DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 50
by Donny Mumford
After a couple hours of hanging-out with Pony I'm now driving across campus to get Rob. He just texted me that practice is over and he's ready to go. Odd that he used Danny's phone instead of his own, but I'm expecting him to be on a baseball high now that spring training is in full swing. Driving as close as I can get to the baseball complex I see Rob sitting on the brick wall in front of the main entrance. He's leaning over with his forearms on his thighs and his hands clasped together with his head down. There's a pamphlet of some kind in his hands and Danny Monday's bending over him with a hand on Rob's shoulder. Well that doesn't look right so instead of tooting the horn to get their attention I park the pickup and get out.
Walking up to them, I'm like, "What's up, guys?" Danny turns his head and tells me, "Rob got beaned in the head with a line drive off Mc Nally's bat, the asshole." I like, "You're saying Rob's an asshole?" Danny goes, "Don't be stupid, Dylan! McNally's the asshole." Ignoring him, I sit next to Rob on the brick wall, asking, "How do you feel, Rob?" He mumbles, "Oh, um, not good. 'Slats' says I have a concussion." I go, "Who?" and Danny says, "Dr.
Slatterly. He's the team doctor." I'm like, "Who's McNaterly?" Danny says, "Bruce McNally is the team's home run leader." I'm like, "Okay, would you take it from the top, Danny, please. What happened?" Danny snaps, "I just fucking told you!" I give him a 'look' and he goes, "Um, okay. From the top.
All the infielders were jogging to their positions. This was about an hour into practice. A freshman pitcher is on the mound warming-up and for some stupid-ass reason McNally swings at a warm-up pitch and hit a line-drive off the back of Rob's head." I'm incredulous, "What the fuck?" Danny says, "The coach suspended McNally for a week. Our best home-run hitter missing a week of spring training, can you believe that?" I go, "Fuck spring training! What about Rob?"
Danny goes, "I was only saying..." and Rob whispers, "Please don't shout."
Nobody was shouting. Rubbing Rob's shoulder, I look at him and then look at Danny, asking both of them, "Well, um, what am I supposed to do? Is there some treatment or medicine or something?" Rob waves the pamphlet he's holding so I take it from him and read out-loud: Do's and Don'ts for Concussions, then ask Danny, "Was he knocked unconscious?" I'm thinking of Peter the gorilla who was knocked unconscious when he hit his head on the cement patio. The gorilla claims he was hospitalized three days because of it.
Danny grabs at the pamphlet, saying, "Let me see that. Um, no, he wasn't unconscious." I snatch the paper back from Danny, reading from it. "Rest is the number one treatment for concussions. For a headache take Tylenol or something comparable. DO NOT take an ibuprofen based pain medication. Avoid all physical activities, watch for behavior changes, check if the concussion patient is easily irritated, or..." looking up from the pamphlet, I go, "Christ, there's tons of information here. I remember some of it from my concussion experience."
Danny grabs the pamphlet out of my hand as I kneel down next to Rob, asking, "How are you feeling right this second, Rob?" He's looking down, but lifts his eyes to give me a little grin, murmuring, "I feel better now that Dr. Newman is on my case." He's pale and lethargic. I go, "Seriously, how do you feel?" He shrugs, "I feel like a jackass getting hit in the head with a line drive." Danny says, "Your back was to the batter! You weren't even to short-stop yet and that dick-weed swings at a warm-up pitch." I'm kinda glad to see that Danny's agitated about this because I certainly am. Rob's waving his fingers at Danny, "Shhh, talk lower, okay?" I quietly ask, "Aside from feeling like a jackass, how do you feel." He goes, "Walking here I thought I was going to throw up, which is why I'm sitting on this fucking wall and not moving. Also, my head aches."
I look at the back of his head, asking, "Did this quack doctor see the lump on the back of your head?" Rob goes, "I don't know," so I look at Danny, who says, "Yeah, of course he did. The scalp isn't, um, split or bleeding.
