DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 36
by Donny Mumford
Friday night a group of us are at Fuddruckers having dinner: Rob and me, Chubby, John Beverly, Pony, Golden and Tom Higgins. We're celebrating the end of review-week. Rob, Golden, and I got a head start on that by consuming a number of beers this afternoon while playing blackjack at the apartment, and after that we had a few more beers in Rolf's bar. None of us got drunk, although we were all a little 'high'. That was a few hours ago though, so now we're having a beer with dinner hoping this beer will provide our systems with just enough alcohol to counteract the minor hangover that's been creeping in on us from those earlier beers. And yes, college students drink too much. Everybody knows that, but it's sort of a required elective, and I know, required elective is an oxymoron.
After a good time in Fuddruckers we're off to the movies for some laughs that will hopefully be provided compliments of the latest Melissa McCarthy film currently playing at the Methuen Multiplex. Outside the multiplex, as planned, we hook-up with Danny Monday and his roommate Phil Cathings, who are both extremely inebriated. We all go inside and purchase tickets, then Rob and I buy outrageously over-priced popcorn and large Cokes. Going to the movies is not a cheap night out. Including the price of our ticket, popcorn, and Coke we've each spent $34.00 to see an hour and forty-minute movie.
Date night at the movies is twice as bad obviously. Then after the movie you still have most of the 'date' to do stuff with before any sex can be contemplated, which is usually the underlying reason for the 'date' in the first place. So you buy your date some drinks at a bar and it's... ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching! That's not our problem however because we're on a boys' night out, and everyone pays their own way.
Watching the two drunks, Danny and Phil, try to figure out how the self-serve soda machine works, Rob says, "What would you guess the chances are of Danny and Phil making it all the way through the movie?" I go, "Nil, but c'mon, let's get to our seats; I want a seat on the aisle, but don't get one." When we're in our seats I'm glancing at the strangers around us expecting some of these people to be talking during the movie; talking as if they were in their living room at home. Then there'll be the inevitably, "Shhh!" from annoyed individuals sitting closest to the offenders and that will be followed by back-and-forth name-calling and threats, and then there's the occasional fist fight. Yeah, a nice relaxing time at the movies.
During the coming-attractions Chubby and John Beverly are leaning over to whisper with a group of girls sitting in front of them. That's a shocker! Rob, sitting on my right, is talking baseball with Golden; another shocker.
Pony, who's on my left, leans over and mischievously whispers, "Do you think Rob would mind if I hold your hand during the movie?" I gotta laugh at Daryl, then the movie starts and foul-mouthed, Melissa, makes everyone laugh.
Surprisingly the drunks, Danny and Phil, are no problem as they both fell asleep during the coming attractions. The large bag of popcorn Phil paid $7.50 for has spilled all over his lap. Tom Higgins, sitting next to him, is helping himself to the spilled popcorn, so it's not like a total waste. As the talking, 'Shhh-ing', and bickering is going on around me, I conclude that the best time to go to the movies is in the afternoon. It's cheaper, for one thing, but more importantly there's a lot less people at the movies in the afternoon because most are at work or school. This movie is very funny although with an implausible plot to a degree that boggles the mind. Then there's Daryl, who will laugh at anything, so of course he's laughing his nuts off at some funny shit going on in the movie and his laughter is contagious making the silliness seem funnier than it is. By the end of the movie I'm exhausted from laughing and it's a relief walking outside to catch my breath.
College guys like us are basically pricks to our friends, but in harmless ways, like none of us waking Danny or Phil when the movie's over. Daryl and Tom can't get served in bars so they hook-up with someone Tom's knows for a ride back to the campus. Golden's only nineteen, but he has primo fake ID so he'll come with us. We're huddled outside the theater discussing what bar to go to when Danny and Phil stagger out. They're kind of embarrassed about being awakened by the ushers. To cover that up they're laughing at themselves pretending it's all cool, then asking if we'd tell them about the movie they paid to see, but slept through. There's popcorn still sticking to Phil's lap, primarily up and down his zipper, which none of us mention to him, but we all get a good snicker out of it. After some haggling we decide to do what Rob and I intended doing in the first place, which is go to the bar in Haverhill: 'Butch's Sports Bar and Eats' where there's pool tables and a shuffle board to play while we're drinking. This is the bar where I met Markie.
Even after sleeping through the movie, Danny and Phil are still hammered so they aren't going with us. A rare common-sense decision for both of them.
Chub's driving the Jeep and Robby the pickup. I'm with Rob and during the drive to the bar I'm thinking about Markie. Mostly I'm surprised he and I never did more than kiss. We had a chance at the Halloween party a couple of months ago, but the closest I came to having sex with him was in a dream one night some weeks ago. A dream that seemed real, but a dream nonetheless.
Mark's been to a couple of our Friday poker games too, so maybe we're both waiting for the other to suggest sex. When I was younger my side-sex opportunities seemed to happen on their own. Nowadays when a rare side-sex opportunity presents itself it's as likely as not to turns into a disaster like last weekend with the baby-faced gorilla. That wouldn't be the case with Mark though, and he may very well be at the bar tonight. I mean, considering he lives in Haverhill not far from Butch's bar, but so what if he is there. I'm not even close to being as recklessly prolific with side-sex as I once was, and I'm with Rob and the other guys tonight so how the hell could I slip in a side-sex experience? Ahh, the good old days though! Inside the bar I see Markie isn't here tonight, so that's that. We all show our ID and order bottles of Bud, with Golden buying the first round.
There's a pool table available that Rob plugs some quarters. Since there's five of us I volunteer to sit out the first game. It's Chubby and John Beverly against the baseball players, Rob and Golden. While they're shooting pool, I subtly check-out the other patrons, concluding there are no guys of interest in this establishment. I mean, there are college-age guys here, but none are cute or sexy enough to interest me. There's one guy who couldn't possibly be twenty-one, plus he's a bag of bones. Nothing of interest so I'm now on a bar stool facing away from the bar, my elbows back on the bar, watching the guys shoot pool. There are no pool sharks among us, so the game is equal talent-wise, but not competitiveness-wise. The baseball players are much more competitive about winning while Chub and John Beverly who are mostly interested in laughs and breaking each other's balls at anyone's miscues... no pun intended. Chubby has such a funny way about him, plus the way he says things... I can't help but laugh.
