DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 21
By Donny Mumford
Rob and I leave Tracy's Speakeasy early, getting home a little before midnight. There were some peaks and valleys today, some big highs and low lows. We had a very sexy morning together, obviously one of the day's high peaks, then we had a little bit of a valley while cleaning the apartment with Frankie and Beth. It was a bit of a peak for me when the girls left, followed by the really big valley in the afternoon. Yeah, but the low point of the day seems stupid in hindsight. It's was me being fanatically negative about getting another haircut from Golden. The first one, five or six weeks ago now, was really good. The problem this afternoon is Golden was only doing regular haircut today due to the number of guys who asked for haircuts. At first I was like, So what? That is until we're in Golden's dorm room and I saw what his so-called regular haircut looked like on a prior victim.
It's a duplicate of the quick SuperCuts haircut I've railed against for years.
I told Rob we need to make up any excuse and get the hell out of there before it was our turn. Rob had reasons for not doing that, so I sulked and pouted like a ten-year-old, then later snapped-out at Rob when we got back to the apartment. Already agitated about our stupid haircuts, I lashed-out about me noticing Frankie's lipstick on his lips a few times. He rescued the entire situation though. He was patient, forthcoming, and loving while explaining the lipstick conundrum. It was a classic Rob moment and one more reason to add to a million others why I'm so head over heels in love with him. Rob's become almost like a cult figure to me by now. He doesn't have a cult, obviously, but that's how dedicated and enamored of him I've become.
In other words, if he did have a cult, I'd join it. Yeah, yeah, I know... I have a tendency to go overboard emotionally at times.
Anyway, Rob readily admitted he was wrong not to have clued-me-in about Frankie and him experimenting with intimacy by making-out. When he apologized I was okay with it. His explanation was almost humorous, and even had a sweet almost naiveté component to it. I wanted to hug him and tell him I understand; and I did understand him being curious although I can't imagine doing what he did myself. No way could I envision experimenting with some girl to see if I have bisexual tendencies hidden within my subconscious mind.
If there are any in there, which I seriously doubt, they can stay the hell subconscious for all I care. Bottom line: I can't personally relate to Rob's experimentation with Frankie, and he can't relate to my reaction to this bad haircut. No big deal, and I believe Rob when he says the 'making-out experiment' is over and done with, and that he never was even slightly aroused making-out with her. The part I like the best was him saying he may have been slightly repulsed by the Frankie make-outs. Heh heh, ya know...
So that's fine and dandy, but I'm less than thrilled to learn he's still contemplating a one-time heterosexual intercourse experience. He did tell me that neither he nor Frankie expects it'll be any more successful than those two making-out, but there's still that curiosity factor. He's apparently unaware of the cat and curiosity situation. Here's what I believe: With the make-out disaster fresh in his mind, Rob has basically satisfied his curiosity about the other side, but Frankie's continuing to push the agenda forward for her own personal reasons and Rob doesn't know how to say 'no'. I believe she's got a thing for Rob and won't give up this easily.
The naive part is Rob telling me he never once felt sexually aroused from making-out with Frankie, so he can't imagine how he's supposed to perform during sexual intercourse. In this case the word 'perform' is a euphemism for getting a boner. I could tell him the obvious, that he'd get a boner from Frankie doing oral sex on his dick, or just jerking him off for a while.
He either hasn't thought of that, or naively doesn't believe it would work any better than making-out. Of course it would work because penises don't care who or what's providing the stimulation. Provide enough stimulation and penises get hard! Ha ha, like they say, it's not rocket science. Hell, I can spring a boner riding on a bus just from the bus's motion. Obviously making-out won't stimulate the penis unless the person you're making out with arouses you sexually in the first place. That's the whole fuckin' point of making-out. If you're not sexually interested in your make-out partner, why the fuck are you making out with him, or her? Well, the answer to that in Rob's case is, he was curious. I contend this whole mess is Frankie-driven for the most part, but in the end I suppose it's basically harmless.
So, that's the story of the lipstick conundrum. I wasn't sure if I should even confront Rob about him spending too much time with the lipstick girl, but today one situation led to the other. Then Rob's response, like I said, had me quickly melting into a pile of mushy love for him. I probably just wanted his complete attention focused on me. Before he said three sentences of explanation I was ready and willing to forgive anything he told me. My quick turn-around from bitchy boyfriend to a compliant loving one didn't happen just because Rob's response was so thoughtful and apologetic. My love and devotion for Rob has grown in me over time until now it's like an obsession. He's become everything I've ever fantasized about a boyfriend.
During our years together I've been gradually accumulating all the treasures of affection and understanding Rob's showered on me, and recently it all caught up with me, and as a result I get a glow and I shine with a tingling in my groin whenever I see him. I love living and sleeping with him so it's dreams-come-true time, it's pinch myself to be sure I'm not dreaming time, it's so much more than wonderful it gets my head spinning at times. I find myself going overboard with him by being too clingy and too amorous and I overdo my words of admiration and love for him. Shit, I might scare him away if I'm not careful.
Anyway, that's pretty much my state of mind as we walk into our apartment after a few beers at Tracy's Speakeasy. Without planning on doing it, I'm walking too close to Rob, so he goes, "Hey, what's up, babe?" I shrug goofily and he chuckles, murmuring, "Need a hug, do you?" and he puts his arm around the back of my waist and squeezes, grinning at me. I say, "I know I'm in your space, Rob, sorry about that, but you've been so amazing all day I'm hoping some of your awesomeness will rub off on me." He laughs, mumbling, "Oh yeah, I'm so sure I'm awesome." I go, "No, really! I admire the way you care about your freshman teammates, and how you demonstrate your support for them, and the way you've bonded with Golden. Mostly though I want to thank you for guiding me out of the hole I dug myself into with that haircut nonsense. I was so out of line and it embarrasses me to think about it now." He goes, "Then don't think about it, but do try not to act like a nine-year-old brat again any time soon." I go, "Hey!" and he goes, "I'm kidding you, fer chrissakes!" I go, "Oh, good. Anyway, I think you're the perfect head of our household, and you proved that to me again at Golden's."
