DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 33
by Donny Mumford
Nodding his head toward Peter, Chubby says in a smiling/joking manner, "Who's the baby-faced gorilla, bro?" Peter goes, "Holy shit, do not tell me this twerp is the bad-ass brother you threatened me with?" Chubby frowns, looking at me, like, 'What?' so I say, "Yeah, Chub, earlier this guy here whacked me on the side of my head a couple of times, so I said something like, 'You don't know my brother, do you?' You know, like you'd get revenge for me." Chubby looks at Peter, then back at me, "You're telling me he assaulted you?" I nod, "I'm afraid so. He's big and strong, and while only nineteen he should know better than to try knocking a person's head off their shoulders. I'm foggy on the details because my bell was ringing really fuckin' loudly." Chubby goes, "Gee, and now he just called me a twerp. That's cold, ya know?" I shrug, "That's how he is." Peter's smirking, like he's enjoying himself, then he goes, "You two have a cute little act there, I'll give you that. Still, I also gotta say the little brother here better be packing a gun or both of you will be in a world of trouble if you try any shit with me." Chubby looks at Peter, "Gun? No, we won't need a gun." Peter rolls his eyes, mumbling, "Riiiiight," drawing out the word.
Chubby's facial expression infers he's intimidated, although I know he's not. He's luring the gorilla into feeling way overly confident, asking, "But why would you smack the shit out of someone smaller than you?" Peter drinks some beer, then grins, "That's obvious, ain't it? I wanted him to know who his daddy was before I fucked him. Your brother here." as he points at me while still looking at Chubby, "He got the message real fast, and he was a good little boy after getting smacked around a little." Smirking, he looks at me now, asking, "Weren't you a good boy for your daddy?" I go, "Oh, for sure." Peter shrugs; then, smirking again he says to Chubby, "Do you get the picture, twerp? I'm a big bad bully, and let me tell ya a secret: when I'm done my beer, I'm going to be bullying the both of you."
Chubby goes, "Oh jeez, was it my gorilla reference?" then his eyes glance for a split second at Peter's ankles, then at me and I do a barely perceptible head nod, mumbling, "Oh that..." Peter gets too close to us, in our space, asking Chubby, "You starting to wish you never came over here?" As he saying that, Chub and I both reach gently over to touch Peter's shoulders on each side with Chubby's saying, "Can't we talk this over?" I'm sure we..." Peter frowns, as we both put a foot behind each of his feet; Chubby right foot behind Peter's left foot and my left foot behind Peter's right one.
It takes less than half a second as we shove hard on his chest. It's done in one seemingly friendly gesture, but when we push hard on his shoulders he goes over backward fast, tripping over our feet. His arms fly up, the beer spills out of the cup and then he lands hard on his back with the back of his head making a "Thunk!" sound when it hits the cement patio that extends off the back of the house. It sounded like someone dropped a honeydew melon in the street. There was no, "Hey!" or anything from Peter. He never knew what hit him. He's not moving at the moment, but we can see him breathing as Chubby's yelling, "Somebody call 911." There's a general hubbub now as we turn around to casually walk away. Chubby says, "Let's get a beer and you can tell me all about it, Dylan. Perhaps we're letting the gorilla off too easily with that little trick of ours." We used to do that in middle school when encountering large foes.
It's funny, but when Chubby yelled, "Somebody call 911', or whenever I hear someone say that in a movie, I always expect someone to yell back, "Why the fuck don't you call 911?" Ya know? Just now I also half-expected someone to yell, 'He didn't fall, those two assholes pushed him down', or something to that effect, but no; nothing like that. It took only a split second from the moment we touched his shoulders until he was on his back, and even if someone was accidentally glancing our way, the deed was so unlikely it wouldn't register in their drunken minds. They'd be like, 'What the fuck did I just see?' With Peter's beer spraying all over the backs of a half dozen people, plus the sound of him plunking flat on the patio, a lot of interest is generated. Word of mouth quickly increases awareness that something happened. And then there was Chubby screaming, 'Someone call 911'. Working our way to the
backdoor of the house we hear drunken-slurred comments like, "He's a big bastard," and, "Is he unconscious or dead?" Plus a girl screams, "Oh my God,
there's blood under his head!", and then a pompous voice of reason, "Everyone calm down! Feel his neck, dude, see if there's a pulse." Ha ha, someone should yell back, "You feel his neck, dip-shit." There's also drunks and other guys high-on-pot who were giggling in their stupor assuming perhaps this is a video game, or maybe a cartoon. Mostly though a lot of people were asking, "What the fuck happened?"
When we slip inside the house we sidestep the curious who are coming out to see what the ruckus is all about. My heart is pounding and the adrenaline rush makes me feel ill for a minute or two. Chubby's face is flush as he motions to a bartender. We get our beers without waiting in line. One of the
bartenders asks, "What's going on out there?" Chub goes, "I'm not sure.
Somebody yelled 'call 911' and bedlam ensued." The bartender grins saying, 'ensued', huh?" Chub drops a five-dollar bill on the bar and we drift away.
One of the bartenders is straining his neck looking out the window trying to see what's happening. It's a rush doing something like that, but best not to dwell on what would have happened if we didn't pull it off. It needs to be one motion and done in a split second because he's so large. I mean, if he had inkling what we were going to do, we couldn't have done it.
With our cups of beer, we make our way through the living room, then the dining rooms; both rooms still packed with people, none of whom even knows there's a commotion outside, Chubby and I are able to get out the front door
and we sit on the top step of the porch, like Peter and I did earlier.
Lighting a cigarette, Chubby asks, "So, what was that all about for real?" I go, "Oh man, Chub, it's embarrassing. Um, another embarrassing case of my dick making bad decisions for me." He goes, "A common occurrence for many of us. How so, specifically?" I'm like, "You'll probably think this is creepy, but I occasionally like a taste of rough sub/dom sex, and Robby doesn't do that." Chubby mutters, "Lucky for him he doesn't." Shaking my head, I'm like, "No, it's not like that. I wish Rob would do it once in a while. You know, as sex play; sub/dom sex. Anyway, Ryan used to handle the dominant role and...." Chubby's like shocked, "Ryan Wilcox?" I nod, "Yeah, I know he's never been too popular, and seems maybe too small for the dominant role, but I liked him and he has hidden talents. We used to have some pretty good role playing with sub/dom sex together. Um, you know what I'm talking about, right?" Chubby goes, "Yeah, of course I know what sub/dom sex is. Sex games aren't just for the gay community, ya know." I nod, "Yeah I know. Well anyway Ryan's on heavy meds of some kind, but you already knew that. What you might not know is he's out of commission as far as sex goes." Chubby's eyebrows go up in surprise, but he doesn't say anything. I continue, "So I thought this guy, Peter, might be an option to occasionally replace Ryan role in a sub/dom situation." Chubby goes, "Yeah, I get it, bro, and the gorilla over did it?" Taking a deep breath, I'm like, "Well, yeah, that's it in a nutshell. We sort of connected okay initially, but things deteriorating quickly and it didn't work out well for me at all."