Glancing at the other pool table I see guys in their late twenties who are more skillful and more serious about shooting pool than my guys, but the older guys don't appear to be having any fun. They don't seem to even like each other and then I realize they're playing for twenty-dollars a game, and they're contentious about it. What I do not need tonight is a fight breaking out in my vicinity with cue sticks used as clubs. Then, even though they were goofing around a lot, Chub and John Beverly win the game. Rob and Golden flip a coin to see who sits-out so I can take their place, but I'm in the mood for watching, so I say, "Why don't you play best out of three games. Then we'll switch." They go to it while I buy a round of beers for everyone. With my new beer I settle in to watch both tables when someone taps me on the shoulder. Turning I see the bag-of-bones boy who doesn't look old enough to be in a bar. He goes, "Yo, ya wanna be my pool partner and challenge the winners?" I noticed this guy when I was perusing the place earlier.
He was sitting with a tough-looking guy at the far end of the bar. I'm like, "Doesn't your buddy shoot pool?" He looks down at the other end of the bar where he was sitting, then back at me, saying, "Nah, and anyway Chester's leaving in a couple of minutes. You live around here?" I go, "I'm a Merrimack student now, but I live in Framingham, which is about an hour from here." He gets up on the bar stool next to me, "Yeah, I know where Framingham is, and I figured you were a Merrimack student." This kid is very skinny; even his face has sunken cheeks. He has a ragged burr haircut of red hair and he's wearing a too-small plain white t-shirt that further emphasizes how thin he is. His skinny freckled arm is on the bar, and the hand holding a bottle of Coors beer looks too big to go with his thin wrist. The baggy jeans he's wearing are below his hips so far that three inches of boxer shorts was visible when he slid onto the stool. He's a freckled-face guy with a prominent nose and a wide mouth. His top teeth have a space between everyone I can see. I ask, "Isn't it a bit cold outside for t-shirts?" He looks down at his t-shirt, then back at me, saying, "Not really, no." I shrug, and he says, "How about being my pool partner?" I make a lame gesture at my guys, like, 'I'm with them.' and he misunderstands, saying, "Yeah, we'll challenge the winners at that table. The other guys are playing for money. By the way, are you any good at pool?" Shaking my head, I go, "Nah, I'm waiting for my friends to finish, then they'll flip a coin to see who sits out and watches. Ya know... like I'm doing now." This guy's got at least one good thing going for him: he has beautiful bright blue eyes that he's using right now to stare at me, then he goes, "You don't want to be my pool partner? There'd be three teams if you and I were partners." There's something about him that makes me feel sorry for him, so
I go, "Yeah, sure, you're right. Okay, I'll be your partner." He nods his head, then gets off the stool and puts a quarter on the edge of the pool table. All four guys look at him, so he nods his head at me, mumbling, "We got the winners." Chubby's like, "You're partners with my bro?" The guy points at me, "I'm partners with him. Is he your brother?" Chubby looks at me, like... what the fuck? I shrug and Robby asks me, "You, um, okay with this, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, we'll have three teams like my friend here suggests." Robby goes, "Sure, okay," and they go back to their game.
The kid gets back on the stool, muttering, "Cool," then he calls to the bartender, "Jett! Two beers down here when you get a chance." I've barely started on my second beer, but the bartended goes, "Yeah, okay, Bones." Huh, the bartender's name is Jett and this kid's nickname, I suppose, is Bones" I ask, "Is bones your nickname or last name or...?" He goes, "Yeah, it's my nickname. Can ya guess why?" I shrug, not wanting to insult the kid, and he goes, "It's because I'm so skinny. I'm John Smith, by the way, and yes, that's my real name." We bump fists as I say my name, then ask, "Is Jett the bartender's nickname?" He grins a cute grin, "Nope, I swear to God that's his real first name. The name on his birth certificate. He's my cousin." I go, "Oh, huh. Um, no offense, but are you twenty-one, or is your cousin doing you a solid?" He smells the back of his hand, looking at me over the top of it with those incredible blue eyes, then he says, "Someone who looks as young as you is doubting that I'm twenty-one?" I go, "Yeah, I see what you mean." The bartender puts a bottle of Coors and a Bud in front of us, saying, "This round's on me, Johnny." Bones mumbles, "Thanks, man," and then takes his wallet out and shows me his driver's license. His picture on the license is even worse than what he looks like in person, but he is twenty-one,
and on my birthday. I go, "Wait'll you see this, Bones," and take out my license. He looks at it, then goes, "Yo, we're practically twins!" and he high-fives me. His fingernails are dirty and there's dirt in the creases of his knuckles. He goes, "Do me a favor though, and call me, John, okay? I hate that nickname." I nod, "Sure." Chubby and John Beverly win the second game too, so John gets up and puts quarters in the table's coin slot asking Chubby, "Do you guys want the challengers to rack?" I do quick introductions, "Chubby this is John, John Beverly this is John Smith. Rob and Golden, meet John Smith, and yes, that's his real name." They all nod at each other and bump fists, as Chubby goes, "So, how long ya been out of the concentration camp, John?" John laughs, "I can't fucking put on weight, dude, and I eat everything." Chubby pats John's
bony shoulder, smiling at him because he likes guys who can take a joke.
Chub tells us, "Yeah, challengers rack," so John does that; a nice tight rack, and then John Beverly breaks. Standing now, I see that John Smith is about an inch taller than me.
As we each take our turns it's apparent that John Smith isn't any better at pool than I am, which really surprises me because I assumed he'd be good.
I mean, why would he ask a total stranger to be his partner if he wasn't any good at pool himself? Rob and Golden have already challenged the winner of our game, which we quickly lose when John sinks the eight ball accidentally. It ricocheted in the pocket when he tried sinking the 'one' ball. He goes, "Goddammit! Sorry, Dylan!" Then he buys Chubby and John Beverly beers. They go, "Jesus, dude! Thanks," and John Smith goes, "Oh, I assumed we were playing for beers." John Beverly says to Robby, "Yeah, we are, and you guys owe us a beer from the last game." They argue about that as John and I take our seats at the bar again. I'm just starting on the beer the bartended brought for us when John says, "I see the Marlboro box in your top pocket. Wanna grab a smoke?" I go, "Nah, it's too cold outside. Maybe later I'll brave the cold to satisfying my craving for nicotine." He says, "C'mon, we can smoke in the storage room." I'm like, "Really? Inside?" He nods his head, so I tell Rob. "We're gonna grab a smoke." He does a little wave with his finger acknowledging he heard me, then goes back to arguing about who owes who a beer. They haven't even put money in for the next game yet. John pulls on my arm, "C'mon," and I follow him down a short hall, past the lavatory and through a door marked, 'PRIVATE".
