DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 25
By Donny Mumford
On a cold rainy Friday afternoon early in November Rob and I are at his pickup loading stuff in the backseat for a working-weekend at home. Trying to do anything in the rain is a pain in the ass, but there's very little complaining coming from either of us. That's mainly because we had a tiny shouting match fifteen minutes ago and, now that we've both apologized, we're on our best behavior by being overly accommodating and courteous to one another on our way back to normalcy.
Rob apologized for disrespecting me and I apologized for not doing a few favors for him in as timely a manner as I promised. The favors consisted of dropping-off and picking-up dry-cleaning, and the purchase of travel-size toiletry items. I actually did do all three of those things, but not as quickly as I should have and Rob, perhaps forgetting these were favors, was overly critical. Plus, like I said, it's a cold, rainy, and windy day making those chores more tedious and therefore putting my nerves slightly on edge. Rob's crime was treating me like an incompetent lackey which I objected to, so he's agreed to stop doing that. Case closed...
It was basically our first fight and it lasted about a minute. Common ground was quickly established and now we're both feeling a little weird about the whole thing. My rebellion might appear to fly in the face of my assertion that Rob is the head of our household and therefore entitled to expect certain things from me. We're not a married household though, so for now we're just practicing for when we are. However, practicing or doing it for real doesn't give Rob the right to treat me with disrespect. Treating me as an incompetent lackey, I think most reasonable people would agree is disrespectful. I like Rob to be slightly bossy, but I get to decide when he inches past slightly. So there it is....
When everything is in the truck we go inside to dry off before starting the trip home. Using fluffy towels, we're drying our hair while commenting on the weather, like, 'Nasty weather, huh?' or, 'Yes, but it's only water' and other things of that ilk. If we were back to normal our comments would be more like: 'Fuck this rain, huh?' or, 'This weather blows!' and other descriptive observations along those lines. Rob's phone rings and we both look at his pocket where he keeps his phone. He takes it out and talks to someone briefly, then tells me, "We can relax, Dylan. No need to rush now. That was Dad's administrative assistant telling me the Friday meeting has been postponed until tomorrow morning at seven." I nod, muttering, "Seven o'clock, huh?" He goes. "Yeah, a couple of the managers are dealing with flooded basements at home. They're getting the same rain storm we have here." Well at least the rain is good for something. Okay then, we don't need to bust a nut getting there, but a seven o'clock morning meeting; what's that all about? Jesus, we'll need to get up before six. Naturally, considering our recent peace treaty, they'll be no negativity from me about the lunacy of a meeting that early on a Saturday morning.
Dropping his towel in the hamper, Rob mutters, "Fucking seven o'clock, huh? I don't get that." It's tempting to second that emotion, but we're still in our walking on egg shells period, so I merely go, "Yeah, well..." Then I blurt out a laugh because we're being so stupid about this, and Rob's like, "What...?" Shaking my head, I say, "Nothing, it just struck me funny you saying, fucking seven o'clock. I don't know. it just...." He puts his hands on my shoulder, saying, "You know I'm really sorry about my asshole-act earlier, right?" I go, "Yep, but we're in the later stages of forgetting that ever happened." He looks at me grinning, then gives me a quick kiss on the lips, saying, "I love you." Okay, that was nice, and of course I say, "I love you too," and we hug. He rubs my hair, saying, "And I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier about these haircuts. Hell, you're probably right that they blow. I just don't know the difference." Hmmm, well yeah, that's right
he doesn't know the difference. Ignorance is bliss.
But, oh man, it's so good Rob's being like this. It's also the perfect opening for me to tell him about the register clerk at Rite Aid. As we're putting our rain slicker back on, I go, "Like you said, Rob, it's just a haircut. I'm the only one who seems to give a shit about it. But hey, get this: I'm at the check-out register with the tiny-toiletry items in Rite Aid when,
out of the blue, the register clerk, she's like nineteen years old, she says to me, 'Nice haircut!' Rob goes, "No way!" and I'm like, 'Yeah, way!"
