DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 35
by Donny Mumford
After our Friday morning review class, the last one of the semester, Rob and I are on our way back to the apartment. I'm in a pensive mood thinking back on the week that was. It began with an extra stressful Monday because of Frankie's abortion and, as if that wasn't disturbing enough, we needed to deal with Beth's attempt to rip Rob off for an extra two hundred dollars over-and-above what the clinic charged. That was the last communications I've had with the girls. Obviously Frankie took the brunt of the unpleasantness and that's probably as it should be since she, with Beth's help, more or less orchestrated everything leading up to her getting pregnant. So that all sucks, and then the review classes every day that dragged-on unmercifully. Not a good week, but it's over now and we've got the rest of today, and the whole weekend, to do with whatever we want. The long Christmas break is just around the corner too, so we'd be feeling great except for the pregnancy ordeal still hovering unspoken in the air around us. Unspoken because there's nothing left to say about it. Everything's been said too many times already.
Earlier this morning Rob and I decided we're going to the movies tonight.
Nothing allows you to escape reality for a couple of hours better than going to the movies. After the movie we'll have a few beers and shoot some pool. I haven't had a beer, or anything alcoholic, since last Saturday night's party, and it's been longer than that since Rob's last drink. Drinking is another way to escape reality for a few hours. The realities we'll be escaping are the two I've already mentioned: pregnancy and review week. On the plus side, while many students will be cramming for finals all weekend, we don't need to do that. We studied every night after class all semester, so all we'll do is an hour's review before taking each final exam.
It's ten-thirty Friday morning when we get back to our apartment's parking
lot. Rob's pulling into a parking spot that's almost directly opposite the
back door. A car backed out of this choice parking spot just as Rob drove onto the lot, so I'm mumbling to myself because luck like that never happens to me. After parking, Rob turns the engine off, and asks, "Why so quiet, Dylan?" I'm like, "Oh, I don't know. Shouldn't we be happier? I mean, the review week is finally over and final exams are a slam-dunk for us, plus after finals we've got almost a month's break from college. We should be laughing and giddy and talking about what we'll be doing during the break." We get out of the truck with Rob saying, "You're absolutely right! Let's put everything we can't change behind us and enjoy the hell out of the next month." I go, "That's the spirit," and Rob says, "Yeah, that's what we should do, but it's easier said than done, although I'm gonna try."
As Rob types in the password for entrance to the back door, I ask, "Um, well... what are your plans for Christmas break?" He goes, "The only thing I'm sure of is I'll be spending at least a week working in the office. Um, and I was gonna ask if you'd work with me?" My initial response is skepticism, so Rob adds, "One forty-hour-week will pay you eight hundred bucks."
Walking up the steps, I'm like, "Oh yeah? Absolutely then! That'll be awesome, so yeah, count me in." A grin from Robby as he goes, "Work's actually fun when you're there with me." I ask, "Any other plans for Christmas break?" He grins at me, "Yeah, I plan on spending as much time with you as you'll let me." I mumble, "Good plan, Rob!"
Inside the apartment we drop our backpacks on the kitchen table and Rob asks, "What'll we do for lunch?" Ignoring that, I'm looking in the mirror over the sofa, saying, "Jesus Christ, look at my shaggy hair, Rob." He comes over and hugs me from behind, "Yeah, but I kinda like it that you look a little wild. Anyway, my hair is the same as your's, plus I haven't shaved all week so I look even more unkempt than you. All we need to do now is trash our apartment and we'll fit right in with the average run-of-the-mill college student." Lying my head back on his shoulder, I go, "Not really. First we'd need to somehow forget everything we know for final exams. You know, so we'd be like everyone else cramming all night before each exam, drinking lots of caffeinated beverages to stay awake." He's still got his arms around my waist looking at my reflection in the mirror as his finger lightly rubs my upper lip, "You've got a little mustache, Dylan." I go, "Yeah, ain't it cool? I've been cultivating it for weeks now. Unfortunately, it's only visible in certain light, like right now with the sun shining through the sliding glass doors." He laughs, mumbling, "It's fucking adorable, babe," and he rubs it again, murmuring, "It's an unusually soft mustache." Still looking at ourselves in the mirror, I'm like, "Don't you think we make a rather
attractive couple?" He laughs again, "I'd never say this to anyone else, but yeah, we're a hot looking gay couple alright." We both sort of chuckle, with Rob mumbling, "Conceited much? Heh heh."
Turning around in his arms I hug him and we do a sweet kiss, then rub noses. Rob goes, "Jesus, if anybody saw us like this they'd probably throw-up."
Laughing, I go, "Yeah, I feel a little nauseous myself." We do find ourselves doing mushy, lovey-dovey behavior at times. It's true, we do, and this time it leads to a couple of sloppy kisses while running our fingers through each other's hair. Yeah, it starts with both of us goofing around, but that soon ignites serious sexual arousal. A three-minute wild make-out leads to some heavy breathing and then I say a gasping, "Fuck me, Robby" and he's fumbling to undo the button on my skinny jeans. I push his hand away and have my pants and underpants down around my knees in two seconds. He's got his hard four-inch boner out through the fly of his jeans turning me around, asking, "Lube?" I shake my head, no... too aroused now to stop our momentum. Morning sex is great! Yeah it is, but then so is afternoon and evening sex.