We sit on cases of liquor bottles and light cigarettes. Both of us smoke Marlboro; mine are Marlboro Lights while John smokes full-strength Marlboro in the red box. I ask, "Do you go to school?" and he says, "Nope, I'm a mechanic. After high school I went to Lincoln Tech and graduated with a full ASE certification. I work as a mechanic at the Haverhill Toyota dealership." That explains the grease in his knuckles I guess. He takes a drag off his cigarette, then stares into my eyes, asking, "Have you ever messed around with another guy, Dylan? When you were a teen maybe." That totally unexpected question catches me so completely off guards, I stutter, "What? You, um, are you, you mean. What do you mean?" He has the cigarette between his lips squinting one eye closed because of the smoke drifting up past it. He stands, motioning for me to get up. In almost a trance I stand and he goes, "I only top," as he unbuttons his jeans that are so low he could have just pushed then down. I go, "No, what, um..." He asks, "Do you have a condom?" I'm
speechless, just gawking at this unattractive young-looking kid and his dirty fingernails. He goes, "No condom, huh?" and he starts going through his
pants pockets. The cigarette between his lips bounces when he talks.
He finds a condom, then down come his boxer shorts and there's this normal-size penis between his legs. It's about as long as Daryl's, meaning a good five inches and maybe fatter than Daryl's but not as fat as Rob's. He looks at me while exhaling smoke through his nose, the cigarette still dangling between his lips. He says, "Don't leave me hanging here." I'm thinking it's not confidence so much as cluelessness on John's part. Who the fuck does this? I hesitate and he goes, "I'll help you," then he mutters," Jesus, I didn't figure you for being shy," and he unbuttons my jeans as I stand here dumbfounded. Considering my unpleasant experience last week at that party, what are the odds I'd find myself in another compromising position so soon? Duh! But do I do anything about it? No! I stand here as John drops my pants and gets my cock in his hand looking at me, saying with a smile, "Hello!
Ground-control to Major Tom." I look startled so he says, "Now you take my dick and stroke it like I'm doing with your dick. Connect the dots, dude.
Jeez!" He begins stroking my cock while taking the cigarette from his lips and dropping it on the cement floor. I realize I have a cigarette between my fingers so I drop it too.
He says, "You shave your pubic hairs, huh? That's cool," then he smiles and picks up my right hand to place it against his limp cock. He does have a cute grin and his teeth are very white. Still grinning he nods at his cock so I get my fist around it and we stroke, stroke, stroke each other's penis. As he strokes mine he slowly drops his head forward until our foreheads are touching, and he murmurs, "You smell sexy-good." Since my initial stuttering attempt at talking, I haven't said anything. It's so strange the way John is doing all this. I simply can't imagine why he'd assume I'm gay unless he knows Markie, and Markie described me. A pleasant kind of trance is drifting over me so I don't feel like talking and maybe asking him about Markie. Now he's got one hand in the long hair on top of my head pulling gently... maybe to make sure I don't go anywhere as we continue to stroke, stroke, stroke each other's cock. His cock begins boning-up and he says quietly, "Nice." He's bends over then, pulling his cock from my hand, but still holding onto mine. He gets the condom he'd located a minute ago, and hands it to me, then guides my cock to his mouth and sucks it for thirty seconds and, man oh man, does he ever knows how to suck cock! He's pushed up my shirt and his ragged burr haircut tickles my shaved groin and belly. My fingers run through his uneven red hair as my cock quickly gets very hard. His hair,
sticking straight up from his scalp, is soft and clean.
John straightens up and takes the condom packet from me, murmuring, "Your turn." I stare into those beautiful blue eyes of his until he grins and gets another handful of my hair to gently pull my head down to his crotch.
Picking-up his slightly firm cock I suck it into my mouth noticing his prominent personal scent which is a mixture of a body that hasn't showered recently, but isn't gross at all, plus a youthful boyish smell that's kind of sexy. His pubic hairs tickles my nose. The hairs are crinkly and a bright shade of orange. I'm sucking on the head, then licking the shaft until he cups his hand under my chin and lifts my head pulling his firm cock from my mouth. It's fairly hard but not what I'd call a hard boner. He murmurs, "This will be good, Dylan. How do you want it?" I've drifted into a trance even though he's not being what you could call dominant. He's more like our guide during this sex we're having. This could be the way he does everything, in a very matter-of-fact manner. It's a bit hypnotizing to me. He says, "You don't have a particular choice, huh? Okay, how about just bending over with your hands on those two boxes of whiskey bottles." He's rolling the condom on his cock, nodding his head at the boxes of whiskey, so I bend over with my hands on top of two boxes. An unexpected wheezy
gasps comes out of my throat on its own as I look at his condom-coated boner thinking that it'll feel really good up my ass. We've been in here for only about two minutes by now and it's a blur how everything happened so quickly. John's hands hold my hips as the head of his cock just barely spreads the lips of my asshole. I look down at his big right hand that's gripping my right hip. The dirty fingernails are partially digging into the skin, and the grease in the crevasse of his knuckles is a dull black color, while the rest of his hand is very clean and pale white. I'm sexually aroused by his hypnotic mannerisms, I suppose, because he isn't being extra cool and not at all like some tough bad-ass guy; he's just being himself, which is intriguing enough.
There's no preliminary anything. John simply humps the head of his cock in past my sphincter and steadily puts pressure on it pushing it steadily up my ass. Not fast and not slow, just steady and it hurts a little, but nothing major. When it's all the way in he gives a little extra hump, murmuring, "Damn, this feels good. Nice ass, Dylan," and he smacks it hard, "SMACK!" I'm in my trance-like hypnotic state feeling awfully good, but saying nothing, which is probably why he asks, "Hey, are you alright down there?" and he leans his head to the side, looking at the side of my head. I slowly move my head to look at him, nodding and managing to mumble, "Yeah, I'm good, John," surprising myself by remembering his name. He goes, "I locked the door so if you're worried someone will drop in on us, there's no need to.
And, I'll do you really fast so the guys don't send out a search party for us.
You can relax and enjoy yourself, okay?" This is so strange... he acts like we've known each other for years.
With his cock fully impaling me, he does a few more humps against my buttock and I feel his cock growing inside me. Boners are a product of sexual arousal causing the release of seminal fluids, mostly blood that floods the organ which is what makes it hard. John's cock wasn't fully boned-up when it
went up my ass, but now it feels really hard and a lot bigger. When he pulls it back I know it's bigger, and not my imagination. It spreads the walls of my rectum making my shoulders do their little shudder. The second trip up my ass is a little faster and accompanied by another slap on my ass with his hand. Then the third thrust is faster still, and even harder with an extra hump against my buttocks when it's all the way in. John murmurs, "Really nice ass, Dylan," and he gives my butt cheek another, "Smack." I'm significantly aroused by now, pushing my ass back at him a little until he says in a conversational tone of voice, "Don't do that, okay? Hold your ass steady for me. I'm gonna do all the work." Oh fuck, I convince myself there was a bit of authority in his voice and that gets my cock to tighten-up further. It's tightly up against my belly at the moment with a drop of precum drooling down the shaft.
