the clippers and my two inch long hairs are cut to a half inch. I don't have any luck when it comes to my hair. Someone I'm attracted to is always seeing that it gets cut off.
Rob and Golden are talking about something now, Golden paying almost no attention to my haircut. As Golden talks to Rob he continues pushing the clippers all the way up the back of my head. Well, he actually doesn't need to pay much attention for this kind of haircutting. I feel a lot of severed hairs, in a sizable clump, sliding off the back of my neck. My groin buzzes and, with my dick firm, the muscles in my groin tighten significantly and a long stream of cum shoots out into my underpants. My body is stiff as I grunt quietly, alone in my fetish world. There's nothing in my world except the clippers, my hair being cut off, and another tightening of all the muscles in my groin with more cum shooting out onto my undies. Then two more squirts of cum and, like after any climax, I'm limp and weak, barely able to hold my head up. Golden holds the clippers away from my head and, sounding concerned, asks, "You okay, Dylan?" I take a silent deep breath, then letting it out quietly; manage to mutter, "Yeah, a gas pain or something. I'm fine, Golden." Rob and Golden pick up their conversation again as Golden begins on the left side of my head and I watch stupefied as more batches of two inch long hair hit the cape and slide down with the others. I know my cum will soak through my jeans, but I'm praying it doesn't soak through the nylon cape.
I feel defeated, tired, and pissed at my humiliating haircut fetish.
Usually I liked it, but it seemed to mock me today. I know very few, if anyone here at college, could understand the way I feel about this haircut. Even Ryan's haircuts in Georgia I was partially complicit with because of my situation there, and because of the haircut fetish rush. I was in Georgia and knew hardly anyone so what did I care? And I didn't fight Willie when he took me to get any number of really short haircuts because I secretly kinda thought they were cool. Today though I sincerely didn't want this haircut.
I've been on this kick of growing my hair out this one time in my whole fucking life, and it has to be Rob who's responsible for me getting my first truly unwanted haircut. Nobody understands though, including Rob, and I get that, so I might as well save my breath and not bitch about it afterwards.
Done ruining the sides and back of my head, Golden stops the clippers halfway up the left side mumbling a question, "No part, right?" I'm following directions and being cooperative, not really understanding what he said, but mutter, "Uh huh," anyway. He finishes off the left side of my head, then does minimal hair cutting above the half inch hairs. Then he uses the trimmer clippers outlying around and behind my ears. Then the squared off hair up my neck's hairline, up about an inch, which is three-quarters of an inch higher than it should be. I can tell Golden's just going through the motions and not giving it much thought by now after doing fifteenth or twenty haircuts today. He's probably thinking, one more haircut to go and I'm finally finished. If it was me instead of Golden doing these haircuts I'd wish for another fifteen or twenty guys waiting for their turn. I sigh, but say nothing.
He's done me now, and at least he doesn't slap the back of my head like Ryan does, saying, 'You're done, boy!' Golden unsnaps the cape and lifts it.
I gawk at a good size pile of my hair hitting the floor. He uses a soft barber's brush to give the back of my neck a couple of swipes, as he says, "Okay for now, Dylan. It's looking good, buddy." A pat on my shoulder, as he adds, "Next month I'm charging five bucks for any haircut except the regular one, but you and Rob can text me whatever you want... no charge."
Whoop-dee-fucking-doo! I stand with my back to everyone as I'm pulling the tails of my shirt out so they'll hang down in front, and hide the big wet cum spot's that soaked through my jeans. That done, I look at Golden, mumbling halfheartedly, "Yeah, thanks," feeling embarrassed for myself. Then see Robby giving me a 'look' so I quickly add, with a lot more meaning in my voice, "Very much appreciated, Golden," and I pat his shoulder. As Rob sits down, Golden says, "No problem, Dylan. I'm happy to take good care of my mentor's boyfrien...er, roommate." He glances quickly at his roommate whose sweeping my shiny golden hair into a pile with all the rest. His roommate's not paying attention though.
Stepping away, I'm feeling the back of my head with my fingers, wanting to cry. If I were twelve years younger I would cry. Considering the way Golden stopped on the word 'boyfriend' I'm guessing his roommate, whose also on t he baseball team, doesn't know Rob's gay or that I'm his boyfriend." I take a deep breath, blowing it our audibly, resigned that there's nothing I can do about my hair now, then mumble, "I'm gonna catch a smoke outside, Rob." Golden's snapping the cape as Rob says, "No, don't do that, Dylan. Wait for me, it'll only be a few minutes. Go ahead and sit back on the floor where we were before. You don't mind waiting, do you?" I shake my head, "No, no problem."