He says, "See! It is a nice haircut." I go, "That won me over, yeah, but..." and I tell him about how our haircut's are missing a part. He reaches up and feels his hair where a part would be, and says, "Oh yeah. I didn't even notice that. Um, why do we need a part?" I shrug, "It's an intricate component of a regular haircut." He nods, apparently not convinced, but unwilling to get into another haircut discussion that he has no chance of winning.
As we're walking down the steps to the parking lot I tell him my theory as to why Golden cut off our parts. Haircuts are a touchy subject with Rob, so I took a big chance bringing that topic up again in the first place, but I only did so after first telling him the antidote about the clerk saying, 'Nice haircut'. You know, like throwing him a bone that he was right all along. He's not right obviously, but that's not the point. With him now in an agreeable haircut frame of mind, I move on to my point, which is we gotta correct the situation with our next haircuts. By the time we're pulling out of the parking lot I've maneuvered him into saying, "Well this is an easy thing to correct. Next time we'll tell Golden we want a fucking part." I go, "Yeah, when you put it that way, no problem." At least I extracted that much of a concession from Rob that this isn't a very good haircut, like he keeps telling me. Okay, that's partially taken care of. Of course, even with a part on the side it's still a very inferior blow-job of a haircut. But baby-steps are needed in this haircut dialogue because Rob's mentoring Golden and he thinks my criticisms of this haircut is a reflection on both of them. Well, it is actually, but I need to be tactful about it.
Now, about our sleeping arrangements at his house. I'm like, "Um, Rob, you have a better feel for things than I do. What do you think about us pumping the brakes on the idea of sleeping together at your house? Obviously that'd be my first choice, but I was wondering if I'm being too greedy wanting to sleep with you. What do you think?" Us sleeping together at his parent's house is totally his idea, not at all mine. If I pretend to own some of that bad decision though, Rob has some wiggle room to change his mind. I mean, sleeping and fucking together the first night at his house? Really? It's obviously way too soon to drop that entire package on his parents. I'm thinking maybe we need to sneak up on that topic so as not to freak out the 'rents. Rob's frowning as he looks over at me, then gets his eyes back on the road, saying, "You're reading my mind again, babe. I wanted to back-out of our sleeping together plans, but was afraid you'd think I was a wuss. If you're alright with it though, it'd probably be better if you used Dodger's bedroom." Bingo! He said our sleeping together plans. I had nothing to do with that plan whatsoever, but why split hairs? Rob arrived at the correct decision, but to reinforce it, I add, "Plus, we don't want to create complications or stress unrelated to the work we're going home to do. If we were visiting on a holiday or something, maybe then we'd mention the sleeping together topic to your parents. Something like that." Rob glances over at me again, saying, "Thanks, babe, I totally agree.
Ya know, it's easy for me to be on my high-horse about us being a couple when I'm talking about it with you. Then when it's actually time to talk about it with my parents, a lot of my bluster evaporates." I go, "It comes down to you being considerate, Rob. That's it pure and simple. You don't want to throw our gayness in your parents' faces. Ease into that over time.
Don'cha think?" He nods, "Yeah, I do. I mean, we both came 'out' to our parents so that enough for now. Damn, I feel better about the weekend already." He glances over again, smirking this time, saying, "Good talk, Dylan!" We both chuckle because that's a creepy phrase, 'Good talk!' which is why we say it... to get a laugh.
Dodger and Robby slept in the same room for years, only switching to separate bedrooms around the time Dodger discovered Rob and I were boyfriends and, um, doing what boyfriends do. As he drives, Rob's talkative now, asking what I think we should do tonight after dinner. I suggest a movie after which we could revisit one of our old secret places and have sex in the pickup. We both laugh at first, but then agree that's an awesome idea. Returning to our roots you might say. The awkward period between us is over by now and we can go back to being ourselves. If Rob was an asshole, which he most definitely is not, he'd have shouted back at me earlier when I shouted at him and it could have become an ugly scene. I give both of us credit for avoiding those dangerous waters by being mature about handling a testy situation.