The doc had Rob lie down in the first aid room. That's where he's been for the past two hours. I helped get Rob there and Slats told me to stay with him and report any change in his, ah, behavior. Whatever that means." I go, "Well, was there any change in his behavior?" Danny shrugs, "Not really. He fell asleep. I told Slats that, ya know, in case that's what he meant by change in behavior." I go, "What'd he say?" Danny shrugs, "He told me that sleep is good." I go, "You call the doctor-guy, Slats?" Danny shrugs again, "That's what he told us to call him way back when we were freshman.
Everybody calls him that." I go, 'What kind of doctor is he, a dentist?" Danny goes, "What difference does it make, Dylan?"
It's my turn to shrug, then say, "Well, the doctor let Rob leave so he must be okay, right?" Rob mutters, "You're discussing me as if I'm not here."
Danny and I look at Rob, and then Danny's like, "I had to sit there for two hours and watch Rob sleep. I missed most of the fucking practice." I go, "Yeah, you said that, but guess what, everything isn't about you, Danny! What'd the doctor say just before letting you two leave?" Danny exhales like this is a pain-in-his-ass, then says, "First Slats ask Rob questions and gave him a few math problems to solve." I'm like, "Math problems, what the...?" Danny goes, "He said it's to test Rob's ability to pay attention, or something like that." I'm like, "Something like that, huh? How about your own ability to pay attention?" He goes, "Hey, you're upset that Rob's hurt, I get that, but don't take it out on me!" Looking closely at Rob I mutter, "Yeah, yeah. Obviously, I need to get him home and give him some Tylenol for his headache, and then get him in bed." I kneel down again and quietly say, "Let us know when you feel you can walk without throwing-up, okay?" He says, "Let's try it now. I really would like to get in bed."
It's only like ten yards to the pickup. We slowly walk to it with Danny and me on either side of Rob. Opening the passenger door, Danny asks, "Would you like me to come with you, Dylan?" In one way, I would because it's scary dealing with the unknown alone. It'd be good having someone else there if Rob, I don't know, starts convulsing or something. On the other hand, what if Rob just sleeps leaving Danny and me twiddling our thumbs and straining for small talk. I'm like, "Thank, Danny, but Rob's probably just going to sleep it off. I'll read the pamphlet and follow the instructions." He nods, "Yeah, okay. Slats says he'll follow concussion protocol with Rob before Monday's practice." I mutter, "Protocol, huh? Yeah, okay. Thanks for looking-out for him. Sorry if I was a little, um, impatient with you earlier."
Danny looks like he wants to say something, then just mumbles, "Sure," and hands me Rob's baseball cap and glove.
He walks off toward dormitory row as Rob clicks his seat belt, saying, "The Doc said I'll probably feel better in a couple of hours, Dylan. If not..." and he takes a business card from his pocket and hands it to me, "Call him. That's his cellphone number on the back." Starting the engine, I'm like, "Is this doctor at every practice?" Rob lies the side of his head back on the seat, not wanting to lie on the bump the baseball caused, mumbling, "No, he's there at random times. We have a full-time trainer who's experienced with medical stuff." I say, "Okay. Just, um, relax. There's no need to talk if you don't want to." He murmurs, "Thanks, babe," and closes his eyes.
During the short trip down route 114 I'm shaking my head in disgust. Not at Rob's concussion but at Merrimack for taking so long to complete the newest addition to the campus. Well, it isn't actually on campus. It's the new traffic light on route 114 installed across the four lanes of traffic that now allows students to safely cross the highway to Merrimack from the Royal Crest apartments. Why they didn't have a traffic light years ago is puzzling since many students, like Rob and I, rent apartments. Until now apartment renters without a car had to risk life and limb a number of times every day crossing this busy highway. Overhead I see the new traffic light is blinking yellow, then red. I come to a stop along with all the other vehicles in both directions. We all sit here as a single student saunters across the highway taking her good ol' time. Hee hee, it must piss-off the drivers going and coming from their jobs every day. Fuck 'em though! After parking at our apartment, we go inside our building and Rob complains that the lights in here are too bright. Yeah, Rob's a bit of a complainer when he's not feeling a hundred percent. Other than that, though he has no problem going upstairs and inside our apartment. Encouraging! After taking three Tylenol he undresses in the dark with me standing there not knowing what else to do. Rob gets in bed wearing only jockey shorts as I ask, "Can I get you anything, Rob?" He goes, "No thanks. Sorry to ruin your Friday night, Dylan." I mutter, "Don't be silly, I'll be here if you need anything." He sighs, mutters, "Thanks," and seems to go right to sleep.
