DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 27
by Donny Mumford
Seven o'clock Saturday morning I'm standing next to Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant, Dottie, scratching my head, thinking, 'What the fuck?'.
She's been explaining my job assignment for this morning, which includes a few mathematical terms and procedures like, Owner's Equity and Conjugate Pair Theorem, she claims I'm surely familiar with from my high school math courses. WRONG!
This has become another one of those extremely awkward situations that life seems to never run out of. Dottie opens the binder next to the computer, then hits some computer keys and a page of numbers and letters appears on the screen. She's saying, "It's basically self-explanatory. I don't want to insult your intelligence, but do you have any questions?" Is this woman out of her fucking mind? She didn't explain anything! My face gets red and hot as I glance around, thinking, 'I need to get out of here', but there's no e scape. I mumble, "Oh, um, sorry. There's been some sort of embarrassing misunderstanding. No, I have no questions. It's more a case, ha ha, well I simply can't begin to do this. I've never heard of those math terms or theorems, or whatever it was you said a minute ago." She's frowning at me as I do a couple of fake coughs, then ask, "Ya got anything else you need help with?" She goes, "No, this is the job and I don't appreciate college pranks, so please try to complete at least the first fifty pages before nine o'clock." I go, "Heh heh, this is far from a college prank. I just admitted, truthfully, that I can't do this. Do you need some pencils sharpened or..." She snickers and pats my shoulder, then laughs out loud. It's a short bark of a laugh, then she says, "Oh my, you're really something, Dylan. Pencils sharpened." I'm frowning thinking the woman's come unhinged or perhaps she's going through menopause. She's amused by something, as she's muttering to herself, "Wait'll I tell Nance that one." Whoever 'Nance' is.
Dottie's a small woman at maybe five-feet-two-inches tall, and she's thin.
I'd guess she's about fifty-years-old and not bad looking for her age except for her unfortunate hooked nose. Dottie says, "I'm kidding you, Dylan! I
guess you figured that out because your reaction was priceless. Sharpening
pencils!" I sort of shrug, not sure what to say. She goes, "No, I'm afraid
I don't have any pencils that need sharpening, but I do have a real job for you to do. It's not a very pleasant one I'm afraid. C'mon over here with me." Holy shit, she's quite the kidder alright! I force a chuckle, pretending I knew she was kidding all along.
We're at a bank of wide filing cabinets, a dozen of them extending all the way across one wall. Dottie says, "We want to get rid of these file cabinets," and she pulls out a drawer, adding, "You know, ha ha, I kid young Robert all the time, but he's very much like his dad. Very serious businessmen, ya know, and not the kidding-around type." I nod, and for something to say, ask, "Have you been working here a long time?" She goes, "Oh my, yes! It seems like I've never done anything else. I've been working for and kidding
Mr. D. for over twenty years now, going back to when we were Dickers Lawn Care, advertising in the yellow pages, or passing out flyers house to house. You probably have never used the yellow pages in your life." I'm like, "Yellow pages? Um, they're online but, no, I haven't used them." She smiles, "After all these years Mr. D. still isn't sure when I'm kidding him, but he's a wonderful man!" I go, "Yes, ma'am, he seems nice,"
She chuckles, "First of all, I'm not a ma'am kind of person. Refer to me as, Mrs. Scouser." I nod, saying the name over in my head a few times. I'm terrible with name. She grins and says, "I'm kidding you again, Dylan!
We're all on a first name basis here. Call me, Dottie." I go, "Okay, Dottie,"
then I kid her, asking, "I was wondering though, do you have an actually a job for me to do, or are you going to 'kid' me into a coma?" I'm grinning while saying that so she'll know I'm kidding too. She laughs and pats my shoulder; then, like she's surprised, she asks, "Are you sure you and young Rob are best friends? You two are very different." I don't know what to say to that, and fortunately I don't need to say anything because Mr. Dickers comes hustling down the hall, saying, "Dottie, have you notified everyone about the meeting," then he looks at me, "G'morning, Dylan!" Real friendly like. I nod and smile as Dottie says, "Everyone's already in the West Conference room. Well, except Ted White. He called in to say he'd be fifteen minutes late. The presentation slides are on your desk." He goes, 'Thanks," and disappears into his office, saying over his shoulder, "Have a good one, Dylan."