The head of Rob's boner finds my asshole but slides off it in the slippery precum that's bubbling out from his piss slit. He slides it around my anus and then, "Ooh!" it gets plugged in. Rob wraps his arms around my chest and thrusts his hips pushing two inches of fat cock up my ass. I close my eyes, murmuring, "Ummm," as Robby's kissing and snuggling his face against the side of my neck. My rectum hurts a little, and then hurts some more when he roughly thrusts again and I get a skittering flash of submissiveness from Rob's aggressiveness. It feels good though and I relax against his body.
A final hump of his hips and he's tight against any buttocks with me grunting, "Aaah, ooh." Rob's lips are on my ear as he murmurs, "Just the way you like it, Dylan." I go, "Mmmm," and he does three quick, hard full thrusts, "Slap, slap, slap," then does a hard thrust and leave his cock up my ass with his hip exerting upward pressure until I gasp and grunt, Oooh," going up on my toes. Easing off the pressure and pulling his cock back, my feet settle back on the floor, but immediately he does another hard thrust leaving his hard boner up there with more upward pressure getting me back up on my toes and I'm sensing more of that submissiveness that flashed by a few seconds ago.
Rob gets into a steady routine of the deliberate hard thrusts, then the rough extra upward pressure getting me to go up on my toes before he pulls his cock back and I settle down, then it's the same thing all over again.
He thrusts like that every five seconds or so and it's awesome for four or five minutes with me grunting, "Umpth," each time he gets me to go up on my toes. This ad hoc dominant fucking gets me squirming with deep sexual arousal as I'm lying back against his chest, my head back on his shoulder. Each hard deliberate thrust gets my boner tightening further and soon it begins to lift away from my stomach. Another, "Umpth" from me as Robby pushes up hard on my buttocks and I submissively go up on my toes feeling like I'm gonna cum right now. By now my six inches of hard cock is sticking straight out from my shaved groin, throbbing like mad. Rob's right arm goes around the front of my throat keeping my head back on his shoulder, his left arm is tightly around my belly holding my ass back against his thrusting hips. The deliberate hard thrusts are coming faster now and it's like I've been trained to automatically go up on my toes. It's a delicious dominant fuck that Rob copied from the way I fucked him earlier this week. It's giving me an unexpected submissive sense, one that I'm a little surprised he's pulling off so well.
My impending orgasm is now rushing up on me faster and faster and climaxing is all I can think about. Robby must be sensing his climax too because his thrusts are now much harder and faster, almost punishing thrust that have me squirming against him. He holds me tightly though, and this turns into a reckless, fast, hard fucking, "Slapslapslapslap," with Rob groaning and moaning with each fast hump up my ass, "Slapslapslap." My body tightens-up, then gets as stiff as a board, I squeal, "Eeeeeaaa," with cum pumping straight out splattering on a sofa cushion. Rob's against my ass tightly humping against my buttocks shooting his seed into my bowels as another string of cum fires from my boner and we wrestle with each other in the throes of ecstasy. Another spurt of cum from my cock, then another... and it's mostly over already, except for some late-coming drools of cum. From being stiff as a board to now, when it doesn't feel like I have a bone in my body. Limply, I'm taking deep breaths while the after-effects of my orgasm shoot around my rectum and groin making me do a small body shudder, then it's all over and only now do I notice Robby's loosened his arms around me and we're sort of holding each other up.
Some deep breathing, then Rob backs up pulling his cock from my ass, muttering, "Holy shit. Are you okay, babe?" I'm smelling the back of my wrist turning around to nod my head. After a big inhale I drop my hand and give him a goofy grin, saying, "That was very dominant of you, Rob. Dominant the way you fucked me." He's grabbing some Kleenex from the square box on the end-table next to the sofa. Wiping his now flimsy cock he half smiles, asking, "Where do you imagine I got the idea for that way of fucking?" I'm motioning for him to toss me the box of tissues and, as he does that, I go, "It wouldn't be from when I 'topped' you, would it?" He grins, "You know it, babe, and you're right too: it did feel a bit dominant. I liked it and hope you did too." He helps wipe his cum off my ass, as I murmur, "I loved it,"
then we go into the bathroom to do a better job of cleaning, using a washcloth. He says, "You never answered my question about lunch." I go, "Oh, yeah.
Well, we've got some roast beef left-over from Wednesday night's dinner. We could do roast beef sandwiches, but first we'd need to defrost those Kaiser Rolls in the freezer?"
I'm pulling up my pants as Rob says, "Let's get something at Fuddruckers instead. A celebratory lunch, and I'm thinking I'd like one their greasy half-pound burgers." We do that, and while eating lunch we sit with a couple of sophomore baseball players. I don't know then, but of course Robby does.
Rob gives first-name introductions and then the three of them make baseball small-talk while I marvel at how large these two boys are. They're both pitchers, but not in a gay way. They're baseball pitchers and both of them are two or three inches over six-feet-tall. I'm guessing they weigh-in at about two-hundred pounds each. Not fat though... just BIG. Their beards are fully matured even though they both apparently shaved this morning. Dark hair with brown eyes; normal stuff. Neither guy is especially unattractive, but they're not good-looking either. And both of them have Golden's standard haircut. They're very mature looking is what I'm trying to say, appearing older than their twenty-years. Actually these two are more representative of
Merrimack students as a whole, much more so than slim youthful-looking guys like myself and Rob; we're the exceptions. Even though these two look older than they are, they act very much like twenty-year-old jocks as they tell sophomoric jokes, and then they're referencing their probably imaginary sexual exploits. They act silly one minute then the next they're slightly arrogant like, 'I'm better than you because I'm a jock'. I'm not intimidated by them; mostly I find them boring and uninteresting.