As we're taking our coats off, he nods his head, mumbling, "I'm far from perfect." Then, looking serious, he says, "Really though, I fucked-up that thing with Frankie; fucked it up something terrible. It's inexcusable of me not to have told you what's up with the making-out experiment. I guess I was embarrassed to admit it. Admit I'm curious if there's any bisexuality in me. It's wasn't an obsession or anything like that, but when Frankie showed up I was like: wow, this is my chance. Then I handled it badly." Yeah, he did fuck that up, but being magnanimous I just sort of shrug, not saying anything, so he adds, "Yeah, the opportunity to experiment just fell in my lap so I figured I'd see what's up with that." He's right about the opportunity falling in his lap too. Frankie and Beth made up that bogus fan club deal so Frankie could get close to Rob. Too bad for Frankie the make-out experiments were complete disasters; heh heh, but in a very good way as far as I'm concerned. Robby's not through, adding, "I wasn't trying to keep it a secret exactly, Dylan. It was an experiment that in my mind had nothing to do with you and me. Anyway, you remember me telling you about my first make-out with Frankie the night of the first frat party, right?"
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, he did tell me about the first one, but then he had three more make-outs with her that he didn't tell me about. We're in the kitchen having this discussion as I'm taking a couple of Advil, just in case the wine and champagne have any ideas about giving me a hangover tomorrow. After swallowing the pills with a couple gulps of water, I'm like, "Yeah, Rob, you said you had to picture me in your head in order not to throw-up during that first make-out." He laughs, "It wasn't quite that bad. I don't recall saying I was going to throw-up, but I didn't get close to being aroused; that's the point." I'm like, "So, why did you keep trying it?" He takes the bottle of Advil from me and shakes a couple out in his hand. I pass him the bottle of water and he swallows the pills, then repeats my question, "Why'd I keep trying? Good question. I don't really know, except I guess it was mostly Frankie's idea to give it another go. Maybe her feelings, or her ego took a hit because she couldn't arouse me. I put up with it three more times so as not to hurt her feelings. None of the make-outs lasted more than a couple of minutes anyway. Then the last time, after ten seconds I burst out with a laugh and told her as politely as I could, that it's no use although none of it was her fault." I nod, "Uh huh, except that she's a girl, although that's not really her fault either when you get right down to it." As if the thought just occurred to him, Rob says, "I think Frankie was into the experiment a lot more seriously than I was." I go, "She obviously has a thing for you, and I can't say I blame her." He goes, "Well, I'm a million times more excited about you having a thing for me." Then he shakes his head slowly, mumbling, " I found the experience to be awkward and embarrassing in a number of ways." I shrug, not needing to hear any more about it. I got the picture, and I'm pleased with the result.
Walking slowly towards our bedroom, Rob shrugs, muttering, "So it's been a bust so far, and I still need to try heterosexual intercourse." I go, "Uh huh, it's still called fucking, by the way, even if it is heterosexual fucking." He snorts, "No shit," then looks over at me and wistfully adds, "Ya know what? I wish I never mentioned any of this to Frankie." I go, "Frankie seems to be enjoying herself though; wouldn't you say?" He shrugs, "Jesus, yeah, she seems to be really into helping me with my curiosity." I go, "Huh," and he looks at me, "Ya know, Dylan, sometimes I think she's laughing at me on the inside," and he immediately changes his mind, "No, not really though, she's a very nice person actually, and maybe she even thinks she'd be helping me if I could find my hetero side. Frankly, I don't think I have one." Now you're talking Rob! That's the conclusion I came up with myself, um, like the day after my first date with fat Carl.
After stripping down to our boxer shorts, we do our bathroom routine together. When brushing my teeth, I'm thinking how Rob's been very forthcoming with his unflattering experiment with Frankie, so maybe I should be forthcoming and tell him about my spontaneous orgasm during that haircut I vigorously protested against. Then I quickly come to my senses. No, that's a bad idea! Why open that can of worms and complicate matters further? He's satisfactorily clarified the lipstick conundrum, and there's nothing I can do about this haircut from Golden, so that pretty much wraps-up loose ends for the day. Going forward, if Rob's okay with Golden's haircut, I guess I'll have to be okay with it too. Hell, I might as well join the vast majority of haircut-clueless guys. Why should I be the outcast who know the difference between a good haircut and the one that's currently on my head? When we get under the covers I scoot right over and kiss Rob's lips, then get up on an elbow looking down at him as he lies on his back. He smiles and asks, "What?" I trace the pad of my finger across his upper lip feeling the developing mustache there, murmuring, "Just to be crystal clear, Rob, I formally apologize for my behavior at Golden's. I was wrong and you were right." He smiles, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder, saying, "Beating a dead horse again are we, baby?" Another example how I've been overdoing sucking up to Rob. He goes, "Ya know, Dylan, I'd like to be able to say something along the lines of, 'No, it was partially my fault too', or 'You had a good reason for acting liked that.' Something like that except you're right, you were totally at fault." I pinch his nose, mumbling, "How gracious of you," and he laughs, then shrugs, "Well, I'm sorry, but it's true." Huh, me fishing for some small concession from Rob totally bombed that time.
I stare at him a second, then make a face, and try again, "Didn't I have a teeny-weeny point about the haircut being, um, not too cool? A little tiny bit of truth about the, um, style of haircut Golden gave all of us?" Rob raises his eyebrows, like he might be willing to concede a small point in my favor, then goes, "Um, no, none that I can see... sorry. But, maybe if you'd explain it to me, school me, I'd be able to see what you mean. Remember, I asked you to do that earlier? I asked you to tell me what I'm missing."
Huh, he's being open-minded, or pretending to be, but, nah, I guess you either get the haircut thing or you don't. I go, "Oh fuck, I can't explain it Rob. Well, I could but it'd take too long and it's probably not worth it.
Remember back in freshman year during our threesome days when we were giving each other haircuts; back when you and Ryan were friends." He goes, "We were acquaintances, not friends! Basically our only connection was our mutual interest in you." I go, "That's not accurate, but whatever. Back then I tried explaining what you were doing wrong with your haircutting. Even showed examples while I cut Ryan's hair. Remember?" He nods his head, mumbling, "Only very vaguely," and I go, "Well, you couldn't grasp the concept then either, even though I was demonstrating what I was explaining. That's all I'm saying. So, ya know...."