Dottie says, "Okay, here's the real deal," and points to the files in the drawer, "As you can see, these are legal size folders; blue ones and tan ones." I go, "Excuse me. Should I be taking notes?" and she does this easy laugh, before saying, "I really don't believe you'll need to, no. Plus, I'll be right there at my desk if you forget what the two colors are." Another fake cough from me, not sure if she realized I was fuckin' kidding about taking notes. She says, "For the past eight years all the paper work for landscape and design has been 3D scanned into the computer, but the previous twelve years have not been scanned. They will be now however, and here's where you come in. See here," and she points to a red sticker on the corner of a file. I nod, mumbling, "Red sticker," and she goes, "Very good!" More kidding around I guess. She explains that I need to flick past twenty years' worth of files pulling out and making a stack of blue folders and a stack of tan ones that do not have red stickers. That's all there is to it! I say, "Well, Dottie, this is a job right at the top of my capabilities, but I'm almost sure I can handle it." She chuckles, "I'm counting on it. Now get to work." Huh, this will be ultra-boring, but easy. Conjugate Pair Theorems, my ass!
So now I know why no one was in their office when Rob and I walked past the managers' and vice presidents' offices: they're all in the West Conference room. I start using my index finger to flick past file after file taking out the ones with no red sticker. Dottie does a lot of typing on her computer, plus answering phone calls, which she gets more of than I'd expect this early on a Saturday morning. She exchanges yucks on the phone with a couple of callers. Maybe they're personal calls, or calls from Saturday employees working in different departments. Overhearing her conversations, I need to chuckle a few times myself because Dottie's kinda funny, and she's always ready to laugh along with whoever she's talking with. I overheard her tell two callers about a couple of my comments: the pencil sharpening one and the kidding me into a coma one. She laughed both times she retold it. To one person she said, "My helper is even more handsome than Robert Junior."
She's wrong about that, but it's nice to hear a compliment. The thing is: doesn't she realize I'm fifteen feet from her and can hear every word she says? By eight o'clock I have two big stacks; one of blue folders and one of tan. Dottie must be keeping an eye on me because she says, "Okay, Dylan, now I'll explain phase two of your job. You need to put together boxes that are currently lying flat in that closet," and she points to a closet, adding, "And load the files into the boxes, then label them." I'm nodding my head, mumbling, "Sure, no problem," and she says, "I didn't tell you this part initially because I didn't know if you could retain all the instructions at one time." I dead-pan, "More kidding, right?" She laughs, nodding her head.
Then goes, "You're a quick study." I nod and smile, then go over to the closet. The boxes are flat with instructions on each one for turning the flat weird shape into a box. Without too much trouble I put a couple of boxes together and load the files inside. Dottie says, "There's also a roll of duct tape and magic markers in there." I mumble, "Oh yeah, I see them on the shelf," and I use the tape to seal the boxes and label them, 'blue folders' and 'tan folders', using the magic marker. Quick study, oh yeah. A monkey could do this job.
Except for getting file cuts on my cuticles and the boredom of doing this mundane task for two hours straight, it's an excellent way to make twenty dollars an hour. Like I said, anyone could do this, and it's definitely not worth what they're paying me, but I'm keeping those thoughts to myself.
It's a relief when at nine o'clock I can take a break from the files. Now my job description changes from 'file clerk' to 'gofer' taking everyone's coffee request. Dottie gives me a small tablet and a ballpoint pen, telling me, "Write down all the orders on this. And here are six, twenty-dollar bills for the coffees and, um, get a receipt from Starbucks. To start your list, you can put me down for a tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle, and Mr.
D. will have a chai tea latte. The West Conference room is on the floor above this one. Use the stairs next to Rob Junior's office. Good luck. Oh, and Dylan, leave a tip at Starbucks and bring me any change." I go, "Oh my God, this is challenging, Dottie." She goes, "Take it slow and I think you'll be able to handle it." I go, "Yes, and the thing is I'm going for office-boy of the month so I'm gonna really concentrate on every coffee order." She grins, "Atta boy!" As I leave I'm wondering if Robby's a junior. He's never included 'Jr.' as part of his name.
Stopping at Rob's office first, I see he's on the computer and concentrating so hard he doesn't realize I've walked into his office. I go, "Rob," and he jumps, startled like. I say, "Sorry. I'm taking the coffee-break orders." He smiles at me, saying, "It's so awesome seeing you in the office, Dylan. I love that you're here." I go, "Yeah it's, um... that Dottie's a big kidder," and Rob goes, "She's worked here forever, but I don't know, she makes me uncomfortable sometimes. It's hard to tell if she's serious or just breaking my balls." Shrugging, I ask, "What drink do you want?" He goes, "Everyone will want something from Starbucks and, jeezsus, wait'll you hear all their description for stupid coffees. Starbuck coffee drinker are the most obnoxious and entitled group of coffee drinkers ever. When you're done with them, you and I can get regular coffees at Dunkin' Donuts." I'm like, "Are they close by; Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts?" He goes, "Sort of.
Starbucks is in the mall a quarter mile down on the left when you leave here.
Dunkin' Donuts is to down a short way to the right, attached to a gas station."