Sitting back on the floor I'm thinking, 'Get used to it, Dylan. You've been trying to get Rob to be the boss for as long as you've been boyfriends, and you've succeeded beyond your wildest expectations, so live with it'. I feel like shit, and I admit it's so dumb to be this depressed about a haircut. But picture a guy with a buzz cut, then someone setting a beret of long hair that sits on top of his head reaching only to the edges where the top of his head begins rounding and directly below that is all half-inch buzz cut hairs around his head. That's what this haircut looks like. A pancake-size wig of extra-long hair sitting on top of a guy's almost shaved hair below it. And even Golden thinks this is a good haircut; him even telling me I'm looking good. How can he be so fucking clueless? Yeah, yeah, but it doesn't make him a bad person though.
So I'm depressed about everything right now, and I can't help it. Actually I thought I was going to like it when Rob finally exerted himself into a leadership role for us, telling me what to do and all that. Of course he'd call it 'asking' me to do things, not telling or ordering me. That shit fit he threw when we first sat down, him grabbing my arm and getting really angry, that was an unexpected eye-opener for me. A wake-up call that when he wants to be, he's the fucking boss and I better watch it. Then I tell him I'm going out for a smoke and Rob says, No, I'm not allowed to. Sure, he made it sound like he's asking by including at the end, 'You don't mind waiting do you?' Or something like that. Fuck, I don't know how I feel about anything right now. What I feel like doing is going to bed and sleeping until tomorrow. My face feels hot, like I've got a fever, and the cum has cooled in my underwear and it's sticky and wet and uncomfortable. Plus I'm sitting on the floor with my arms around my knees like some grade school kid. If fucking Golden knew I shot off a load in my pants he'd know I had the fetish he claims has something to do with fearing emasculation, or some such shit like that. Damn, I want to get out of here!! I need some fresh air and I'm sick of hearing those fucking clippers! Somehow Rob's standing next to where I'm sitting on the floor, saying, "You look agitated, Dylan." I look up, "What?" How could he be done already? Well yeah, I guess he is though, his haircut looks exactly like mine, meaning
hideous. Standing I'm like, "Agitated? No, no Rob, I'm fine." He pats my shoulder, saying, "Let's have that cigarette you mentioned," then to Golden,
"Thanks, man. You rock!" Golden's cleaning the clippers with a little brush. He says, "Hey, no problem, Rob. Happy to do it for you guys." Rob nudges me as he nods at Golden, and I go, "Thanks a lot Golden," then Rob says to
Golden's roommate, "You're doing a hell of a job too, Tony, but don't fuck up your arm sweeping. We'll need you in the bullpen this spring." Tony goes, "Yeah, Rob, put in a good word for me, will ya?" Rob goes, "No problem, you got it," and Golden looks up, "Hey, Rob, you boys hitting Tracy's tonight." Rob shrugs, "Probably. You want me to pick you up?" He goes, "Yeah, if you don't mind. Tony's using his car for a date tonight, so I'm stranded."
As we walk out the door, Rob tells Golden, "I'll text ya when we're ready to leave."
Outside the dormitory, Rob says, "See, that wasn't that bad, was it? Your haircut turned out looking good." He sincerely doesn't get it. I nod, "Uh huh, you were right. Sorry I made a fuss about the, you know, whatever." I can't make myself say the word 'haircut' because the one Golden gave us gives the word 'haircut' a bad name. Rob's totally over the topic as he goes through his pockets, muttering, "Fuck, my cigarettes are back at the house.
Can I bum one?" I pass him the one I was going to light and get another one for myself. We smoke as we're walking to the Quad's parking lot, where we left the pickup a few lifetimes ago. Rob's saying, "Maybe we'll get a liar's poker game going at Tracy's tonight, then make an early night of it. Get to bed early, heh heh, for once, huh, Dylan?" Whatever! Nothing appeals to me at the moment. For one thing I had an orgasm fifteen minutes ago, and I'm feeling shitty overall, so I mutter, "Whatever you say, Rob." He stops and gives me a hug, murmuring, "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Dylan. I love you to death, but sometimes you're gonna have to get used to not having your own way. We've talked about this a hundred times and you've agreed to do what I say when we disagree on something. Right?" He leans over to look in my eyes, so I nod, muttering, "Yes, I remember, Rob," and I said that like a robot. He goes, "Hey, c'mon. You almost always get your way, but on rare occasions I need to put my foot down. It's what we agreed to." I nod by head, but can't work up the energy to hug back or fake that everything's hunky-dory, 'cause it's not. And I don't give a fuck if I'm acting stupid and petulant.