While he sleeps, I lie on the sofa conscientiously reading the concussion pamphlet front to back. Okay, now I know what to expect, which is just about anything. The pamphlet describes such a wide range of possibilities as to be almost worthless. Concussions can last from a couple of hours to, in some cases, long-term brain injuries. Yeah, that covers the possibilities I suppose. Looking at the doctor's business card I decide... fuck calling this quack-doctor Slats. If I see any unusual behavior from Rob, I'll call 911 and let the professionals decide what to do. That's basically what I've concluded from reading the pamphlet.
It's seven o'clock and I should be hungry but I'm not. Still lying on the sofa, I surf through ninety-cable-channels on TV without finding anything worth watching. Chubby texts me asking if Rob and I want to go to a party tonight. It's probably the same party that the douche-bag bully in the lavatory asked Pony for a ride to, and then wanted to borrow twenty bucks from him before I politely told him to go fuck himself. Anyway, I tell Chub about Rob's concussion and he volunteers to keep me company but I encourage him to go to the party. The fact is I'm kinda glad I have a valid reason to stay in tonight. I wish it was some other reason, but I'm not upset about staying in. I'll take this opportunity to chill and finish my John Sandford book. That's what I do and then just before ten o'clock I make a fried egg and cheese sandwich on toast. That's all I feel like eating for dinner. After a shower, I ease into bed trying not to disturb Rob. Sliding over to him I put my arm over his side and go to sleep.
Saturday morning, I wake-up a little after nine o'clock feeling good except for... something. Oh yeah, Rob's concussion. He isn't in bed though and wh en I hear the refrigerator door close I know where he is. This is probably a good sign. Getting up I pad into the kitchen glancing out the sliding glass doors to see a gray gloomy March day. Turning on the lights, I ask, "How ya feeling, Rob?" He says, "Oh fuck! Would you please turn off that fucking spot light." I flick the light switch, "The light is a problem huh?" He goes, "Well yeah! It's too fucking bright! Jesus!" Huh, easily irritated is one of the symptoms to watch for.
I quietly say, "Except for the light being too bright, how do you feel?"
He goes, "A little dizzy but nothing major, and please stop asking me how I feel." Well fuck you too, but I go, "Yeah, I suppose hearing that question would get irritating after a while. Remember when I had a concussion and...?" He shrugs, "I guess, um, where'd you hide the Tylenol?" I hand him a couple of Tylenol that I shake from the bottle that's been in plain sight on the kitchen bar three-feet from him. He swallows them with a glass of orange juice. "Do you want something to eat, Rob?" He says, "No thanks. I'm going back to bed. Sorry I yelled at you." On the way back to the bedroom, he mumbles, "That fuckin' idiot, McNally! I'm gonna kick his ass..." Huh, I'll take Rob's vitriol at McNally as a positive sign. I mean, he's not as lethargic as he was last night.
Rob and I recently cleaned the apartment and did the laundry so I don't need to do that. Instead I plop on the sofa and try the TV again. Oh fuck! Saturday morning is absolutely the worst time to try watching television.
That's unless you're four-years-old in which case it's the best possible time to watch TV. I didn't even like cartoons when I was four years old. Oh man! I check on Rob and see he's sleeping soundly. Huh, it makes me think of Chubby the day before Christmas break. He'd been up all night drinking so when I got him home and in my bed I was checking on him all day. And every time I checked on him he was sleeping. This is going to be another day like that one I suppose. Then my cellphone rings. Caller ID is Daryl Ponti. Oh shit! I was supposed to take him to get his nipple pierced this morning. I tell Pony about Rob and then say, "And don't you fuckin' go over there on your own, Pony! I'll probably be able to get out later this afternoon." He says, "You have a hard time keeping your word, Dylan. Are you sure you'll go with me later?" I'm pissed, "I always keep my word. Daryl! This is an emergency unexpected development." He's contrite, "Yeah, I'm sorry. Okay, later then." 'Later' is a vague term, so we'll see.