I ask, "Is there a Jr. as part of your name?" He goes, "No, I've a different middle name than Dad. Why?" I shake my head, muttering, Oh, nothing.
What coffee do you want?" He says, "Same as you, medium with cream and sugar."
I go, "I'm going upstairs now," and Rob goes, "Get Starbucks order back first, deliver the coffees, and then get ours, okay?" I nod, "Yeah, see you in a little while, Rob."
When I walk in the conference room, Mr. Dickers is standing and talking with a confusing-looking slide projected on a screen. He holds a finger up to me, like, 'Just a minute' and continues talking. I nod, then glance around checking everything out. The room and everything in it are obviously fairly new. Like Rob's office, everything here looks functional, but it's not fancy. I mean, there's no long mahogany conference table with arm chairs to
match. This table is long but not wood; it's got metal legs and what looks like a laminate top. I think that's smart. Somebody sensible appears to know what they're doing buying office furniture. I have this fear that Mr.
Dickers had taken on more than he can handle, and if he has, and the company goes bankrupt or something, Rob's going to be broken-hearted. I pray everything works out like Rob's always telling me it will.
Around the table are five men and three women, all with laptops opened in front of them. One of the men and one of the women appear to be recent college grads, while the ages of the others runs from about thirty-five to maybe sixty in the case of the old codger wearing a bow tie. He, Rob, me, and Mr. Dickers are the only ones here wearing a tie. A couple of the men are wearing sport jackets and a couple of others are in sport shirts. A minute later, Mr. Dickers says, "Okay, guys, here's Dylan to the rescue. He'll take your coffee orders, then I'll finish up with these projections while Dylan gets our drinks."
Just to be sure, I ask, "Mr. Dickers, chai tea latte for you?" He nods, "Yes, thank you." The man with the bow tie says, "We'll give you our first name and then our drink order. The Starbucks clerk will write our names on the cups so you'll know who they belong to." I say, "Well, no shit old-timer. What'd you think I was going to do, let everyone taste each cup of coffee until they found theirs?" I said all that in my head. Out-loud I say, "Okay," and he goes, "I'm Artie, and I'll have a Grande iced, sugar-free vanilla latte with soy milk." Trying not to snicker, I write it down half thinking Artie might be another kidder; but no, he's serious. What a tool! Each person orders with a long coffee description, like: triple venti, soy, no foam latte... like that. Nobody said anything as simple as medium cappuccino.
It takes over five minutes just to write all this shit down. Obnoxious coffee drinkers indeed!
I stop in Rob's office to say, "You were right, Rob," and show him my tablet full of weird words known only to Starbucks drinkers. He smirks, "I've taken orders for coffees like twenty times, so I know what you're going through." He gives me the keys to the pickup and I put my coat on and get to gofer-ing. Standing in line at Starbucks, listening to people give their orders, I'm amazed they can even remember all the parts to their coffee drinks, and the prices for a cup of coffee is sick! There's just a touch of pretentiousness to ordering a Starbucks coffee drink. When it's my turn I simply hand the tablet to the clerk who gives it to a person she refers to as the barista. I've heard the term before, obviously, and I've actually tried Starbucks coffee on two different occasions. Both times with unsatisfactory results. No matter how much extra ingredients they put in the drink, the bitter coffee taste still comes through. I'm not being a reverse snob about it; if people like strong bitter coffee it's okay with me, but I prefer Dunkin' Donuts coffee, that's all.
The entire order comes out much quicker than I expected with a receipt, and it's packaged up nicely in a carry-out container so I don't need to juggle ten various sized cups of hot coffee. I leave eight dollars for a tip, not sure what Dottie had in mind. One of the Starbucks clerks, or what ever their Italian-named position is, said, "Thank you very much!" Well, that was nice and I guess eight dollars was an okay tip. I manage to get back to the office and deliver the coffees without hurting myself. Everyone is appreciative and nice about it, so maybe they're not obnoxious except when ordering coffee.
I strangely don't feel any pressure about time-constraints as I'm going back out for Rob's and my Dunkin' Donut coffees. This morning when he was telling me what I'd be doing today, Rob said to try doing the coffee break in half an hour. That wouldn't be possible if I was getting one coffee and delivering it, never mine a total of twelve from two different coffee shops. I mean, what are they going to do, fire me? Back with our coffees I sit in Rob's office taking my coffee break. We talk quietly about last night, laughing at some of the things we did. Neither of us mentions the Frankie situation.
Finished my coffee I give a thought to stepping outside for a cigarette.