We walk silently to the car. I'm refusing to feel the hairs on the side and back of my head for the foreseeable future, but I run my fingers though the three inch long hair on top of my head. At least I got that going for me. Too bad it looks ridiculous next to the half inch hair over the rest of my head. In the pickup, Rob says, "Okay, you're still pouting. I'm gonna let you be a big baby and pout all you want, but you're not coming out with me tonight pouting like this. Christ, I feel I need to walk on egg shells around you." I mutter, "Hey, nice talk, Rob." He starts the engine and doesn't say another word until we're inside the apartment, when he asks, "Do you want to eat out tonight?" I say, "You spend too much fucking time with Frankie! That's a major problem. We need to talk about the lipstick conundrum too." He stops, "Oh, is that what this is all about? Frankie, huh? I thought you were pouting because you don't like your haircut," then he mutters under his breath, "As odd as almost anyone here at college would find that to be." I go, "I hate the fucking haircut, but I'm talking now about you and her making-out and transferring her yucky lipstick to my lips. And you're spending too much fucking time together, when you need to spend that time with me." He goes, "Whoa, whoa, lets sit down, Dylan. Lipstick conundrum, what the,,,?" and he takes my arm leading me to the sofa. We plop down together, with me sitting stiffly, like the spoiled brat I am.
Rob stares at me sitting here like a statue, then he moves over right next to me and puts his arm across my shoulders pulling me against him. "I can explain, Dylan. I'm so sorry you're upset like this. It's my fault for not including you. I was afraid you'd think I was nuts or something." My eyes water and I go limp against him, snuggling into him as much as I can.
Memories of him and me together like, almost forever it seems at times, all come flooding over me along with the realization I've been unreasonably upset about this haircuts, especially considering all the bizarre haircuts I've been forced to get the last three years. Why am I being so stubborn now? I have some reasons, but not enough to excuse my behavior. Plus, I've been idolizing Rob since we got to Merrimack so how can one bad thing happen and all the good of three years goes out the window with me thinking he's a clueless idiot. Snuggling with him makes me shudder. I'm helplessly in love with him and for a million good reasons too. So what if he doesn't see haircuts the way I do; doesn't understand the differences. Sure, I right to be disappointed, but acting out the way I did is dumb. Acting like this is a monumental catastrophe. Rob corrected me at Golden's dorm; I needed it and admire him for it. When will I learn that Rob's going to be right almost all the time; he's more sensible than me and much more grounded. More in touch with things. I'm all over the place most of the time. And he smells so good and his body is so hot and he is home to me. Where Rob is, is my home.
He rubs his hand up the side of my head quietly saying, "I've made-out with Frankie three or four times, but it didn't last very long either time. I really like her, and I thought I might be able to have sex with her, although we haven't done it yet. It's merely experimentation, Dylan. I've been curious for years what it'd be like, not that I had sexual urges to do it because I don't now and never have had any urges; not for a member of the opposite sex. It's strictly curiosity, but until now I've never had the nerve or confidence to do anything about it. With Frankie coming on to me so much I thought... maybe. Fuck, you know in high school I was a pathetically shy so never came close to experimenting although there were opportunities. I'm a lot more confident now and you helped me with that." I'm numb, just hearing his words with no desire to say anything. I'm so in love with him it's insane and I've already forgiven or accepted whatever he's going to say. He pulls my face around and kisses my lips, murmuring, "You know what I'm discovering, Dylan? I'm proving to myself without any doubt in my mind that you're so much better in every way imaginable, better than any girl could possibly be. There isn't anyone of either sex that could ever come close to replacing even one tenth of what you mean to me. You're the most important person in my life, the most important person I'll ever know in my life.
You're more important to me than my parents, my brother, my God. Okay, I'm not real religious, but if I were you'd still be more important."
