DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 28
by Donny Mumford
The weeks following my working-weekend at Dickers & Son. Inc. have gone by quickly in pretty much a repeatable cycle: Mondays are pretty much like the Monday before it, and the same for Tuesdays, Wednesdays and the rest of the week. There's been very little to complain about. For one reason or another Rob and I haven't worked another weekend together, but we will for sure after the first of the year. Academically speaking we're in very good shape and basically coasting towards the end of the semester and final exams.
We're only three weeks from Christmas Recess which begins December twenty-fourth. Merrimack is a Roman Catholic College in the Augustinian tradition so we're allowed to call the December holiday by it's true name, Christmas Recess, instead of the euphemistic, Winter Holiday. America's political-correctness-police begrudgingly allow the word Christmas to be used by Christian religious organizations, but no one else. The rest of the world, fortunately, isn't as hypocritical so they're allowed to say, Merry Christmas, if they feel like it, instead of, Happy Holidays.
Today it's a bright brisk Sunday afternoon following the short Thanksgiving break. Chubby and I are on our way back to college with me driving the Jeep and Chubby sleeping in the bucket-seat next to me. Last night we spent four hours in the Deluxe Depot Diner on Waverly Street in downtown Framingham. We had dinner in the diner section, me stupidly trying their specialty of home style meat loaf and real mashed potatoes, which turned out to be disappointing to say the least. Then, without planning to do so, we hung around afterwards at the bar for a couple of hours drinking and talking about our lives together. Ya know, sometimes it just goes like that where you get a pleasant buzz-on and the conversation flows easily and you don't want the experience to end. Chubby unfortunately drank stingers the entire time which is primarily why he's still sleeping. Barry, the bartender, mixed two ounces of Cognac with an ounce of white creme de menthe and served that concoction on the rocks as his version of a stinger. We don't know anyone else's version as those were the first stingers either of us can remember drinking. After one stinger I wisely decided on draft beer instead. It's impossible to describe how much Chub and I mean to each other, but we were in full brotherhood mode last night trying to put into words what we feel for one another. If we weren't brothers we'd still... well, we are brothers so there's no 'if' about it.
College, like most endeavors, becomes mostly routine after a while and, like I said, that's been the case at Merrimack following our working weekend.
Our routine will change next semester with different courses and professors. Our priority for now is to do some preparation for finals that are a mere two weeks away. Last month's midterms resulted in some Merrimack casualties and flunk-outs, mostly freshman. Everyone I know did okay with their midterm grades. Rob and I are locked-in solid to the academic part of college life this year. We've been religiously doing assignments right after last class each day. It's a pain in the ass while were doing it, but afterwards I'm glad to have it off my mind. As a result of our conscientious study routine the workload for junior year somehow seems easier than previous years. More students should try staying on top of their studies. The idea of cramming for midterms that we witnessed many of our fellow college students suffering through made us smile because, instead of cramming, Rob and I bumped fists and then went to Rolf's bar for a few beers.
So, yeah, it's been mostly a familiar routine for us the past four or five weeks with one exception: the absence of Frankie and Beth at the apartment. We hardly see them at all anymore. They're sophomores so we have none of the same classes, and there's no baseball activities for them to attend, and neither of them are twenty-one so we don't see them in bars. A couple of times we've bumped into the girls at Tracy's Speakeasy, but Rob and I usually go inside to the private club and the girls don't have a membership.
The few brief encounters we've had were surprisingly cordial though. I guess I begrudgingly need to give props to Frankie in that there's been no backlash from her. I mean in regards to that failed experimental sex-episode with Rob. It ended badly in a shouting match of name-calling, but that happened more than five weeks ago and time has a way of smoothing things over.
Frankie has given-up her quest to steal Rob from me, but Beth and Golden are still a hot item even as Golden and Rob remain very tight in their mentoring relationship. It's not clear if Golden even knows about Rob and Frankie fucking that one time. Golden's never mentioned it and I can't imagine Frankie's anxious to broadcast her dismal failure to lure Rob into a relationship with her. I mean, her total rejection isn't something she's likely to brag about.
We've continued the Friday night card games, minus the girls. It's not like we forbid them to come, they decided on their own not to attend. The first Friday without the girls a couple of guys asked about them, but by the second Friday night the missing girls weren't even mentioned. Anyway, without
the girls it's turned into Friday poker-nights. We dropped the other card games and just play poker. Eleven or twelve guys, usually the same guys, play at two tables of five or six guys per table. Usually three or four guys will switch tables at some point during the night hoping it'll change their
luck. During the games there's drinking and lots of friendly ball-busting without any serious disagreements so far. Fighting isn't allowed, heh heh, but then nobody's been caught cheating yet. As far as I know the most money anyone's lost on a Friday night was a sophomore baseball player named, Mickey, who lost $240. And the biggest winner so far is John Beverly who claims to have won $218 the same night the big loser lost the $240. Who know for sure though as guys lie about their winnings and losses. My best night was the first poker game when I won fifty-some dollars. Since then I'm down, but not by very much. Mark and his friend, Freddie, have played in two Friday night poker games although the two closeted gay guys, Mark and Daryl, have yet to connect. I can't do more than make sure they're at the same table and I can't hint to Daryl that he and Markie would make a cute couple any more than I already have, or I'd be in danger of betraying a trust about Mark being gay. I'm not thrilled at the thought of losing Daryl as my side-sex buddy anyway, so I'm done trying to be a matchmaker. I have a sneaking suspicion Daryl is quite happy with our side-sex arrangement and isn't motivated to try going out on his own.
Ryan's still taking his meds and still not having sex with me. I have a definite itch for his style of sub/dom sex, but it remains unscratched and I guess I'll need to be okay with that. When I think back to my side-sex heydays, I just shake my head because things are so different now it's not even funny. Presently, and for quite some time I've been having almost no side-sex at college, or anywhere else. Partially saving the day in that regard is Rob's and my hot and heavy sex-life that I wouldn't change for the world. We've never experienced this level of frequency before, and obviously just the two of us in the apartment has had a lot to do with that. We can slip into a sexual encounter anytime we feel like it. For example, watching a Sunday afternoon football game on the sofa together usually turns into a sexual romp before the game's over. We're in our own world in that apartment.
Heh heh, so like I said, we keep ourselves pretty much sexually satisfied.
That being said there's still exists in me a taste for variety and currently Daryl is my only outlet for that. He's the reason I mentioned previously that I'm having almost no side sex at Merrimack. He's the 'almost'. I'm the 'top' for him and we do it one or two times a week if we're lucky. Yep, embarrassingly that's my total side-sex world; a mere shadow of my side-sex history. Sometimes when I'm daydreaming in class I think about some of my past side-sex partners and miss them. Things change though and that became obvious last summer when Charlie represented the majority of my side sex.
Maybe I'm more selective than I used to be, or maybe the opportunities just aren't there now that I'm older. I'm not sure why nothing much is happening on that front this year, but if a good opportunity popped-up I wouldn't say 'no' to it.