When arriving to the town of Natick, we get off route 128 and onto route 9
heading for Framingham. By now the rain has magically tapered off and it stops almost entirely when Rob's parking the pickup on his parent's driveway. At the end of their driveway is the pool house with a basketball backboard and rim secured at the top peak of the roof. Wow, that pool house brings back a million memories. Lots of fucking went on inside and behind it. Oh yeah, and we played three-on-three basketball in front of it as well.
Jesus, lots of stuff went on in that pool house, and one of the things I'll never forget is seeing part of a Robby, Dodger, and Vinnie sexy three-way as I looked through the pool house's side window. That was three years ago and so much has changed since then it's hard to fathom. Then there were the pool parties during that first summer Rob and I worked the lawn cutting crew together; they were good. Then Dodger's going away party and his welcome home party after basic training were held here as well. Hell, there were other parties here too, big and small. The Dickers are generous people. I need to give them props in that regard.
We gather up the clothes on hangers, then grab our satchels as Rob says, "Both Dad's pickup and Mom's Toyota are gone, so no one's home right now." I want to yell, YAHOO!, but don't. Rob hands me his satchel as he gets his house key out and we go in through the back door. Looking over my shoulder I see the pool has a cover on it. "Is the pool drained, Rob?" The door closes behind us as he mumbles, "I guess, yeah," and then he picks up a note from the kitchen table. It says, 'Welcome home Rob and Dylan! Dad's taking us out to dinner tonight at Ken's Steakhouse. See you soon.' Rob nods his head, mumbling, "So much for home cooking." What the fuck? First of all, Ken's is an awesome restaurant, and secondly, what the fuck does he think my cooking is? I guess he likes his mom's home cooking better. To that, I think to myself, his mom's cooking ain't so great. Now Ryan's mom; she could cook! I gotta give her that.
We carry our stuff upstairs where Rob nods at the first door on the left, saying, 'That's Dodger's room. He'll be happy to hear you slept in his bed.
He thinks the world revolves around you." I go, "No he doesn't!" Going in the room, I'm like, "Hey, wait a minute! I slept here before. I can't remember why or when though." Rob's in his bedroom, one door down, shouting, "Yeah, you did. Maybe when I was on that kick about you needing to get to know
my parents better." I think he's right: talk about awkward though. Holy shit! Having my own bedroom is much preferable, especially considering Rob's parents have the master bedroom across the hall from Rob's. Squeals would probably be heard over that short distance. Plus, Dodger's room is one door closer to the hall bathroom. I'm feeling a little better about things. Yeah, but what's with the welcome home, 'Rob and Dylan?' This isn't my home. I suppose his mom was just trying to be inclusive. What if the note said, 'Welcome home Rob' and didn't mention me at all? That'd be worse, I guess. Who the hell ever feels comfortable staying at someone else's house anyway? Certainly not me.
Rob comes in my room carrying my dry-cleaning. I hang-up the shirts and slacks, asking, "Can I borrow a tie for tomorrow?" He says, "Of course, but first we've forgotten something important." I'm like, "Oh yeah, what's that?" He grins, "A really hot make-up kiss. You know, for after our fight," and he rests his forearms on my shoulders as I put my hands on his hips and we kiss a sweet lover's kiss. Rob runs his fingers up the back of my head as our tongues slide together and my arms go around him. There's wet mouth sounds and subtle moans of desire as our mixed saliva drools down my chin. Of course my dick immediately wakes up and happily does a couple of laps around my jockey shorts.
Just like that my love for Robby blossoms brightly and beautifully. The sides of our faces slide together as we both gasp for air, then I murmur to him, my lips brushing his ear, "From now on I'll make sure I do the things I'm supposed to do, Rob. It was my fault," and my arms go around the back of his neck now as I hug him and kiss the side of his face. He takes a deep breath, murmuring, "No, I was horrible to you... and you were doing me the favors. So I'm the one who's sorry, Dylan. I love you so much I could scream it out loud." I mumble, "Please don't do that," and we chuckle and then our mouths are hungrily together again for more deep kisses with licking tongues. We take turns sucking on each other's top lip until I feel like I'm going cum in my pants. How is it possible to love a person as much as I love Rob? It's staggering and I feel incapable of showing him how deeply my love for him goes.