I still don't say anything, but I pick up his hand and hold it between my hands, as he goes on, "I was waiting for the right moment to bring Frankie's and my experimentation up to you. As usual you knew when the best time was, better than me, so here it is. It's like, Frankie had a thing for me before she knew I was gay. Not knowing that, she and Beth came-up with the bogus fan club ploy as a way for Frankie to get to know me. It'd be a cool move if I cared if a girl was interested in me, which I don't and never have. She quickly discovers her ploy was for naught 'cause I'm gay. Still, we're the first gay guys she's been friends with, and she's enjoying us. I told her right out there isn't any chance, zero chance, that I'm not gay. So for experimentation we played at making-out to prove my point. Perhaps she thought I'd change my mind if I gave it a chance with her, but I haven't changed my mind and I knew I wouldn't. Even so, Frankie thinks it's an interesting experience from her point of view. We've talked about whether I'll be able to perform, code word for get a boner for coitus if we ever decided to try it, and neither of us is optimistic because I'm not getting aroused from the make-outs. Still, she's as curious as I am. It's a game, a silly game maybe, but like I said, I'm curious. So we'll see."
Still nothing from me as I continue holding his hand between mine, not even looking at Rob. He does a little shrug, adding, "Anyway, we're totally done with the making-out experiment. It's didn't work for me even once, although it was working for her. Not fair to her obviously. If I ever do manage sexual intercourse with her, and I'd only try it one time. Maybe some time when I'm ready to handle the fact that I can't do it. A one time thing will end my curiosity forever." I squeeze his hand and play with his fingers.
His voice is musical and hypnotic, but in an entirely different way from Ryan's. Rob's voice is sincere without a trace of purposefulness to it except to try explaining himself to me. Ryan's hypnotic voice, when he uses it, is to get me into a trance for his purposes during sub/dom sex. Robby is being as honest as it's possible to be, and while it's nothing I'd have the slightest interested in pursuing, I can easily see Robby being interested, or as he says, curious about what hetero sex is like. Cross all the T's and dot all the i's; that's Robby. He'll scratch this off his list of things he's wondered about in time, and no harm done.
I still haven't made a sound since we sat on the sofa, so Robby goes on, "As for your huge dislike of this haircut Golden did for all the players, and us," and he runs his fingers through the half inch hair up the back of my head, adding "I just don't understand it, Dylan, but I'd like to, babe.
Educate me about what's wrong with the haircut. Will you explain it to me, please.?" I say, "It's not important, Rob. And to answer your question, I'd rather eat in tonight than go out, if you don't mind." He thinks for a second, then goes, "Oh, that's the answer to the question I asked you when we first came in the apartment. Okay, then what'll we have for dinner?" I go, "Whatever you want, Rob." He says, "I'd like a steak, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, sweet baby peas with lots of butter, and a Caesar salad without anchovies. Chocolate eclairs for desert with decaf coffee." I nod my head, "Okay. We need to shop." Robby says, "Well, we'll shop then. I want to stop at the liquor store and buy a split of champagne to drink with you while the potatoes bake. I want to celebrate me finally telling you about my silly failed experiments with Frankie. I'm sorry I couldn't work up the nerve to tell you earlier. And, I'm doing the steaks on the grille tonight. From now on that'll be my job." I'm smelling the back of my hand, leaving my left hand to continue holding his hand, as I mutter, "Okay, but we should get some cheese and crackers to eat as an appetizer with the champagne.
Should we have a bottle of wine with dinner?" He says, "Even though neither of us likes wine, yes we should." I go, "Sure, after all we don't like champagne either, so if we're drinking that we might as well go with wine too."
He gives me a tight hug, then says, "I love babying you," and he kisses me in different places on my face. We make out for a few minutes but get interrupted when Rob's cellphone starts ringing. He kisses me on the lips real quick, saying, "I'm sorry, Dylan, but I was waiting for Dad to call back."
I say, "That's okay, I'm changing clothes for our romantic dinner tonight."
Going down the hall, I take a deep breath, smiling widely to myself because I feel so fucking good. He loves me so much and he knows just what to say and what to do about things. I'd trust Rob with my life, with my everything! Anyway, when I get right down to it, I'd rather have him messing around with a girl then another guy. Why didn't I realize this before? Oh God, a love like I have for Rob hurts sometimes and other times, like just now, I feel so wonderful and grateful he's mine I could yell it at the top of my lungs. Why did I doubt him? I look at myself in the bathroom mirror as I'm taking my jeans off. The haircut still looks like shit with all my hair on the sides and back gone... again. But fuck it, if it's an okay haircut as far as for Rob's concerned, then it's okay for me too. He's the only one I'm trying to please anyway.