Yeah, I guess I could really go for a good hard buddy-fuck from some dominant guy, without commitments of any kind obviously. Ryan used to fulfill that role but he wanted too many commitments from me and things went downhill because of that. Even though there simply aren't a lot of dominant Ryan-types around, I'm not really interested in Ryan getting off his meds and becoming reborn as his old self. That ship has sailed. I have no idea how it happens that one day Ryan seemed so sexy-hot to me and the next day, not so much. It didn't happen overnight of course, but was a slow lessening of interest over time. So, like I said, while there's no dominant sex from Ryan, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be interested in running into some dominant guy with a big dick who was sexy and good-looking and knew what he was doing. Some hot sub/dom sex say once a week, that would be ideal. Ha ha, yeah, dream on...
Chubby interrupts my musings by, without opening his eyes, asking, "Where are we, bro?" I tell him, "Route 125, Chub. Fifteen minutes from Merrimack." He sits up opening his eyes, stretching and mumbling, "Fucking stingers,"
and I go, "I tried suggesting last night you might want to switch from stingers to lite beer." He puts on his sunglasses, "Yeah, I know, Dylan," and, grinning, he reaches over mussing my hair, knocking off the Merrimack baseball cap Rob gave me a couple of months ago. I yell, "Yo bro! I'm driving!
Jeeezus!" Putting my cap back on, I add, "How ya feeling?" and he snorts out a chuckle, "Not awesome, Dylan. No, I'm definitely not feeling awesome."
He looks like death warmed over as he drinks half a bottle of water. To perk him up, I'm like, "So, tell me again how you screwed MJ three times last
Friday?" He goes, "Oh, Jesus! Did I tell you that last night?" I nod, "Uh huh, not that I believed you." He shrugs, "I know I did her once, hee hee... yeah, I'm sure of that. As usual, when she and I get together we do shots of tequila so that tends to blur one's memory. Ya know, I was kinda missing all her bitching. Oh my God, she's a walking minus sign. Bitch, bitch, bitch! Everything sucks according to good 'ole MJ. She's hot in the sack though, and I'm not shitting you about that. I've got a couple of scratches on my back from those long fingernails of her's that still sting when I take a shower." I mumble, "You're oversexed, bro, pure and simple. Jumping in the sack with any girl you can talk into it isn't any way to go through life." He laughs, then says, "If I had half the sex you have I'd be a happy camper." Avoiding that topic, I ask, "Didn't you tell me Mary Jo is going with someone?" Chub goes, "Yeah, she goes with that Aronson dick-head. He manages the Radio Shack in Natick. Richie Aronson... I think that's his name. He was a year ahead of us at Farmington High. Big asshole of a guy. They've been going together almost two years now." I'm like, "But MJ comes running when you're in town, huh?" He nods, "Yeah, she likes a good fight, heh heh.
She says she has this Aronson weenie wrapped around her little finger.
Whatever..."
I go, "I've been thinking about our Thanksgiving dinner, Chub. It was awesome!" He goes, "The best part was we didn't need to lift a finger. Our moms insisting, they wanna do Thanksgiving dinner this year." I'm like, "Ha! Bud and Rider did most of it, but somehow kept the moms involved so they felt as though they did it." Chubby nods, "Ain't it great seeing how good those four get along together? Always laughing and in good spirits." I mumble, "I'll say. It makes me feel good." Chubby yawns, then says, "Yeah, bro, we can relax knowing our moms are in good hands, so to speak." I ask, "Do you think they spend a lot of time in bed when we're away?" He goes, "Ewww, I don't wanna know! Jesus though, I did happen to notice there was a lot of men's toiletry items in the cabinet under the sink in my mom's bathroom." I'm like, "What were you doing in your mom's bathroom?" He goes, "I wasn't sneaking around, if that's what you're thinking. I was looking for a friggin' roll of toilet paper for my bathroom." I go, "So you think the guys sleep over a lot, huh?" He shrugs, "Sure, why wouldn't they? They stayed over the night of that family weekend we had a couple of months back, remember?" I nod, "Yeah," then, "Well, here we are, Chub. We're back at college." He looks over and nods his head, "Yeah, but fuck! I need to do something about finals coming up pretty soon. Um, when are they coming up, Dylan? " I mutter, "In eight days, Chub," and I turn onto route 114, then a hundred yards down the road there's a left turn onto Merrimack's campus and we're a quarter-mile drive to the old section of dormitory-row. That's where Chubby's and John Beverly's dormitory sits. Pulling over to the curb, I ask, "You still happy with dorm living?" He says, "The initial uniqueness faded quickly, bro.
Next year I'm moving back to an apartment. John Beverly and I will share one 'cause I know you two love birds aren't letting anyone ruin your parade."
I go, "No, you're always welcome, Chub." He shakes his head, "Three's a crowd. Hey, help me get my shit out of the back. I kinda just threw it in on top of your satchel and, um, whatever that other shit is that's back there." That other shit is three months of fast food wrappers, cups, and candy bar wrappers he put there.
We both get out to sort through the clothes on the back seat for his stuff. When we think we've got most of it, I ask, "Wouldn't it be easier if you put all your clothes in a satchel or some kind of suitcase?" Chub's standing here with his arms full of clean clothes his mom washed for him. The clothes were folded and in a neat pile before he dumped them in the back of the Jeep. Chub goes, "I couldn't find the plastic bag I used bringing my stuff home last Wednesday." I give him, and his armload of clothes a hug, then can't help but grin watching him walking toward the steps to his dorm. A sleeve from one of the clean shirts is dragging on the ground behind him as, then at the steps he looks back at me giving me a big grin. I wave and continue watching him say something to two girls going up the steps in front of him. The girls turn around laughing at whatever he said, then hold the door open for him and he disappears inside. Yeah, Saturday night with Chubby was special.
Getting in the Jeep, I back up, then drive off campus, just making a yellow light turning into the entrance for the Royal Crest Apartments. Normally I'd drive to my place first and unload my stuff, then Chubby would take the Jeep with him to park on campus. We didn't do that today because Chub and I are eating dinner together so I'll need the Jeep to drive back to campus. John Beverly has a duplicate meal card that I'll use at their favorite dining hall. I've eaten there before and believe me it's nothing special. The thing is, Robby won't be getting back until tomorrow and I don't like eating alone. Our Monday class isn't until one o'clock so Rob will drive himself up here tomorrow morning. I didn't see him at all during Thanksgiving break. He was away with his family visiting his grandparents in Maine. I forget the name of the town, but I know it's near the Canadian border. After Thanksgiving dinner with the grandparents, Rob, his dad, and mom spent a couple of days in Quebec.
Ah yes! I'm inside the apartment and it's exactly as neat and clean as we left it last Wednesday. And why wouldn't it be? I'm nodding my head in approval of the cleaning we did before leaving for home. Obviously I've been missing Robby, but Chubby and I hung-out together a lot during the break which kept my mine occupied, except before falling asleep at night. Then I'd think about, and miss my boyfriend and lover. While at home I didn't get in touch with any of my Framingham friends because I wanted to spend the time with Chubby and our families. The last time we spent any serious time with them was early in the semester, and of course Thanksgiving is a family holiday. Family holiday, plus a full day and night of NFL football games. For some time now Chub and I have included Bud and Rider as family. There's still no firm date for the marriage ceremonies, but it's inevitable that our moms will be getting married. They say it'll be sometime after Chub and I graduate. I haven't mentioned Rob's and my condo plans to anyone in the family except Chubby. The condo will be ready to move into before we graduate, so there's a lot of living to be done before we begin that next stage of Rob's and my life together. He'll buy the condo while it's being built, and be paying on the mortgage for a year before we move in. All of that's in the future though.