Then decide that'd be pushing my luck. It's after ten o'clock now, and I started the coffee run at nine. Back at the file cabinets I find Dottie on the phone again. She gives me a smile and a finger wave, so everything seems okay. The next two hours goes by like the first two, except two of my cuticles are now bleeding. Fucking file folders are sharp. Nothing worse than a cardboard cut so I'm consciously avoiding that, but there apparently isn't any way to avoid the occasional, "Ow!" from a file folder's edge cutting into a cuticle. At one point Dottie says, "Better you than me, Dylan. I've been there and done that, Honey. I feel your pain." She's nice. It's twelve-thirty when Dottie says I should be taking lunch orders now. I have four full boxes of legal size files and two others that are half full. Dottie gave me Band-Aids when I got back from delivering the coffees, so that's helped the bleeding cuticles, but I have them on four fingers by now and it looks a little weird.
Taking lunch orders in the West conference room, then calling the order in to Dominos saves time. After picking up the order and delivering them, I share a pepperoni pizza with Rob in his office. Not even a half-hour lunch break and then I'm back to work at the file cabinets. I finally finish the last cabinet a little after three o'clock. For the afternoon break everyone is on their own using vending machines in their cafeteria. Rob and I go outside with cans of Coke and smoke a cigarette trying to decide what we'll do tonight after dinner. The rest of the afternoon I work with Robby. He calls out numbers for accounts receivable while I try to match it on a computer list. At first it was a relief from the file work, but after half-an-hour I'm getting cross-eyed looking at these numbers. Tomorrow I'll be working on inventory in the equipment room. I ask, "Will Seth be working overtime?"
Rob goes, "No, your hourly wage is cheaper than what his time-and-a-half hourly wage would be. so you're our man."
Mr. Dickers sticks his head in Rob's office at quarter to six, saying, "Wrap it up for today, Rob. I've had it." When he leaves, Rob says, "Something didn't go well or we'd be here until seven." I don't know what went wrong, but thank God it did because I can't wait to get the fuck out of here after eleven hours. Rob takes an agonizingly long twenty minutes to 'wrap it up', then we drive home with him telling me how cool it is to work in an office. I don't have the heart to disagree and rain on his parade, but it wasn't so cool from my prospective. To be fair though maybe if it was my mom's business, and I was a part of making it a success, I'd feel differently.
Working with legal sized files that killed my cuticles, then going cross-eyed looking at a small font on computer printouts isn't what I'd call cool.
Making two-hundred-and-twenty dollars today... now that's cool!
At his house we find Rob's mom talking on the telephone. She gives us a nice big smile and a wave when we come in, then she holds the phone against her chest, saying, "Home early, Rob." He goes, "Yeah, Dad seemed upset about something so he closed it down early." She goes, "He called me. It's nothing important. Don't worry about it, Hon." and she goes back to her phone conversation. On the way upstairs, Rob says, "I'm glad to hear that. If he told mom it's nothing important, then it isn't. Good!" I follow him into his bedroom where Rob gets this big grin on his face, asking, "Do ya wanna do it?" I'm like, "You mean here, and now?" Rob goes, "Yeah, why not? We'll be quiet and Mom's on the phone." He closes the bedroom door, then rests his forearms on my shoulders, his hands clasped behind my neck, and says, "It was so awesome having you in the office today. It made me feel so, I don't know, so protective of you. Something like that. You didn't see me, but I checked on you a few times when you were working for Dottie. You looked sooooo fine! She can be, um, difficult at times." I say, "I liked being there with you too, Rob, but Dottie's funny, and she was really nice to me. She's a kidder; she kids everyone." He goes, "Yeah, I heard she was a kidder, but you handled her and, call me corny, but I was uber proud of you today. And you looked so sexy wearing a tie, and I know you made a good impression on everyone." Then he pulls my head over for a sloppy, sexy kiss."
After his kiss, I ask, "At the office, who knows you're gay and that I'm your boyfriend?" Rob's like, "At work?" I nod and he shrugs, "I'm not sure.
Word spreads on a gossipy thing like that though, and most of the lawn crews know about us, so it's anybody's guess who they've told. Why? I don't care, do you?" I shrug, and he says, "In fact, I wish everyone knew so they'd see what an awesome boyfriend I have in you." I go, "Aw, you too Rob," and we kiss again with his hand going up the back of my head. I love when he rubs up the back of my head. Hell, a one minute make-out with Rob and I'm putty in his hands. Whatever he wants, I want too. We break our long kiss and he kisses my cheek, murmuring, "Drop your pants, babe." I drop my pants around my ankles as he takes his cock out through the fly of his khakis. I stroke my cock a few times while dropping to my knees.
Sucking cock has always been a major turn-on for me. There's an obvious submissive aspect to it, so I especially like sucking Rob's cock because he shows very little dominant behavior as a 'top'. He'll spank my ass when he thinks of it, and he's become used to telling me what and when we'll fuck.