Then the buzzer buzzes in the apartment so I go over and hit the button, "Yes?" the voice from outside the backdoor goes, "Hi, um, is this Rob Dickers' apartment?" I go, "Uh huh. And who are you, if you don't mind me asking?" He goes, "Is that you, Dylan?" I go, "Uh huh." He says, "This is Lawyer Ross, um, ah, just wondering how Rob's doing. Ah, I was elected by the team to check-up on him." Oh, Lawyer, huh. Cute black guy. Well he's light-brown
actually. I go, "That's cool, Lawyer. I'll buzz you in," then tell him, "We're up the steps. Apartment 201."
I'm waiting for him in the hall holding our front door open when he comes through the door at the top of the steps. He turns and looks down the hall the wrong way. Lawyer's wearing a backpack and carrying a white pastry box in both hands. Smiling, I go, "Hey, Lawyer!" He turns and sees me as I say, "So, you finally worked up the balls to let me give you a haircut, huh?"
Walking towards me he reaches up with one hand feeling his Afro, grinning, then mumbling, "Oh, actually I'm here to cheer-up Rob, but maybe get a haircut too. Yeah, not a bad idea." When he's at the door, he adds, "The team chipped-in and bought a get-well cake for him. And there's a card that a lot of the guys signed." A fucking cake? Lawyer holds up the box that's wrapped with string the way bakeries do it. I go, "C'mon in," and inside he goes, "Nice place," as he looks around.
Taking the box from him and putting it on the kitchen tables, I go, "Take your coat off and we'll look in on Rob." Then I hear, "Who is it, Dylan?"
We walk to the bedroom and I open the door, "It's Lawyer Ross from the team.
The team bought a, um, cake for you." Rob goes, "A cake?" Well yeah, I think that's a bit odd myself. Lawyer walks into the bedroom, telling Rob, "Yeah, it's a fucking cake. Let 'em eat cake, mother-fucker. How ya feeling, Rob?" and they slap palms. Rob mumbles, "I'm not sure. I've been sleeping so much I'm, ah, I guess I feel a little better. What's with the cake?"
Lawyer looks at me, "Um, should I get it, Dylan?" I go, "I'll get it. Have a seat," as I point to the desk chair.
I bring the box to the bedroom and hand it to Lawyer. Leaning against the door jamb I watch Lawyer sets the box on the desk and hand Rob the envelope that was under the string. Rob sits up lying back against both our pillows and opens the get-well card. He reads some of the comments out-loud and we all get some laughs at the creative way his teammates have of breaking Rob's balls. He's looking better now. His color is better than earlier this morning.
Lawyer opens the box and shows Rob the cake. On top of the butter cream vanilla icing is a picture drawn in different colored icings of a baseball player getting, 'Boink!' on the head with a baseball the size of a basketball. The caption says, 'That's what your glove is for!' Rob has a laugh and then grimaces. I say, "I'll get a couple of Tylenol, Rob." He takes the Tylenol with a glass of water and then I fake being interested while Lawyer and Rob talk about the baseball team. Later I cut the cake and see it's chocolate cake under the icing. We all have a piece at eleven o'clock in the morning and this is one delicious cake! After eating two slices of cake I leave the teammates to talk and go in the living room feeling very encouraged that Rob's on the mend.
I'm on the balcony smoking a cigarette when I hear the sliding doors open.