I don't like being in an empty apartment, but there are things I need to do that will keep me busy. First I've got dirty clothes to wash in the basement laundromat. Only two washing machines and two dryers for eight apartments in this building, so that sucks. I'll hump a big basket-load of dirty clothes, mostly mine, but some of Rob's, down to the basement. Mom offered to do my laundry but I didn't want her to spend her free time doing that.
Chubby immediately agreed when his mom offered to do his. He claims it made his mom feel good doing something for him. He just might have something there too. Or it might be a clever rationalization on my brother's part. Hmmm, which one do I believe? No, there is something to what he says because we've been so autonomous, so independently self-sufficient for so much of our lives that maybe it would have made my mom feel good doing me a favor. I just don't know. Carrying the basket of dirty clothes down a flight of stairs and then, in laundromat it's, "Oh balls!" Both washing machines are being used and the dryers are full of dry, clean clothes. People put clothes in the dryer and leave them there long after the drying cycle has completed, thereby preventing anyone else from using the dryers. Inconsiderate idiots! Lugging everything back to the apartment I'm shaking my head and hoping whoever owns of the clothes in the washing machines is the owner of the clothes in the dryer. Okay, I'll take a shower and try doing the laundry later.
Before I finish undressing my cellphone rings; it's Daryl, a/k/a Pony. He tells me he's horny, and dammit, so am I! It's been five long days since I last had sex and that's un-fucking-believable, and probably unhealthy. It's amazing I've lasted this long. I thought a number of times during Thanksgiving break about texting Willie, or Sonny, or even Bean with his long skinny dick. Seth would be my first choice except I'm not sure of his status regarding boyfriends. He's been on-again/off-again with some guy for the last year. Plus, I never had the time to do it anyway because I was with Chub almost all the time we were home. Then there's my nightly musings about Rob before falling asleep, so of course I'm horny. Some of my musings regarded next year, our senior year, when we're supposed to be monogamist; just him and me having sex... forever and ever. Huh....
I'm thinking these past five days is probably the longest span of time I've gone without sex since fat Carl first introduced me to gay sexual pleasures almost four years ago. He did it rather roughly, and he took terrible advantage of me but to this very day I still can't hate him even though I've reasons to. I mean if not for him, how much longer would I have lived an ignorant celibate existence? Anyway, I tell Pony I'll pick him up in ten minutes and then wash my face and hands, brush my teeth, and gargle with mouthwash. Looking at myself in the mirror I frown at my hair. It's grown over the tops of my ears again. Rob and I missed Golden's last haircut day. He only gives haircuts one Saturday a month, and it would have been good getting a haircut before the Thanksgiving break. We could have gotten haircuts at any one of a dozen barbershops but Rob insists on Golden being our barber.
He's Golden's mentor and feels the haircuts are a bonding opportunity.
Plus, as co-captain for the infielders Rob feels the bonding extends to freshmen and sophomores. Ya know, Golden is the freshmen's barber so Rob's right there with them. He hopes his undergraduate teammates will see him as just a regular guy, who just happens to be their captain. It's like, 'Look guys, I get my hair cut from Golden too!' Just like you.' Poppycock of course, but I'm taking the mature approach and supporting Rob in this matter.
Considering my past haircut record it'd be hypocritical of me to cause a fuss about Golden's haircuts. After my minor initially negative reaction I really am fine with it now. Which is another way to say I don't give a shit anymore.
There is a side benefit of going seven weeks between haircut: our hair has
grown enough for us to now comb a part on the left side. So it's still a sucky fuck-wad of a haircut, but now it's a sucky fuck-wad of a haircut with a part. In that regard we look like every other nerd with a SuperCuts style regular haircut. Fuck it though, as I mentioned, I'm totally over bitching about it. No more complaining about this haircut from me. Instead I'm bonding with the clueless majority who couldn't tell a good haircut from a nerdy one if you put a gun to their head. I told Rob we need to get a pocket protector and eyeglasses with a Band-Aid holding it together? Yeah well, we'll be nerds with a nerdy haircut. With a resigned sigh, I give up on my hair concerns and put my coat on. I'm kinda excited about the prospect of fucking Daryl. I really like him, which makes our side-sex that much better.
Firing up the Jeep, I drive back on campus to pick up the only side-sex buddy I have left.
Huh, when I drove on campus an hour ago dropping Chubby off there weren't as many students milling around as there are now. Well, Sunday afternoon is the time everyone's returning from Thanksgiving break so this shouldn't surprise me. Weaving between the students I drive right up to Daryl's dorm.
Balls! He's not waiting outside like he said he'd be, so I text him and he comes right out. Holy shit, he's got a huge smile and he's wearing those horned-rimmed eyeglasses he hasn't needed to wear since like seventh grade.
Goddamn though, he looks cute with those big glasses. He dumps his backpack in the back of the Jeep, then gets in and leans over for a quick hug 'hello', mumbling, "Yo, Dylan, wasp? How was your break?" I say, "It was good, dude. Damn, Pony, you look cool with those glasses, but why are you wearing them?" He goes, "Because you once told me I looked cute wearing glasses." I go, "Yeah, I guess, but you're over that blurred vision you had as a kid, so why do you even still have the glasses?" He shrugs, "For the fuck of it.
I can see perfectly well with them on or without them." Backing the Jeep up, I'm like, "I wish you were into making-out because I'd like to make-out with a four-eyed geek as cute as you." He says, "Fuck making-out! Real guys don't make-out with other guys." I go, "That's just so wrong in so many ways," and then I reach over and ruffle his hair, saying, "I'm giving you a haircut before we do anything else, then we'll see. And why'd you bring your backpack?" He mutters, "Do I have to get a haircut? And, oh, I always bring my backpack." I go, "Yes, you have to get a haircut."
Then, frowning, he runs his fingers through his almost two-inch-long hair,
contemplating a haircut I assume. Way back I gave him the buzz cut he asked for; that was like ten or eleven weeks ago. He mutters, "Yeah, okay. I'll get a haircut." I'm driving carefully now because college students think they're bulletproof and brazenly walk right in front of moving automobiles.
Morons! Of course cars aren't allowed in dormitory row roads except for unloading or loading stuff at the beginning and end of semesters, so there's that. I say, "You're okay with getting a haircut, huh? I expected you'd give me a lot of shit about it." He goes, "Nope. You're also suppose to give Tom Higgins a haircut." I go, "Huh, your roommate. Well, is he in the dorm?"
Pony goes, "Yeah, but if he came with us we wouldn't be able to fuck like minks afterwards." I ask, "Do minks fuck a lot?" He makes a face and adjust his eyeglasses, mumbling, "How the fuck would I know?" Shaking my head and grinning to myself; it's really nice seeing Daryl again. He was my mysterious hoodie-boy the first week of the semester, and somehow I knew we were destined to be friends. He transferred from a college in Philadelphia; Drexel University I think he said. He was like, 'Well, this college blows, so I'll try another one', just like that. Free spirit.