After thinking about that for a second, Robby goes, "We'll, my inability to grasp the nuances of cutting hair has been well established. What I'd truly like for us to do now is put a fucking tight lid on the haircut chronicles?" I go, "Yes, we probably should." He says, "Good, but answer one question first. Your answer will tell me if you're truly over your thingie about Golden's haircuts. From my point of view, I think this is a good haircut.
I don't see any reason to pay Golden five dollars for a different one, so I'm getting this haircut the next Saturday he's doing haircuts." I mutter, "I hate to interrupt, but is that a question?" He goes, "No, smart-ass, that was background. Here's the question: are you with me about asking for Golden's free regular-haircut next time?" Oh boy, he's got me in a corner here.
I mumble, "Um, you're forgetting that Golden said he'd give you and me any haircut we wanted for free." Rob shakes his head, "Yeah, I know that; he told me the same thing, but I don't want to be treated differently than the other guys, so I reject his offer. Plus, it'll make him feel good if we want this same haircut again." I have an expression on my face reflecting dubiousness about that logic, so he goes, "Times up! What's your answer?" Oh fuck! What a hard ass he can be at times! Taking a deep breath, I look him in the eyes, and say, "Yes." He goes, "Do you promise?" I say, "I promise,"
and he says, "Thank you, Dylan. That topic is now put away with a heavy fucking lid and locked-up forever. Do you agree?" I nod, muttering, "Sure." I do feel good about pleasing him, but wimpy for giving in so easily. Rob's major point remains true though, and one I can't honestly dispute: Haircuts aren't worth him and me fighting over. So, I made Rob happy by letting him win the discussion, and it'll make Golden feel good next month too. So enough already! Robby goes, "Okay, what else did you have in mind for tonight, now that your formal apology is out of the way?" I'm like, "Well, first I'll overlook the unnecessarily rudeness implicit in that interrogative sentence of yours. That notwithstanding, the next thing I want to do is tell you to your face how fabulous I think you are. And secondly I want to inform you of the boner in my underwear. It came up on me, so to speak, from the way you manipulated me into your way of thinking regarding the topic that's been put away forever." He laughs and gets his arms around the back of my neck pulling my head down to his, then mumbles, "What the fuck is an interrogative sentence? And, more importantly, I think you're the fabulous one for abandoning your tilting-at-windmills crusade regarding that put-away-forever topic.
You gave up on it to keep harmony between us." I murmur, "I did it because I love you so much I'd rather please you than be right about that forever-put-away topic." He goes, "You made the right choice," and I say, "While I'm at it, I may as well add it gave me shivers earlier tonight seeing how proud of me you were when I gave Tracy's voucher to Golden at the speakeasy.
Your proud look brought a tearing-sting to my eyes." He goes, "You'll have my eyes stinging if you keep your agreeable manner up. Yes, I was very proud that you did that for Golden even though you're not happy with the put-away topic. He thinks he's doing a good thing for the guys, and for free. I'd hate seeing his feelings get hurt, and I knew you wouldn't do that." Ha! I would have hurt Golden's feelings except Rob stopped me from doing exactly that, but why cherry pick details? If he thinks I'm too nice to do that, who am I to disagree? Finished our clearing-the-air discussion, our heads come together for a slow, long and deep lover's kiss that makes me forget about all other matters. We break off the kiss grinning at each other. Then, reading one another's mind, we rustle around under the covers pulling our boxer shorts off.
Rob's naked body is so sexily hot! I squirm up on top of him as we restart our make-out with hard boners bumping into each other. It's incredibly arousing for me to see him get as aroused as I am. We're really good together, each gladly giving the other what he needs. Ours is truly a deep mutual love affair. And, so what if one of us loves the other a little more; the difference isn't enough to measure. I've felt a greater and deeper, almost an insane love, for Rob recently and it's probably more intense than his love for me. But then he's loved me more than I loved him the first two years of our love affair, or at least that's what he claims, so now I'll try evening that out a little bit.
When we're both moaning with desire and can't wait any longer, Robby fucks me slowly with me lying on my stomach and my ass pushed up for him. He's on his knees between my legs, his knees spread as his hard fat organ is thrust up my ass. It's coated in luscious lubricant again making for smooth, almost agonizingly slow trip inside my body creating the familiar but somehow always amazingly new sensations of extreme sexual pleasure. The large bulbous head of his hard fat boner leads the way stretching my anus and activating the million nerve endings there. When they're fired-up I start squirming on the bed. Then the hard head slides tightly over my prostate gland and fireworks go off pleasurably and prettily in my head. The accumulated lube around the lips of my asshole heat to my body's temperature and a steady thin lubricant stream drools to the back of my scrotum making me shudder.
It's only a four inch trip of his big cock head up my ass, but the pleasure those four inches of slippery hard cock generate inside me can't be matched. It's Rob's fat four inches, that's why it can't be matched. I smell his delicious scent and feel the palms of his hands on my back as they rub up and down while his boner goes in and out. So many tantalizing sensation swarm all over me I'm gasping and calling his name, "Aaaah, oooh, Rob, mmmm, Robby, oooh." Thrilling pleasure like nothing else in my world, and no matter how many times I experience it, it only gets better and I never take it for
granted.
I don't know how long this current utopian state has been going on, but over the last few minutes I've felt on the verge of climax. I'm making squeaky sounds of arousal while holding my ass up off the mattress just enough that my boner's head only lightly pokes the mattress when Rob repeatedly thrust his cock inside me. My throbbing hard cock is sticking straight out from my groin, so hard it's almost painful. Precum is leaking steadily wetting the spot my cock's head dents on the sheet with every thrust of Rob's boner. It's a dreamy world of pleasure I'm in; one I'd like to stay in for a very long time. It's a compact world consisting only of me, my hard cock, and Rob fucking my ass with his scent swirling around in my head. There's a movie I'm watching in my mind of Rob's awesome body behind me and his rock hard fat cock, shiny with lube and precum, repeatedly disappearing up my ass,
then reappearing before defiantly plunging right back in. It's a surreal movie.