Chubby passes me the lit cigarette and, after exhaling a tunnel of smoke, he asks me, "Um, it's kind of awkward talking about this, but how'd you two get together and what went wrong, exactly?" Shrugging, I take a drag, and with smoke drifting out of my mouth, say, "He seemed like a dominant type right from the start by insisting he needed to talk to me, and he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. I figured I'd see what developed. Almost right away though there were the unnecessary and unexpected smacks on the side of my head knocking me on my ass; totally a bully act that I shouldn't have put-up with, but I did. I assumed that was the extent of the physical part and since he proved his point about being dominant, that would be that. Another bad assumption on my part because later there was excessive smacking on my bare ass and by then it was too late to get free of him." Chubby makes a face while shaking his head, as I go on, "I tolerated it 'cause I was kinda hot to experience sub/dom sex, but it continued getting worse. Actually, he
didn't really know what he was doing. One minute he'd be this dominant bully smacking me or pulling my hair out, and the next minute he'd act like it was the first sex he ever had." Chubby goes, "Please tell me he used a condom!" I frown, "Of course he did. He's, um, hung like a horse, but a lousy sex partner."
Pondering all this, Chubby finally goes, "Well, so this jerk-offs' level of physical bullying was inexcusable, and on top of that he was inexperienced doing sub/dom sex. I get it, but why were you still with him afterwards, when I hooked-up with you ten minutes ago?" I go, "That just it. I'd have chalked it up to a couple of inexcusable shitty choices on my part, you know, take my sore head and ass home with my tail between my legs, but he wouldn't have it. He got worse with his bullying by dragging me downstairs and forcing a few shots in me, fully intending to do everything all over again.
Bro, I was too sore for that, if you get my meaning." He nods, "I get your meaning, and I think we let him off too lightly." I go, "Nah, we got him okay. I should have gotten out of it as soon as he went off the rails and smacked me twice. I need to own some of the blame."
An ambulance arrives right in front of where we're sitting, but it can't get to the backyard because cars are parked in the driveway. EMT's get out looking at us so I point to the backyard with my thumb and they carry a stretcher down the driveway squeezing past the parked cars. We drink our beers passing the cigarette back a forth like it was a joint, until Chubby asks, "Before I got here did you have a plan for avoiding, um, doing everything again with the gorilla?" I shrug, "If talking him out of it didn't work, and it didn't, all I could think of was to humiliate myself by making a huge screaming fuss in the crowd. You know, trying to fight him off and getting my ass kicked. No way could I allow him to do everything again, but before that I was busy choking down shots of liquor. And I haven't thanked you yet, Chubby." He shakes his head, "We don't need to thank each other, bro." I go, "Most people in a situation like mine would sneak their cellphone out and dial 911. You and I both know though, whenever police are involved you've just doubled your trouble. They're seldom the answer you're looking for."
Chubby nods his head, muttering, "Huh." I go, "You probably think I'm a sicko-gay-weirdo," Chubby chugs some beer, then says seriously, "Nope. I don't think that of you at all. During Thanksgiving break I told you that MJ liked rough sex. Do you remember?" I go, "Yeah, but I wasn't sure what you meant by that." He goes, "Never mind the details about that. Do you recall me telling you about the sex course John Beverly and I took this semester?" I nod, "Um yeah, I remember you mentioning it." He says, "It's a course simply titled, 'Human Sexuality' and it's not just a course for shits and giggles either. The professor is a serious dude when it comes to sex. There's this study conducted by two men named, Ogas and Gaddam, that we just finished, um, studying. These two neuroscientists supposedly uncovered the truth about what turns us humans on. Yeah, and one part of that study was about sub/dom sex involving heterosexual couples. Percentage-wise it occurs as frequently with straight couples as it does with gay couples?" I'm like, "There's a college course about what turns us on sexually, wow, that's kind of cool." Chub chuckles, "Yeah, go figure." I swallow some beer, mumbling, "And imagine you electing that course." He laughs, "Yep, just trying to get an edge on the competition, bro."
Interrupting our discussion, three guys come out on the porch. One of them goes, "Whoa, what's that I smell?" Another guy mumbles, "Fresh air, Daggot. That's fresh air you're breathing." Chub turns his head, asking, "Do any of you guys know what all the commotion in the backyard was about?" A good-looking guy ask me, "Dude, can I bum a smoke off you?" As I hold my box of Marlboro up to him, a tall skinny guy answers Chub's question. "Oh, some guy fainted. The EMT's showed-up and were checking this big-ass dude for concussion symptoms or something. Oh, and he cut the back of his head too." A short guy with a recent buzz cut, who's so young-looking he has to be a high school student, says, "The guy couldn't remember what happened. He said he was talking with someone and the next thing he knew this EMT guy was holding smelling salts, or some such shit, under his nose and he woke up."
Chubby nods, "Huh, he just passed-out. Wow, that's weird." The good looking guy who bummed a smoke off me, says, "A girl said she saw a couple of guys try to catch the dude as he was falling backward." Chubby and I exchange glances.
The three guys don't stay on the porch though, they're on their way to the Stop & shop parking lot where their car's parked. Taking a last drag off our cigarette, I flick the butt sideways, saying, "So what else did this sex
course teach you, Chub?" He looks at me, "Well for one thing, all of us, plus certain other mammals, have subcortical circuits in our brains for sexual dominance, as well as submissive ones, and both types connect to the brain's pleasure center." I go, "I almost understood what you just said."
Chub's like, "Yeah, well, that's what the study said. Actually there are a lot of online heterosexual sites about women being dominant during sex-play with submissive males. I suppose there are gay sites as well, but we studied the other. It's normal for males to strive for dominance due to their high testosterone levels. The thing is, being the alpha male all the time can wear on some men. So, some CEO's of big corporations, for example, enjoy psychological relief from always being in charge by participating in sex-play by identifying with submissive role." I'm like, "So you're saying the head of a big corporation, who is a hard-ass boss all day, gets relief from that by acting submissive and letting some woman whip him or something." Chub goes, "Exactly, although many of the unwashed masses might find that hard to believe. I know quite a few in our class thought the neuroscientists' study was BS." I go, "Yeah, I can see where some would think that. It is a puzzling scenario. I know I don't have an explanation for it."
Finishing his plastic cup of beer, Chubby says, "So, I saw some bruising near your left eye when we were getting beers." I go, "That would be the result of the two mighty smacks on the left side of my head." He asks, "Weird that he felt he needed to do that?" I shrug, "He sort of explained it outside before we pulled our, 'Oops! You fell over' stunt. He wanted to show me right from the start how he was much stronger and bigger than me, but mostly he was doing what comes naturally to him... being a bully. That happened in the upstairs bathroom, and the thing I feel really bad about is not doing anything to thwart him when we came down for a beer break right after he smacked me around. I should have accepted that this guy simply wasn't who I was looking for, then ditched him before it went any further. But, like I said earlier, my dick took over my brain. I wanted what Ryan used to provide and I hoped, all indications to the contrary, that Peter might still be that guy." After a bad experience Chub and I tend to go over the same points a few times too many. I guess we need to justify what we just did so we can feel good about it.