Turning I see Lawyer. He grins, "Hey, Dylan... um, Rob wants to rest. Can I bum a cigarette?" I hold the box of Marlboro Lights out as he says, "Haven't had a smoke in over six months. I don't think one cigarette will get me back in the habit though... do you?" I hand him my Bic lighter, "Ya never know, Lawyer. It might." Taking a drag and then blowing it out, he says, "I really liked smoking but all those warnings about lung cancer ruined it for me." I go, "Yeah, it was way better back in the sixties when smokers could believe the lies the cigarette companies told them." He chuckles, "Yeah, ignorance is bliss." I ask, "Having any luck with your love life?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm still deep in the closet and still too much of a pussy to do anything about it. You and Rob are they only guys here that know I'm gay." I go, "Yeah, well maybe you're not gay after all. I mean considering you've lived twenty-two years ignoring it." Lawyer is a senior. He shrugs, "I don't know about that. Anyway, how about that haircut you promised me?" I go, "Get outta here! You're actually going to let me give you a haircut?" He runs his fingers through his long Afro chuckling, then mumbling, "Somebody's got to. Why not you?"
Lawyer has a big head of hair. He's my height or maybe a tad taller.
Really nice guy with a sweet manner. He has a pretty milk-chocolate light-brown complexion of very smooth blemish-free skin. He told me his father's white Irish and his mother's African American with a Japanese Grandfather. Quite an interesting genetic ancestry. His mother was a model until moving from London to America with her husband and son. Lawyer was thirteen-years-old at the time and he still has a little touch of that cool English accent. I guess I'd describe him as having European facial features even though I'm not quite sure what that means. Actually, I think Lawyer's kind of exotic looking; that might be a better way of describing him. Exotic in a good-looking way. I ask, "What kind of haircut did you have in mind?" He says what most guys say, "I don't know. What do you suggest?" I tell him, "Let's look online for trendy hairstyles." He says, "For black guys, right?" I shrug, "If you say so."
We go in off the balcony and from his backpack Lawyer gets his laptop and Googles 'Trendy haircuts for young black men'. There's quite a selection but he finally points at one that's titled, 'polished fade'. It's very short hair on the sides faded to slightly longer hair further up the sides. Then there's a shaved-in 'part' on the left side of the model's head. On top the longer hair is combed to the side. A very preppy and clean-cut look and it's a haircut I've seen on quite a few professional athletes as well as some young movie actors in People magazine. I go, "Oh man, that's a fade haircut and while I've done a couple of haircuts like that I think you'd do yourself a favor Googling barbers in this area who specialize in fade haircutting It's quite a unique talent that most barbers can't do well." He says, "Are you saying you won't do it for me after all the times you asked me to let you cut my hair?" I go, "Um, I believe I asked you a total of two times.
If you wanna call that, 'all the times you asked me?' I don't know what to tell you." He chuckles, "It seemed like more than twice. So you're saying you can't do it?" I go, "No, I can do it, but," and I tap the computer screen, "not as perfectly as the stylist did on this model's hair."
Lawyer would be only the second head of African-American-type-hair I've cut. The first one was Sam Workman's half-brother, Sly. That was last summer in Georgia when Sam and I worked together under Ryan, along with a number of other guys. Sammy has this cute hot-shit little half-brother, Sly, who's dad was black. Their mother is white. Anyway, Sly's hair was like Lawyer's, which is to say soft, fine, and loosely kinky. Sly wanted the haircut his brother got, which was that stupid new style everyone seems to be getting nowadays: the shaved sides and back with a big pile of hair on top. No fading necessary at all with that haircut. Anybody with clippers could do that.
I go, "I'll do my best, Lawyer, if you're sure you want me to do it." He goes, "You're not making me feels real confident about this, Dylan." I go, "Oh fuck it, I can do it, no problem," and then I point at one of the white models at the lower part of the computer screen, saying, "Talk about dumb-ass haircuts. Look at that 'seventies' hairstyle on that young guy. It looks like a hairstyle for a middle-aged woman." Lawyer laughs, "I know what you
mean. Hey, have you ever heard Alan Partridge's song, 'Ladyboys'?" I shake my head and he Googles it. The song goes, 'Looks like a lady, when in fact
it's a chap. Yo what's that G? Some homey's been dissing my bitch....' and
so on. It's funny but I don't like the line, 'God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.' Lawyer says, "It's all a spoof. For one thing there is no Alan Partridge.