Robby's hips are humping his now hard cock against mine as my mouth slides to the side again. I moan, "Rob, mmmmm." I'm back to licking his mouth, then licking over his cheek to his ear, to murmur, "Fuck me, Rob, oooh yeaaaah, fuck meeee." With the sides of our faces together again we're both fumbling our jeans down, then Rob's turning me around and jabbing his hard fat boner at my jockey underpants before muttering and yanking them down below my buttocks and, "Oooh!" the wet head of his cock is at my asshole, then it pushes past my sphincter muscle, "Aaah!" Rob's arms go around my chest as he does little hip humps pushing his boner up my ass a half- inch at a time.
His mouth is behind my right ear as he gasps out little moans, "Aah, aah, aah," with each hump of his hips. I wish I could lean forward so his fat cock could go in easier, but Rob's holding me so tightly against his chest it's not possible to do anything except accept his rock hard organ going up my ass.
It hurts, but I'm literally thrilled that we're doing this. I don't know any better way to show my love for him. When his fat hard penis is all the way in he presses his crotch against my butt cheeks and licks my ear with fast little licks, like a puppy dog licks your face. His hands drop down low on my belly now, then he pulls my ass tighter against his crotch, his balls
nestling in against the back of my right leg. I shudder with pleasure as all the pain drifts back to wherever it came from. My head goes back on his shoulder as he pulls his hips back, his boner coming out, out, out and then its pushed all the way back up my ass, and I go up on my toes, moaning, "Ooooh, Robby." He grunts and starts fucking me fast and hard as pronounced, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds fill the room. Oh yeah! Another fast hard fucking and I love it so much there are tears of pleasure and joy in my eyes.
His constantly smooth-moving hips drive his hard cock back and forth in my ass with our bodies tight together and his scent in my head and it's so hot and so sexy and so perfect I could scream.
One of Rob's hands drops down and gets my hard cock in his fist. He strokes it in time with his hips driving his boner in my rectum. My wooden cock is straight out snugly encased in Rob's fist, as I hold my breath at the sensations coming off the lips of my anus and my sizzling prostate gland.
Enormous sexual sensations bombard my brain, my cock's buzzing with extra pleasure from the feel of Rob's hand as he strokes the foreskin back and forth on my full six inches of hard cock. Fast hard fucks don't last nearly as long as I'd like, and in two or three minutes my orgasm's on me hot and heavy. My back arches, I try to squeal but only an airy sound comes out as my hips hump out a long stream of cum that shoots straight out five feet, then a shorter stream, and then another as I gasp, 'Aaaah, oooh, fuuuuck..."
Robby gasps now too, lets go of my cock and goes, "Oooh, mmmm, haaaaa,"
humping against my buttocks shooting lots of creamy cum inside me, then more warm jism fills me up back there as Rob makes a whiny sound and thrusts his hip driving his cock in my slippery ass an extra half dozen times with cum splattering against his crotch as it drools back out of my rectum. He steps back pulling his cock out of me and, "Smack!" whacks my ass with the palm of his hand. He's breathing noisily as I'm still quivering at the tornado of orgasmic sensations rippling through my body, and then everything calms down
except my pounding heart and ragged breathing.
Rob's cum rolls down the back of my legs as I gawk at the wet streak my orgasm made across Dodger's bedspread. Reality is swiftly returning to my brain and I become aware of the tenuousness of our situation. Turning around, I'm like, "Um, Rob, you were certain neither of your parent would be home this early, right?" There's a slime of cum hanging from his cock as Rob shakes his head, muttering, "No, I don't know what time they'll be here. I, um, got carried away." No shit! Oh well, we didn't get caught. We come together taking little steps because our jeans are around our ankles, and hug tightly; still a bit aroused by one another. It's a really nice hug too. I tell him, "I love you so much, Rob, I can't put it into words." He says, "I know, Dylan. There were times I didn't think I'd ever be sure if you truly loved me, but I know now. We're equal lovers, right, babe?" and he grins, then kisses my mouth, "I love you, Dylan." We hug, taking deep breaths, happy everything is again wonderfully perfect. I don't want to let him go, I like hugging him, but he says, "Maybe we should pull our pants up at least."