Chubby exhales, then goes, "It's hard hearing, or picturing that guy, um, beating you up and then still doing, you know, doing you up the rear-end and all that. I'm not being critical of your orientation, but um, you know what BDSM stands for, right?" I nod, "Bondage, Discipline, and Sadomasochism, but I'm not talking about anything that serious, although there have been times when I was younger and stupider...." He shakes his head, "Jeez, Dylan, how come you never told me about any of this? Before now I mean."
Shrugging again, "I guess because I can see where a lot of people wouldn't understand, like the students in your sex class. I can see where some, um, even you, might think it's sick or freaky. I guess I'm self-conscious about it and you're the last person on earth I want thinking I'm sick or freaky."
He looks me in the eyes, then puts his arm around the back of my neck pulling my head over against his shoulder, and murmurs, "I feel really bad that you'd think that of me, Dylan. That you worried I'd be critical of your choices. Damn, I thought we were way, way tighter than that, bro. First of all, as I just told you, the study in my sex course indicates there's isn't anything especially unusual about sub/dom sex for gays or straights. It's simply not that rare, although many times it's in a mild form. And sure, some of the BDSM stuff exceeds kinky, but I agreed with you that rough sex as a submissive partner occasionally is nothing approaching BDSM. And, hell, even if you were deeply into BDSM, and I know you're not, but if you were I'd
never think you were sick or weird, or anything like that. It kinda hurts me you'd be worried I'd think that of you."
We're quiet for a minute before I mumble, "We don't spend enough time together; not like we used to, Chub. I miss that a lot." He squeezes my shoulders, then lets go of me, saying, "I know, and you're right. I feel the same way, Dylan. It's just that after our junior year of high school real life situations began intruding into our idyllic existence and every year since then more and more reality keeps intruding. Our sex lives and even our jobs took different paths which led us to spending time with different people... instead of each other. It was inevitable though and basically unavoidable, but you're still, and always will be my favorite person in the world and I'll always love you more than anyone. Even if I fall deeply in love and get married with kids, they'll be second in my heart to the unique special love I have for you. That's how it's always been and always will be. So, please, never again tell me shit like, you were worried I'd think less of you because of... fill in the blank. It's an unconditional love I have for you, and you should already have known that." I manage to choke-out, "Me too, Chubby."
I'm silently shading a few tears of course because I feel the same way about him and because, for some reason, I think I needed to hear that from Chubby again. It's not like we haven't told each other variations of that sentiment a hundred times before, but I guess I needed to hear it after tonight's fuck-up. It so strange that the unpleasantness with Peter would somehow lead to this wonderful emotional moment with my brother. Life is super-weird, but it can have awe-inspiring sublime moment like this one too. And I don't care that 'awe-inspiring' and 'sublime moment' is redundant. Chubby says, "Let's get another beer," and that's what we do.
As we're walking out to the back yard John Beverly calls over to Chubby, "Jeff, over here! Where the fuck ya been, bro?" We look over and John says, "I want to introduce you to Jennifer, who claims to be Beth Anne's sister, and one of these beauties is supposed to have a twin." The girls are fairly nice looking, if a bit inebriated. The girl he said was Jennifer, goes, "We are the twins, ya dumb fuck. Beth Anne and me are the twins." Chubby goes, "Not so fast. You don't look like twins. Can I see both your driver's licenses 'cause...?" Ha ha, then I spot Daryl arguing with a guy near the fire-pit. As I'm passing by I squeeze the back of Chubby's neck, saying, "I'll
catch-up with you later, Chubby." He goes, "We need to have lunch, bro." I nod, "We will," and as I walk into the crowd I hear one of the girls asks, "Did he call you Chubby?" Chub goes, "Yeah, that's my middle name. My brother always calls me by my middle name." Then I grin hearing the girl say, "That's one gorgeous brother ya got there," but I don't hear what Chubby says.
Walking up behind Daryl I hear him yelling at a guy who looks about twenty-five, "Don't give me that shit, Rabbit! You know damn well I didn't have a single tote off that fuckin' joint. I passed it to Pat." Rabbit is a stocky kid about as tall as Daryl and me. He's got what I call a pig-nose, or snout. When you look directly at him you're looking up his nostrils, not that I advise anyone to do that. Rabbit's apparently royally pissed off, and he roughly grabs fistfuls of Daryl's jacket and jerks him around a little, snarling, "I don't give a fuck. I gave you the joint and I want the five bucks." I say, "Yo, dude! Let go of his fucking coat. What the fuck's wrong with you?" Daryl turns his head and goes, "Dylan! I've been looking all over for you." Rabbit says to me, "Mind your own fucking business, asshole.
Nobody's talking to you." Pointing at Daryl, I say, "He just did." And ya know, I'm more than a little frustrated about not dealing with Peter myself; my inaction in that situation was all wrong! It didn't do anything I should have from the start. I can't allow someone to smack my head off just because I'm horny for sub/dom sex and worst of all I had to admit all that shit to Chubby, so I'm in a really pissed-off frame of mind.
And now here's another little confrontation that looks like bullying to me so I'm inserting myself into the situation. Hot under the collar to start with, and now I'm sensing frustration and anger irrationally building inside me which I intend taking out on this stocky asshole. What it actually is: it's me transferring my frustration about how poorly I handled the Peter situation onto this guy. Stepping between the two of them, I jerk Rabbit's hands off Pony's jacket. Snout-nose tries kneeing me in the balls but I turn my hip and he gets my thigh. Seeing red I get my shoulder into it and give him a really good roundhouse punch right on the point of his nose. I thought I broke something in my hand I hit him so hard. There's a subtle twig-breaking sound that probably means the cartilage over the bridge of his nose snapped. There also a rush of bright red blood that the guy covers with his hand as he's staggering back a few steps; his eyes glazing over. When I punched him his initial reaction was a startled look, probably because 99% of disagreements between guys our age never gets past the pushing and grabbing stage. An actual punch is one of the last things anyone is expecting.
And like I said, it hurt my knuckles too so I'm sucking on the two end knuckles of my right hand with my other hand taking a five-dollar bill out of my pocket. Stepping toward Rabbit, he backs up two steps, still in shock I guess. I say, "Stand still, ya dumb shit. Here's your five bucks," and I stick it in the side pocket of his coat, saying, "There, you've got your money. Not take a hike."