It's not that I'm rude during lunch though, just not participating much in the conversation even though Rob tries to get me involved. He mentions we were at a couple of frat parties the two baseball players are telling antidotes about. Both guys like talking about themselves and it's obvious that a
lot of what they have to say is bull-shit. They both laugh overly-hard at things that aren't that funny. Like one of them says, "Don't worry about old age; it doesn't last long." Or, "I was reading a book about gravity and couldn't put the book down." Dumb shit like that. They're a combination of goofy and macho, which that doesn't work for me at all. They're too big, too crude, too impressed with themselves, and too loud, plus the one with a crew cut exaggeratedly chews his food with his mouth open. Robby looks like a choirboy next to them, although both guys are slightly deferential towards him. Teammates, ya know, and Rob's a co-captain. Crew cut says, "This guy I know is addicted to brake fluid and he claims he simply can't stop." Big guffaws from the sophomores as I give Rob a 'look'.
When we're outside the restaurant, Rob goes, "Sorry about sitting with those two, Dylan. I don't like Byers, and then that Jones kid goes along with whatever Byers says. They're goof-balls." I ask, "So why did we sit with them?" He shrugs, "Well fuck, they made eye contact with me when we picked-up our burgers so I kinda had to sit with them." I shrug, "Ah, it's not a problem, Rob. Hey, you told those guys you were gonna do some indoor batting practice today and, um, I wonder if I could come with you and hit some balls myself." He makes a face, "Oooh, we can try. If any of the coaches are there though you won't be able to get in the batting cage. It's something to do with an insurance liability thing for the college, but then maybe none of the coaches will be there this afternoon."
We drive back to campus and park near the baseball park. Walking in the 'authorized personnel only' entrance, we turn left and go downstairs to the under-ground locker room and batting cage. There's some shouting going on with the unmistakable sound of an aluminum baseball bat connecting with a hard ball, "PING!" As if I don't know what that sound was, Rob says, "I can tell by the sound... the batter is using an aluminum bat, but new rules call for bat manufacturers to make the bats closer to wood bats the pros use.
Rob stops then and, shaking his head, says, "And I already hear Coach Bremmer's booming voice. He's the batting coach, and he won't even let you watch." Then we hear, "THWOCK!" and Rob grins, "That, my friend, is the sound of a new bat in use. I like the aluminum bats better." He stops on the stairs and goes, "C'mon, well do something else." I'm like, "No, you wanted to get in some batting practice. You go ahead and I'll catch up with you later.
I'll see if Daryl wants to work out at the fitness center... or something."
He hesitates, "Mmmm, nah, I'd rather do something with you. Let's you and me workout at the fitness center with or without Pony."
On our way back out of the baseball building I text Pony and learn he's at the Rockingham Mall with his roommate, Tom Higgins, and a couple of other sophomores. Rob and I don't want to do the Mall thing so we workout for forty-five minutes in the almost empty fitness center, then go back to the apartment and hang-out there. I'm surfing the Web while Rob's watching ESPN, then Golden texts Rob about hanging-out with him. Rob tells me he's going to pick-up Golden, which is fine with me. When they get back I'm still in the bedroom surfing on my computer; mostly scientific stuff on Yahoo. I hear them come in as Golden's telling Rob, "Dickie Mathers mentioned playing cards tonight, and now you tell me you're going to the movies." Rob mutters, "Shit," then yells to me in the bedroom, "Dylan, we forgot that it's Friday night poker." I yell back, "No it isn't. Last week we said no more card games until after the break." I hear Rob, say, "Oh yeah, that's right." Then I hear beer can tabs being popped. It's two o'clock in the afternoon, but why not get started early? I wander into the living room where Rob holds his just-opened can of beer out to me, "Ya want a beer, Dylan? I just opened it." I take it thinking about my hangover last Sunday, then I'm like, 'fuck it', and take a swallow.
Rob gets himself another beer, as Golden says, "Let's play black jack," and that's what we do; playing for money. Two hours later we've all had five beers each and I'm 'up' almost a hundred bucks. Robby's about even, so that means Golden's down a hundred dollars, and he's been bitching about it for a while now: "Fucking cards! This isn't a hand, it's a foot! Whose idea was this anyway?" I go, "I don't know if you're aware of this, Golden, but guys with ponytails almost always lose at cards," and he goes, "Bull shit! I won over two hundred dollars a couple months ago."
We're out of beer now anyway, so we quit the card game and Rob drives us to Tracy's, but for some reason it isn't open. That's the problem with Tracy's Speakeasy; he opens it when he feels like it and doesn't when he doesn't feel like it. Robby goes, "Let's hit Rolfs bar in downtown North Andover,"
then, breaking balls a little, he goes, "Oh wait, I forgot! Little, Golden, is only a young freshman and he isn't allowed in bars yet." Golden whips out his wallet and shows us a fake driver's license that makes him twenty-one. It looks good, but I say, "Nah, don't use it Golden. They have some way of putting it under a light of some kind and they'll see it's fake. They call the cops in this town." Robby says, "That's only in McGoon's package store, Dylan. I've never seen the bartender at Rolf's do anything but look at the license." So we drive to Rolfs. If Golden winds-up in jail for the night, it's not my fault. I tried to warn him.