We separate, and I mumble, "Rob, help me clean your cum off my ass and legs." He goes, "Wait right there." He buttons his jeans after his sloppy cock is put away in his boxer shorts, and then he heads for the bathroom.
He comes back from the hall bath with a wet washcloth. Grinning, he says, "I peeked out the bathroom window at the driveway. Just my pickup, babe. We
lucked-out." He wipes the back of my legs and ass, then hands me the washcloth. Startled, I look at it and he laughs, taking it back, saying, "I don't know why I gave that to you," and he goes back to the hall bath to do something with the washcloth. I pull my pants up feeling really good.
Extemporaneous sex with Robby is as good as it gets. It means we couldn't control our desires to have sex together. We got each other so aroused kissing and licking it was inevitable our sexual arousal would find an outlet. No better outlet than the ultimate one, intercourse, and for gay boys like us that means anal intercourse. Lucky us! I'm wiping at the cum on the bedspread with some tissues when Rob come back and just now notices the streak of wetness. He goes, "Oh, Jesus, that's your climax, huh? I missed seeing that because my eyes were closed when you busted-out with your orgasm. Man, that was a good shot right there, Dylan! Whaddaya think, six feet?" I shrug, muttering, "I don't know, but it's not coming off," and he goes, "Let me get some spray cleaner from the bathroom." We try cleaning the cum streak using Windex, without much luck. Rob finally goes, "Fuck it. Let's turn the bedspread over." We do and, ha, you can't tell which side is which unless you look closely. As we walk out of Dodger's bedroom, Rob says, "We'll throw the bedspread in the wash later. Don't worry about it." I go, "I still don't have a tie to wear," and he chuckles, "Yeah, I saw the two you threw away at our apartment." I squeeze the back of his neck, grinning, "Our apartment, I love that we can say our bedroom, our apartment, our whatever. Shit like that gives me shivers." He says, "You're a true romantic, Dylan, and you make me feel so fucking good like no one else can."
In his bedroom, Rob tells me, "I've got like twenty ties. Mom bought most of them for me at Christmas or my birthday. I hate to say it, but they're not too cool. I wouldn't have bought any of them myself," and he opens a closet door. The ties are hanging separately from a tie-holder on the back of the door. I mutter, "Oh!" because there are some faggy-looking ties here. A bright purple one, and a gray one with pink stripes, a flamboyant all green tie, and some that look like ties for old men, real wide and gray with black dots. He says, "Do you wanna go over to the Natick Mall and buy a couple of ties?" I put my finger under a tie that's a nice shade of blue. It has some gray squiggly lines through it. I go, "Um, this is okay, don't ya think?" He nods, "Yeah, it's okay," and he points at a maroon tie, asking, 'What do you think of that one?" I look him in the eye, saying, "Um, I just threw out a maroon tie." He goes, "I don't like it either, but this one is okay," and he pulls off a sort of tan tie with little circles all over it in a slightly darker brown with smaller bluish circles in the middle. It sounds horrible, but actually looks okay. I say, "We got our ties, Rob," then I lean against him and run my fingers up the back of his head, ruffling the half inch soft hairs there, murmuring, "Forgive all my touching, Rob, but I
have this ginormous thing for you and I'm having trouble keeping myself from hanging all over you. I know I'm overdoing it, but it's your fault. You were special when I first met you and since then you've gotten even better in so many ways, just to please me. I love you for that too!" and I shout out the 'I love you!' before pulling his head over for another kiss with a little tongue involved. We look into each other's eyes as Rob quietly, says, "You make me feel important and special, Dylan. Feel free to overdo your affection for me anytime you feel like it."