He's doing a version of the way I fucked Rob recently, and then Rob did it the same way for me this afternoon. It's a fairly hard hump up my ass with that extra thrust when it's all the way in making me grunt, "Umpth." John
adds a smack on my right butt cheek and it almost seems dominant to me.
My shoulders do another little shudder as nerve endings around my anus, and especially my prostate gland begin vibrating nicely and it's all feeling really good. Deliberate hard thrusts and hold, then the extra hump upward and my, "Umpth." Yeah, this feels dominant to me and I've got buzzing all around my cock and balls now, plus the submissive trance sliding over my mind intensifies. A dozen deliberate thrusts with the extra hump at the end has me going up on my toes with each of the extra hard last thrusts. The ass smacks are stinging now as John lets out a low moan, then says, "You're dropping your ass, Dylan. Keep it up for me!" Another half dozen hard deliberate thrusts gets a groan out of John, "Oooh, fuuuuck, yeah," and now he starts doing steady, quicker humping with his cock feeling much larger than it was when limp.
His thrusting is consistently fast now and all the nerve endings in my ass are firing out tantalizing sensations. Oh yeah, this feels really good and I begin squirming and moaning quietly feeling deep sexual pleasure.
"Slapslapslapslap," with John putting both hands on my back pressing down as his hips smoothly drive his cock back and forth in my ass until I could scream at how good it feels inside me. He's pressing my back with both hands so hard that my chest is now flat against the top of the box. Looking back at his smoothly moving hips I can see part of his hairless thigh and butt cheek and both are bone white. It makes me shiver with pleasure watching his hips moving so smoothly with me feeling the results of that motion; his hard boner sliding tightly back and forth in my ass with every one-second move of his hips. Oooh, it's so fucking sexually satisfying! Two then three minutes and my orgasm comes flying up on me reaching the tipping point almost as soon as I sensed it approaching. My boner's sticking straight out now, barely moving in its tightness as I'm humping my hips trying not to squeal with cum pumping out in a strong stream splattering against the cardboard box that I'm basically laying on. John's grunting and pressing hard against my back squishing my chest against the top of the box as another streak of cum shoots from my boner and I shake and shiver from the sheer pleasure of orgasm. Then it fades quickly and I realize I've lost track of John. Blinking my eyes I realize he's already pulled his cock out of my ass. Gasping I straighten-up and see him pulling the condom off with a serious expression on his face. I still have a lingering submissive sense, although it disappears when he says, "I heard someone rattle the door." I'm like, "Shit," and he pats my shoulder, "No, don't worry. Pull up your pants." With our pants up John drops the condom in a trash barrel, then opens the door and looks out. With that cute grin he looks back at me and shrugs, "Nobody's here." He walks out and I follow him into the men's room. He goes, "It could have been the wind. When someone comes in the front door it creates a wave of air against the door we were behind." He's washing his hands looking at me, smiling now, "That was really good, Dylan. Thanks." I go, "Jesus, you must think I'm dorky for spacing-out like I did, but yeah, that was a good fuck, John." He says, "Well listen then, I have lunch here every day between noon and one o'clock. During the week, I mean. If you can get yourself over here any day of the week we can make it a regular thing. I'd like that! Whaddaya think?" I think this is the strangest encounter I've ever stumbled into. I don't know how I feel about his proposition, so I go, "Yeah, I'll see what I can do," and he says, "We'll alternate buying the condoms though. Okay? No reason I should always need to be the one who buys them." Is he for real? I mutter, "Uh huh." After this strange sexual encounter he's worried about the cost of condoms? I wash my hands, then we walk back to our seats at the bar. The bar is fairly crowded, but no one says anything to us. The pool game is still going on at both tables. It's all a little surreal.
Sitting at the bar, John taps the back of my hand with his forefinger, saying, "Give me your text info, or better yet give me your cellphone. I'll type in my info and get yours." Still in a bit of a trance I hand him my phone and he taps on it, them looks at me, "What's your pass code?" I tell him as if it's the most normal thing in the world to do. Why not give him my password for my debit account too? Ya know what? It's my behavior that's surreal! Still, that was very enjoyable buddy-sex, and I was just recently lamenting my lack of it. Damn, that felt good and while he doesn't apparently think of himself as a dominant 'top', I think he qualifies as one if only in a mild sort of way. The oddness of it is just sinking in, so I ask, "Does your bartender cousin know you just fucked me back there?" He goes, "Fuck, no! He's engaged to be married.
My dad and his dad, my uncle, own this bar jointly." I go, "Huh." Now that I'm thinking straight again, I'm wicked curious, asking, "Do you know Markie?" He leans his face close to mine, grinning, "Markie who?" I shrug, "I forgot his last name." I describe him and John shakes his head, saying, "No, sorry, I don't know him." I shrug again, not sure if I believe him. He taps the back of my hand with his dirty-fingernail-finger again, saying, "I think you wanted to ask me how I knew to come-on to you in the stock room the way I did, right? And you
thought we knew the same gay guy and he told me you were gay." I go, "Yeah, that's what I thought alright. So why did you assume I'd go along with you?" He grins again, "I didn't assume anything. I didn't know if you would or not. Hell, I figured you were probably straight, but why not try? You're very attractive, as I'm sure you know, so I had to give it a try." I'm shaking my head slightly, still not fully comprehending. He pats my shoulder, saying, "You and I went back for a cigarette, right? We could smoke there because I know the bartender. So far so good, right? We light up and ask each other a question or two, then I casually ask if you'd ever messed around with another guy. Anybody would know what I meant by that. You didn't say 'no', and your eyes were saying 'yes', so I carried on right away with the assumption you were gay or bi. You know, before you got over the shock that someone discovered your secret...." Huh, it's that simple? Damn. I say, "Me being gay isn't a secret among guys I know." He goes, "Oh, you're 'out' huh? I admire you for that. I'm deep in the closet." I say, "Lots of guys are," then, looking at him I'm like, "Jesus, a person needs a big set of brass nuts to pull that off the way you did." He says, "I've got regular nuts but they felt like they were full of cement right before I had my orgasm fucking you. And anyway I'm usually disappointed because very few guys admit to being gay. You're my first success in like two months; no, make that three months." Robby calls over, "Are you guys challenging the winner?" I go, "Did you win, Rob?" He goes, "Yeah, sore throat and all. Golden and I finally beat these two hustlers." I go, "You've got a sore throat?" He shrugs, "I'm getting a cold I think. You guys shooting pool, or what?" I'm like, "Um, yeah, we're next then, right, John?" He nods, saying, "Yeah, Dylan, but it's your turn to pay for the game." This kid sure is money conscious. I put in a bunch of quarters and John and I win the game rather easily. It's amazing how much better he shoots pool after sex. If I had a suspicious mind I might think he purposely lost that first game because he was anxious to try his assumption act on me. According to him he assumes perspective desirable sex partners are gay until they prove they aren't, which most of them do. What did he ask me in the storage room? Something like, 'did I ever mess around with guys as a teen,' or something to that effect. And I can see how easily he could back-track if I'd said something aggressive, like 'What the fuck you talking about? Are you queer?' He'd go, 'No way! Jesus, cool yourself off, dude. I'm talking about a circle jerk, or something when you were a kid and blah, blah, blah...' We don't lose another game until John inadvertently sinks the eight ball again. Chubby goes, "About time your luck ran out there, skipper." We surrendered the table and sit at the bar drinking beer and watching the guys shoot pool poorly. I'm sneaking sideward glances at John looking for some redeeming features in his appearance, but without much luck. He has a ton of freckles and a mouth that's too wide for his narrow face, while his nose is too prominent. Those eyes though; they're really something. Never mind his looks though, he's a good buddy-sex partner. Oh, here's a redeeming feature: he look youthful in a Tom Sawyer sort of wide-eyed gosh-oh-gee way. He acts like your normal, very average, straight guy except he doesn't have a lot to say. When Chubby and John Beverly win, Robby turns to me and says, "Do you mind if Golden and I try it again against these two ball-busters?" I look at John Smith and he goes, "Sure, we'll get the next game." Rob mumbles, "Thanks," and puts quarters in the slot for the next game, still arguing who owes who beers.