Turning my back to Rabbit, I pull on Daryl's arm, "Let's go, Pony." He looks stunned but walks away beside me. Naturally, seeing I'm leaving, Rabbit now grows a pair of balls, yelling, "What the fuck planet are you from, ya sucker-punching psycho faggot?" I reach my arm back giving him the finger, just like any twelve-year-old would do, as I'm asking Daryl, "Does he know we're gay?" He goes, "No way! I just met him." Daryl's pumped though, saying, "Holy shit! That was cool, Dylan! But, ya know, I can take care of myself." I go, "I have no doubt about that, Daryl. I was letting off steam about something else." He goes, "I didn't owe him the five dollars in the first place. Like I said, I passed the joint to Pat, who was supposed to pay for it, but he was high and he sort of wandered off instead." I go, "Who the fuck is Pat?" He goes, "That real tall kid who was in the backseat of the pickup when you drove us over here." I go, "Well, Pat owes me five fuckin' dollars then." It's only a few minutes after midnight, but to me it seems much later. Now I'm not only pissed-off at myself for not doing something about Peter earlier, I'm also pissed at myself for punching that guy, Rabbit.
Goddamn this night! We're at the kitchen bar again where I'm fighting the temptation to have another shot and beer. I resist Pony's nagging that we need a shot and finally settle on a beer. Daryl's pouting that I wouldn't do a shot with him, so he doesn't get anything. We go outside again and find a spot at the side of the house that isn't crowded. Pony lights a joint, muttering, "My last joint tonight." I go, "Did you pay for that?" He goes, "Yes, I paid for it! Whaddaya think I am." I ask, "Is that the going price? Five dollars a joint." He goes, "Nobody sells joints. Buying joints is a good way to get ripped off. Well, nobody sells them except that kid, Rabbit. He's one of the seniors who lives here and he was making money just like the guys behind the bar. So, as unusual as it was, some of us bought the five-dollar joints. He wouldn't sell us grass, just the joints he made up last night. He's making a killing thanks to suckers like Pat and me." Shrugging... not wanting to hear any more about it, I mutter, "Whatever." I know very little about drugs; that is assuming we're discounting booze as a drug, which it actually is.
Without either of us saying anything I drink my beer and he smokes his joint. The noise coming primarily from the back yard is getting on my nerves, and now I'm thinking of all the things I should have done and said to Peter, instead of basically doing nothing until Chubby showed up. What if Chubby hadn't been looking for me? Guess I'd have had to create some sort of embarrassing scene to avoid another go-around with Peter Pan. I'm super glad Chubby helped me avoid that, and I hope to God Chubby was telling me the truth that he doesn't think less of me for doing that kind of sex occasionally. I'd like to believe he was referring to something similar with MJ although I can't imagine Chubby doing that. Of course he probably wouldn't have imagined me doing it either. Yeah, but that course on sex he was talking about stated sub/dom sex exists in both the straight and gay worlds, and more frequently than the average person realizes. In the vast majority of cases there's nothing perverted about it and I think I'll believe that study and maybe elect that course my senior year.
That's all well and good but my rectum is still sore although, like I told that sack-of-shit, Peter, I know my ass, and it will recover. Actually it's almost there already. When I was with Chubby earlier, to avoid embarrassing myself even more than I already had, I tolerated the extra soreness involved with walking normally instead of walking bowlegged taking pressure off my rectum muscles. I've been doing the same with Pony. What I'd really like to do is sit in a tub of hot water and fantasize what I should have done about Peter. In the unlikely event a similar situation ever comes up again I'm handling it much differently. Pony breaks the silence, asking, "Would you like a tote off my joint, Dylan?" I almost forgot he was here. Shaking my head, I mutter, "No!" Dammit, I said that too abruptly. He hesitates a few seconds; then, in a quiet voice asks, "Are you mad at me, Dylan?" Oh fuck. Looking at him, I try smiling, "Noooo, Pony. I have no reason to be mad at you. I was just thinking about something that, um... well, never mind."
I put my arm around the back of his neck for a little hug, like Chubby did to me, murmuring, "God only knows why, but I'm very fond of you, Pony." He stays leaning against me and puts his arm around the back of my waist, so I keep my arm around him. Tender mercies, ya know...
Finished his joint, Pony murmurs, "Can we go some place and, you know, do it?" That's not appealing to me at all after my hideous encounter with Peter the gorilla. Wait a minute though, maybe doing it with Pony would cleanse away the other nasty sex. Yeah, doing it with the almost-innocent Daryl could help erase the earlier fuck-storm with that bullying shit-head.
Daryl's not totally innocent, of course. He wasn't a cherry the first time I did it with him, but he was almost a cherry. Gee, thinking back... I actually did used to run into real cherry-boys who'd ask me to break it for them, metaphorically speaking. That was way back when the cherry boys and I were much younger. Sweet memories, ya know? Taking a deep breath, I ask, "Where could we go, Pony? Rob's in my apartment and your roommate, Tom, is around here someplace expecting a ride back to Merrimack with us." He looks at me, "How about we do it in the truck?" My eyebrows go up, thinking, 'Yeah, why not do it in the truck?' I'm like, "Do you really want to?" He nods, then sarcastically says, "Yes, Dylan, I really want to. That's why I fucking suggested it to you just ten seconds ago; because I really want to do it." I go, "Sensitive tonight, are we?" He shrugs, "No, but when I timidly ask you if we can do it, why wouldn't you assume I want to do it?" I snort a laugh, "Super-sensitive, huh?" and I rub his head. He tries frowning, but grins instead, muttering, "And why the hell do I always need to be the one asking?"
I go, "Huh. I don't know, Pony. C'mon," and we walk up the driveway.
As we walk, he mumbles, "Jesus! I'm a little high from that joint." I go, "Well that's the whole point of a joint, isn't it?" We're in the front yard
squeezing around the chain-link fence on our way to Stop & Shop's parking lot. There are a lot more cars parked here now then when I parked a few hours ago. Now the pickup is in the middle row of like forty cars. We get in it and I start it up, then drive to the very end of the third row of cars leaving two open spaces between us and the closest car. Leaving the engine running for the heater, I turn off all the lights and slide over on the bench seat toward Daryl, saying, "It's unlikely anyone is paying attention to these parked cars, and Stop & Shop is closed; we should be good. Still, just to be sure, only pull you pants down below your butt." He takes a condom packet out of his pocket and hands it to me, but hesitates pulling his pants down, so I look around thinking maybe he sees someone.
There isn't anyone so I look at him, and he says, "Before that, I've been thinking about something, Dylan." I ask, "What's that, Pony?" and he goes, "Heh heh, I never thought in a million years I'd want to do this, but can we try making-out again?" I go, "Again? This is like the fifth time; so why would we try it again when you find it disgusting." He goes, "I never said it was disgusting; nothing about you is remotely disgusting. You're always putting words in my mouth." Shaking my head, I'm like, "No, I've never put words in your mouth. Give me an example, just one, of me putting words in your mouth." He goes, "Other than when you just did by claiming I used the word 'disgusting'. A word that I didn't use." I go, "Why are you so argumentative tonight?" He lets out a long exhale, then says, "I don't know. Maybe I wish you liked me more. I don't know what I can do to make you like me more, and I thought maybe making-out together might help." He's sitting there next to the passenger door, looking straight ahead as he talks; probably feeling self-conscious about what he just said. I'm staring at his profile in the dimness of the pole-light in the parking lot some fifty feet away. I say, "Did I ever tell you how cute you are?" He turns to look me in the face, "Yeah, you've said it once or twice, but there's always a smirk or laugh in your voice when you say it. Like you're making fun of me." I ask, "Are you aware of the word, paranoid?" He goes, "Of course I am. I'm a college student, duh! But I'm not paranoid so much as I'm perceptive."