Pony says, "I'm not sure I want a buzz cut though. I was thinking I'd get a haircut like the one you got from Golden. I thought that looked cool."
Jesus Christ, am I the only person on this planet with any haircut-sense? Pony smirks and reaches over to pinch some hairs growing over the top of my ear, "By the way, Dylan, I'm not the only one who needs a haircut. It looked good two months ago when Golden gave you the haircut, but now it looks raggedy." I mutter, "Yeah, yeah I know." See, he's another brainwashed-guy who is okay with a so-called regular haircut. Like I said earlier though, I'm one of them now too. All us regular haircut guys should join arms and sing 'Kumbaya' while dancing in a circle showing off our regular farmers-looking-home-haircuts. I'm done bitching about it though because obviously no one 'gets it', but me.
As I'm pulling into the apartment parking lot, Pony says, "Well, what do you think about me getting the same haircut you have?" I say, "Do you know the words to 'Kumbaya'?" He goes, "What? What's that? How about my haircut?"
Turning off the engine, I reach over and squeeze his cheeks together using my thumb and index finger, saying through clenched teeth, "I'll give you whatever the fuck haircut you want, my hoodie-buddy." He goes, "I'm a big fan of hoodies, aren't you?" We get out of the Jeep and I'm like, "Love hoodies! They outline and emphasize a cute guy's face." He mumbles, "They outline and emphasize a goofy-looking mother-fucker's face too." Walking to the back door, my arm goes across his shoulders, "Well, Pony Boy, I'm clever enough to advert my eyes from those goofy-looking mother-fuckers, and I advise you to do the same." He goes, "Also, old people shouldn't wear hoodies, um, ever." Huh, another hoodie aficionado. Freakin' Daryl and I share a brain on an amazing number of topics.
Inside the apartment we take off our coats, then push the kitchen table against the wall and pull a kitchen bar stool over onto the tile floor. "Take
off your shirt, Pony. I'll get my barbering equipment. And, ta da, I'm using my professional barber tools today. The ones I recently reclaimed from the person I lent them to over six months ago." He nods his head, then asks, "Don't you have a cape or a sheet, or something. I don't want to take my shirt off." I go, "No, I don't have a cape or sheet. Just take off your shirt and don't give me any shit about it." Carrying the toiletry kit from the bedroom, I see Pony sitting on the stool. He's shirtless, his shoulders rounded, and his hair sticking out all over his head. How could anyone be okay with that? Then I grin to myself and, imitating Ryan, sternly say, "Sit the fuck up straight, Daryl. Don't slump!" He laughs, muttering, "What are you, my gymnastics' coach?" but he sits up a little straighter.
Putting my hand on his bare shoulder, I'm like, "One of the reasons I don't use a barber's cape is I like looking at a hot guy's torso. Now your torso is quite sexy with subtle, but really nice muscle definition." He says, "No shit, Sherlock, I'm fucking hot." We both chuckle, but yeah, he does have a hot body. Gymnast and swimmers usually have awesomely hot bodies.
Taking the barber tools out and plugging both clippers into the outlet on the front of the kitchen bar, then I try combing through Daryl's hair. It won't lie down because he did the same thing after I gave him a buzz cut that he did after the buzz cut he got last Easter, which is to say he did nothing with it. His hair just grows out in all directions. I ask, "How come you didn't train your hair to lie over. See mine, it lies down." He looks at my head, pointing to the left side, saying, "Yeah, okay, I'll train it this time, and I definitely want one of those faggy parts on the side of my head like you have." That makes me laugh out loud thinking about all the bitching I've done about that part, then I'm like, "Perfect description of the part, and ya know what? I like that you want the same haircut that fifty percent of our peers are rocking. Be one of the guys! It's awesome to be a member of the regular-haircut clueless clan. And, dude, I say that knowing full well how shitty this haircut is." He goes, "It's not shitty. It's a good haircut! What's wrong with it?" I go, "I'm not going to try to explain it to you. Instead I'm going to duplicate it on your nicely shaped head and let you continue with your delusional opinion about what's a good haircut." I ruffle through his hair with the fingers of both hands massaging his scalp. He goes, "Dude, that feels good!" I massage his shoulders too, and he goes, "Holy shit, I've got goosebumps all over me."
I ask rhetorically, "How come you don't have a sexy body-scent, Daryl?" He
ignores the rhetorical part, and goes, "Hey, I'm clean!" and I'm like, "Yes you are, but never mind that. That wasn't what I meant." He goes, "You're slightly crazy, you're aware of that, right?" Daryl has a faint scent, but nothing like Rob's or Ryan's. Actually I used to think Chubby's personal scent was number one, but I've backed-off on that in recent years because, oh my God, Ryan's and my pheromones were uber compatible. Too bad he's taking his pheromones to the University of Georgia.
I say to Pony, "We're all slightly crazy," then, with a half inch guide on the clippers, I begin running the clippers high up the right side and back of Pony's head. One-and-a half-inch hair clippings slide repeatedly off the clipper blades. Soft, clean hair slides over my hand and onto Daryl's shoulders and back. Clipped hairs that are straight as a poker. Daryl doesn't question what I'm doing, so I ask, "Is your lack of concern about my haircutting ability an indication that you have total confidence in me as a barber, or is it that you basically don't give a shit about your hair?" He shrugs, "Um, a little of both scenarios, Dylan, but mostly it's having confidence in you." I start on the left side of his head, not taking the clippers up this side as far as I did on the right side. I need to leave some hairs long enough for a faggy part, as Pony calls it. I say, "You're really good for my ego, Daryl. You having confidence in me makes me feel good.
Well-founded confidence I might add." He goes, "If you say so, ya crazy bastard."
Finished the left side, I go, "Yes, good for my ego, except for the crazy part. Plus, I'm getting a little randy from cutting your hair and seeing your shirtless torso and slumped shoulders." He laughs, straightening his shoulders. Holding the running clippers to the side, I put my left hand on the right side of his head to hold it there while I give the side of his forehead a three second smooch. He says, "As much as I'm opposed to kissing between gay sex-buddies, I feel good that you like me enough to kiss me." I mumble, "Progress..."
Unlike the haircuts Golden does, I take the time to do some blending of the short hairs with the much longer hair on top of Pony's head. I do that using a comb and scissors. It's impossible to make it look right though because the difference in length is too severe. This is an incredibly stupid-style of a haircut, but you don't hear me complaining about it. I mean, what are ya going do? It is what it is, as Bill Belichick likes to say. He also likes to say, 'That's not what we're looking for', which is the bottom line as far as my feelings about this style of haircut. Yeah, except I've joined the ranks now so I need to keep those thoughts to myself. Using the trimming clippers, I outline around and behind Pony's ears, and then square off the hairline at the back of his head. Some time ago I read a blog online by a lady hairstylist who claims squaring-off hair at the back of a guy's head is a huge fashion blunder, especially when done above the natural hairline at the neck. It should be tapered for a natural look. So this woman and I agree, although we're apparently in a tiny minority of that opinion. She cuts hair in some snooty salon doing $150 haircuts, which is where we part company, no pun intended.