John Smith, looks at me, " C'mon, we'll have another smoke, Dylan." I don't hesitate because his way of fucking has a touch, maybe more than a touch, of sub/dom sex that's making-up for my bad experience last Saturday night.
So, yes, there can be safe and sane sub/dom sex with a stranger. Everyone starts out as a stranger anyway. You're best friend in the world was a stranger until you met him and learned all about him... or her. When we turn into the hallway John puts his hand on my shoulder like he's guiding me. I interpret it as him being the dominant one. Inside the storage room he pulls down his pants, mumbling, "I'll use another one of my condoms, but next time you bring two to even things up, alright?" I nod, pulling my pants down and he right away takes my cock in his hand. Then he gives me a 'look' and I go, "Oh, yeah," and take his cock in my fist and we repeat what we did the
first time. As I've observed through my rather wide experience, a conf ident leader-type guy will be only slightly in-charge at first, but then when he sees I'm willing to play the follower, the submissive role, then the dominance from my partner gets more pronounced each time we do it. And as long as it doesn't reach a point where I feel it's over the line, I'll enjoy the hell out of it.
The thing is, I'm suspicious that John isn't even trying to be dominant.
He did take the leadership role right from the start though, and he does smack my ass, which is being a little dominant right there. But still, for all I know he isn't even thinking he's doing sub/dom sex. He told me when we first came in here that he only 'tops', and since I had no objection he naturally assumes he'll 'top' again this time. So, I look to him to tell me what we're doing and he goes, "Go ahead and suck my cock now." And he seems comfortable telling me, "Yeah, that's good," when I've sucked on his cock for half-a-minute. Putting on the condom, he goes, "Instead of bending over the boxes, how about if you get on all fours and I'll do you doggy style this
time." Assuming I'll do that, he adds, "Go ahead and do that now if you don't mind, and remember what I said about keeping your ass up, okay?" Everything is said matter-of-fact, spoken in a normal speaking voice.
My pants are around my ankles as I get on my hands and knees. He nods at me and then slaps my ass a couple of good hard smacks, "Smack! Smack!" almost casually, and then he fucks me pretty much like he did the first time beginning with the hard thrust and hold, then the extra hump. With me on my hands and knees, that extra hard last hump sways me forward as I go, "Umpth." After a number of deliberate humps with the extra trust, he gets into that really smooth rhythm of his, continuing with the coordinated smacks on my ass with each thrust and it really is a turn-on for me. He grunts, "Oooh," after each drive up my ass. A minute into it he gets to doing really fast hard thrusts and in maybe two minutes we're both gasping from our climaxes, almost at the exact same time. He's breathing deeply as he reaches down to runs his fingers through my hair while kind of smiling at me, but without saying anything. He messes my hair now, saying, "Get up off the floor, Dylan, and pull your fuckin' pants up, dude." Whoa, the way he said that gave me some electric buzzing in my balls for a second there. We stop in the bathroom again to wash up; then, walking back to the bar, he asks, "Do you know what time of the day you were born? We might have the exact same, to the minute, horoscopes." I mutter, "I don't believe in that shit." He goes, "Neither do I." Jeez, I really like the way he fucks me and then talks about some nonsensical thing like horoscopes.
Yeah, but it is majorly weird that we were born on the same day. Oh, and we never did have a smoke.
Sitting at the bar again I'm thinking how his boner is an awesome size for my rectum. There's very minor initial pain, and no lingering pain at all afterward. He grins at me a few times and I feel really good about getting fucked twice tonight in sort of a sub/dom manner. All the 'topping' I've been doing with Daryl seems to make 'bottoming' for John even better than I remembered. I'm strictly talking about side-sex here. My sex with Rob is on a
completely higher level of pleasure then side-sex with Daryl or John Smith. Side-sex-wise though, John is very good because there's almost nothing except the sex act, and then while we're sort of cordial, there isn't even a buddy aspect to our relationship. I like the buddy aspect of Daryl's and my
relationship, but even so, for simplicity sake it's okay John and I aren't
into that. Aside from the sex, I'm not sure we have a lot in common, and he's not much of a conversationalist, so....
We drink beer and shoot pool until closing. We're all drunk, but not incapacitated like Danny and his roommate were at the movies. We can function okay. As we're leaving the bar John and I bump fist, with him quietly say ing, "Lunch next week, Dylan. Don't forget." That was it from him. I look at Rob and feel a passing tidbit of guilt, but side-sex has been part of our relationship for three-and-a-half-years now. Plus Rob and I had sex twice earlier today and, like Rob said, we'll have lover's sex in the morning. He knew he'd be too drunk to do it tonight. Obviously I'm good with that. After a cautious drive back to the apartment, we do our bathroom stuff after which I'm feeling as sexually satisfied going to sleep as I've felt in quite a while. Great sex with Rob earlier today, and then side-sex with a nice stranger, who probably won't be a stranger for long. At last I may have found a sub/dom side-sex partner to partially replace Ryan. Partially because I'm not sure John Smith even knows the term sub/dom sex.
Saturday morning Rob and I don't get out of bed until noon. We both have hangovers so we don't have lover's sex, or any other kind; not this morning.