Finally, Rob's breathing becomes heavier, like gasping breaths, and the speed of his thrusting picks-up. I know his orgasm is rushing up on him now even as my orgasm races his to the finish line, and I'm, "Ooh, oooh, oooh! Rob!" A second later I squeal as ecstasy engulfs me and I shake with pleasure, my body stiff as a railroad tie. I hardly know what's happening as all the muscles in my body seemingly tighten, then force creamy cum to pump out onto the sheet leaving me shaking even as a part of my brain is registering a quick warmth and wetness in my rectum and immediately another sizzling shot of cum fires from my rock of a cock, then another, and swirls of emotions, an ocean of sensations rolls over me so deliriously delicious it's all too much to comprehend... streaking pleasure sensations like a huge wave flow from my nerve endings; so many I don't know what part of my body they're coming from. It's a loud roar of pleasure that lasts a mere eight or nine seconds, then recedes quickly in a tantalizing spiraling of emotions and sensations until there's a lull, then a random zip of nerve endings like an electric streak in my groin, making me shudder one last time. It all happens in mere seconds and now the mundane sounds of the outside world again surround me as I sigh. Rob's quietly moaning while casually humping his cock in my cum-filled ass. He's breathing noisily in between his moans and I hardly know what the fuck I'm doing until I feel the wetness of my own cum under me and realize I'm lying flat on the bed now with Rob on top of me.
I feel another phantom body shudder and take another deep breath. Then...
it's over already? Well, that's not fair although I'm not sure how long we fucked before the volcano exploded; maybe it was an hour or two. Rob rolls off me, still breathing deeply and I realize I've gone blind! No, wait! I have my eyes closed. Opening them I can see we never turned the bedroom overhead light out. Looking at Rob, I see he's looking at me. We both smile and shake our heads a little. He says, "Can you believe this? I thought my cock broke in half when I shot that load up your perky ass." I snort out a laugh, "Perky?" and he goes, "First time I've ever spoken that word. I may have misused it." I mumble, "That was some damn good sex, Rob. You my man, dude!" He lays next to me and puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Well, yes, of course I am." Then, "What time is it?" I go, "What time? What day is it?" He picks up my wrist and looks at my watch, "It's twelve-thirty-eight," and I'm like, "That can't possibly be right! We got home a little before twelve and you just fucked me for at least an hour, so my watch must have stopped." He shakes his head 'no', saying, "The second hand is still running in circles, at just about a minute a circle." I'm like, "Huh!" He says, "I feel like another beer," and I go, "And I suppose you want me to go get it for you." He goes, "I'm all warm and cozy under the covers and, unless I'm mistaken, which is unlikely, you're lying in your own cooling cum and will want to get out of bed to get something to cover the wetness." I chuckle, then mutter, "Lucky guess," as I slide out of bed and pad naked into the bathroom to wash up.
I like being naked. Rob yells, "Since you're in there, you need a shave."
I look down at my groin area and see the barest pubic hair stubble.
Yelling back to Rob, "Do I have to?" and he yells, "Yes." Hee hee, I love when he gets all Mister Bossy on me. With a washcloth soaked in warm water I wash the cum off my belly and chest, then soak the stubble around my dick. Ha, little Dylan looks so innocent just hanging harmlessly there waiting patiently for the next time I need the little fella whether it be to take a piss or shoot pleasure juice, or even just get hard and feel good for me.
Whatever, he's always willing and able.
Spreading shaving creme over my pubic area, I shave carefully, then rinse off. Total time: less than two minutes. Time well spent. Drying all over, I'm walking back in the bedroom carrying a clean towel, asking, "Do I need to stand inspection?" Robby pretends he's angry, "Fuck that! Where's my fucking beer, boy?" Snickering, I lay the towel on the sheet to cover the cum wetness, then I get a pajama top out of the bureau drawer. A large long- sleeve pajama top that hangs down almost covering my ass in back, with just the head of my dick left uncovered in front. Rob goes, "Ooh, nice idea, Dylan. Would you get one for me, please." I dig around in the drawer and come up with a light flannel pajama top I wish I'd found first for myself.
Walking over to Rob, I say, "Arms up, "and he raises his arms so I can drop the pajama top over his head. He goes, "Ooou, this feels good, thanks, babe."
Holding his head between both my hands, I give his forehead a fifteen second kiss, inhaling his scent. Then rub my fingers up the back of his head, mumbling, "Feels like you have a buzz cut back there." He goes, "We put a lid on that topic forever, didn't we?" I hug his head, then kiss the top of it, muttering, "I had my fingers crossed when I made all those promises."
In the kitchen I grab a green bottle of Rolling Rock beer from the refrigerator while trying to recall when we bought Rolling Rock last, then realize it's a bottle left by a card player last night. Since possession is nine-tenth of the law I pry the top off the bottle with a church key, thinking, 'We need a, 'Snack! Taking a box of Ritz crackers off the pantry shelf I spread peanut butter and a smear of grape jelly on a dozen crackers, then bring the plate of gourmet treats and the bottle of beer to the bedroom.
Handing the beer to Rob, he looks at the tray and says, "Oh goody, snacks." He sits up in bed Indian style, with his legs crossed. I walk around and get in my side of the bed balancing the plate of gourmet treats while sitting next to Rob with the covers over my legs, then the plate goes on my lap.
Looking at Rob, I'm like, "Ya know, that side of the bed should be mine. It's closer to the bedroom door and since you're always sending me on errands it'd be a shorter trip for me." He takes a Ritz cracker asking, "What's that you say?" I'm like, "We should switch places, and your side of the bed would officially be mine for the rest of the year." He looks at me as he chews the cracker, then says, "The smear of jelly on the peanut butter is genius."
I'm swallowing some beer, then pass the bottle to Rob and pick up a cracker, asking, "What about us switching sides of the bed, Rob?" he goes, "No!"
and laughs, then starts choking on a cracker. Guzzling some beer takes care of his choking. I take the bottle of beer and elaborately wipe the opening with the palm of my hand, which makes Rob laugh out loud, then say, "You asshole." I remembered Pony doing that when we shared a Coke; I think it was a Coke. Wiping the top of the bottle before taking a sip is so prissy, and
basically insulting to the other guy; which is what makes it's funny.