Speaking of parts, I say, "We'll need to wet your hair, Daryl. I say that because without water I can't get the hairs on both sides of this faggy part to lie down. Hair gel will help to keep it down when it dries. In a few days it'll be trained to lie flat on its own. Then your hair will be like most other guys' hair." He says, "Hey! Was that a shot at me?" I go, "Yes it was. You need to spend a minute a day on your hair; one lousy minute will do it. That's all it takes, and you're lucky to have really good hair to go with your cute looks." Except for Rob and Chubby, Pony and Lawyer are the only two guys I've seen on campus who I feel qualify as cute. That's out of a couple thousand guys. Unfortunately most everyone loses their cuteness, assuming they ever had any to begin with, late in their teen years and early twenties. As for Daryl, he has the dark brown hair and dark blue eyes that contrast awesomely with his pale complexion. That combo is striking, and the only other person I can think of who matches that combination of pale complexion, dark brown hair, and dark blue eyes is my good friend Connor, who is one of my two favorite Army guys in all the world. Well, Connor and Dodger the only two Army guys I actually know, but if I knew more those two would still be my favorites. Plus Pony has a random scattering of a slowly developing beard on his baby face. There obviously was a fortuitous gene combination involved in producing him.
Brushing hair clippings off his shoulder with my fingers, I'm thinking back to the two strangers, basically strangers, who I gave free haircuts to and who said they would buy a barber's cape and soft barber's brush online.
They're supposed to bring these two gifts when they come for their next free haircuts. I haven't seen or heard from them since then, but that's not to say I won't see them like tomorrow, or whenever. Daryl gets up off the stool brushing cut hairs off his lap, asking, "Do you want me at the sink to wet my hair now?" I mumble, "Bathroom," and we walk down the hall with Daryl asking, "Does this haircut look like yours?" I go, "No, I obviously need a haircut, but it will look like the haircut I last got from Golden except you also have a part." In the bathroom he leans over the sink and I cup some water in my hand to wet his hair, then pat excess water off his head with a hand towel. Combing the hair down for the part on the left side, and then the hair on top over to the right, I add some mousse. Not a lot, just enough to keep his hair in place. Handing him a handheld mirror I show him how to check out his hair, front and the back by looking at his reflection from both the mirror in his hand and the mirror over the bathroom sink. He goes, "Yeah, it's like what yours looked right after Golden cut it. Thanks, Dylan." I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Surprisingly it actually doesn't look too bad on you. C'mon and help me sweep-up the hair clippings." Horrors, I may be getting used to this hair style because Pony's haircut actually looks okay.
Walking back to the living room, he says, "So I gotta buy gel or mousse, huh?" I mutter, "Yes, we can go to the Rite Aid down the street a little later and get some." It takes less than two-minutes to sweep up hair clippings and move the kitchen table back where it belongs, then Daryl asks, "Have you borrowed the sex toys yet?" I shake my head, "No, and I'm not going to borrow them because I wouldn't feel comfortable using them on you." He goes, "Why not?" I rub his shoulders, shrugging and mumbling, "I don't want to, that's why." He goes, "Yeah, but I get off on that shit. I mean when I watch it on my computer it makes me jerk off." I mutter, "That's just a tad too much information for me, Daryl." He then says something that I often say, "Balls! I thought you'd have some sex toys." I'm like, "Okay, tell me what
specific sex toys turn you on?" He goes, "Butt plugs and, um, paddling, and being tied-up and helpless." I mutter, "Oh, just your run of the mill S & M shit, huh?" He shrugs, "I like getting it up the ass too. I had a dildo
once but got paranoid my mom or dad would somehow find it, so I threw it out. I got the dildo right after Sam dumped me and I needed something."
I'm shaking my head, asking, "Why are you telling me these private personal, um, details about your sex life." He says, "Well, it's you who got me all fucked-up, Dylan. Before I met you I fantasized about those times I used to get it up the ass from Sam. You know, I'd fantasize while playing with the dildo. I'd smack my own ass and then fuck myself hard with the dildo."
I go, "And you think I'm crazy?" He chuckles, "Heh heh, no not really.
You're awesome. Anyway, now you'll occasionally spank my ass and then fuck me, so I know how awesome it feels in reality and fantasizing about it doesn't cut it for me anymore. You've ruined me for fantasizing." I go, "Well, I'm terribly sorry to inform you of this, but buddy-sex isn't supposed to include obligations on either person's part, and now you're laying a guilt trip on me." Pony's patting his hair, mumbling, "It's drying already." I nod, smirking at him, and he snorts out a laugh, adding, "Laying a guilt trip on you was my intention. You're too nice so I figured you'd cave-in and do some S & M on my ass." I go, "Ya know, that would have worked on me not too long ago, but not anymore. You're too late to take advantage of my sweet obliging nature since I've recently decided to become an unobliging prick." He goes, "You can't pull that off," and I mumble, "I know," and we both chuckle. Then I'm like, "Well, what's it gonna be, Daryl, I mean buddy-sex-wise?"
He says, "Well, I have a surprise for you." I give him a blank stare, and he says, "No, seriously... I have a surprise for you! Just a second."
He walks over to his backpack, saying, "I knew you'd disappoint me with the sex toys so I took matters into my own hands. Um, have you ever heard of Adam & Eve Sex Toys in Boston? They provide discreet packaging for mail orders." I snicker, "Um, no, I can't say that I have." He chuckles too as he opens his backpack and pulls out what looks like a butt plug. He holds it up, saying, "A barely used, 'Naughty Silicone Butt Plug'. I go, "Barely used?
Is it second hand?" He shakes his head, then chuckles before blushing a little, "No, I barely used it on myself a couple of times. Just trying it out." Then he pulls out a foot-long paddle. It's like an inch wide. Pony says,
"Ta da, a 'Spank Me Paddle' that you really need to use on my ass because I've been quite naughty." I'm shaking my head again, but at the same time feeling a tightness in my groin remembering a few guys using sex toys on me. They really got me off, and then there were some toys that weren't too cool. I ask, "What else have you got in there?" He asks, "You're not pissed-off at me, are you?" I shake my head, "Not yet, no. You have a right to your own toys, I guess."
Pony grins, "Good," and pulls out a roll of two-inch wide black tape of some kind. He says, "This is 'Pleasure Tape' and it acts like Velcro. You wrap it around my wrists, for example, and I'm bound-up." I nod, thinking this
is fairly harmless stuff. Especially since I have no intention of being rough with him in the first place. Doing it to someone doesn't get me excited. I get more turned-on the other way around. He holds up a short black sleeve with about a one-inch opening and a strap behind it. All Daryl's sex toys look cheap. Nothing like the stuff Willie used to buy, or the toys Ryan put on me that time in his dorm. Pony goes, "This I've tried on too. A firm dick goes in the sleeve with the strap tied behind your nuts. It's a three-and-a-half-inch-long ribbed sleeve to slide your cock in, and then you fuck somebody while wearing it." I'm like, "What's it supposed to do for you?" He says, "No, I don't wear it. You put it on before fucking me. It helps keep you hard, and see these ribs on the outside of the sleeve. Hee hee, they might feel good up my ass." I go, "Uh huh, no dildo though?" He shrugs, "No, I'm afraid my roommate might spot that. Tom isn't even a tiny bit gay so he probably wouldn't know what the rest of this shit is, and anyway these are small items and easy to hide. Um, except the paddle," and he whacks the palm of his hand with it. His eyes get big as he laughs, then says, "Jesus, that hurt! Go easy on me with this fucking paddle, okay?" I nod, mumbling, "Okay," not sure I'm even going to smack him with it.