When we walk inside Rolfs place there are six people at the bar. They all look like construction workers of some kind. Older guys. The bartender apparently remembers me from the times Chubby and I we're in here. He looks right at me, saying, "How ya doing?" I assume he remembers me because Chubby was breaking the guy's balls about the beer that made Milwaukee famous, although I forget which beer it was. The bartender throws three round cardboard coasters in front of us as we sit at the bar. Pointing at me, he goes, "I know you're twenty-one, bud, although I can hardly believe it," then looking at Golden and Rob, he goes, "I'll need you two boys to show me some ID."
I'm holding my breath as he checks Golden's fake ID, but my worry is for naught. The bartender barely glances at it before flipping it back to Golden. He spends more time gawking at Rob's license, and Rob is twenty-one. I sort of get it though. Golden's two years younger than Rob and me, but with his beard and outrageous-looking ponytail, and his overall general appearance, he looks older than us.
"What'll it be boys?" We order draft beers and I tell Golden and Robby, "I'm buying this afternoon, guys; treating you lads from my blackjack winnings." Golden goes, "I knew you had class, Dylan." When we have our beers, Golden goes, "A burglar breaks into a house at night and starts looking for valuables using a small flashlight. He nearly shits his pants when he hears, 'Jesus knows you're here'. He's frantically shining his flashlight around the room looking for the source of the voice. In the corner the flashlight beam rest upon a parrot in a cage. Stupefied the burglar asks, 'Did you say that?' and the parrot goes, "Yeah, I did. It's fair warning, dude... Jesus knows you're here.' The burglar relaxes and tells the parrot to stick it up his ass. Then asks, 'What's your name?" The parrot tells him, "I'm Moses."
The guy laughs, asking, "Who's the asshole that gave you a name like that?" Then the burglar hears this low scary-sounding growl from behind him, as the parrot's saying, 'The same asshole who named his Rottweiler, Jesus'."
Two guys a few bar stools away laugh, while Robby and I groan. Golden mutters to Rob and me, "Grow a sense of humor, dudes." Rob goes, "No, that joke's okay, but there truly is a serious scarcity of new jokes going around lately, don't ya think?"
During our second beer Golden says, "Have you guys ever wondered about evolution? I mean, if we evolved from the apes like science tells us, why the fuck aren't the apes evolving? Ya know?" I go, "The great apes are our cousins. They're in a different lineage than humans. Actually chimps and a line of apes, called Bonobo are our closest relatives. Us humans and the chimps descended from the same ancestor something like ten million years ago. So yeah, same single ancestor, but over the next ten million years of passing the same basic DNA from generation to generation, the chimps fucked themselves up somehow and became the chimps you see today in zoos throwing their feces at each other, while our millions of generations finally spit out someone like me and you. Different lineages produced different results."
Golden mutters, "That might be the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard," and I go, "No, really, chimps and humans have 98.8 percent identical DNA. It's the other 1.2 percent that separates them from us." Golden says, "That's an even more outrageous pile of bull crap." Robby's real serious, saying, "No, Golden. Dylan reads all kinds of scientific stuff online all the time.
You can believe him." I go, "And, as a matter of fact, some millions of years ago our lineage of ancestors were fucking with the Neanderthals and present day DNA for us humans has traces of Neanderthal DNA. It shows up more in some people than others and has been traced to why some people are more prone to depression." Golden says, "I'd be depressed to if I found out my great, great grandfather was a Neanderthal. Can you imagine how he'd fuck-up a cook out?" Rob says, "You jackass, Golden. It'd be millions of grandfathers ago." I mutter, "Yeah, way before gas grilles were even invented."
Golden starts quizzing Rob and me about old-time baseball trivia that we, like ninety-percent of everyone else in the US of A, have no clue about.
Almost nobody knows much about baseball before like nineteen-seventy. Then, when Golden gives the answers to his old-timer baseball trivia, who knows if he's correct? It's like Chubby's factoids. We'd have to Google every answer to see if he knows what he's talking about. A little after five o'clock the bar begins filling-up with people coming in after work. Rob's like, "C'mon, let bounce. It's getting too crowded in here." He drives back to campus and drops Golden off at his dorm so he can shower. After Rob and I shower we'll pick Golden up on our way out to grab something to eat, and after that we'll catch a movie, then a couple of beers and shoot some pool. Simple Friday night.
Back in the apartment I get a text from Chubby asking what I'm doing tonight. Rob sees me texting and mumbles, "I'll take a shower first, babe." I nod and wave a hand at him, then text Chubby our plans for tonight. After texting back and forth, Chub says he and John Beverly will meet us at Fuddruckers for dinner; and, as he puts it, 'At seven o'clock on the dot'. I've yet to see the day Chubby is anyplace, 'on the dot'. Chub and John Beverly do not have 'dates' so they're making it a boys' night out with us. A minor problem: Rob and I just had lunch at Fuddruckers, so he probably won't be thrilled about going back there for dinner, but Fuddruckers is really close, and Chubby likes the place, so...