Unfortunately, he does that in a way that makes it sound as if he's only suggesting how we're going to do it. The problem with that is, I've no doubt if I said, 'No, you suck my cock and then I'll do the topping,' he'd go, 'Okay' and be perfectly fine with it. He might even prefer it, but I don't want to top and, like I just said, I love sucking his cock so in a roundabout way Rob's basically going along with my sexual preferences. I pretend he's dictating because it's more fun that way. For lover's sex though, when we're both in a romantic mood at the same time, it just happens on its own.
Love is always present during any type of sex we do together, but romance more often than not gives way to horniness as most of our sex happens because we get the hots for each other. A short make-out doesn't always lead to sex, but it often does, like now. With Rob's cock head in my mouth I'm sucking and licking it while stroking his foreskin using my thumb and the first two fingers of my right hand. In less than a minute Rob is already hard and making quiet arousal sounds.
Sometimes while sucking a guy's cock I'll get a hard-on before he does; that's how aroused it gets me. Same for rimming a guy's ass. If I rim his ass long enough I'll cum before Rob, or whoever, but especially Rob. Now that his cock is like a fat bone in my mouth, I bob on it taking the head in my throat. I've been deep throated by Ryan so often it's an easy matter doing it for Rob. In fact, it's usually more me deep throating myself on Rob's boner than him doing the deep throating. Totally the opposite with Ryan who can get extremely dominant during sex and he's definitely fucking my throat.
HOT! Yeah, but it's been five weeks or so since Ryan was dominant with me, or submissive for that matter. In other words, we haven't had any sex together for weeks now. I still feel an itch for his form of sub/dom sex; it's in me, but I guess it'll just have to lie there dormant because he's transferring in a month and hasn't shown any inclination towards having sex with me.
After thirty seconds of bobbing on his hard boner, Rob goes, "No, no, I'll cum, Dylan," so I take his hard organ out of my throat and mouth. It looks amazingly hard, shining with precum and saliva, sticking straight out from his pubes. My cock is hard and up against my belly and longer than Rob's by two inches, but t's not nearly as thick. There's traces of precum on the head of Rob's boner although I didn't taste it, so it must have gone straight down my throat. "C'mon, stand up, babe," as he holds his hand down. I take it and pull myself up, then watch Rob wiping KY jelly all over his boner. He grins his cute grin at me, then reaches around me and slips a slippery finger up my ass, and I go, "Ahh!" He rubs his finger on my prostate gland and I go up on my toes, my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, then grunting, "I'll cum in three seconds, Rob." Sucking his cock got me right on the edge of orgasm as it was. Two more rubs over my prostate and precum, or something, sprays out of my cock as I hold my breath so I don't squeal.
Then I snicker, mumbling, "That felt good." Rob pulls his finger out and twirls it in a circle meaning I need to turn around.
After turning my back to him I immediately feel the wet slippery head of his boner pressing against my asshole and, "Oooh!" it goes in. He puts his right arm around my belly and his left around the front of my neck pulling my head back on his shoulder. His lips on my ear as he murmurs, "I got aroused today seeing how sexy-hot you looked at work," and he thrust his hips driving his boner up my ass. The lube helps a lot but it still hurts for a few seconds before that incredible sense of being filled up back there makes me moan quietly. Sensations start up and it's all so wonderful I don't know how to articulate it. The sense of oneness with Rob that I'm feeling right
now is indescribable. There's also a sense of him being dominant from the way his arm is around my neck keeping the back of my head on his shoulder.
The dominant sense heightens as he thrusts his cock up my ass a half dozen times hard and fast. His grunt with each thrust right next to my ear sounds loud.. can his mom hear that? Nerve endings around my asshole quickly become intensely pleasurable, like a really bad itch is being scratched awesomely. Inside my rectum the indescribable buzzing sensations coming off my prostate have me constantly right on the verge of climax as I shudder with anticipation. Rob tightens his hold around my belly and neck as his hips move smoothly, fast and hard driving his fat hard-cock back and forth steadily up my ass for a solid two minutes and I'm past the moaning stage and ready to blow my load thinking every thrust is the one that will set me off, but my orgasm isn't quite at the tipping point yet. Rob makes a breathy, Ooooh," sound and pushes behind my head. I bend over, my hands on my knees as he grabs tight holds on my hips and hammers his boner back and forth in my ass, "Slapslapslapslap," and I go, "Eeeeeeiii," with cum streaking out of my cock shooting five feet straight ahead to the base of his bureau and, 'Splat" it hits the bottom drawer.
Star bursts in my head as another streak of creamy semen shoots out. Rob's laying on my back now, his chest flat against me, humping his load up my ass grunting and humping and grunting. My shoulders do their shudder and orgasmic sensations from unknown numbers of nerve ending create a flash of pure sexual pleasure before sliding away making me shake, then I'm limp, taking in gulps of air.