He's a fictional character played by a funny English guy name of, Steve Coogan. He goes way back before my time in the early nineteen-nineties." I nod, "Oh yeah, a funny guy, huh?" Then, "Shall we get started?" he nods, "Yes let's, I am so ready for a different look I can't even tell ya." After pushing the kitchen table against the wall, I do his haircut on the living room side of the tile floor. It's still technically part of the kitchen but away from the food preparation and eating areas. I'm glad I have the barber cape for Lawyer 'cause it's a touch of professionalism hopefully giving Lawyer a little peace of mind.
His hair is pretty much the same length all over his head. Reminds me of John Smith's hair that grew out from a buzz cut the same length all over.
Lawyer's hair has a much different texture than John Smith's hair though.
It's fine and dense with a slight wave rather than what I'd call nappy, like the hair some black guys have. The hair on the sides and back of Lawyer's head is much too long for me to begin doing a fade so I spend four or five minutes combing it up and running clipper across the comb until the hair is just over an inch-long on the sides and back of his head. The short hair really looks funny with seven-to-eight-inch hairs on top. It's looks like a clown hairdo, or a parody of the current popular style of shaved sides with a long hair on top.
With Lawyer's watching my every move in the handheld mirror I gave him, I'm using bare clippers up the sides and back, going up about an inch-and-a-half above his ears. Then I start the fade process by using, first the one-sixteenth-inch-guide to blend with the bare clipper cut, then a little further up I use the one-eight-inch-guide, and finally the one-quarter-inch guide up to about an inch or so below where I'll make the part. Halfway through this 'fade' procedure Rob comes out of the bedroom wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. He gets something to drink and then, sipping a bottle of Pepsi, sits on a stool watching us. No one says anything, so all we hear is the buzzing clippers.
It takes twenty-five-minutes of meticulous clipper-cutting before I'm satisfied it's a good fade cut up the sides and back. I use the trimmer clippers to shave in a straight part on the left side of his head, then use it to outline around and behind his ears. Done that Lawyer finally speaks, "It looks exactly like the picture, Dylan. What where you worried about?" Rob says, "Really cool looking haircut, babe." I shrug, "No, I had confidence I could do it. If I didn't I wouldn't try it." Yeah, but the truth is it's not perfect and not as good as the fade haircut on the model either. It's close enough though that hardly anyone who isn't proficient at haircutting would notice the differences. I see one huge difference: the professional hairstylist started by using the trimming clippers for the first inch-and-a-half cut above the ears. From there the fade to bare clippers is done perfectly on the model, but I couldn't do it. That's why I omitted that first step.
They can't tell though, and the rest of the differences are picayune ones.
I'm very pleased with the 'fade' I was able to do overall.
The hair on top I begin cutting by combing up bunches and holding it between my index and middle fingers then cutting off the hair above my fingers.
I'm not sure how short it should be to have it comb-over properly so I cut the hair down an inch at a time. Another tedious process that I wouldn't want to do very often. Normally cutting guy's hair is a rush for my haircut fetish, but this is too tedious and nerve-racking to get the fetish buzzing.
When I've cut the top hair down to about two-inches the hair combs over to the side nicely. I leave it that length then taper it where it meets the quarter-inch hair in back at the crown and on the side opposite the part and then, whew, it's done.
Lawyer has the so called 'polished fade' haircut that's like the model's haircut. He holds the screen up next to his head, asking, "Is it identical, Rob?" Rob says, "The haircut, yes, although you're much better looking than that guy." Lawyer says, "Obviously, bro, but Dylan's haircut is the same, right?" I interject, "Yes, it's the same, Lawyer. That'll be a hundred and eighty-five dollars please, and don't be a shy tipper." He laughs, then says, "I'll catch you next Thursday with the hundred-and-eight-five dollars, dude." Chuckling, I'm feeling proud of myself, but act blasé. Lawyer helps be sweep up a big pile of his cut hairs and then says, "All kidding aside, I'm fucking thrilled with how this turned out, Dylan," and he hugs me, then kisses me on the lips. We both laugh and blush a little remembering the kissing-lesson I gave Lawyer months ago. Rob's like, "What's so funny?" I tell him and then take cellphone pictures of Lawyer's fade haircut.