We sit here side by side for a minute in silence before I say, "Yeah, why not try some making-out. Maybe the sixth time's the charm. And I already like you very much, even with all your flaws." He shakes his head, muttering, "I guess that'll have to do as your attempt to pretend you like me... for now anyway." This might be a good time to remind him about Robby and me, but oh man, I don't want to hurt his feelings by putting a damper on what he's apparently planned for tonight. He turns to face me, smiling now, "Let's start over, okay?" I nod and he says, "Dylan, I'd like to make-out with you because I'm extremely attracted to you and because you're, um, usually very nice." I say, "Well, thanks for that half-hearted endorsement, Pony, and making-out with you is an enticing proposition. I find you quite attractive as well." He nods his head, then flaps his arms, muttering, "This is so stupid!" I try not to, but snort out a laugh anyway, then try turning it into a fake cough. He says, "Jesus! I already told you I can tell when you're faking those stupid coughs." I rub his head, saying: "Nice haircut!" He goes, "Thanks, you gave it to me, but maybe I'll get my next haircut from Golden." I chuckle, mumbling, "Well, of all the fucking nerve! You want to turn this perfectly awesome haircut I gave you into a silly Golden haircut,"
and he says, "What, you don't want me to get a haircut from Golden?" I shrug, "Suit yourself, Daryl," and he says, "I will, and it suits me to have you give me haircuts." I go, "Good choice."
Another silent minute with me grinning and looking at his cute profile again, then he mumbles, "Oh great! The fucking high from my last joint is fading away. I don't care though, I'm make-out with you tonight if it kills me." Looking at me again, he gives me a big fake smile, asking, "How do we start, Dylan?" I burst out laughing again, then get my arms around him and pull him against me, saying, "You are a lot of fun, Pony! And, I might add, an excellent side-sex buddy. One of the best ever." He goes, "You make it sound like you've had many side-sex-buddies, as you call them." I'm like, "No way! Let's get to the making-out part," and I pull him against me so he's sideways on the seat and our chests are partially together. When afforded the opportunity Daryl has a way of insinuating his body against mine like we're stuck together. And now he nestles the side of his head against my shoulder. It's nice actually. I'm rubbing my fingers up the back of his head, as he's saying quietly, "When I think about making-out with you, I don't know, but in my mind it always seems awkward. Getting started I mean, ya know?" I go, "No, whaddaya ya mean?" He goes, "Like, do we just go from talking to all of a sudden kissing?"
When I don't answer right away, he moves his head off my shoulder to look at me, "No, seriously, Dylan, I really don't know how to get started." I like the feel of a slim guy's body, so I go, "Hey, let's take off our shirts. It's getting hot in here." He smirks, "Should we take off our coats too?"
I go, "Smart ass!" We dump our coats, then our shirts in the back seat.
He rubs my nip ring with a finger, asking, 'Will you go with me to hold my hand while I get my nipple pierced?" Rubbing his bare shoulder, I say, "No I won't. I don't want to see you crying like a baby." He asks, "Did you cry?" I go, "Don't be ridiculous! Of course not. I was reading the sports page as the procedure was being done." He goes, "Ha, bull shit!" I'm like, "Why do you want to pierce your nipple when you don't even have an ear pierced.
What's with that?" He says, "I'm not some lemming doing what everyone else does." I go, "Except for getting your nipple pierced." He's like, "Yeah, except for that. Now how about explaining the way we start making-out without it being awkward."
Shrugging, I'm like, "Well, the first thing you do to avoid awkwardness, is not fucking mention it!" He nods, "Forget I did then, and explain it to me." Taking a pretend exaggerated deep breath, I go, "Okay, um, sometimes you just start kissing, but more often there's touching or cuddling before you sort of just naturally want to kiss the one you're snuggling with," and I get my arms around him again pulling his bare chest against mine. "Like we're doing now. Sort of being together and quietly talking while enjoying being close with each other, our bare chest and arms rubbing together. Our hands caressing each other's hot body... it goes like that." He goes, "Damn, your skin does feels good against mine. It's really sexy being bare-chested like this." I go, "Who the fuck says 'bare-chested'? No one says that."
He mumbles, "Okay, how about: It was a good idea you had about taking off our shirts."
He rubs his chests against mine, murmuring, "I'm glad you don't have any disgusting chest and shoulder hairs." I go, "And I'm enjoying the way you snuggle into every available open space on my body; spaces I didn't even know
I had." His head is against my shoulder and partially under my chin, as he
mutters. "You can never be serious, can you?" I squeeze my arms around him
grinning, then say, "I'm always serious." He goes, "Okay! You said we snuggle and quietly talk before we start to make-out. I think I got it. So, I'll try a little conversation by asking you how you'd describe me." I go, "Um, let's see. You're someone who frequently fishes for compliments and is always looking for reassurances." He laughs, and goes, "Well fuck, that goes without saying, but I mean my appearance." I'm like, "Oh! Um, you look younger than twenty and you have an excellent haircut, and..." He goes, "See! You can't be serious for two fucking seconds in a row." I put a finger under his chin, lifting his face, and say, "You're yummy, that's how I'd describe you," and I kiss his lips gently. He adjusts the position of his head and kisses back a little. Our mouths open slightly so our tongues can slide together, then I suck his upper lip between my lips a few times and we do some sexy kisses making wet mouth sounds. A minute of this and he takes a gasping breath, then murmurs, "That was so perfect the way you did that. So smooth and, dude, you're suave." I ask, "Do you want to do some more?" He says, "Uh huh," and we do some more.
Daryl is either a quick study or he's done more kissing than he's letting on. As sometimes happens, well it almost always happens with me, the better I get to know and interact with a special sex-buddy like Daryl, the more I like him and the more noticeable his scent is to me. When we first met I didn't think he had a personal scent; it wasn't unpleasant so much as it was absent. Now though I am noticing one and it's male and boyish and beginning to seem sexy to me. Isn't it strange how that happens? Our arms are around one another and it's a really nice make-out that's beginning to get me aroused. It's obvious Daryl is anxious to please as he's put himself in my hands and I need to hold his head off the seat in the crook of my arm, then lick up the front of his nose a couple of quick licks leaving saliva and he coughs lightly when he inhaled a little of it. Without opening his eyes, his arms reach up to go around the back of my neck. He lifts his head and tightly presses his face against mine. This is way too affectionate for buddy-sex; way over the top! I'll have a talk with him about how we need to keep things real, but not tonight.