Robby's complaining about his sore throat too. I put my hand on his forehead and he does feel hot. So, shit, if he has a cold or the flu, I'll probably get it too. We both drink a glass of orange juice along with three Advil. The Advil for our headaches and Rob's possible fever. Then Rob wants tea, which I make for him using a tea bag and our Keurig machine. Then use a K-cup making a cup of coffee for myself. Neither of us feels like eating anything so we mope around for an hour reading the paper with very little talking.
The Advil has kicked-in and done its job for me by now, so I'm starting to feel better and therefore have a growing interest in eating something. I ask Rob if he could eat something now, and he goes, "Nah, my nose is starting to run and I ache all over, babe. I'm going back to bed." I'm like, "Oh, jeez. Is there anything I can do?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I've got a cold or something," and he wanders back to our bedroom. This blows! We're done with that horrible review week, and we're on top of our studies for finals week, so we should be enjoying ourselves. Sure, the hangover was a temporary set-back, but I'm starting to feel fine and I'd like to do something today. With Rob's flu or cold however, I need to stay with him and do what I can do to help him through whatever it is he has.
Looking in the refrigerator for something to eat, I settle on three scrambled eggs and a toasted English muffin with butter. A second cut of coffee with my very late breakfast; then, as I'm finishing cleaning the kitchen around two o'clock, Chubby calls asking if I want to go into Boston with him and John Beverly for some bar hopping. I tell him about Robby being sick and
how I'm gonna hang in here for him. Damn, I would have liked doing that with Chubby.
Checking on Rob I see he's sleeping so I bring my laptop to the living room and surf on it for an hour or so, then feel good enough to have a smoke on the balcony. Daryl sends me a text: 'Ya wanna hangout, Dylan?' Huh, even though Rob and I didn't have sex last night, or this morning, I'm not especially horny and I can thank John Smith for that. Still, a recreational fuck with Daryl is always fun so I text back: 'Is Tom out and about?' Pony texts right back, 'Afraid not, but do you wanna hang-out anyway?' Hmmm? I don't want to leave Rob. If Pony's roommate was out I could have a quick fuck with Daryl in his dorm room and I'd be back here in fifteen minutes. His roommates there, so that's out. What to do? Then I get an idea and text Daryl: 'You want that haircut you were talking about? Like the haircut I gave Tom last Saturday night.' He says, 'Yes! Can you pick me up?' Oh good! Something fun to do. I text him that I'll be over to get him in a little while, then get Robby's keys to the pickup. He's still sleeping soundly. Hmmm, should he be sleeping this much? Fuck if I know. Oh well, I'm still wearing PJ bottoms and an old t-shirt and I really should have a shower before doing anything else, so I undress in the bathroom and take a long hot shower. Feeling pretty damn good after that, I get dressed, again looking at Robby sleeping. Hmm, I go over and put my hand lightly on his forehead again and it feels really hot this time. That settles it; when he wakes-up I'm gonna insist we go to the walk-in clinic on route 114. It's better to be safe than sorry, don't run with scissors, and all that kinda shit.
Before leaving him I get the barber stuff and bring it into the living room.
It's a definite 'no-no' to drive onto dormitory row in the daytime. Bad enough when we do it at night, so I park the pickup at the nearest campus parking lot to Daryl's dorm and walk from there. Tom answers the door when I knock, saying, "Hey, Dylan! Last night was fun, huh?" I go, "What'd you guys do after the movie?" He says, "Pony and I scored some weed and got high.
What'd you do?" I go, "Nothing much. Both you guys smoke too much grass, you know that, right?" He shrugs, "It's better for us than getting drunk." I go, "I wasn't aware either one was good for us. Where is Pony?" Tom sits at his desk where he's apparently studying for a final. "Pony went to the lavatory twenty minutes ago to take a shower and double shampoo his hair for the haircut. Hey, that reminds me: would you cut a lot of hair off the top of
my head? I don't like the sides being so short and the other hairs being so long." I go, "That's the current 'in' hairstyle, but I don't like it either." He says, "Can I ask you something?" and without waiting to find out if
it's okay, he asks, "How come you're a barber but yet you need a haircut worse than I did last Saturday?" I shrug, "I don't give myself haircuts, numb-nuts and, um, ... it's a little confusing. I'm getting it cut next Saturday, let's leave it at that." Tom mutters, "As if I really give a shit," and I go, "Hey! You asked." He grins, "I'm just kidding with you." Tom's tapping on his computer now, then says, "Look at this, Dylan," and nods his head at the screen, His computer screen is full of different men's hairstyles. I point to a picture, "That's the goofy style you basically have now. It's the best I could do after Pony butchered your hair with the scissors." He's nodding his head, saying, "What's with all these dudes being so good looking? Any haircut looks good on them." I go, "They're models, numbie! Ya think they chose ugly guys to model?" Pony comes in carrying his toiletry kit with only a towel around his waist, saying, "Hi, Dylan. Sorry to keep you waiting dude, but I wanted to be uber clean so you don't get grossed out giving me a haircut." Ha! He looks good enough to eat. I say, "Why the fuck didn't you take your shower right after we talked on the phone? I'd have come over a little later and I wouldn't need to be harassed by Tom about his haircut?" Tom goes, "I wasn't harassing you," and I run my fingers
through his hair, muttering, "I'm fucking joking with you, Tommy. Where are those scissors? I'll cut some hair off the top for you." As he's looking for the scissors, he says, "My roommate offered to do it, but I'm never again getting near him when he has scissors in his hands. Once was more than enough." Pony's laughing as he starts getting dressed. Tom finds the scissors and a pocket comb. He goes, "Let me use that towel, Pony." He gets the damp towel around his shoulders, clutching it in front of his neck like he did last time. He has great hair. Not the brown color; that's very common, but the texture; that's what's special. Fine hair, but millions of then for a thick head of hair that naturally he takes for granted. I cut about two inches of hair off the top of his head leaving him with a preppy-looking haircut that doesn't need much combing. He runs off to check himself out in the lavatory mirror. As Pony's tying his sneakers, I'm like, "Don't you guys have a single mirror in here?" He's dressed in jeans and a hoodie-sweatshirt with the sneakers, saying, "No, we don't." Standing now, he puts his arm across my shoulders and leans his head over and kisses me on the lips, then says, "That's for being so nice to me and my roomie." I'm grinning, mumbling, "That wasn't much of a thank you." Tom comes in, saying, "Perfect, Dylan! Thanks." Daryl's kiss made me think of our make-out not too long ago when he was
showing way too much affection. Buddy-sex isn't supposed to include a lot of that. Affectionate making-out is for serious lovers, or those falling in love, not buddies. It's funny too because Daryl's the one who initially was emphatic that guys don't kiss, and now he likes doing it with me. I've got no problem with that.