We goof around finishing off the crackers and beer. Rob says, "I suppose it's my turn to get us a beer," and I hop out of bed and run around to the other side, saying, "Absolutely not. You da man, and head of this fuckin' household. I'm the dutiful wife-like person who's been browbeaten into submissiveness by you." Rob goes, "Oh, okay, but look for another Rolling Rock.
Switching beers sucks." Taking the empty plate and empty bottle with me to the kitchen, I can't help smiling to myself. I feel so happy, and it could have been very different today if Rob hadn't defused that earlier silly haircut situation. Many guys would dig-in and be just as pissed off as I was, and then we'd call each other hurtful names and not speak to each other for a day or two. I've heard guys talk about similar situations they've had with their roommates. Instead, Rob talked and listened, basically allowing me to see what an ass I was being. It didn't take long, and because of it we avoided the unpleasantness I assume is inherent in silent treatments. Since talking this out hours ago we've had ourselves a lot of fun beginning with that special dinner, then Tracy's, sex in bed, and now goofing off in bed.
Bringing the last bottle of Rolling Rock to the bedroom, I give it to Rob, asking, "Are we drunk?" Rob drinks some beer, then passes the bottle to me, saying, "I was just wondering that same thing myself. I think we're experiencing one of those long-term minor drunks. Minor because of the length of time we've been moderately drinking adult beverages. We had the champagne and wine hours ago, and a couple beers each at Tracy's, then these beers at
home." I love Rob calling our apartment, 'home'. Getting in bed again, I go, "So we're drunk?" He goes, "Yeah, sort of, but the booze has been consumed over like, what? How long has it been since dinner?" Shrugging, I go, "I don't know, um, we had the champagne around five-thirty and ate dinner forty-five minutes later while drinking that awful bottle of wine. So six to seven hours," and he goes, "Plus we're too brilliant to drink shots, so we're good." I go, "And we have all day Sunday to lie around here at home watching football on TV." Swallowing some beer, he burps, then mumbles, "High definition TV, no less."
He passes me the bottle and I drink some beer, passing the bottle back to him, saying, "Sing me a song, Rob. Sing that awesomely corny love song you learned in Arizona when you were on the family Grand Canyon trip." He smirks, pleased that I asked. He goes, "With my Midwestern accent, right?" I go, "It's a country and western accent, not Midwestern." He's like, "Really? Well, it was a while ago, babe, I don't think I remember all the words,"
and he said that with a country twang in his voice, making me grin. Then I try singing, "I pay rent on a run-down place, there ain't no view but there's lots of space, in my heart, the heart that you own." He claps, then says, still with a country/western twang in his voice, "My next song is dedicated to the boy I love, the boy who stole my heart, Dylan Newman, soon to be Dylan Dickers," and he sings perfectly, a hundred times better than me, "I pay rent on a run-down place, there ain't no view, but there's lots of space, in my heart... the heart that you own." His voice goes higher, as he looks right into my eyes, "Used to be I could live here free, before you owned the property, my heart, the heart that you own," then in his regular voice, "I really don't remember the rest of the words." I go, "You remembered the words that make my eyes tears up, so sing it again and don't forget the introduction." He does that with me staring at him, feeling my heart will burst with love for him, "The heart that you own..."
We get all gooey then, hugging and kissing and telling each other things we remember doing together in our past. Some memories get us tearing-up, others make us laugh. We have another beer, Coors this time, and we hardly notice the difference. We sing the song as a duet, pointing at each other's heart. We sing it three times hugging after each time and pointing at each other when we come to the lyrics, 'The heart that you own,' stretching out the word 'own'. We sound pretty fucking good too. After sharing half of our forth beer, another Coors, Rob puts the bottle on the night stand and we come together kissing and eventually have sex again. I forget all about the valleys we experienced today because the peaks have been so high. I actually don't remember falling asleep, but I'm sure I did so without brushing my teeth because when I wake-up I have a headache and there an overused Kitty Litter box on my tongue.
Groaning, I ruffle Rob's longish hair on top of his head. His head is level with my chest and I see his feet sticking out the side of the bed, pointing to the bedroom door. He's still dead to the world. With the back of my fingers I rub the short hairs all the way up the side of his head and groan as the memory of our haircuts from Golden come back to me like a slap in the face. Feeling my hair, I take a deep breath and let out a resigned sigh.
Jesus, was it yesterday we got our haircuts? Seems like a couple of days ago. Holding my thumping head in both hands, I stretch a little, then get out of bed and, in the bathroom, take the world's longest piss. I don't think we pissed once while drinking those four or five beers in bed. Oh fuck, I'm swaying at the toilet, pissing like a, um, I can't think what animal pisses hard. A horse or an elephant maybe...
Flushing the toilet, then washing my hands while staring at myself in the mirror, I like: Huh, while this haircut doesn't look good from the front, it doesn't look horrible either. It's the sides and back view that look ridiculous, but we put the lid on this shit, never to be mentioned again, and so be it. Yeah, but there's no fucking part! There should be a part on the left side of my head. Golden just ran the clippers up and cut it off. Jesus! I wash my face twice, then look at myself again. My eyes are bloodshot, so what the fuck time is it anyway? My wristwatch says seven-fifteen. We went to sleep sometime after three o'clock, so what am I doing up? Well, the piss was urgently needed, and I'm dying of thirst, plus my head is ringing like a church bell every two seconds inside my skull, and my mouth now taste like doggy doodies.
After brushing my teeth and gargling, I leave the bathroom and pad into the kitchen looking down at myself, wondering where my pajama bottom got to.
The cold Coke goes down swallow after swallow, one right after the other until all sixteen ounces are inside me. Then a big burp, and I take three Advil with some water. Blinking my eyes really fast, I ask myself, Dude, do you feel better now?' and the answer is; yeah, a little bit. Back in the bedroom I move Rob's legs under the covers, then lift him with my hands under his armpits, umpth!, to get him straight on the bed with his head on the pillow. Walking around to my side of the bed I get in and dump the towel out on the floor. The sheet's dry now. Then I get an idea. Reaching over I pull Rob's head and torso over to my pillow, then get out of bed to walk around to his side and, reaching under the covers from the side of the mattress to push his legs over. Now I get in the side of the bed that used to be Rob's, but now is mine. Giggling a little because he never stirred though all of that. Then I don't move a muscle for a few seconds as pulsing pain in my head thunders like a hundred kettle drums pounding. That little burst of activity wasn't the smartest move when dealing with a hangover. I settle down inhaling Rob's scent off his pillow, and fall back to sleep.