Whoa, Rob's so attractive to me anymore. Just seeing him gives me this funny squirmy feeling down low in my belly. It's the way I sometimes got around Ryan, although for much different reasons. It's Rob, the person, I'm so incredibly attracted to; everything that makes him who he is... well, it's all ultra-attractive to me. In addition to the squirmy feeling in my belly there's a warm sensation in my heart and soul for Rob, although I'm not exactly sure what a soul is. With Ryan it was purely the sexual heat. I perceive Ryan as a sexual being who turns me on by his dominance; he knows how to
act hard and demanding with me, but without being overly offensive about it. He knows how to do it, but the bloom is off the rose in that regard, and
anyway, now that he's taking his meds it appears he's lost a lot of interest in sex. That's actually a good thing because all that sexual emotion I had for Ryan has somehow transferred onto my feelings for Robby, and I already loved him passionately to begin with. Jesus, it's like I've doubled-up and now I can't get enough of him. He's my main man, my head of the household. But obviously I need to get a grip on myself because even though Rob claims I could never overdo my feelings for him, that's not reality. He will get annoyed eventually, and maybe even start taking me for granted. So caution is advised.
I ask, "Is it okay if I take a quick shower?" He's like, "Of course it is," and I ask, "What should I wear to dinner tonight?" He shrugs, "Anything you want. Why not wear something of mine?" He pulls out a drawer, and asks, "How 'bout these skinny gray khaki pants?" I nod, "Yeah, cool! What kind of
shirt will go good with those skinny jeans?" He opens his closet again and
chooses an off-white button-down-the-front shirt with two buttoned flapped
pockets at the chest and buttoned epaulets on the shoulders." I mumble, "Perfect, thanks, Rob." Now I'll be comfortable knowing I'm wearing something Robby would choose for himself. My Marietta experience has me shaky, confidence-wise, about what to wear for dinner with different families. Rob goes, "I'll take a shower after you, babe."
Taking my toiletry kit with me to the bathroom, first I brush my teeth, then take a shower. After drying myself, I apply a little Mennen's Original Speed Stick deodorant to my underarms. They advertise, 'If your grandfather hadn't used this, you wouldn't be here.' Cute slogan! Then, taking a close look at my face, I spread some shaving cream here and there and shave because I swear to God there is fuzz growing on my upper lip and chin. Robby come in as I'm rinsing my face. He says "I gotta shave too," and I go, "Noooo," as we both chuckle. Then I get serious as I rub my fingers up the side of his cheek, saying, "Your soft sparse beard is really sexy-looking, Rob."
He goes, "Ya think so?" I nod and he's like, "Whatever, I need to shave before going to the office tomorrow." I go, "Shave tomorrow morning then. I want to feel your beard when we have sex in the pickup later tonight." He pinches my nose, mumbling, "If you say so, baby. You're so fucking cute I can hardly stand it," and he licks my lips, adding, "And you taste good too." I mumble, "That's the toothpaste," and with a smile on my face I leave him to shower while I get dressed in Dodger's bedroom feeling happy while still sensing some sexual heat for Rob even though we just had sex.
After dressing I'm fucking with my hair again but with no more luck than the last time I fucked around with it. Rob walks past the open door, saying, "You look hot!" I nod my head, muttering, "I feel hot, boyfriend," then follow him into his bedroom and watch him get dressed. Goddamn, he's the hot one; what a body! Robby dresses in a pair of Levi 510 tan skinny-jeans. The
510 skinny jeans are perfect while the 519 skinny jeans are too extreme.
You better not get those mixed-up because the legs are so skinny you'll need to peel the 519's off. Rob's pulling a long-sleeve pink Polo shirt over his head, leaving it untucked. He looks good! On my feet I have Timberland boat shoes and Robby is putting on medium brown Dockers Tassel Loafers. He holds his arms out, and asks, "What do ya think, babe?" I go, "I think you're beautiful," as we hear car doors closing in the driveway. Rob goes, "They're home," and he looks a little bit excited. Funny, but I have the reverse reaction.