Pony puts on his coat, then his backpack that he insists on wearing most places. We leave Tom studying for his first final exam. Outside, Daryl bumps against my side, asking, "Did you miss me last night after the movie?" The words 'last night' makes me immediately think of John Smith and how unexpected it was having sex with him. I get a little buzz in my dick thinking about that strange, but enjoyable encounter. I give the back of Daryl's neck a squeezes, saying, "Sure I missed you, Pony," and then put my arm across his shoulders for a squeeze. He melds against my side making me smile. It's nice being liked the way Daryl likes me. It's sort of puppy love, but come to think of it he is twenty-years-old so maybe that's too old for puppy love. It's probably that old conundrum; is it love, or love of the sex? We've know each other for three-months but he's one of those guys that make me feel we've known each other longer than that. Some guys are just like that somehow. We've only been able to hang-out sporadically since we stopped doing our three-mile run four or five days a week and we've only been screwing usually once a week since fall baseball practice ended. I can feel his affection for me though, and that's so even though we're always arguing about something. Pony's very easy to like and I'm very fond of him, so I give his shoulders another squeeze.
During the short ride to the apartment he talks about getting high with Tom and a few sophomores friends last night, and how this morning he felt awesome. "Yep, got up this morning feeling great, Dylan. And you know what I was thinking? There will be a morning, mark my words, when I wake-up feeling awesome and I'll roll over and give you a good morning kiss." I grin, "And you being a guy who doesn't think guys should kiss." He goes, "So I was wrong about that, but what about me rolling over in bed and kissing you good-morning?" I shrug, grinning at him, "Fantasies can be fun." He goes, "You'll see! and I'll bets you woke-up this morning with a hangover." Parking the pickup at our apartment's lot, I'm like, "What are you, a PR representative for legalized marijuana? Different strokes, Daryl!" He goes, "Damn, why won't you call me, 'Pony' like everyone else does?" I laugh, "Sorry! I forgot." Walking to the back door, he goes, "Do you think it's faggy for gay guys to hold hands?" I go, "Not if they're boyfriends, no." He smirks, "I was thinking of sex-buddies holding hands." Opening the backdoor, grinning, I tell
him, "Sex-buddies do not hold hands," then I take his hand and hold it going up the stairs and down the hall to our apartment door. Daryl chuckles, muttering, "I'm getting a boner." Ha ha, he's a lot of fun. Inside he takes off his backpack and coat, then pulls his sweatshirt over his head as I get the barber tools out of the toiletry kit, saying, "Wait here a minute, I want to check on Rob. He's sick." Quietly walking into the bedroom, I see he's still sleeping so I tip-toe out, closing the door behind me.
Daryl's standing there fiddling with his right nipple when I get back. He says, "Will you come with me today to get my nipple pierced?" I'm like, "No! I told you before I won't help you get your nipple pierced. Now, how about your haircut?" He goes, "I'm not sure," and I'm like, "Well, ya know, Tom had me adjust the haircut you said you wanted." He goes, "Yeah, I saw the revised haircut and now it looks so, um, un-special." I give him a look and he says, "That's a word." I mutter, "No it's not. Do you want the haircut Tom had before I just changed it, or not?" He laughs, and goes, "Or not! Now I've decided I want something different. I had that buzz cut for so many years, so now I want to try different things." I go, "Yeah well, um, hmmm.
Wait, there's a haircut I haven't done for anyone in like a year, but it would look good on you." He says, "Do it then. Aren't you going to offer me a soda or something?" I nod my head at the refrigerator and Daryl gets himself a peach Snapple as I plug in the clippers.
He sits on the stool I just pulled over from the bar, asking, "What's the haircut you're gonna do for me?" I go, "It's short, but long enough to comb. The hair on top gets combed down toward the front, and the bangs get flipped-up." He swallows three gulps of Snapple, then says, "Oh, a middle school haircut, huh?" I laugh because he's right. It is for younger guys, but he looks young. I say, "Okay, you tell me what you want." He says, "How about
this. You give me the haircut you want Golden to give you next Saturday." I go, "Done deal," and turn the clippers on but only use them sparingly at the back of his head at the hairline. After that it's mostly a comb and scissor haircut. Golden called it a tapered-layered-cut, with a part on the left side. The bangs can be either combed over, or combed back, or in a small pompadour. It's both preppy and a little nerdy at the same time. When I'm done Pony checks himself out in the mirror over the sofa, saying, "I don't like it," and I burst out laughing, totally not expecting that response and surprised at his honesty without concern about hurting my feelings.
After laughing, I say, "Of all the fucking nerve! And after I told you it's the haircut I'm getting." He goes, "Where's the pocket protector that goes with this haircut?" That makes both of us laugh, and Robby comes out of the bedroom looking like shit, asking, "What's going on?" I go, "Daryl doesn't like his haircut." Robby's groggy as he looks at Daryl, mumbling, "It looks good, Pony. Why don't you like it?" He says, "I'm just breaking your boyfriend's nuts, like he's always doing to me." I mutter, "That's just so wrong." Then I ask, "You feeling any better, Rob?" He goes, "No, I feel worse " so I say, "Get dressed and I'll take you to that walk-in clinic on 114." He moans, "Oh fuck, I don't wanna do that." I nod, "Yeah, we gotta do it if only to confirm it's just a cold." He goes, "I'm feverish so it's gotta be the flu. You don't get a fever with a cold, do you?" I shrug and Pony says, "No, I don't think you do. Not with a plain cold." Rob makes a face, then says, "I need a shower. I'm sweaty." I say, "Then we'll go, right?" He mutters, "Yeah, okay," as he goes back into the bedroom.