Robby's gently shaking my shoulder, quietly saying, "C'mon, Dylan, you can't sleep all day, and how'd you get on my side of the bed? C'mon, get up, I'm making breakfast," My eyes blink open. Rob's making us breakfast? Hugging his pillow, I roll over on my back and there he is, showered and bright eyed looking down at me, again asking, "What are you doing on my side of the bed?" I take a deep breath, then stretch all my muscles and almost get a cramp in my foot, then mumble, "You look, um, clean, Rob, and cutely handsome like a male model, only better." He says, "I made oatmeal and bacon." I ask, "The instant oatmeal?" He nods, "Yeah," and I go, "You call that making breakfast?" He snickers, then goes, "Get the fuck up; the oatmeal is getting cold. The bacon is burned beyond recognition so it doesn't matter that it's cold too." I chuckle, then go, "Hey, my headache isn't that bad. How 'bout you, Rob?" He says, "I'm not bad either, I'm good." I go, "Your headache numb-nuts, not you. How's your headache?" He sits on the edge of the bed, saying, "Not too bad, but ya know, it's ten after twelve. The Pats game is on at one." I'm holding my arms up, so Rob leans over and my arms close around him, as I murmur, "I got up last night, or was it early this morning? Anyway I brushed and gargled." He goes, "I wasn't worried about that," and we have much more than a regular morning kiss, after which, Rob goes, "Do you want to?" I nod grinning, and he climbs in bed next to me, pulls down his sweatpants and I sit up to suck his cock, getting it real hard, then turn over and get on my hands and knees. Robby smacks my ass hard and doesn't stop until I put my hand back there, yelping, "No, no, Rob, stop!" He plugs in his cock and fucks me fast and hard, me rocking to and fro on the mattress. We both cum in less than three minutes, then collapse in a pile of arms, legs, and dicks getting back under the covers with Robby beside me, his arms around me. Heavy breathing, hearts pounding for a short while, then we're calm just lying together with Rob doing little kisses on the side of my neck, or nibbling on my ear.
Finally, I say "That was more damn good hot sex, Rob! You're really getting good at this." From behind me he goes, "It's both of us, Dylan, but do you think we fuck too much?" I go, "No!" After a couple of minutes of snuggling, he mutters, "The oatmeal is probably cement by now, and the Pats game is about ready to kick off." I sigh and slide out of his arms with my feet dropping to the floor. We go through more bathroom stuff before deciding on a quick shower. It's a fifteen-minute shower together, washing each other and hugging slippery bodies, managing to finish rinsing off without anyone getting fucked. When we're both dried, dressed in comfy sweat pants, and over-sized t-shirts we go in the living room, turn on the TV, and then flop on the sofa. Ha, we only missed six minutes of the first quarter and it's already Pats 7, Washington 0.
Our bodies are a bit dehydrated as a result of overindulging of alcoholic beverages yesterday, so we do the best out of three paper, scissors, rock and Robby loses. He groans, then gets up and makes us freshly squeezed orange juice by cutting eight big Navel oranges in half and pressed each half on the rotating juicer head extracting every last drop of juice before discarding the skin and moving on to the next orange half. When all the oranges are squeezed and transferred to a pitcher, he put the pitcher of juice in the freezer for twenty minutes. When it's very chilled he stirs the pitcher of juice vigorously, then pours the OJ into frosty glasses, also from the freezer. So, okay, the process for freshly squeezed juice is definitely a pain in the ass, but the difference between freshly squeezed orange juice and pasteurized orange juice is a like the difference between night and day; there's no comparison. In addition, store-bought pasteurized orange juice, or any fruit or vegetable juice for that matter, loses most of it's enzymes and beneficial nutrients during the boiling process, which is what pasteurization mostly consists of.
Later, during commercial breaks, I prepare a six-egg cheese and mushroom omelet to share with Rob. In addition, I toast and butter Italian bread slices and served the toast with marmalade, and mugs of coffee. Both sides of my omelets are bright yellow and never have scorch marks on the underside like often happens with bigger omelets prepared in a too-hot frying or omelet pan. Slow cooking; that's the secret. During the second half of the football game we're lying on the sofa, Rob partially under me, his arms around me as we watch the game. We're sexually satisfied, but still like being in bodily contact with each other. Snugly together like this, mostly without talking, it's dreamy and ultra-relaxing. I like feeling the slight beating of his heart against my back and his breath subtly against the back of my head. It's a cozy safe warm-feeling being together in our private world of two.
No alcoholic beverages today, of course. Instead, later on we make root beer floats, drink iced tea and Cokes. We watch football with the sound off because announcers and commercials irritate the shit out of me. During the late afternoon game, we make-out for a while, kissing and licking and sucking each other's lips and tongue. There's no talking, just the subtle wet mouth sounds and a few sighs or quiet moans. Our cellphones are on silent, and the buzzing vibrations when a text or call hits one is merely part of the ambient sounds, like the heater switching on or off, or the clock on the wall barley making a sound as the minute hands moves to the next minute.
There goes Rob's cell vibrating again. We know the cellphone calls are invitations for an afternoon game of two-hand touch football, or a pickup basketball game from friends, or Rob's teammates. It'd be fun participating in a sports pickup game, but most Sundays we spend together in the apartment.
Around seven o'clock or so I order a large cheese pizza for delivery. Even though last night we both eventually had nine or ten hours sleep, we're still feeling a little beat-up from over-drinking and getting to sleep very late.
Consequently, we're in bed by ten o'clock most Sunday nights and sleeping soon after that.