I'm calmly looking at Daryl, so he grins shrugging, and I ask, "Is that it? No more toys?" He says, "Yeah, that's all I bought. I spent fifty bucks online for these babies a week ago. The package came yesterday. Fast, huh?"
I nod, then ask, "You want me to use these toys with you, is that it?" He goes, "Yeah, let's try it," I go, "Okay, I'm game. They look harmless enough, but you say 'stop' at any point, and I'll stop whatever we're doing.
Let's go to my bedroom." Walking down the hall he says, "It kinda takes the, um, the uncertainty out of it if I know you'll stop whenever I say, "stop'."
I go, "I'm not the 'master' dominant type, Daryl. Fuck, you're one of only four guys I've ever 'topped' in my life, and the other three only on a very rare occasions. I'm basically a bottom like you.
In my bedroom he drops his pants. He never put his shirt back on after the
haircut so he's almost naked already. I go, "You look different with this haircut. A preppy hoodie-boy." He goes, "Fuck the haircut, don't you like being the 'top' for me?" I go, "Sure I do," and he goes, "You're too easy.
Ha ha, I was prepared to make-out with you if I had to, you know... to get you using these toys. I expected you to object." I shake my head, smiling, "I'll be okay. I'll survive somehow without making-out with you, Daryl. I'm good, no problem." He leans over and kisses me on the lips like you might kiss your sister before she flies off to get married or something. A brotherly kiss. I say, "Oh man, that was a thrill for me, Daryl. Thank you." He goes, "You're always laughing at me." I'm like, "No I'm not. You're too sensitive." He goes, "I'm too sensitive?! What about you?" Ignoring that absurdity, I pick up the paddle, asking, "What do you want me to start with? How about this narrow paddle?"
Daryl takes the paddle from my fingers and smacks the palm of his hand again, saying, "Ow!" Then, "How about putting the butt plug up my ass and then paddle the shit out of me." He's so serious I have to laugh, then quickly say, "I'm not laughing at you, per se, Daryl." He goes, "Call me 'Pony' fer chrissakes! That's what my buddies call me." I go, "I'll try to remember that, Daryl." He laughs, "Hey, you're getting pretty good at being a prick."
I'm like, "Enough of this chit-chat. Take everything off," and as he takes his underwear, sneakers, and socks off as I'm getting Rob's tube of lubricant. Picking up the butt plug, if the truth be known I'd like Pony to stick this up my ass.
He's naked and I'm like, "Jesus, nice body, Pony!" He holds out his penis, "My dick's too small, don't ya think?" I shake my head, "Nope, it's the perfect size. I told you that before." He goes, "If my dick is perfect, then what's with your dick? I mean you and I are the same size and yet your dick is bigger and longer." I mutter, "My dick is freakishly oversized, so you can't go by that," and he laughs, adding, "You're freakishly nuts." Putting
lubricant on the butt plug, I go, "Bend over, Pony, and we'll see how this feels going up your ass with me twisting it in." He grins, mumbling, "Oh boy. Isn't this fun? Goofing around with sex toys I mean." I'm like, "Well, if you consider perversion fun, I suppose so." He bends forward, his hands on his knees, his head looking back at me. It makes me chuckle, so Daryl chuckles too, then mutters, "Put the thing in already." With one hand on Daryl's back, I twist the butt plug in past his spinster and watch his shoulders shudder the same way mine do at times. Twist, twist, twist with Daryl going, "Umm, ummm, mmmm." One last push and the plug, all three-plus-inches of it is snugly up his ass. With his back arching, Daryl grunts, "That feels good." He straightens-up and take a couple of steps making a face and pulling on his cock, saying, "I jerked-off with that thing up my ass last night when Tom was taking a shower." I mumble, "Then what do you need me for?"
He chuckles, "It's a hundred times sexier and more fun doing it with you."
He walks around the room grinning and making a face like he's in ecstasy. I can't help but laugh.
It's sick, but kinda funny too. Daryl says, "I'm getting a boner from this fucking plug. It's rubbing my prostate with every step." I plop down in the desk chair, muttering, "Let me know when you want a spanking." He does a couple of deep knee bends and we both burst out laughing. "You've found your boyfriend at last, and it's that cheap butt plug, which, by the way, isn't very big as far as butt plugs go." He says, "I wanted to work my way up to the bigger ones." I'm like, "Uh huh." He reaches back and pokes at the plug, then says, "Okay, I'm getting aroused. See, I don't need any girlie making-out to get me turned-on," then he brushes his fingers at the back of his neck, muttering, "These damn hair clippings are itching." What a fucking character. I go, "It's damn lucky for you you're cute or I wouldn't put up with this goofiness." He says, "I wish you had a full length mirror. I'd like to see what the plug looks like up my ass." I go, "Open that closet door. There's a mirror on the back of the door, but it's not an X-ray mirror so you won't be able to see the plug up your ass." He opens the door, mumbling, "You know what I meant." His back to the door and his head turned, he goes, "I should have bought the red plug." I stand up and take the paddle off the desk, saying, "This activity is more suitable for middle school kids."
He murmurs, "I didn't have the balls to experiment with this shit back then."
Lightly smacking the palm of my hand with the paddle, I'm like, "Ready for your paddling?" He nods, "Oh yeah, but I'll probably cum." I go, "In that case let's go in the bathroom. You can clean your spunk off the tile floor easier than off the carpet." He says, "I think you better take the plug out first though, okay?" I go, "You take it out." Reaching back, looking at his backside in the mirror again, Pony twists and pulls it out, exclaiming, "Ooooh, fucccck!" Then chuckling, he goes, "I've got half-a-woody already."
Looking at the sleeve, I go, "Let's put this sleeve on your dick." He goes, "That's supposed to go on your dick." Shaking my head, I go, "Nah, we'll put it on yours," and he shrugs, "Okay, but I've already tried it on, and you haven't." I'm like, "Screw that! These are your toys, not mine." He's holding the butt plug he just took out of his ass so I grab some tissues and say, "Drop that thing in these tissues I'm holding." He does, and I drop the plug and the tissues in his backpack. He goes, "Hey!" and I'm like, "What else was I supposed to do with it?"
Then I spot the so-called pleasure tape, and say, "Let me tie you up first." Pony goes, "Good idea!" He holds his wrists together and I wrap the tape around a few times. It is like Velcro; each turn adhering to the previous one. I'm like, "Do I tear it now, or what?" He shrugs as I try ripping the tape, then get scissors off the desk and cut through it, asking, "Can you get your hands free?" He tries, then giggles, "Fuck no, I'm your captive."