Rob pulls his cock out gasping, then breathily mutters, "Oh fuck." Another
gasps, and he goes, "I was so fucking horny, babe." Then he snickers, "Jesus, Dylan, when you're working full time for me after college we'll need to
have nooner's every day or I won't make it through the day." I've straightened up with one hand stroking my cock slowly, the other hand on my hip as I breathe deeply, feeling awesome. Rob hugs me to him, chest to chest, murmuring, "My sexy-as-hell boyfriend. Damn, I'm lucky." I nod my head, muttering, "Me too," then I ask, "Your dad home yet, do ya think?" He laughs, giving my lips a kiss, then letting go of me, "You worry too much. They couldn't hear us." Jesus, can't he even imagine his mom opening the door and seeing us as she, mumbles, 'I thought I heard a.... oh my God!' I sure as shit can imagine it...
Even so, that was a good hard fucking, right there. Oooh, I get an after-effect shiver that feels good around my groin. Fucking climaxes are the greatest thing known to man or beast. I wonder if two aliens a hundred light years away just climaxed and if their climax was as fantastic as ours, or maybe it was twice as good. Oh man, that'd really be something! Rob's wiping his cock, complaining, "The lube is really helpful during sex, but when it warms-up it oozes into my pubic hairs and drools under me. I'm sticky." I mumble, "So, you go ahead and take your shower first, you poor thing. I only have your cum all over my ass and the back of my legs, plus the warmed KY jelly is mixed-in as well." He goes, "Oh, is that a problem? I won't use it then," and I go, "Forget what I just said. The lubricant is awesome, and you're my hero for using it." He grins as I'm pulling up my pants. Then I open his bedroom door and listen. Rob goes, "Stop worrying. They know we're living together at college so, ya know." I go, "I know, but it's their house," and as soon as I said that I knew he's going to say, "It's my house too," which he says. I don't want to argue, but there's a huge fucking difference.
He says, "We're showering together," and I look at him with a pained expression on my face. Chuckling, he goes, "It's okay! Trust me." Sounds pretty good actually. I peek out the door, then hustling down the hall to the bathroom with Rob behind me, asking, "Why are you running?" Inside the bathroom I go, "I wasn't running, which reminds me, Rob. Um, there's something I want to ask you. How about joining Daryl's and my running program after last class each day?" As we undress he goes, "That's a damn good idea! I sure as shit won't be participating in anymore of that XBOX nonsense. They act like they're back in grade school." I go, "Yeah, we're too mature for them."
Rob turns on the shower, saying, "That, plus I'm afraid of Frankie, hee hee," and he chuckles, as I mutter, "That bitch is royally pissing me off." I don't say anything else because I don't want to prolong that topic; we talked that subject out last night to my full satisfaction.
The shower is nice. Real hot water with Rob's body sliding against mine.
He has such a hot body and, even though I think chest hair and hairy legs are sexy on some guy, I'm glad Rob's like me in that we have mostly hairless torsos, arms and legs. For him that's just right; for me too.
Unfortunately, he has a beardless face right now too. He shaved before work this morning. At college, when he lets it go for a few days, he has the cutest beard pattern. Patches of soft curly light-brown hairs here and there. A thin mustache on his top lip that doesn't quite make it to the sides of his mouth, then there's some chin beard and a bit under his sideburns too. I didn't think he could get any better looking, but his sparse beard makes him even more handsome and definitely more sexier. Yikes, do I ever have a major thing for Rob! Not just his body though. His scent turns me on too, and I like looking at his cutely handsome face and the boyishness that still remains there when he grins, plus his personality is fun to enjoy as well. Rob's got the whole package. And with some things he's real confident and take-charge, and then other times he can be naive and uncertain. He has a cute way about him and right now I feel like pinching his cheek.
While drying ourselves after the shower, I ask, "Any do's and don'ts connected with Saturday night dinner at the Dickers' household?" Rob goes, "Whaddaya mean?" I shrug, "Do you wear anything special for Saturday night dinners, for example?" He goes, "Hell no! You've eaten here before. Wear anything you want. Did you bring sweat pants? That's what I'm putting on." Well okay then. Carrying our dirty clothes, we come out of the bathroom with towels around our waist. I'm on the look-out for either of Rob's parents as I scamper into Dodger's bedroom and close the door. Rob calls out, "You nut,"
as he passes by to his bedroom. I dress in sweatpants, my recently washed Merrimack hoodie, and sneakers. Rob come out wearing a sport jacket and tie.