Monday morning, feeling okay, I get up at eight o'clock and try impressing Rob by sitting at the desk reviewing last week's assignment for today's one o'clock 'Management Supply Chain' class. A little later Rob comes up behind me and rubs my head with both hands, saying enthusiastically, "Dude, cool haircut!" and we both burst out laughing. I turns around, still snickering, and about to disagree with his assessment, but before I can say a word he holds my face between his hands for a hot sexy kiss that leads to a nice little make-out ending up with us in the shower together. Under the pouring water we have another one of our shower-fucks. Rob plowing my ass for six minutes before I feel his load shoot inside me. I gasp then squeal and hump my hips as five streaks of cum shoot out hitting the tile wall of the shower stall. Holy shit, that felt good! The rest of Monday goes as expected.
No more baseball practice after class for Rob, and he hasn't had practice for two weeks now. Instead of going to the library after class, we've been driving home to do our assignments. When finished the required assignments, Rob and I take turns asking each other possible test questions for the next fifteen or twenty minutes. I've given up bitching about doing this extra study because it's not worth the trouble, and Rob won't give in anyway. As a consequence, I've never felt more prepared for class, pop quizzes, you name it, and I'm on top of it.
Finished all that Rob drops me off on campus and I meet Pony for our Mondays through Thursdays, and occasionally Fridays three miles run. Obviously the three miles has become easier for me by now. After the run we work out at the fitness center; then, when Rob's doing something at the ballpark, or playing competitive XBOX with Frankie, or hooking up with Danny, or doing anything out of the apartment, Pony and I finish our workout at the apartment. Mostly though, on Tuesdays and Thursdays we finish our workout in his dorm room because his roommate has late classes those two days. I look forward to us doing it too, and Pony is basically in-heat all the time, so we have ourselves some hot buddy sex dripping with sweat after our workout. It's always Pony and his sharp incisors sucking a boner on my penis, then a sweaty grungy awesome spanking for Pony before a hard fucking of his special ass, usually with a condom. His orgasms are must see events. I try, depending on what position we're fucking in, to observe him climaxing. They're like what I imagine an exploding fire hydrant would be like, but that's just the first spray of precum and pent-up seamen. Red-faced and shaking, Pony's blowing spit bubbles as he gasps at the sensations firing off in his body.
His five-inch cock looks like it's ready to take off. It's the hardest cock I've ever seen and after the initial spray the real climax happens and with his body stiff and his crotch humping he shoots the longest streams of cum I've ever seen. That boy really enjoys his climaxes while I enjoy the hell out of his pulsating rectum. He swears he's not doing anything intentionally to make his rectum clutch at my boner like it does, so it must be unintentional muscle contractions. Whatever, he's got himself a special ass. The fast talking Pony is considerably slower now, although maybe faster than what I'd call a normal speech pattern, and that's even though he appears completely relaxed with me by now.
Overall I've become very fond of Daryl and feel protective of him, and I say that even though he doesn't need protecting. He's no wimp, no one picks on him, and anyway we're the same size and he's in excellent shape. Plus, he's less than a year younger than me. I guess I mean I'm protective of our sex, making sure we're doing things that Pony is comfortable with. He's still basically inexperienced. Inexperienced but not naive come to think of it as he's been hinting he'd like to try some kinkier sex; beyond just getting spanked I mean. On second thought maybe he doesn't need me looking out for him with sex either. In the past I remember getting my rocks off with kinky sex both with Willie and Ryan. For that matter, with Billy and John in New York that time as well. So I've had some experiences with it, and for short periods of time it was nuclear hot for me as the submissive partner.
I'm not sure at all that I'd get my rocks off being the dominant partner though, but why not try some kinky sex for Daryl's sake? I'm considering asking Ryan if he brought any of his sex toys with him, ones that I might borrow. Hmmm, I wonder if he's used them with Jeff. Jesus, that would be hot! I had a little thing for Jeff that never materialized into anything except that one quick fuck at a gay club when we were both really drunk. Anyway Jeff had a thing for Ryan, not me. The country bumpkin didn't know any better I guess.
Anyway, that's been normal activity for Daryl and me. As for Rob, whatever he's doing his shadow, Golden Summers, is often right there with him.
Golden also has his little posse of freshmen teammates who he does freshman stuff with, although I forget what that was when I was a freshman myself so long ago. Golden and Beth, it's rumored, are doing 'IT'. So good for them.
I'm almost positive Rob will tell me when he and Frankie get around to trying it, if they ever do. Since the end of baseball practice Rob, myself, Danny, and of course Golden usually hit the movies once a week, usually before dinner to take advantage of cheaper ticket pricing for afternoon showings, or we just hang-out at the apartment usually along with Frankie and Beth, sometimes with Chubby and John Beverly. Or we'll have a couple of beers at the Speakeasy with the same group, and at times a couple of others will join us for liar's poker or our number one pastime, bullshitting with each other trying for laughs at various individual's expense. I rarely see Ryan except for our Friday class together, and then for a while after class in his dorm room, doing buddy sex mostly. Chubby joins Rob and I for lunch a couple of times a week; occasionally with John Beverly as his co-pilot. We try eating at different restaurants, other than fast food joints, and sometimes we'll have a beer with lunch, or sometimes eat in the apartment. Rob and I have guests for dinner two or three nights a week, usually with the girls among our 'guests'. It's all good; junior year is my best college experience so far.
So anyway, Rob's and my Monday is a good day, as most days are. Things are
really about as good as they've ever been, and tomorrow is the Halloween party. It's at the home of a commuting student who lives in Haverhill, which
is a town about ten miles from North Andover. The sophomore student's parents have made the mistake of going away for a week and leaving their house in the hands of their college student son. Bad move on their part. Rob learned of the party when he was invited to bring friends by a sophomore baseball player, whose name I've forgotten. Upon hearing news of a Halloween party Frankie took over by insisting we all wear costumes. My idea of a costume is a mask covering my eyes, and that's about it. Through Frankie's nagging of Rob though, and his subsequent coaxing of me, this year I'll apparently be wearing more than a Lone Ranger mask. We left it up to the girls to choose the costumes and right now we're on our way to pick up the costumes.
It's Monday around seven o'clock at night. The rental place is in Boston.