He seems so pure after that awfulness earlier tonight, so with my fingers in his hair and my other arm around him I slide him under me, on his back, and do a long open mouth kiss with him moaning and just letting me do what I will with his mouth. When I pull my lips and tongue away he lays there clutching me with his eyes still closed, then he lifts his head a little wanting more. No, we've done too much already; I'm sending him the wrong signals. Rubbing my fingers back through his hair, I murmur, "That's enough making-out. Pull your pants down, Pony." He nods and unbuttons them, then I help him get his pants and underwear down past his buttocks. When his boxer shorts came off it dragged his hard five-inch boner forward and then when the waistband gets past the head, his boner springs-up straight out of his pubic hair. Nice looking hard penis, although maybe not quite five inches yet, but it'll get harder and a little longer, I'm pretty sure of that.
Now where did I put that condom packet he gave me? I see it up against the door and grab it and stand as best I can. Opening the packet, but before taking it out, I undo my pants and pull down the zipper. My hard cock pokes out the slit of my boxes shorts and I roll on the condom. By now Daryl's opened his eyes and, looking up at me he murmurs, "That was a cool make-out, don't ya think, Dylan? You make it seem natural and, after I got over the initial shock of doing it, it was much better than I expected." As I'm half standing with my head against the ceiling of the cab, I smile, saying, "I give all the credit to you, Pony. Pull your legs back so I can get up on the seat between them." He does that, then pulls his pants down to his ankles, and fumbles them past his sneakers to drop on the floor, saying, "I want to be able to look at you when I feel you inside me." I nod, and get on the seat, muttering, "I don't blame you," and he chuckles, asking, "Conceited much, are you?" I go, "You're the one giving me a big head, Pony." He asks, "Is that one of those double-entendre things?" I say, "Huh! I didn't mean it to be, but I can see why you might think so," then, "Can you kinda pull your legs back further to get your, um, butt off the seat a little more?"
He nods and does that.
I look at his nice rosebud anus, so clean and inviting. Well, I fought off the urge to suck his boner a minute ago when it popped up like that, and now I resist the urge to rim him because it might freak him out. Some other time we'll try that. I'm sensing a goofy responsibility to make this good for him since he's so trusting of me. Lining-up the nipple at the end of the condom with his asshole, I hump my hips and the head slides in tightly the
very first try. Daryl goes, "Oooh!" then, "It felt cold at first but it already feels good. I love this so much!" He relaxes his rectum muscles which allows for a nice entry. I say, "Me too, Pony. You have a very fine rectum." He grins, "See, you can't be serious. I want you to be serious and sort of mushy, telling me nice things. Um, pretend we're lovers... be like that, okay?" I let that pass without contradicting him, and try looking serious. He goes, "Now you look mad," and I snort out a laugh, then say, "Shut the fuck up! Okay?" Another good thrust pushes my boner another two inches up his ass. Daryl arches his back making a hissing sound, then grunts, "Could you wait a minute. That hurts a little."
After maybe fifteen seconds he nods his head for me to go ahead. Then I watch, always fascinated, as the last three inches of my boner disappears slowly inside his body. Pushing us tightly together, my groin pressed against his nice ass cheeks, I stifle a moan as my cock hums with pleasure.
Leaning over him with a hand on either side of his chest, I shouldn't be encouraging him, but he's be such a delightful change after the gorilla I can't help asking, "Would you like a kiss?" He nods his head and, as I stretch forward my boner goes up another quarter inch and Pony goes, "Ummm." My head reaches down to his, he lifts his a little and our mouths connect. I give him a really good sloppy kiss with my tongue in his mouth. He squirms on the seat, his arms letting go of his legs to hug around the back of my neck, holding our faces together. With our mouths together I move my hips back pulling my boner back, and thrust it in, then do it three more times and Pony makes a whining sound humping his hips moaning as cum streaks from his cock hitting under my chin and then another hump with Daryl moaning, "Aaaah, ooh," as another streak of cum comes smearing across my chest.
I must look startled because he says, "I'm sorry! I've never felt so, um, hot and aroused... I don't know how to describe it." He climaxed so quickly that now I don't know what to do. I've cum as a 'bottom' before my 'top' was close to being ready to climax, and they just keep on fucking me until they climax, but maybe I shouldn't do that with Daryl. I'm not especially horny, although I am a bit aroused by Daryl's eager making-out and, well my boner is up his ass. He asks, "Would it be alright if you, um, held off for a bit. I'd really, really like another climax like the one I just had."
Well you selfish little bugger you, but he doesn't know any better. I reluctantly pull my boner out, saying, "See how much I like you, Pony? I'm going to do as you so politely requested." He sits up and strokes his cock, saying, "Oh my God, that felt so fucking good!" Then, with his eyes wide opened, he asks, "Did you see that just now?" I'm like, "See what?" He goes, "My shoulders shuddered on their own because, dude, that was so good!" He swings his legs around to the front of the seat and I sit next to him. "Yeah Pony, but did you see where your load went? It shot all over me. Come on over here and lick this cum off my chest and neck." He grins, "You don't think I will, do you?" and he lean leans over with his pink tongue coming out doing fast licks up my chest; fast licks like a kitten licking a bowl of milk. My fingers go in his hair at the back of his head as I guide his tongue up and under my chin with him doing lick after lick. I almost cum by the time he's done.
My chest is wet with his saliva when he pulls his head away and looks at me with a smirking grin on his face. There's some cum around his mouth and a
shiny drop on his chin. He says, "And that's how much I like you. I'd lick you all over except I'd probably have an orgasm doing it." It's kinda hard
to not like Daryl. I go, "I'm taking this condom off. Your ass is plenty slippery now." He shrugs, "Good, I like your bare dick up inside me best anyway. Do you want me to suck your cock? I'd be glad to do it for you." I'm like, "For chrissakes, Pony, I might as well have had a climax fucking your pretty ass just now. You asked me not to, but I'm kinda aroused, ya know? I'd shoot off in a minute if you sucked my cock." He nods, "Oh yeah. I see what you mean. What should we do while my balls are churning more cum?" I have to chuckle, then ask, "Are you sure you're twenty?" He makes a face, "Dammit, Dylan! It's only around you that I act like a little kid. It's your fault. Now I'm fucking embarrassed." And his face does get red. I mutter, "Nah, you're fine. I was just breaking your balls a little. You're perfect for being twenty-years-old." He mumbles, "You're only nine months older than me, do you realize that?"
He gets his pants back on and I pull up my zipper. We sit here a few seconds looking straight out the windshield, then he gives me a funny look and, grinning, he slowly leans over and sort of lays on my chest again, muttering, "I like feeling that nip ring against my nipple." I rub his head and he takes my arm and pulls it around him. Jesus! After a minute or so, I ask, "Are you using a different deodorant or cologne... or something?" He says, "No, but you smell good." I mumble, "Thanks, but how about you?" He moves his head against my shoulder, saying, "No, I don't use cologne and I didn't even use deodorant after showering tonight." Huh, maybe that's it. No other scent on him except his own. To pull his chain, I go, "You may want to reconsider your non-use of deodorant." He chuckles, "I know I don't have BO, so stuff that comment where the sun don't shine."