I'm like, "What the fuck?" and he laughs, then goes back in and changes as I watch, telling him, "That was a lot of trouble for a quick practical joke, don'cha think, Rob?" He's hanging up the sports jacket and tie mumbling, "In retrospect, yes it was, but the expression on your face was priceless," then he laughs. I sure as shit can't complain about my host's frame of mind. Rob's been in awesome spirits. I say, "You're a happy camper this weekend, Rob." He pulls a long sleeve, collar-less polo shirt over his head, saying, "That's because you're with me and we were at work together." I go, "You, me, your dad, and the old geezer with the bow tie were the only ones wearing ties. Did you notice that?" He shakes his head, "No, I didn't, but if it's true, we'll be the only ones wearing ties again tomorrow too." I didn't mind the tie. I kinda agree with Rob; it's sexy somehow.
Rob makes us gin and tonics and, Jesus, that's a punishing drink! As if the gin weren't bad enough, there's tonic with it. Have you ever seen anyone drink plain tonic? And as if that combo isn't harsh enough there a squeezed
bitter lime wedge floating around in there too. America's intelligence agencies should make captured terrorists drink gin and tonics until they tell where their leader is hiding. After one G & T, I switch to a beer and sip on that while sitting with Rob and his parents in the family room listening to them talk shop. His parents are drinking dark-colored scotch drinks.
They don't sound panicked about anything, thank God. Apparently things are moving along swimmingly on the new project.
Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant, Dottie, thinks Mr. D. is a rock star, and she's worked for the Dickers Company for twenty years. So, maybe he does know what he's doing with that huge expansion that the company undertook last year. Rob says the corporation is financed up to their eyeballs, but that doesn't seem to be bothering any of the Dickers. The thing I don't get though is that Mr. Dickers already had a successful business before all this, um, bigness. He bought this nice house and pool with a pool-house and everything else like ten years ago. Do they want a bigger house, a bigger pool... what? I guess I'm not the business type because I don't get why they're gambling everything when they already had it really nice.
Mrs. Dickers gets up saying to both Rob and his father, "It all sounds really encouraging, and pretty much right where we want everything to be at this point, but I need to get dinner started." Rob asks me, "Another beer, Dylan?" I nod, "Yes, thanks." Mr. Dickers says, "Rob, freshen my drink while you're at it, Son." Rob asks, "Scotch and water?" and his dad says, "Yes, but easy on the water," then he turns to me, "Well, how was your day, Dylan?" I tell him it was peachy, but I used different word trying not to be too stiffly formal or too flippant. Rob comes back with the drinks and Mr.
Dickers tells me, "There plenty of odd jobs that we've neglected for too long, like that file job you did today. It's like nobody much wants to do those jobs, heh heh, so whenever Rob works weekends we've got work for you to do... if you're interested." I thank him, but leave it at that, without making anything like a commitment. I'd rather follow Rob's advice. If he thinks it's a good idea we work weekends, then so will I. The money is very enticing.
Rob returns with our adult beverages and tells his dad, "I'll coordinate Dylan's work schedule, Dad. Some weekends, depending on our college studies, we simply can't spend the time here." His dad takes a good gulp of his drink, and says, "I'll leave it in your hands, but you know the projects I'm referring to, plus Dottie has some too." Rob goes, "I'll leave it like this: if I can get away from school for a weekend, Dylan will come with me, okay?" His dad shrugs, "Sounds good, but those projects need to be done prior to the spring lawn-cutting season." Rob says, "I'll get 'em done. If necessary Dylan and I will work through spring break." Say what? His dad turns on Sport's Center and Rob goes, "C'mon, Dylan, bring your beer." I follow him downstairs to the finished basement where he puts his third gin and tonic down and gets his arms around the back of my neck to give me a kiss, and whisper in my ear, "I'm still horny, baby. What'll we do about that?" I go, "Not down here, Rob!" He's like, "Aw, c'mon, Dylan. You make me crazy with desire." I shake my head, take a gulp of beer and say, "No, Goddammit, no!" He goes, "Who's in charge here?" I go, "Don't matter who's in charge for certain things. If you told me to run across a busy street with my eyes closed I'd obviously tell you no! Same thing if you want to have sex a staircase away from where your mom's preparing dinner. The answer is a resounding, no!" He mutters, "You're right of course, but damn you make me horny." I say, "Grab a ping pong paddle. I'm determined to beat you at least one game tonight." He asks, "Should I play left handed again," and I'm like, "Yes, of course."
We play for forty minutes and the only game I won was the one Robby had to close his eyes during the first fifteen points, all of which I won, and then it was a mad dash to twenty-one points. Ha! I won nineteen to twenty-one. I'm going, "YES! a major upset!" Rob's walking around with his eyes closed, grumbling, "My first loss. It's all so humiliating." His mom calls down to us, "Dinner, you guys." The dinner is barbecue baby-back ribs that I can tell are the precooked ones vacuumed-sealed and sold by Trader Joe's.