After my shower, while I'm getting dressed, Rob says, "Danny Monday and his roommate, Phil Catching, are meeting us at the Multiplex." I'm like, "Yeah, okay. Oh, and Chubby and John Beverly are meeting us at Fuddruckers for dinner." He goes, "Fuddruckers? We just had lunch there!" I'm like, "Yeah I know, but... do you mind? Chubby suggested it and it's right around the corner." He nods, "Yeah, okay. I'll get the crispy chicken and fries dinner instead of another burger." I go, "I will too, plus we can make a salad for free from the condiments they set out for the burgers." He's combing his hair, muttering, "Ragamuffin Rob, that's me. Jesus, if Dad saw me now." I go,
"Haircuts are scheduled for the Saturday after next. I was talking with Golden about that in the Quad. Your daddy won't even know you went almost two months without a haircut." He goes, "Don't break my balls! I'm thinking professionally about being on the job." I go, "Yeah, except you're at college, in case you forgot."
He comes over as I'm sitting on the desk chair tying my sneakers. He runs his comb through my damp hair, saying, "Let's see what you look like with your hair parted in the middle," and he combs it that way. I go, "I hope you know, after you're done mentoring Golden, I'm gonna be your barber again.
And I want you to try giving me haircuts again too. You were pretty good at haircutting by the end of our freshman year, and I liked you doing it.
It's intimate." He mutters, "I suck at cutting hair." Finished combing my hair, he goes, "There! You look like a riverboat gambler. A really-cute riverboat gambler, I might add," and he kisses the top of my head. I stand up, asking, "Do you feel a little drunk from all the beers we had this afternoon?"
He goes, "Yep, but we stopped drinking over an hour ago and it'll be like another three or four hours by the time we eat dinner, then see a movie.
We'll be ready for a few more beers. It's a Friday night so it's kinda mandatory, as college students, that we over indulge." I stand, take the comb from his fingers, and begin re-combing my hair, muttering, "Uh huh, I was thinking the same thing." Putting his arm across my shoulders for a squeeze, he goes, "I'm certainly not too drunk to do it with you right now." I go, "What? Give me a haircut?" He laughs, "No, ya nitwit, I want to have sex with you right now. You're so cute and delicious I can hardly stand it."
Pretending the idea is shocking, I go, "We already did that this morning, mister sex-fiend." Taking the comb from me, although I'm not finished with it, he drops it on the desk and gets his arms around my waist, saying, "C'mon, Dylan. We have time, and you make be horny as hell. You're so, um, sexy
and cute." My dick is moving a little now, so I say, "Yeah, well if you insist, but it's my turn to..." and as he's unbuttoning my jeans he's grinning, saying, "Not quite your turn, baby. I'm still the head of this household and I have this insatiable urge to give your cute bottom a hard fast rabbit-fuck. We'll both get our rocks off real fast." My pants and underpants are down to my knees as Rob strokes my cock and I put my hands on his shoulders grunting, "Umm, ummm, aaah, Rob. Yeah, okay, okay, but let me suck your cock first." He says, "I've already got a boner, so I'll just grab that lube tube." We're in the bedroom so he merely reaches over and gets it off the bedside table. Holding the lube tube in one hand he runs his fingers through my hair, messing it up again, then pulls my head over and gives me this really sexy kiss and now I'm all geared-up for it too. It's flattering that he's horny for me. I also like that Rob sort of forcefully insisted on 'topping'. That's the kind of take-charge attitude I find arousing.
He drops his pants too, then gets lube on his finger. Holding the lube finger away, he leans over and kisses my lips again, murmuring, "Thanks for going along with me, Dylan," then he strokes his boner spreading the lubricant on that fat thing, saying, "I don't know, but you just get me so hot sometimes, and I mean from just looking at you. It's your gorgeous eyes I think." I grin, "Yeah, that's perfectly understandable." Laughing, he mumbles, "I'm serious." His boner shines with the slippery lube as he grins and reaches behind me to poke his slippery finger up my ass, past my sphincter. I bend forward, my hands going to his shoulders, "Oooh, Robby." His other arm is across my shoulders, my forehead drops to his shoulder as he finger-fucks me a few times fast, then rubs on my prostate gland. My cock gets harder, and now I start squirming, feeling like I'm gonna cum any second now. "Umm, uum, uum, Rob! Stop. I'm gonna cum."
He pulls his finger out and steps to my side, saying, "Grab the desk top."
Turning around, I bend forward and do that as Rob wipes his finger with a few Kleenex; then, with his left hand on my shoulder he guides the head of his boner to my asshole. It pokes my anus for a second, then Rob plugs it inside me as my back arches a little and I grunt, "Ooh!" This extemporaneous sex act has me really aroused; my cock getting even harder. Taking his hand off my shoulder, his arms goes around my belly now with him bending over my back, murmuring, "This'll be fast, baby. We'll do slow lover's sex in the morning, but I need this right now." I nod my head waiting for it; wanting it myself as much as he does. With a noisy exhale he tightly slides his cock up my ass and it hurts a little, but mostly feels good and my shoulders shudder as nerve endings come alive and begin sparkling with sexual pleasure sensations. Both his arms squeeze me tightly against him now, as he murmurs, "Oooh God, this feels good," then louder, "I love you so much, Dylan Newman. Here we go," and he lifts off my back, keeping an arm under me, and it's a fast and furious, "Slapslapslsapslapslap" rabbit-fuck that right away has me squirming with sexual pleasure. It builds to a heightened fire-storm of sexual pleasure flooding my senses as I'm moaning, "Oh,oh,oh,oh,"
along with each, "Slapslapslapslap."