We go downstairs as his mom and dad are coming in the back door. His mother goes, "Oh my goodness! Look at you two!" and she gives Rob a hug, then pats my shoulder, saying, "Dylan, you look very handsome." Okay, that's pretty much my mom's and Tris's, greeting when they see Chub and me. His father says, "Well boys, it looks like college life is agreeing with you two,"
and he holds out his hand to me. I shake it, saying, "Thanks for letting me stay with you this weekend," and he says, "Well thank you for giving up your weekend to help us at the office." Then he hugs Rob's shoulders, asking, "How you doing, son?" Rob goes, "Good, everything's good. How about you?"
His father takes a deep breath, then goes, "Can't complain. We're on schedule except for today's ridiculous rain that threw a monkey wrench into things a little bit."
Then it's a little awkward as none of us knows what to do next. Actually I'm probably the only one who notices that because as Mr. and Mrs. Dickers take off their rain gear, Mrs. Dickers says, "I like your haircut, boys. You both look like very clean-cut all American young men." Rob says, "Thanks, mom. Remember I told you last weekend that the kid I'm mentoring is our barber." She says, "Yes, the boy with the odd name." He goes, "Yeah, Golden Summers, but what's odd about that?" and they chuckle, so I do too. Rob goes, "Another endorsement for Golden's barbering. Right, Dylan?" I nod, "Yes, Golden's quite the barber," and we both grin, well aware of that story.
While making himself a scotch and soda, Mr. Dickers asks Rob's mother, "Em, what can I get for you?" She says, "I'll have one of those too, Hon." Putting ice in a highball glass, he goes, "You guys want a beer or something?" Rob looks at me and I shrug, so Rob says, "No thanks, Dad. We'll get a drink at the restaurant. Um, we'll be in the basement." His mom says, "We have a seven-thirty reservation at Ken's." Rob mumbles, "We're ready to go whenever you are." And that was the total greeting. Fairly painless.
Their basement is finished, although not elaborately. Dropped ceiling, drywall walls, and wall-to-wall carpet. There's a well worn sofa and chair, but the main attractions are a full size ping pong table and a small bumper pool table. Ping pong is fun and we play three games, all of which Rob easily wins. His hand-eye coordination is off the charts. For the third game I insisted he play with his left hand, and he won that game too. His brother, Dodger, is just as good. I've never beaten either of them in anything athletic, and I'm no uncoordinated spastic myself. Not a spastic, but I've got only normal eye-hand coordination. I'm okay playing against normal guys; not freaks of nature. People born with well above average natural athletic ability and superior eye-hand coordination tend to take it for granted the same way people born with superior intelligence take that for granted. Nature is a notoriously unfair bitch! Well, I should include that people born extra attractive also tend to take that for granted. So Rob has double-dipped from Nature's goody-bag... he's awesome looking with above average athletic abilities. Not fair! After the third ping pong game, I ask, "Couldn't you let me win one fucking game?" He shakes his head, "Nope, I wouldn't insult you like that." I go over to him, grinning and saying, "I'm about to overdo my attraction to you again," as I wipe the perspiration off his brow and say, "You're my idol, Rob." He goes, "I know that!" and that makes us both chuckle. I go, "No joke, you really are my idol. I just want you to know that." He puts an arm around the back of my waist, saying seriously, "I'm gonna take really good care of you, Dylan! And I'll be trying my best to warrant being your idol." I ask, "Well, what am I to you?" He goes, "You're my walking-talking real life dream come true, that's who you are. Every second I spend with you makes me a better person." I go, "Well yeah, that's true enough," and we chuckle
again, then kiss while doing a tight hug. Oh my God, life is so good. As we let go of each other we hear, "Lets go guys." Oh, time for dinner.