Picking up the cock sleeve, I'm like, "Do you want this on?" He shrugs, "Yeah, why not?" I pick up his dick and he goes, "Ouuuu," your fingers feel good." His dick is semi-hard, like he said, so I push it into the sleeve and he taps his feet, mumbling, "I'm gonna cum." I stop, "You cum easier than anyone I've ever met." He goes, "I'm very sexual." Nodding, I finish sliding the sleeve on his dick, then stretch the strap back tightly behind his nuts and his body gets stiff. I half expect him to cum, but he doesn't. His cock gets hard though, as he mutters, "That thing's tight but feels awesome."
We both watch as his cock becomes a hard boner stretching slightly past his
normal five inches. With his boner sticking straight out, the head at least two-inches past the end of the sleeve, a clear tiny bubble of precum forms at his piss slit. He goes, "I told you I'm a very sexual guy. I go, "Uh huh," and, bringing the paddle and tape, I pull him into the bathroom, saying, "Your asshole really looks opened-up by the butt plug." He fakes being alarmed, "Oh no! You're not going to take advance of me, are you?" I go, "Probably, yeah."
In the bathroom, I say, "Reach your hands down toward your ankles," and when he does I wrap a few loops of tape in between his wrists and then around his ankles. He goes, "What the fuck? My boner is poking my chest and I'm gonna fall over head first." I mutter, "Not if you don't move." He says, "Stop! Undo that tape," so I undo it, muttering, "You big baby," and he straightens up, saying, "Wow! Good to see that you 'stop' when I say so. I can trust you." Nodding, I go, "Over there. This will be better," and I wrap the tape I had around his ankles around the doorknob. He's bent over a little with his hands ties to the doorknob. "There, now you're in a good spanking position, you naughty boy." Pony says, "Oooh, this is perfect. My boner feels so fucking good." Trying not to laugh, I mutter, "You sick fuck! Now you're gonna get it," and whack his ass with the paddle. Oh my God, he yelps arching his back and pulling at the tape around the bathroom doorknob, as I whack him again. Pony's yells "Stop! STOP!" I stop, asking, "Two whacks? That's it?" Then I watch a welt puff up on his pale buttocks looking harshly red. He goes, "Get me off this fucking doorknob. No more paddling." I want to make fun of him, but the second welt is forming, crisscrossing the first one. Holy shit! I undo the tape from the doorknob and then from around his wrists. He reaches back gently touching the welts, saying, "What the fuck's wrong with you?" I go, "What? What's wrong with me? It was your fucked-up idea, not mine." He's hurting, mumbling, "I know. I'm sorry for yelling at you, but oh man that really hurts." Incongruously, his boner is still as hard as ever, sticking straight out like before... pain or no pain.
Looking in the medicine chest over the bathroom sink I find Rob's tube of Arnica Gel. He used it for a painful bruise when he got hit in the arm with a fast ball last year. I read on the tube where it claims to reduce pain from a number of injuries. I say, "Wasn't there a warning with that paddle?"
He mutters, "I don't know. I didn't read the little instruction pamphlet that came with it. A paddle is used for paddling; so what else would the instructions tell me?" Staying behind him, I'm gently rubbing the gel on the welts, mumbling, "The instructions probably had a warning, 'Do not use on a pussy-boy'. He laughs, muttering, "You prick," then, "Oh, dude, that shit is working already. Oooh, put more on, please." I coat his left butt cheek with the gel, then screw the lid back on and put the tube back in the medicine cabinet, saying, "You really should leave the sex toys to professionals, Pony." he goes, "You misused that paddle," and I go, "I hardly moved my hand. That thing's like a blackjack, fer chrissakes!" I feel bad although I don't have any reason to. He asked for it. I guess I did swing the thing like it was a ping pong paddle, my arm behind me as I swung it forward with a little speed.
He unties the strap behind his balls and pulls the cock-sleeve off his dick. His boner quickly goes soft. Washing my hands, I'm like, "Have you had enough fun with the sex toys yet?" He's in the bedroom now looking at his ass in the mirror, saying, "Yeah, I guess. Talk about a disappointment though." Walking into the bedroom drying my hands, I go, "You should keep that paddle under your bed in case of intruders. It's better than a gun." Pony grins, "That fucking gel really worked, Dylan. Look at my ass; the welts are going down already." I nod, "Good. I'm sorry you got hurt, but don't blame me, it..." and he finishes my sentence, "It was my idea." I go, "Well, it was," and he says, "I know, and I'm sorry for yelling at you... like I already fucking told you!" I go, "Where's that paddle? You need a couple more whacks." He chuckles, then says, "Maybe making-out is better than sex toys after all." I toss him his boxer shorts, saying, "Put your underwear on and let's have a beer and start over." He puts on the shorts, saying, "You're really the nicest guy, Dylan. Seriously." He's looking at himself in the mirror again, mumbling, "Nice haircut too. Gee, maybe I'll hire a hit-man and eliminate your boyfriend so we can be boyfriends. You can cook, cut hair, and you know medical stuff, plus you fuck good. Damn, all in one package too."
I'm in the kitchen, I'm yelling, 'What are you mumbling about?" I actually did hear him, and I'm kinda flattered. Pony walks into the living room as I'm snapping the tab on a can of Coors beer, saying, "You probably would prefer a Coke, huh?" He nods, "Yes, please. I don't like beer." After giving him a Coke we stand next to the sliding glass door to the balcony. It's opened about six inches so we can exhale smoke as we share a cigarette. I ask, "You okay now, Daryl?" He nods, "Yeah, thanks to you. Who knew that paddle could inflict such damage?" I exhale a drag from the cigarette and watch it being sucked out the door along with the heat from the room. "Well, I shouldn't have swung the paddle like it was a ping pong paddle. A ping pong paddle spreads out the area it hits, but that narrow paddle hit with impact on a strip of skin, plus it has some flex to it." He nods, "Yeah, I knew it was something you did wrong." We laugh as I'm muttering, "Asshole, it's your paddle."
We finish the smoke and Pony flicks the butt over the balcony railing, then I close the sliding door. Pony says, "Let me have a swig of that beer." I pass him the can and he makes a face after taking a swallow, then says, "I did that so your mouth wouldn't taste like beer. The swallow of beer I had will counteract that." I go, "So you want to make-out, is that it?" He goes, "Yeah, to make-up for bringing these fucking toys. You're right; I should play with these things by myself." I go, "You'll probably hurt yourself.
Then who's going to take care of you?" He says, "I'll call you, that's who," and he kisses my mouth quickly. I say, "No, Pony, we do it like this."
Holding his head between my hands, I give him a ten second kiss with my tongue lightly sliding on his. He says, "That didn't totally suck, I guess." We do another kiss which he breaks off after two seconds, saying, "No, no it still doesn't seem right to me. I'd much rather suck your cock." Now I know how Frankie felt when Robby told her he was revolted by her kiss. Ha ha! No, not really. I say, "Sure, Pony, different strokes and all that."