My pants drop down around my feet as Rob pounds his hard fat cock back and forth in my ass, banging my prostate bell that goes, "Clangclangclang!" Oh fuck it feels good! This afternoon consensual anal-fucking is serious business for my horny lover who in two minutes has my latest orgasm ready to blow. I can hardly catch my breath with Rob's slamming against my buttocks, his boner inside me creating sizzling sensations all around my asshole.
Millions of nerve endings surrounding my anus fire-off their incredible pleasure vibes and I feel myself slipping into never-never land; the place where intense climaxes happen. My cock is straight out again and throbbing as my orgasm burst on the scene with cum flying from my boned-up cock in almost a spray that splatters against the drawers of the desk, then again. I never even got to squeal because it happened so fast; incredible sensations all over me from my toes to the roots of my hair on top of my head. I shake and shudder as the buzzing sensations begin fading quickly. Robby's gasping and stepping back pulling his cock from my ass and, with another gasp, he sits on the side of the bed, going, "Holy shit! That was awesome!" I didn't even realize he climaxed; was it before I did, or after? Straightening up I go, "Is it over?" and we both snicker with me muttering, "We might be overdoing the sex thingie just a tad."
I'm leaning back against the desk facing Rob, who's sitting on the edge of
the bed. He looks so cutely handsome. I get a chill thinking how he took charge of that sex so coolly. I wish we could do it all over again right this second. His cock, still slightly inflated, is sloppy with his spunk and the lube. I'm so attracted to him at this moment, I go, "Would you like me to suck that mess off your cock, Robby?" He shakes his head, "Nooo! Don't talk like that, Dylan." I go, "I've done it for you before," and he goes, "Well, it was mean of me to let you. C'mon and sit next to me." I snicker, shaking my head, mumbling, "I better not, boss, your orgasm is leaking out of my ass. It'll get on the bedspread." Getting off the bed, he says, "I'll clean it for you, babe," and we walk into the bathroom with him saying, "That was something, wasn't it? It was amazing how I got that tremendous urge to have sex with you. It just came swooping down on me; kinda scary but awesome too! Really weird, huh?" I go, "It wasn't the slightest bit weird. It's flattering that you wanted me so badly. That was truly awesome extemporaneous three-minute sex!" He goes, "That didn't last an entire three minutes, did it? Nah, there's no way I lasted that long. God! It felt so great though!" Looking at how vibrant Rob is after our sex and, oh boy, that makes me so happy! He's cleaning his cum off my ass while I'm thinking how perfect it is that he got so turned-on by moi! I mean that bodes well for me, and he wanted to top; insisted on it actually. That's good too. We're back on course, except I'll want to 'top' again too, and soon. I'm getting to like it a lot, and I'm pretty sure all the fucking I'm doing as the 'top' for Pony has something to do with my renewed interest in 'topping'. Fuck, I said, 'all the fucking with Pony' when it's only once or twice a week, at the most. It's not easy finding a safe place to do it. We've got roommates and rarely have the use of a car. Yeah, but back in the days of my youth I'd fuck behind the pool house, or in some alcove of an office building, or a sand dune, or wherever. Becoming more sensible, more mature about making choices... well, it isn't all it's cracked up to be.
We get ourselves put back together, then Rob's got his arm around the back of my waist squeezing me a little as we walk back to the living room with him telling me, "I'd have a beer to celebrate that great sex we just had, except we don't have any beer in the apartment." I shrug, "Let's go get some." He nods his head, then laughs, asking, "What'd you call that sex, babe?"
I go, "I need to amend the title slightly to: 'Awesome extemporaneous two-or-three-minute sex', since we're not sure how long it lasted." He goes, "Not nearly long enough, I know that much. What a fucking rush though! Holy shit!" We start to get our coats on as Rob points at my head, and goes, "Ha ha, Dylan, your hair!" Oh yeah, I never finished combing it. Back in the bathroom I comb my hair, smiling to myself at how long my hair is, especially on top of my head. Long, wavy, two-tone blond hair that looks cool, even if I do say so myself. Why'd I go all those years with almost no hair on my head? Dumb! We really don't need a beer with dinner, and I expect the urge for one will fade by the time we get to Fuddruckers. While going down the stairs to the parking lot I get a text from Pony, 'Are you avoiding me again, Dylan? How come you never text me?' Ya know what? It's awesome being the object of a cute guy's crush, heh heh. I call Daryl as Rob and I are getting in the pickup. After telling Pony our plans, he's like, "Oh yeah? Can me and Tom come too." I go, "You two toads can't get served in bars, and you don't like beer anyway." He says, "Just dinner and the movie. We'll get a ride back to the campus after the movie." I'm like, "Okay, but you guys need to be ready in like two minutes. We're driving over there right now to pick-up Golden." I end the call, and Rob goes, "We're picking them up?" I nod, "Yeah, for dinner and the movies. Daryl says they'll get a ride back to their dorm or
something. We won't need to drive them back." He goes, "We'll give them a ride if they can't get one. That's no biggie." Awww, Rob's so nice! The pickup is idling outside their dorm, but of course Pony and Tom are not standing outside ready to go like he promised. Rob says, "I think I'm getting a sore throat." I'm like, "Whaddaya mean, like a cold or the flu?" He shrugs, "It feels itchy." Oh fuck! I mumble, "I hope you're wrong because I'll probably catch it from you if you're coming down with something." He mutters, "Maybe it's nothing," then, irritated he asks, "Where the hell are they? We're not supposed to even be driving on dormitory row." I exaggeratedly look out the window as if that'll make them appear. Rob goes, "Fuck, I'll stay with the pickup, Dylan... you go get them." I mutter, "Goddammit! They said they'd be outside." Getting out of the pickup I jog up to the front door just as they're coming out. Pony's big smile is so cute. I say, "You were supposed to be outside waiting for us." Tom says, "It's my fault, Dylan, I was..." and Pony interrupts, "Don't matter whose fault it is, Tom.