Daryl's messing with his hair using my barber comb, saying, "This is okay, but kinda too, um, common." I go, "It's about as far from common nowadays as you can get! What the fuck ya talking about?" He asks, "Can you still do that other haircut? The middle school one?" I go, "Well, yeah. That's a lot shorter." He nods, "But I still get to comb it, right?" I go, "Every fuckin' day you'll need to comb it, yeah." He grins, "Do that one then, if you don't mind," and he chuckles, mumbling, "Hee hee, I like you cutting my hair, so I planned on getting a longer haircut first, then say I want another shorter one, and you fell right into my trap." I go, "Well aren't you the sneaky little fucker though. The fact is I like cutting your hair, so two haircuts on the same head of good hair, like you have, is like a bonus for me." I hear the shower running, so Rob's just started; I have plenty of time for this. Daryl sits on the stool again and this time I use the clipper with a half-inch guide for the lower half of the sides and back of Pony's nicely
shaped head. After that it's the clippers over comb, tapering from a half-inch to an inch length where the head begins curving. The hairs on top get cut to about an inch-and-a-quarter length. When I'm finished I get a little dab of hair gel to rub through the hairs on top of his head, then comb the hairs forward on top and flip up his bangs, saying, "It's easy to train your hair like this in just a few days." He says, "Let me see," and I pass him the hand held mirror. He looks, then asks, "What do you think, Dylan, do I look twenty-one yet?" I go, "You look closer to sixteen." He mumbles, "That's what I meant! I was being facetious." I'm like, "Do you wanna go for a third haircut? I'll buzz it for you." He looks at me, "Would you? Seriously?" I shrug, "If you want me to, but I was only joking. Look, why not try getting used to this haircut for a couple of days and tell me what you think then. Okay?" He nods his head, "Yeah, I'll probably keep this. You're right, but next time try to think of another style for me." I go, "Other than the three or four we've already discussed " He laughs mumbling, "Yeah, other than those." Muttering, "What a pain in the ass," I start putting the clippers and scissors back in the toiletry kit. He goes, "You don't mean that, do you?" I look at him, "No, I don't, Pony. Giving you those two haircuts was fun." Robby's out of the shower, so I ask Daryl, "You want me to drop you off at the dorm real quick?" He goes, "Can't I keep you company at the clinic?" I'm like, "You can if you want, but it'll be boring as hell just sitting there." He shrugs, "I don't care," so I say, "Sure, come with us." And he does. Any time I've heard anyone speaking about the walk-in clinic they always complain about the long wait to see a doctor. Without getting dramatic about it, fuck the wait. I think Robby needs to see a doctor no matter how long we need to wait. If it turns out to be nothing, then that's great! If it's
something more than a common cold however, he needs to get on medication as soon as possible.
When we get there Rob checks in at the desk with his medical insurance card, which is the first thing they want. Only when they verify the insurance is in order, do they ask, 'What are you here for?' You could be carrying your severed hand with you, and they'd ask, 'Do you have medical insurance?' When that's settled, they'd ask, "Okay, is that your other hand you're holding? And, sir, you're bleeding all over the place!' Rob sits next to me after checking in, saying, "The lady said they've been getting a lot of flu patients this week." I go, "Fuck, but at least there's medicine for the flu, right?" He shrugs, "I don't know. I hope so because I feel like shit. I'm hurting all over and I'm not sure how much of that is a result of my hangover and how much to blame on the flu." I say, "Forget the hangover; I've been over mine for a few hours, so you're probably over your's too. Your discomforts must all be flu related." Daryl says, "If you smoked pot neither of you would have had a hangover." I go, "If you don't behave yourself, Pony, you'll have to wait in the car." He goes, "Yes, daddy." We're here almost two-hours before Rob's name gets called. I pat his back as he gets up, then watch him slowly walking down the corridor with the nurse. Pony says, "Jeez! I didn't want to say anything when Rob was here. Ya know, him feeling so bad and all, but could you please drive me back to the dorm? Why I thought this would be a good idea I can't fucking imagine now." I go, "I told you it'd be boring! C'mon, I'll give you a ride back." We get up with him whining, "Don't be mad at me. I thought this would take like twenty minutes or something." I am a little pissed-off, but it's a combination of worrying about Robby, and now needing to drive back and forth to Merrimack.
Back on campus Daryl and I bump fist as he's getting out of the pickup. He says, "I'll text you, Dylan. Maybe I can hook-up with you later and we can... you know." I nod, "That'd be nice, but I doubt it'll work out today.
See you, Pony." At the walk-in clinic again I wait another loooong half-hour before Rob reappears. They just don't give a shit about patients or the patient's concerned friends at this clinic! Only one slow-moving doctor to handle all these people; they simply don't give a rat's ass. Assholes, or as guys from New Hampshire call us guys from Massachusetts; massholes. Fucking hicks from cow-hamshire! Rob takes a deep breath as he walks over to check-out at the desk, then gets his coat as I stand up, asking, "What'd they say?" He goes, "Yeah, it's the influenza virus alright." I go, "How do they know?" and he shrugs, "They did a RIDT something or other; that's what the nurse said." We're walking out as I ask, "What's that?" and Rob goes, "I don't know, but I have all the symptoms: fever, sore throat, runny nose, muscle aches, headache, and I'm tired... I got the whole ball of wax." Too much information, but I don't say that. Instead I ask, "Did he give you a prescription?" He nods, "Yes, they called it in to Rite Aid. We can pick it up on the way back to the apartment." Good! I feel better now that he'll be on prescription medication. The Rite Aid drugstore is on our way home. After parking I go inside with Robby and walk to the pharmacy section at the back of the store. You could food shop in this Rite Aid, or buy a hat, or almost anything you need; it's not just
for prescriptions and over-the-counter drugs nowadays. We both stand in line behind a customer at the pick-up counter. As we wait, I ask Rob, "How'd you catch the flu? Did they say?" He goes, "It could've been anything.
Touching the surface a person with the flu touched, someone with the virus sneezes within six feet of me, or even talking with someone who has the virus." He coughs a few times, muttering, "Fucking sore throat." Covering my nose and mouth while he coughs, I back away, saying, "I'll get you some throat lozenges for your sore throat and coughing." Leaving him to get his prescription, I wander up and down the aisles looking for throat lozenges and come upon a whole row of them. Shit! I start reading the information on the boxes and decide on a box of cherry Chloraseptic lozenges with soothing liquid gel centers. They claim fast-acting pain relief for sore throats. Huh, nothing about his cough though. Well what the fuck do you want for only $4.95. Jesus! As I'm paying for the lozenges Robby comes down the aisle carrying a little white bag. He holds up the bag and I go, "Good. Let's go home and I'll make that Campbell's boxed chicken soup for you." In the pickup, with me driving, Rob's reading the instructions for his meds, then says, "The doctor was concerned about the slight asthma I had as a kid. So he prescribed," and he's looking at the brown pill bottle's label, "Tamiflu, Oseltamivir Phosphate 75 Mg. Take twice a day with food for 5 days. Finish the five day prescription even if you feel better." I go, "Huh. I wonder why medicines need to have unpronounceable names." Robby sneezes and there ya go, I've got his flu. Balls! Rob sucks on a lozenge, then back in the apartment he takes two more Advil, then lies on the sofa as I make Campbell's chicken noodle soup by adding water to dry ingredients and bringing it to a boil. I serve it with saltine crackers and a glass of Coke with lots of ice. Salty soup and crackers for his throat and a cold drink to cool down his fever. He eats and drinks everything, then takes one of the Tamil capsules and back to bed he goes. I nurse him the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday. Rob likes being taken care of, but then so do I. We manage to put in an hour of study for Monday afternoon's final exam.
Monday morning I'm still not feeling flu symptoms, so I've got my hopes up that I won't catch it. Rob's feeling a little better, but not good, as I drive us to our first final exam of the first semester of our junior year at college. What sucky weekend...
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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