When we get there we discover Frankie and Beth outdid themselves, and while the costumes cost way more than any of us wanted to spend for a three-day rental, they are really hot-shit costumes. Naturally she chose a costume for her and Rob that left no doubt they're a couple, so that answers the question I asked Rob recently about who his date will be; Frankie or me? He said what difference does it make since we're all going together. Anyway, Frankie's costume is a big two-outlet electric socket extending from her shoulders to her, um, crotch. Rob's costume extends from his shoulder to his crotch also, with a big plug at crotch that matches the lower outlet at Frankie's crotch. Subtle! These costumes are sort of hollow rectangle shaped affairs that you put on over your head, held on with shoulder straps.
Beth's costume is a brick in front and back. The same kind of drops over your head with shoulder straps holding it on. Golden is dressed as a brick layer. Another subtle pair of costumes. Chubby and John Beverly aren't taking dates; they're going as Bert and Ernie of Sesame Street fame. They want to look harmless assuming that'll make them appear innocent and therefore make it more lightly they'll successfully hit on stag chicks at the party.
Good luck with that. Pony's going as Robin the boy wonder, and I'm Batman.
Danny Monday and his roommate, Philipp Cathings, please don't call me Phil, are going as a cheeseburger and a glass of beer. All the costumes depict the subject matter elaborately and there's nothing cheap-looking about any of them, but like I said they all cost over $40 each to rent. I gave Rob a 'look' when I found out how much these things rent for because he's the ones who talked us guys into letting the girls surprise us with the costumes. Rob
gives a pathetic I'm sorry look which made me feel bad, so I told him, "Seriously, Rob, these costumes rock!" After picking up our costumes we drive back to North Andover and celebrated with a couple of beers at Tracy's.
Then it's Tuesday and everything goes as usual during the day. Daryl and I
finish our workout at the fitness center, omitting the best parts because there's no safe place to do it. Later there's ten of us in the apartment having a hot dog and hamburger cookout. I do a large batch of French fries, and that's the entire menu. We take turns working the grill because it's a cold night. We're all front loading cans of beer before the Halloween party. Danny and his roommate supplied one case of beer, and another one is supplied by the girls, Frankie and Beth. Chubby and John Beverly bought all the frozen hamburgers and buns. Rob and I bought the hot dogs and condiments, plus the French fries. The others in attendance are freeloaders. We finally leave for the party in costume, taking the Jeep, pickup, and Philipp's Chevy Van. It's like a twenty-minute drive and, as with almost every party I've ever been to, we need to park a couple of blocks away. Instead of the clumsiness of BYO, everyone chips in fifteen bucks at the door and you make the best of it from there. Maybe they have the type liquor you want and maybe they don't. Rob and I are sticking with beer so we're not concerned what kind of rot gut vodka they have, for example.
The kid whose house it is, plus his sophomore buddies, have thought things out pretty well. The only unlocked entrance to the house is in back and it leads to a large finished basement with a bathroom. The door leading to the first floor is locked so the damage will be confined to the basement. A guy with a large nose, wearing big sunglasses, and dressed like the grim reaper is standing behind a long narrow table at the back of the basement acting as the DJ, and there's some impressive speakers blaring out the tunes.
They've moved all the other furniture out of the room, presumably into the three-car garage, so there's this big open space of I'd guess twenty-five feet by twenty feet, which isn't nearly big enough for the crowd that's turned out. There's spillage outside where the tapped half keg of Coors beer in
a tub of ice is located, and a table's set-up as a help-yourself bar with half gallons of vodka, tequila, and bourbon. If you like gin or rye whiskey you're shit out of luck. There's also a sophomore guy at the table to remind anyone who need reminding that help yourself refers to pouring from the bottles, not taking the bottles with you. There's lots of coming and going from inside to outside out for the booze in the back yard; then, after a bit, back inside to warm up. Inside there's lots of goofy dancing going on, made awkwardly goofier by the costumes. I longingly look at the guys with costumes consisting of only the Lone Ranger masks. Smart guys, and I used to be one of them. There's plenty of plastic cups but no snacks at all. A door off the basement, also locked, leads to another part of the basement where I'm guessing the heaters, hot water tank, and necessary things like that are located.
Lots of dancing, as I said, and of course it's very loud. A committee consisting of two girls and a geeky-looking guy are appraising everyone's costume to later award prizes in various categories. It hard to tell how many students are here, at least a hundred and fifty, but from what I heard from a stranger not everyone here is a college students. Guys and girls from town paid their fifteen dollars so who really cares that they're not Merrimack students. My hats off to the organizers because this whole affair was well thought out and, while they probably won't make any money, I can't see them
losing any either. Good for them. The bad part, or I should say the worst part of my costume, is the full mask. The hot dog and beer costumes, for example, don't have masks, and Daryl just has Robin's eye mask. After trying to drink beer through the opening in my mask, I take it off and hold it under my arm. At first all of us who came together stay together, but that doesn't even last through the first drink. Guys see someone they know and drift over to shoot the shit with him or her, and some join the middle of the room where the dancing is going on and they're lost from sight. Then it's outside/inside getting refills and/or catching a smoke of either tobacco or, more likely, pot. Being in a crowd of your peers lends to loud talking and easy laughs, and it's just fun being part of it all.
There are stag girls aplenty; probably more than stag guys. Daryl and I get asked to dance and after saying, 'Um, thanks, but I need to get a few beers in me before I can even think of dancing," or some variation of that, we finally give in and dance with two girls who came over to ask us together. We're soon separated, and after two or three tunes I excuse myself from Cinderella, my dance partner, who was a damn good dancer, but I need a fresh cup of beer. It's about eighty degrees inside and maybe half that outside and, initially, that's refreshing. I pour myself a cup of beer, light a cigarette, and look around to see if I know anyone in the area. Not seeing anyone, I find a spot in an alcove between the house and the three car garage where I'm protected from the chilly breeze that kicks frequently making it feel like below freezing. Leaning against the wall I'm breathing in the night air filled with my cigarette smoke and the smell of pot coming from about twenty joints. The music is still audible out here, but not so loud it's
likely to get the cops called. I've got my full-head mask under my arm, minding my own business and thinking how Halloween masks on the guys generally fucks up my hobby of boy watching. A guy in a porky pig mask , says, "Hey Batman, got an extra cigarette?" It's weird, but I recognize that voice, and asks, "Markie?"
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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