Dylan's just being a ball-buster. They got here ten seconds ago." Then as Tom jogs over to the pickup, Pony smirks, and tells me, "I see you're making good progress with your goal of being a prick, Dylan." He's grinning and bumping against me, so I give the back of his neck a squeeze, muttering, "I'll prick you. Fucking sophomores, jeeezus!" then I pull his sweatshirt's hood up, saying, "You look cuter with the hood up." He goes, "Yeah, I know.
Hey, do you think we'll be able to do it sometime tonight? I miss you." I grin at him, then mumble, "Probably not tonight, Daryl." He goes, "Will you please fucking call me, Pony. How many times do I gotta tell you that?"
At the pickup, I say, "Get in the back, Daryl." He laughs, mumbling, "You prick." I get in the shotgun seat, and Robby asks, "Are we picking anyone else up?" I go, " Are you forgetting a certain infielder whom you're mentoring?" Robby goes, "Jeez," and he texts Golden, then we go to the next dormitory and pick him up. With a grin, Golden gets in the front seat pushing me to the middle as I mumble, "Fuckin' freshman." When we get to Fuddruckers, Chubby, no slave to timetables, isn't here like he said he'd be, 'on the dot' and it's after seven. We wait fifteen minutes in the pickup talking and bitching about the review week that we just survived. Then I see two carloads of college-age students pull into Fuddruckers' parking lot, and I'm like, "Let's go inside and get in line now. There's like ten or twelve guys in those two cars." We do that, managing to get in line just ahead of a husband and wife duo with their daughter, who I'd guess is probably ten-years-old. They're behind us in line and a minute later, sure enough, a loud group of a dozen college students, guys and girls, come through the door to squeeze in line behind the family that's behind us. We're all trailing a dozen or so people in front of us; everyone waiting to give their dinner orders.
Golden mutters, "Fucking Friday nights at Fuddruckers..." Yeah, on Friday nights from six-thirty to around eight o'clock Fuddruckers is a popular spot.
There's two registers working at the front of the line, but it's still slow-going. The number-one drawback to this restaurant is people who haven't decided what they're going to order before they get to the registers, so they stand there reading the menu on the wall asking questions, holding up the line. At Fuddruckers you place your order and pay for it, then go to a table with your beverage and wait for the buzzer they give you to go off indicating your order's ready to be picked-up. There's no wait staff at all, and this is not a fast food joint either because everything is cooked to order. It's in between a fast food joint and a regular restaurant, minus the best parts of a fast food joint and a regular restaurant. So, why do so many people come here anyway? The burgers are good.
Within ten minutes another half-dozen diners have come in behind the last group. We've made progress though, and are now only behind five people, two of whom are apparently here for the first time and they have lots of questions for the register clerks. Rob says, "Fuck it, I am having a beer or two
with dinner." I ask, "Are you beginning to feel a hangover coming-on from our afternoon's beers?" He goes, "Yeah, that plus it's wicked frustrating waiting in this line. We should have gone to Bertucci's" I'm like, "That's just as crowded, especially Friday nights." He takes an exasperated deep breath and says, "Yeah, but at least we're sitting at a table with someone waiting on us." To add to our annoyance Daryl and Tom are giggling about something, which is getting on my nerves, and Golden's sweet-talking two girls who 'love his ponytail'. Oh brother! Now there's a woman on her cellphone in back of us carrying on a conversation in a loud voice. Plus, there's lots of goofing around and laughter coming from the two carloads of apparently drunk college guys back in the line somewhere. I can't wait to get out of this line! Jesus! When there are only two people in front of us I hear a disturbance at the door. By now the line extends all the way to the entrance. If the line was
this long when we first got here we'd have gone someplace else! There's a great deal of rustling around back there with someone apparently trying to butt the line. We hear, "Excuse me, excuse me. Oh sorry for stepping on your foot, dear. Excuse me, um, this is a bit of an emergency. It's fairly important, excuse me," then, "Um, If I could just barely get around you. My goodness, you're a big person, aren't you?" There's lots of grumbling at the line-crasher. I roll my eyes at Rob, who breaks out laughing because of course it's Chubby butting in front of everyone with John Beverly's right behind him, saying, "I don't know why he does this, oh, excuse me." Then a shill scream and John's like, "Oh no, was that your shin I stepped on. Sorry, but if you'd just move a little to your left. Your other left, please."