It's after twelve o'clock by now and Lawyer wants to get lunch in the dining hall so he thanks me again and tells Rob to get well soon, then takes off. Rob and I talk a little about the haircut I did for Lawyer. He's impressed and that makes me happy. It's not long before Rob yawns, hops off the stool and says, "Believe it or not, Dylan, I'm heading back to bed. I'm really am starting to feel better though. No dizziness and the Tylenol are keeping my headache manageable." I nod, "I'm glad, Rob." As he walks down the hall, he says over his shoulder, "If I was a hundred percent I'd do your haircut for you since the barber stuff is out." I go, "Whenever, Rob."
The bedroom door closes and I check my hair out in the mirror over the sofa. The hair on the sides of my head is over the tops of my ears. Short haircuts like Rob gives me look ragged after two-to-three-weeks whereas with long hair styles you can't tell the difference after eight-weeks. Rob's been doing an okay job with his barbering and I actually like that he's doing it for me. I don't complain like I did with Ryan, but then Rob's haircuts are ten times better, so why would I complain. Plus, I also didn't like Golden's assembly line haircuts and for those two reasons I'm okay with Rob being my barber. Hmmm, although my long wavy blond hair on top of my head was kind of a pain to deal with I did kinda like it.
Not especially hungry I grab a Pepsi to drink on the balcony while I have my second smoke of the day. It's like fifty-degrees outside, damp and windy
though, so not a great day but there are guys and girls yelling and playing touch football in the area between the parking lots; drinking too undoubtedly. My cellphone pings so I take it from my side pocket and see a text from Lawyer. 'Dude, my haircut is a huge hit with the brothers! Can I tell them you did it?" Ooh no! I smile because I'm pleased that other guys like the haircut enough to want one like it, but I don't want to do those haircuts, so text back, 'No, don't tell anyone!' I tell him that because there's simply too many ways to fuck-up a fade haircut and then there's no way to correct the fuck-up. He texts back, 'Mums the word, bro, but you gotta keep doing mine or....'. Ha ha! Ya gotta admire an effective implied threat.
With nothing better to do, and Rob sleeping again, I watch a cooking show on TV concluding I wouldn't eat anything Chef Ming prepared, and then there's a knock on the front door. That's either our neighbor or Chubby.
Everyone else would need to buzz our apartment to get in the back door. I gave Chub the code for the back door so I'm hoping it's him. Opening the door I see Chub and his shadow, John Beverly. John's holding a bag that I recognize as a D'Angelo's bag. The D'Angelo chain of fast food restaurants promotes grilled sandwiches, none of which I've ever ordered, but they also make Italian cold subs and cheesesteaks. I'm hoping either one of those is in the bag. Chubby says, "Bro, we thought you guys might enjoy Italian subs for lunch. How's Rob doing?" We hug briefly and as I bump fist with John Beverly, I say, "He's improving. Lots of sleeping."
John Beverly holds up the bag, like, 'What do you wanna do with these sandwiches?" I take the bag, saying, "Jeezs, thanks, guys. I've got some hot cherry peppers slices we can put in the subs." Chub says, "Don't thank me. It
was John's idea and he bought the subs." Rob comes out of the bedroom putting on his bathrobe, mumbling, "Did I hear someone say something about D'Angelo Italian subs for lunch?" Chubby and John bump fist with Rob, as John goes, "This is not a contagious situation you've got, I assume." Rob chuckles, "Um, no. You can't catch a concussion." John wants to know how it happened and as Rob tells him I unwrap the subs and add sliced hot cherry peppers and some olive oil and dry oregano to each one. D'Angelo uses Italian cold cuts and provolone cheese, sliced red onion, tomato, and lettuce but doesn't use olive oil. They use vegetable oil so we always order the subs 'dry'. They also offer mayonnaise which no one in their right mind would put on an Italian sub. I ask Rob, "You're hungry, huh?" He says, "Yes, I'm really hungry." I'd imagine that's a good sign.