We sit like this with Pony hanging on me as we take turns talking about a million goofy things; none of them even skirting serious matters of any kind. Mostly we're laughing and kidding each other for about forty-five minutes. All the while, in the back of my head, my main concern is avoiding another make-out. Pony's a surprisingly good make-out too, but having another one would set a precedent and be unfair to him in the long run. So, when he starts mentioning he feels his twenty-year-old balls are recharged, I mention that now's the time he should be sucking my dick. He says, "Hell, I'd suck it every day if you weren't avoiding me most days." I go, "I'm not avoiding you and you know it. I have a boyfriend, remember?" He says "Well I have a boyfriend too, and I'm with him right this very moment." Smirking at me, he's hoping to get a raise out of me, but I just roll my eyes. Pony slides to his knees on the floor of the pickup dragging the palms of both hands down from my shoulders across my chest, and down my stomach to the top of my jeans. I give him a 'look' and he says, "What? I like the feel of your body; and, just so you know, you are going with me to get my nipple pierced." He's unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the zipper down. Looking at me, he says, "Lift your fat ass and I'll pull your underpants down too."
Shaking my head at the bogus, 'fat ass' comment, I help get my pants and underwear down to bunch at my feet. Pony picks up my flaccid cock and sucks on the head for ten seconds before pulling it out of his mouth. He looks up at me, "What's that taste?" I go, "The delicious taste of a latex condom would be my guess." He shrugs, mumbling, "It was only the first few seconds I noticed it," and he goes back to inexpertly sucking and licking my dick, scraping his teeth along the shaft as he does it. You don't need to be an expert cock-sucker as long as you make-up for inexperience by obviously enjoying it. Pony shows all of that and a little more. He's very much into gay sex, and I never would have guessed it of him. There's a natural un-gay-ness, which is a word I just invented, about Daryl in everyday life. He's slim and youthful-looking and kind of cute too, but nothing about his mannerisms or way of speaking hints at his gayness. He's not shy and he can give as well as he can take the ball-busting that happens between college-age guys. Most straight guys routinely accuse each other of being gay, as in: 'Dude, that shirt is so gay' or when someone suggest something unusual, he might hear, 'Dude, are you a fag or what? Nobody goes to Trinity Bar unless they're gay as May." Gay guys like Daryl and I say and hear stuff like that almost every day, but in almost no case do the straight guys think the person they're ragging on is actually gay.
Pony's sucking on my dick feels so good, plus the sloppy wet sounds his mouth is making and the wet saliva all around his mouth are both sexy. If I shoot off in his mouth though we'll be waiting another hour to reload before I can fuck him, so I'm like, "Yo, that's good, dude." and push at his head. He pulls his mouth off my hard cock and sits back against the dashboard, "Love sucking your cock!" Seeing his enthusiasm. I say, "You have got to come out of your shell, Pony." He laughs, and I add, "No seriously, what you really need to do, Daryl, is sort yourself out a boyfriend for real. And, dude, he's going to be one lucky mother-fucker having you as his boyfriend!" Pony says, "How many times do I need to tell you; call me Pony! Only my parents and professors call me Daryl. Stupid name! I tried going by my middle
name in high school... Mark. Now that's a good name for a guy." I go, "So is Daryl. How'd it work-out getting people to call you, Mark?" He struggles up on his feet, muttering, "It didn't." Bending over with his head against the roof of the truck, he asks, "How are we gonna to do this?"
I get off the seat stroking my saliva-soaked boner, that's feeling oh-so-good, and say, "Um, pull your pants down and stand with your feet against the front seat and rest your forearms on the top of the back." Facing the seat, he bends over supporting himself with his arms resting on the top of the
seat's back. I get behind him giving his bare ass a hard slap, SMACK!", but stop because a quick memory-fart of Peter overdoing the spanking on my ass flashes past my mind. Instead I grab his butt cheeks, one in each hand, and massage then slightly, muttering, "Your buttocks are very muscular." He goes, "That's because I'm a fucking athlete and not a soft pussy like some guys I know. "SMACK! SMACK! and Pony chuckles, mumbling, "I didn't mean you, Dylan."
I'm grinning, looking at the submissive position he readily put himself in. There's a lot to be said about being a 'top'. There's a dominant aspect to it because of the submissive posture a 'bottom' puts himself in waiting to be fucked up the ass. Feeling slightly dominant, I plug the head of my boner in past his sphincter and he yelps, "OW!" Grabbing his hips, I thrust a couple of inches up his ass watching his involuntary reaction of pulling his ass away, toward the back of the seat. I give him a, "SMACK!" saying, "Get your ass up, Pony! Goddammit!" He does that, looking back at me, saying, "Fuck me as hard as you can, Dylan." Okay, that's what I'll do. A hard thrust with him pushing his ass back at me now, and I'm fully impaling him. I grab hold of his hips and pull his buttocks back even tighter against my crotch. I'll fuck him hard, but only after waiting thirty seconds to let his rectum muscles relax and adjust to accepting my boner's intrusion. Grinding my hips while I wait gets sensations coming off the head of my cock as well as stimulating the nerve ending around his anus, and it mostly excites the nerve ending that number in the millions making up his prostate gland.
Anal fucking, like any other kind, is mutually pleasurable... or it should be anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I take a quick glance out the window, checking the parking lot. All is quiet out there so in here I break the silence by beginning to slam my cock hard and fast back and forth n Pony's ass and the familiar, "SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP," sounds of my hairless crotch slapping against his hairless buttocks are the only sound we hear for a few seconds.
Quickly though Pony's moans of sexual pleasure join the sounds of males fucking.
My face scrunches up as sensations from my boned-up penis reach a level of
sexual pleasure that strips all other thoughts from my mind. It feels so fucking good I thrust even harder and my grunts and pleasure sounds join the rest of the sounds in the pickup. Only when my impending climax approaches
a crescendo do I open my eyes and acknowledge Pony in my mind, and get a great feeling of closeness with him. Sharing this sex act as willing participants is very special. Leaning over I get my arms around his stomach, squeezing tightly, as my hip hammer my boner back and forth in his ass, "Slapslapslapslap" for a final fifteen seconds of exquisite sexual pleasure. Tight against his butt cheeks, humping against them I squeal while pumping my semen inside him. Mind-boggling pleasure for five, then ten seconds, when nothing moves in the world except the streaking pleasure all around my groin.
Then a quick drop off of sensations with my eyes blinking and my body shuddering from the pleasurable feeling all over me. A deep breath, then grinning and shaking my head, amazed that climaxes never disappoint.