Just inside the sliding door, he drops to this knees as I'm dropping my jeans. I run my fingers through his fairly short hair, slightly stiff from the dried gel, while he licks and sucks my pecker. I like playing the 'top' role with Daryl, and it has something to do with him liking the 'bottom' role so much. It's mutually arousing, and that's important to me. Maybe I'm learning something. Damn, his lips and tongue, and yes even his teeth, feels good on my dick. I'll try to be the tough dominant type like he fantasizes about, so I grab a fistful of his hair pulling his head away from my semi-hard cock, saying, "Get on your hands and knees, boy!" He looks startled for a second, then nods his head and scrambles around on his hands and knees with his ass towards me. I pull his boxer shorts completely down to where his knees meet the floor, thinking, 'Damn, I can't spank his ass after the two paddles'. Instead I try sounding dominant, "Push that pussy of yours up,"
he exaggeratedly lifts his ass as he makes an audible, "Gulp," sound. Of submissiveness? Hee hee, that's me, the dominant prick.
Gripping his hips, I use my foot to kick his knees wider apart and then rub my cock up and down his ass crack. There's quite a lot of lubricant in and around his asshole from the butt plug, so I don't need to add more.
Leaning down I get my hand between his legs and grab his nut sack. He goes, "Ooooh!" While squeezing his balls a little, I guide the head of my cock to his asshole, then plug it in past his sphincter. He again moans, "Ooooh," and his shoulders shudder. I grin thinking how this is kinda turning me on, so I squeeze his balls a little harder while pushing my not-quite-hard cock up his ass two more inches or so. Pony's whole body shudders now, as he moans, "I'm gonna cum." I stop everything, but still hold onto his nuts. Pony's taking deep breaths for ten seconds, then murmurs, "Go ahead, Dylan, squeeze my nuts harder and fuck me." I give his nuts a hard squeeze and push my boner all the way up until I'm tight against his firm buttocks. My cock is definitely hard now! Humping against his buttocks and squeezing his nuts makes Pony groan, "Aaaah, oooh..." as his body trembles. I can easily see myself in Pony's place, but mostly I feel the power of being a dominant 'top'. It's so different from being the 'bottom boy', and almost as arousing. A final hard squeeze of his nuts, then I let go and hold onto his hips with both hand and start driving my boner back and forth in his ass, gritting my teeth at the incredible sensations coming off my hard penis.
"Slapslapslapslap," sounds for two minutes with Pony moaning and humping his ass back into my thrusting.
"Slapslapslapslap," with my eyes closed to better concentrate on the intense sexual pleasure coming off my hard boner. By now I'm not even thinking about who I'm fucking, instead I'm concentrating on the pressure of his tight rectum up and down the shaft of my hard cock and the tightness constantly stimulating nerve endings creating sexual pleasure unmatched by anything else in this world except; well, except when I'm the 'bottom'. There's especially intense pleasure coming off the pulsating hard head of my boner as it vibrates and swells getting ready to launch the churning cum in my nuts.
The ass I'm fucking clutches tightly at my hard-as-stone boner making me moan with the pleasure of it all. I can't stop the moans; they're involuntary and they intensify the thrill of impending climax that's quickly overtaking my mind and body even as the ass I'm fucking humps and humps back at my thrusting. I hear the long moan from Pony now as he lifts his hands off the floor and his orgasm erupts even as cum explodes from the head of my cock filling his bowels. Lightning is going off behind my eyes. Someone squeals again as I'm humping against his buttock, humping with more cum streaming from the piss slit of the swollen head of my boned-up cock. Sizzling sensations making my cock head throb with pleasure, then another hump against Pony's buttocks and another streak of cum with unimaginable sensations sparking all over my body. I gasps, and go, "Oooh, ummm," as reality begins returning to my overloaded brain and I shudder at a last tightening of muscles around my groin squeezing out another shot of creamy semen.
Shaking a little, I open my eyes and everything rushes back into my brain.
Daryl's forehead is resting down on his arms that are against the floor.
All around his asshole is shiny cum that I dragged out after the initial orgasmic flood of cum up his ass. I'm holding onto his hips, basically holding his ass up. Letting go of him, his ass drops and my cock pulls out, sloppy with cum. I see the white impressions my fingers made on Pony's pinkish-white skin from where I was gripping his hips. I'm a little dizzy, then realize this was my first orgasm in five days. No wonder it was like a firecracker exploding in my groin. Pony rolls over on his side, looking up at me and smiling. "Awesome fuck, Dylan. You really surprised me by crushing my nuts like that. I shot off a short precum blast when you squeezed hard. It was like a mini climax. That was so awesome! And then later it was the hardest I've ever cum in my life." I nod, taking a few more deep breaths. Then, holding my hand down, Pony takes it and I help him up, then hug him for sharing that sex with me, and it occurs to me how fond I've become of him. I mumble, "I'd kiss you except I don't want to see you throwing up in here." He hugs back, then kisses my lips quickly, saying, "It's not as disgusting as it used to be." I laugh, then mutter, "How flattering." We let go of each other and I pull up my pants but don't button them or pull up the zipper.
We're still just inside the sliding glass balcony door and we need to clean up a little. Well, Pony needs to clean-up a lot. His orgasm is drooling down the glass sliding door. Wow, lots of cum on that door.
Nodding my head at the hall, we walk together to the bathroom. I help clean his ass, saying, "We both had quick orgasms because it's been a while since our last sex." He goes, "Hell, I climaxed before you did." Damn, I was so deeply into myself I missed his climax, and I like watching him cum. His cock looks like it's going to crack it gets so hard. Let this be a lesson to me: don't go five days between climaxes. After we get as cleaned-up as we
can without showering, Pony uses Windex and paper towels to clean the sliding glass door, asking, "When's your boyfriend coming back?" I say, "Tomorrow, before lunch," and he goes, "You don't suppose I could spend the night, do you? With you, I mean." Huh, that sounds really inviting, but I can't do that to Rob. Not in our bed. I say, "Not here, Daryl, but how about I spend the night in your dorm room?" He shakes his head, "Nah, Tom's back, remember? Why can't I stay the night here?" Shrugging, I mutter, "It wouldn't be right. Rob and I are in love and while some buddy sex is okay, I don't feel right doing it in Rob's and my bed."
What the fuck is wrong with me? Minor details like that never used to bother me. What's the big deal anyway? I'll change the linens. He goes, "Well, can we have dinner together at least, and do it again later?" I go, "Absolutely, my favorite side-sex buddy." He goes, "I'm your favorite? Are you saying there are others?" Huh! I go, "Nope, you're it, Pony," and he goes, "Good." Putting my arm across his shoulders, I say, "Ya know what I'm going to do? I'm taking you out to dinner tonight. My treat." He says, "Oh boy! I'll pretend I'm your boyfriend." As I put the Windex away, I mutter, "Let's not get carried away here." Chuckling at Pony's expression, I text Chubby that I need to take a rain-check on dinner in the dining hall tonight, and I'll park the Jeep near his dorm tomorrow around noon.
Coats on, going down the steps to the parking lot, Pony asks, "Where we gonna have dinner?" I say, "First we'll have a few pops at Tracy's, then we'll eat at a bar/restaurant I know." He goes, "Oh goodie, I'll have a shot of whiskey." Whatever, then he goes, "Hey, have you ever fucked in the shower? I've often thought that'd be sexy. Or in a bathtub full of water." I go, "What an unusual couple of ideas...."
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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