In the kitchen Rob surprises me when he tells his dad, "Dylan and I will meet you there. We'll be going out after dinner." His mom says, "Oh, where to?" Rob shrugs, "We'll probably stop at a few spots and see if we run into any of our friends from high school." His dad says, "We've got that early meeting tomorrow, Rob. Remember?" Rob goes, "Yep. Have I ever been late for anything?" His mom says, "We'll meet you there, son. C'mon Robert, they're twenty-one-years-old. Rob's not our little boy anymore." Mr. Dickers goes, "Fer chrissake, Em, I know that better than anyone." Em? They go out the back door snapping at each other. I look at Rob and he goes, "That's normal.
They're fine." I shrug asking, "What's your mom's name?" He goes, "Emily, why?" I go, "No reason." Emily sounds like a frontier name.
During the ten-minute drive to the restaurant we talk about which one of our old fucking-spots we should revisit tonight. In hindsight none of them seem very enticing. We're spoiled from all the sex we've have in the apartment with the comfort and privacy that provides. It makes the choice of screwing at the reservoir or near the dumpster at the end of the Subway strip-mall less than appealing. I go, "Yeah, but I want to get fucked in this pickup again. Those were some of the best times we ever had as kids." Rob goes, "Oh, you're gonna get fucked in my truck, baby, don't worry about that.
I'm getting a woody just thinking about it." Sometimes I forget that Rob's almost as big a horn-job as I am. We decide we'll decide where to go after dinner, but I'm like, "You're the fucking head of the household, so it's up to you to pick a good spot." He grins, "Really?" I go, "Oh yeah, as your incompetent lackey I have no responsibility at all. I'm not supposed to need to make decisions." He goes, "Ha ha, don't think for a second I don't realize who's pulling the strings of my head-of-the-household role. I might as well sit on your lap and you can work my mouth saying what you want me to say." I go, "What a crock of shit that is. You're my leader, and you need to lead."
As he parks at Ken's Steakhouse, Rob says, "I'll lead you alright. I'll lead you inside Ken's, and get you to the right table, but after that we're making joint decisions." We get out of the pickup with me muttering, "Joint decisions? That's no fun." He puts his arm across my shoulders as we walk toward the restaurant. Rob says, "Your fun though, Dylan," and he kisses the side of my face right in front of his parents who are standing at the front door waiting for us. I blush as they avert their eyes and Rob says, "We're all here," and his mom says, "I'm starving," and inside we go. Okay, I'm not sure whether to admire Rob for doing that kiss, or feel he put me in an unnecessarily uncomfortable position. No, he's being up front with his parents and he's right and, anyway, if a kiss on my cheek freaks them out we've got a big problem. To their credit, from all appearances, they accepted it just fine.
Rob and I get a beer before dinner although I could have gone for a stiff hard liquor drink. It seemed prudent to follow Rob's lead though, so when he ordered a beer I did too. The dinner is okay, with maybe too much talk about Dickers and Son, Inc., but I need to remember Mrs. Dickers also works there two or three days a week so their business is a huge part of their lives. As they discuss their objectives, Rod says things like, "That's another thing I'll get Dylan working on. No sense Howard doing that when he can be inventorying the Bigelow project." I'm surprised how much both his parents seem to respect whatever Rob says about the business. As for me, I hardly say anything, which is almost perfect as far as I'm concerned. It'd be perfect if I didn't need to respond to a question or two from Rob's mom, which is why I said it was almost perfect.
Rob and I have prime rib of beef, mashed potatoes, zucchini, and a salad with Key's dressing. His parents ordered halibut. Ordering fish in a steak house is a bit puzzling, but that was one more thing I said nothing about.
I was too full for dessert, but had an Irish coffee that was disappointing.
I think it's the coffee part that ruined the drink. It tastes like Starbuck's bitter coffee, and I'm strictly a Dunkin' Donuts kind of guy. I thank Mr. and Mrs. Dickers for dinner with just the right amount of politeness; but without going overboard like I've never been treated to dinner before.
We say our goodbye's with the expected, "Don't get in too late, boys," as the last words on that subject.
In the pickup, I'm like, "Where'd you decide we're going, Rob?" He shakes his head, grinning and muttering, "How about right here?"
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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