Another deep breath and only then am I aware of Pony's arm moving fast as he jerks on his boner. I climaxed fast and since he had an orgasm less than an hour ago it's taking him longer. I start fucking him again and less than a minute later his body gets stiff and he gasps, his hips thrust forward shooting a short stream of cum against the back of the seat, then another one with Pony moaning as if he just climaxed a pint of cum. Pulling my cock out of his ass makes Pony go, "Aaaah ooh, fuuuck..." so I push it back up his ass and watch his back arch. "Slapslapslap," for another minute and I pull out my cock out for good giving his cute ass, "SMACK! SMACK!" Wow, my heart is still pounding fast and I'm taking a few more deep breaths. I wonder how much energy is involved in that five or six-minute exercise? Can it even be measured? Pony moans, lifting his head off his arms, then straightening up as much as the ceiling of the pickup's cab will allow. I pass him a square box of tissue and he grabs a handful to considerately, first wipe his cum off the back of the seat; then, with another handful of tissues held under his asshole, he sits, saying, "Holy shit, that was fun! How can anything feel so good but only last for a few seconds?" I'm wiping my now limp dick, muttering, "My sentiments exactly."
Sitting next to him we both take a deep breath in unison, then he goes, "And to think I've lived twenty years only doing this randomly for a short period of time with Sam before getting to regularly do it with you. Is it any wonder I love you better than anyone?" I go, "Ya know you've hit on a dilemma that confused me since I was seventeen: is it love or not? I've concluded that in most cases it's love alright, but love of the sex way more often than love of your sex partner. And I say that, no matter how incredibly lovable I am." He laughs, "Think what you want, but I know when I'm in love."
I go, "No you do not, Pony, but I'm not going to argue with you now.
Aren't you tired yet?" He goes, "Yeah, I'm beat. How about you?" I see three guys coming around the chain link fence from the house, as I say, "Yeah, I'm beat too, but right now pull your pants up. Guys are beginning to come for their cars." He looks over and lifts his ass off the seat pulling up his pants, muttering, "Your cum will wet through my khakis." I grab more tissue and reach down the back of his pants, inside his boxers to leave the bunch of tissues under his asshole, "Pull your underpants up tight."
As he does that I slide over to the driver's side, then open the door, saying, "Let's see if anyone wants a ride back to Merrimack. We'll go back to the party and walk through once, and then take off for home." He nods and gets out his side still buttoning his pants. Locking the pickup we start casually walking back toward the fence with me thinking how that was the first time I fucked in the pickup with anyone besides Robby. Huh, I wonder how many times he did it in there without me? Only a passing thought though as it's a pointless concern. What's done is done.
The three guys are in their car driving away from their parking spot when we we're at the fence. When we get to the back yard it doesn't appear anything has changed. It's just as loud and rowdy as it was over an hour ago when we left. I'm thirsty but not for beer, and certainly not for liquor.
There's bottles of water available for two bucks; a bigger rip-off than the price of beer. Keeping an eye out for the dude I poked in the nose, I buy two bottles and giving Daryl one. Drinking the water, we walk around finding Golden first, who's fairly drunk. He's with two of his friends, two of the guys who were in the back seat when I drove us to the party and one of them is Pat. I mention the five bucks for the joint, which he has no recollection of until Pony reminds him and he reluctantly gives me five bucks; five crumples ones. All three of these guys want to stay, saying they'll get a ride back to campus later. Okay, that leaves only the third guy who was in the back seat on the ride here, plus Tom Higgins, Pony's roommate. Oh yeah, and that cute kid, Dickie, who rode over in the bed of the truck with Golden.
We find Tom, who is smashed and/or high, but he has enough sense to come with us for the ride back to the campus. We give up looking for Dickie and the other guy after walking all through the place, upstairs and down, plus the back yard. Our conclusion: they got a ride back with someone earlier.
Tom falls asleep in the shotgun seat before we're out of the Stop & Shop parking lot. Pony, who's in the middle of the front bench seat, looks at Tom, saying, "Ya know, I wish he was gay. It'd be awesome having a gay roommate, and I could go for Tom." As he's saying that he's lightly running his fingers through Tom's hair. Tom's head is against Pony's shoulder. I go, "I've known many straight guys who I had a similar passing thought about...
what would it be like if he were gay. That was mostly when I was younger though, like you." He snorts, "Oh, way back when you were nine months younger, huh." I go, "I'm ten-months older than you." He goes, "Nine-and-a-half-months to be exact." We're always bickering about nonsensical stuff like that.
It makes me smile that Daryl feels he must always get the last word in.
I've been accused of that a few times myself.
It's only a five-minute ride, mostly across campus, and then we're in front of their dormitory. Shouldn't have the truck on campus row, but fuck it. Daryl wakes Tom and bumps fist with me, saying, "Awesome, um, party, Dylan." I nod, "Yeah, it was good at times." He sort of pushes Tom out as Tom mutters, "Thanks, Dylan." Daryl tries assisting Tom, who says, "I can fuckin'
walk, okay Pony?" No good deed goes unpunished. I reach over and pull the passenger door all the way shut, then drive to the apartment without thinking too much about anything. It was a roller-coaster ride of a night, and for now I'll leave it at that. Hell, maybe I'll leave it at that forever.
Parking in the lot one over from ours, I walk back thinking how my ass is still a little sore, but very manageable by now. Inside I'm tip-toeing through the kitchen getting a Coke and some Advil, then through our bedroom checking on Robby, who's sound asleep. Into the bathroom I go to strip naked while drinking half the soda. Turning on the shower, I take a sixty second piss that feels awesome. Standing naked next to the shower stall with my hand under the flow of water waiting for the hot water to kick in, I'm thinking about the shots of whiskey I had tonight and wonder how drunk I actually am. It's hard to tell how drunk you are when you're drunk. I take a ten-minute shower, first shampooing my hair, then washing my body twice. The last two minutes I just stand still under the flow of hot water. After drying, I brush my teeth for three minutes and wash out my mouth with mouthwash.
Satisfied all of that disgusting gorilla is off me physically, I smile thinking how the sex with Daryl got the gorilla out of me mentally, and now after washing and brushing my teeth I'm totally done with my latest mistake.
Slowly getting into bed, trying not to disturb Robby, I scoot over to lay next to him, thinking about: well nothing apparently because the next thing I'm aware of is light streaming through our bedroom window on a brand new day. A day in which I'm determined not to make any bad choices, if I survive today that is. here's a marching band's drum-line playing loudly in my head with cymbals clanging shrilly like a needle in my brain and each beat of the big bass drum thumps painfully at my temples. Other than that, and the fact I feel slightly nauseous, I'm in good shape. Yeah, but it's Sunday! What better day to recover from a hangover than a Sunday? Rob and I usually
spend all day together on Sundays, sometimes without getting out of our pajamas. He got up when I was still sleeping and he's in the bathroom presently; in the showers I assume as I can hear it running. Gee, I wonder what his mood will be? How much will Frankie's pregnancy effect Rob's and my Sunday? That's a question I have. The other one is, am I going to survive this hangover?
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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