Rob, Golden, and I have turned around watching those two make their way towards the front of the line. We're all chuckling, pretending we don't know them. Golden's mumbling, "What are those assholes up to?" and the woman behind us huffs, "The nerve of these Merrimack students. They have no respect for anything." Chubby keeps coming, a huge smile on his face as he says, "Oh Excuse me. Love your hat, by the way," then, "Oh my, this is so unfortunate, um... excuse me... I'll just, if I could just get by you..." Then he goes, "Oh, hi Jill," and the girl, Jill, says, "You were supposed to call me, Jeffrey!" He goes, "I did call you," then, "Opps, sorry... oh, I just need, um, if I could get by you this one time, I'm..." then laughing, he goes, " Oh, thank you so much," and he steps around the middle-age couple and their daughter, and goes, "Hi, Dylan! Imagine meeting you here!" and he gives me a hug, mumbling, "Lot of people here tonight, huh?" then he's high-fiving and bumping fist with Golden, Pony, Tom Higgins, and Robby. He goes, "We need some beers after surviving that ordeal. People are so pushy," and he looks right at the lady behind us, going, "Pushy students, ya know?"
The seven of us are at the cash registers now as John Beverly's bumping fists with me, mumbling, "That was fucking awkward." Chubby slides in front of everyone and says to the guy handling drinks, "Two six-packs of Bud, but forget the cups, I don't want to be a bother." The man says, "Do you have ID?" Chubby was already holding his license in his hand. He shows it to the guy, while saying to us, "Show the man your ID guys." We all get our wallets out and hold up our licenses, as if the man can read them from where he is. Pony's holding up what looks like an expired membership card to a swim club. The man is flustered from dealing with too many college students, so he's shaking his head, muttering, "Whatever..." as he's taking the caps off twelve bottles of long neck Budweiser beer bottles and putting the bottles in two six-pack carriers. Chubby passes the beers to John Beverly and gives the man a fifty-dollar bill, saying, "Keep the change." Ha, the beers are four dollars each so he left the guy a whopping two-dollar tip.
Chubby turn to me, saying, "Bro, would you order the half pound burger and
fries for John Beverly and me?" He's holding out a twenty-dollar bill.
Pushing away his hand, I go, "Keep your money. It's on me." He goes, "Aww, thanks, bro," and squeezes my hand, saying, "I'll get us one of those big tables." Then, as he walks past the register he addresses the line of people he butted in front of. "Hey, thanks for understanding. See, I just delivered a message. No food or anything." The girl he called Jill, yells, "You did not call me, Jeff." He comes over and talks with her and her girlfriend.
When he's got them both laughing, he walks off to get us a table, and now everything seems calm by comparison.
Pony and Tom Higgins have placed their orders, and now Golden's doing the same. Then Rob and I put our orders in for crispy fried chicken and fries, plus I order for Chubby and John Beverly. Walking away from the line is a ginormous relief! The restaurant is big and, away from the line, it doesn't feel crowded at all. Chubby and John Beverly are at a table for eight.
They're both drinking a beer with four bottles in one carrier and a full six-pack in the other. We all sit down with our buzzers, grabbing beers while we wait for our food to be prepared. Pony edges in front of Golden so he can sit next to me, saying, "I don't like beer." I go, "Fer chrissakes, why didn't you get a soda or something?" He goes, "It was bedlam in that fucking line," and he reaches over to take a beer from the carrier. I hold up my bottle, then everyone does, and we lean forward to tap bottles, and I'm like, "Thanks for the brews, bro," and Chubby says, "From the glassy eyes I see on some of you, I'm assuming John Beverly and I weren't the only ones doing some front-loading."
Beer is being drunk along with some funny comments and laughter because everything seems funnier when you're with a group of friends. Golden says, "Try explaining pre-gaming or pre-loading to your 'rents. Um, mom and dad, it's like this: front-loading is drinking with your friends before going out and, um, drinking with your friends." We laugh because pre-loading is kinda dumb, although quite prevalent at college, and maybe something we'll do after graduating too; like before going to a neighborhood cookout, or whatever you do after college. We'll find out in a couple of years. John Beverly says, "Preloading isn't even among the top ten dumbest things we do at college. How about skipping one class to finish a paper for the next class?"
Tom goes, "Or your professor urges you to buy the extra text book so you'll really understand the background of your subject matter. What's it cost, you ask? He goes, 'It's $200 but well worth it.' You go, $200 huh, yeah, um, we'll see." Pony goes, "Yeah, and we'll drive all the way across campus to the fitness center in order to jog on the treadmill."
Our buzzers start going off one by one so we go over and pick-up our food.
Rob and I make a salad from the condiments intended to go with the burgers. It makes a nice lettuce, tomato and red onion salad. There's dressing for
free, that's actually intended for the salads they sell. Back at the table
Chubby's back on the topic of dumb things we do at college. He goes, "How about forcing yourself to stay awake in class after arriving late, plus you're dealing with an alarming late-night hangover, and the class is a double political communication lecture. You're hungover to shreds and you realize
immediately this was a horrible idea, but you can't just get up and walk-out on the professor's lecture with a hundred students watching you. No matter how hard you try to stay awake you feel your eyelids slowly dropping.
It's like there's an anvil on each one. You try fighting it but inevitably... it's lights out! The next thing you know the professor is waking you in front of the hundred students who are all snickering at you while you struggle to wipe the drool from your chin." And it goes like that.... our boys' night out is getting off to a pretty good start.
to be continued... 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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