Mrs. Dickers put them under the broiler for ten minutes or so to reheat. I'm not saying they're not good; just that they're not prepared by the missus.
Instead of French fries she has rice that I'm guessing is Uncle Ben's ten-minute rice. She added slices of scallion and a good amount of butter and, once again, it tastes good, but that's not really cooking. She served Bird's Eye Creamed Spinach and Bird's Eye Baby Peas with Pearl Onions along with a tossed salad with Russian dressing. Rob compliments his mom on, "Another delicious dinner, Mom." She says, "I'm glad you're enjoying it, Dear. I like cooking for you." Home cooking, my ass.
After dinner Rob and I cleaned-up a little because we're meeting two of Rob's high school teammates from the baseball team at a local bar. Rob arranged our get-together before we left for home. These two guys go to college locally at Framingham State University, commuting daily. I get introduced to Derek and Chad who are nondescript types, basically normal run-of-the-mill looking guys without being special in any way I can discern. They talk baseball a lot obviously, and Rob does his best to keep me in the conversation although it's a slightly boring one for me. After four or five beers the guys rag on Rob and I for being gay boyfriends, but it's harmless ribbing and actually some of it's pretty funny. The talk switches to ragging on Derek who's accused of being a virgin, and he finally says he's thinking of switching sides. After almost two hours of this before Rob says we need to leave because we're getting up at five tomorrow morning for work. That's news to me, but I'm happy we're leaving the bar. The other two stay, and outside Rob says, "Well, that was not nearly the fun I thought it'd be. Fucking Chad! Who does he think he is I wonder? You know, telling us about his summer in France backpacking across the country." Actually I thought that was interesting and tell Rob that. He goes, "Yeah the idea of doing it is interesting and sounds pretty cool, but him claiming to have gotten laid in every town they came to is total bull-shit. He never even had a girlfriend in high school. And Derek with that load of crap about his old man being a member of some committee for the president. Give me a break!"
Done his rant, Robby smiles, asking, "Should we visit the reservoir again?" I nod, "Yeah, we could do that, but it won't be as awesome as last night was. We should cherish that memory. Didn't your parents say they were going to a neighborhood party?" He nods as he's unlocking the pickup, asking, "You wanna go to the party?" I go, "That's a big loud, no! I was thinking, since they're out, we could snuggle up together in your bed." We get in the truck and Rob says, "That's the ticket, Dylan. Good thinking!" We get back to the house a little after ten o'clock and after taking a wicked piss, we wash and brush our teeth. In Rob's bedroom we get naked, then climb into bed. We're mellowed-out by the beers and make love slowly and for quite a while. My face is buried in Rob's pillow smothering my squeal as my orgasm rushes from my hard cock onto his mattress, and then his orgasm fills up my rectum nicely. After another twenty minutes of cuddling we admit were exhausted. This morning we were up at five-thirty. I go to Dodger's bedroom and literally black-out almost immediately after getting under the covers. It's a damn nice bed too. I only had time to give a passing thought about Dodger sleeping in this bed before the door slammed-shut on reality and I went to that mysterious place called 'sleeping'.
I don't see much of Rob all day Sunday as I'm working on inventory in another building with a man named Solomon. You don't run into too many men named Solomon. He's thirty-something and very religious, repeatedly asking forgiveness for working on the Sabbath. He and his two brother, Elijah and Isaac, were home-schooled and his father is a minister who holds services in a warehouse owned by one of his flock. That's how Solomon described it anyway. He is the nicest person, and an extremely hard worker who, like I said, bemoaned he had to work on the Sabbath but his family can use the overtime money. He's married with twin girls. It was a unique eight hours with Solomon. I said grace with him when we had our coffee and sweet roll at morning break. Oh yeah, and I still had to do the gofer stuff for coffees and lunches at the main office, although Solomon brought his lunch. When Solomon was opening his container of lemonade, I ask if he was going to turn it into wine? He said I'm a very nice young man, and he knows I'm just joking, but he takes Jesus very seriously so would I please not makes jokes about him.
We are not amused!
Including the hours I worked today my total earning for the weekend is $340. I'm bucks up baby! Mr. and Mrs. Dickers are very gracious to me saying their goodbyes, and overall I can't legitimately find fault in any of their interactions with me this weekend. I was feeling good during the ride back to Merrimack with Rob jabbering about what they accomplished the last two days and how successful everyone felt things went. You couldn't prove any of that by me, but I'm happy for all of them. Rob and I had some happy-to-be-home sex ten minutes after we lugged our stuff from the pickup to the apartment. After that we watched some NFL games and had dinner at Friendly's.
In bed Sunday night I thought about working in an office building after graduating and concluded my barbershop ideas is more appealing. Different strokes for different folks, and all that. Then it's another Monday morning of our junior year at Merrimack College.
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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