I change jeans and underwear, wash up the cum on my shaved groin area, including using a wet washcloth getting tiny hair clipping off the back of my neck, when it hits me: Golden asked if I wanted to go with no part. Looking in the mirror I'm like, Fuck! He cut off the part too. Then Rob said he wanted the same haircut I got. Fuck again! Okay, it was my fault 'cause I wasn't paying attention. Anyway I've talked this abomination of a haircut out with myself already. Enough! I'm cleaned-up with fresh clothes on, back in the living room when Rob finishes his phone call, shrugging, and saying, "Looks like I'll be home next weekend babe. I'd only get to see you late at night anyway so I'm glad you'll be with Jeff and your mom." We go to Stop & Shop and then the liquor store and do everything we said we'd do, including wine with dinner. Golden texts Rob about nine o'clock asking when we're heading out for the night, and we finally pick him up around ten. The girls are there and so are a number of baseball players. I fit right in with them now, all of us with identical Golden Summers butchered haircuts that not a single guy mentions. Rob and me the only ones without a part on the left side, but of course none of these numb-nuts notices that, or would give a shit about it if they did notice. When it gets uncomfortably cold out on the deck, I use my membership card to eventually get ten of us inside the club where it's warm and crowded.
Rob and I are drinking beer, while the girls and most of the baseball players are doing shots and beers. After today's highs and lows I've got this greatly enhanced love and admiration for Rob, and I've been pretty much standing next to him, glancing at him a lot. Pony got involved with some sophomore friends he's made and he didn't make it into the club with us. Then Tracy sees me and waves me over. I say, "Rob, do you mind if I say hello to Tracy?" He shakes his head snorting a laugh, asking, "Are you serious, babe? Why would I mind?" I shrug and do a little grin, feeling like as ass for overdoing my infatuation of him, but not seemingly able to do anything about it. I can't wait to be in bed with Rob tonight. I'm going to worship him and his body more than I've ever done before.
When I make my way through the crowd to Tracy, he puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "You sexy hot shit, how ya doing?" I go, "Great Trace, really great." He goes. "I know you'll understand what I'm about to tell you. See that babe over there with the red dress on?" I nod, "Yeah, she's hot," and he squeezes my shoulder, saying, "Yes, she is. I'm back on the chicks, Dylan. Our quickie's, you and me doing our quickies, need to be put on hold, okay?" I'm like, "Absolutely, Trace. When you're back on the guys, let me know, will ya?" He says, "You'll be the first one I tell. Give me your fucking cellphone." Grinning and slowing shaking my head because Tracy's a trip and a half, I pass him my phone. As he types stuff into mine, and then his cellphone, he says, "I want us both to have our latest info." Tracy's a
true bisexual, equally appreciating male and female bodies, and sex with both, but he won't work both sides of the street at the same time. It's exclusively one way or the other with him. As he hands me my cellphone back he's frowning, looking over my shoulder, then asking, "Is that your younger brother over there?" I ask, "You mean Jeff, I didn't know he was here."
Tracy puts a hand on my shoulder turning me around, saying, "No, not Jeff. I know him. That really cute little guy right there. He reminds me of you, but now," and he laughs, saying, "I see he only looks when I glanced at him.
He's a girl, right?" I look where he's pointing and see immediately who he means. It's Frankie, and my jaw drops open. Why didn't I notice she looks something like me. She has blue eyes and blond hair that's now cut almost like a longish guy's haircut. Maybe Robby.... hmmm.
Chuckling, I go, "That's Frankie, yeah he's a girl, er, I mean she's a girl." Tracy says, "Yeah, I see that now. Fuck me, dude, but I was looking at you and then glanced over at him, um, her and it was like, what the fuck, that cute kid has gotta be Dylan little brother." He laughs again, then abruptly says, "Here, Dylan, I gotta go," and he give me a voucher for twenty shots of liquor. No expiration date. I don't want this fucking thing so I make my way to the group and put my arm around Golden's shoulders. He looks up
and I hand him the voucher, saying, "Just a token of our gratitude for your awesome barbering, Golden." He looks at it, and says, "Holy shit, thanks,
Dylan!" Then holding it out so everyone can see it, he goes, "This is a fucking fifty dollar voucher for shots." I say, "Yep, Tracy told me to give it to whoever I wanted. Rob and I are not big fans of shots, so I thought, hmmm, who better than Golden. I'll suck up to my barber, You decide who gets the free shots," He goes, "Way to go, Dylan," and gives me a one arm hug, saying, "Dude, you rock!" I sort of glance at Rob and he looks so proud of me I try hiding my smile as I avert my eyes.
to be continued.... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumforf@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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