We eat at the kitchen table using the waxed-paper the subs were wrapped in as our dishes. After taking a bite of his sandwich, Chub goes, "A beer would sure go good with this sub." I get him and John beers while Rob and I have Pepsis. Chub asks, "Why Pepsi, Dylan?" I go, "Something different, and I
think Pepsi is sweeter than Coke. Plus Pepsi was on sale, so...." Chub goes, "No, I mean why a soda instead of beer?" I'm like, "Soda taste better than beer. Unless I'm gonna get a high, or I'm subject to peer pressure I'd always choose a soft drink over beer when eating." John goes, "I agree although I'm a follower, so when Jeff asks for a beer that's all the peer pressure I needed to have a beer too." Lots of drinks taste better than beer.
The thing is though, being twenty-one and college students there's a certain obligation we have to uphold the tradition of making poor choices. Rob, being concussed, has an excuse for drinking soda, but myself having no excuse
I put the Pepsi back in the refrigerator and succumb to peer pressure by having a beer. Chuckling, I use a church key to take the cap off a bottle of Bud. John, Chub, and me tap bottles and chug some beer. I go, "Let's keep my choice of soda with lunch to ourselves, okay? I wouldn't want that to get out and get a reputation as being an individual thinker. I'm with you lemmings."
We continue drinking beers after lunch too with Rob going back to bed.
After two beers each we're out of beer so the three of us flip a coin and I lose. Driving the Jeep to McGoon's package store I buy a 30-pack case of Bud cans on sale for $17.99. Safely back in the apartment John and Chubby admit to an ulterior motive for buying the lunch today. They want haircuts with John saying, "The subs were basically a bribe, Dylan." I'm like, "Are you saying the purpose of your visit wasn't all about seeing how Rob was doing, but rather to get free haircuts from me?" John goes, "Yes, that's it exactly." I jokingly go, "Suckers! I would have done the free haircuts without the subs." Chub goes, "Yes, but we wouldn't have a 30-pack of beer to drink while getting the free haircuts." I'm like, "Hmmm, outwitted again by superior minds. What kind of haircuts do you guys want?"
They look at each other and then Chub laughs, saying, "I know how you hate this, bro, but we were hoping you'd suggest something. We've got dates tonight. Me with my black chick, Jasmine, and John with Jasmine's sister. We want to be 'down with it bro'." I go, "You're both embarrassing yourselves.
There's a name for a couple of poseurs like you two," and Chubby goes, "Yeah, we know. Jasmine called us wiggers." They laugh, then Chub says, "So, what have you got for us? We're going to a surprise birthday party for Jasmine's best friend and we'll be the only white boys there. Jasmine likes to shock people." Looking smug, I show them the pictures I took with my cellphone of Lawyer's haircut this morning. They both yell, "That's it! Perfect!"
John says, "I'll go first." I'm like, "Oh balls!" It's my own fault though for showing them the pictures. Chubby's like, "Oh man, Dylan, you never disappoint." Well, I always like when I can impress him.
After I get the barbering stuff out again, John pulls the stool over and I put the cape around him. John's an okay looking guy with brown hair and eyes. I say 'he's okay looking' but on the nice-looking side of okay. He's taller than Chubby but an inch shorter than me. Nice body, at least from what I can tell seeing him fully clothed. I've never seen him naked or even in a swimsuit. I have seen his legs a couple of times when the weather was warm enough sophomore year to wear shorts. Average hairy legs. I did John's last haircut for him too. Just a regular haircut with a part so I'm basically just going to follow that same pattern only making the sides and back much shorter, which is what a 'fade' haircut is all about.
Both Chub and John Beverly have medium-brown straight hair that's easy to cut, but doing fade haircuts for them is no easier than doing it for Lawyer. I'm just as meticulous with both guys so it takes almost an hour to do the haircuts. They talk and laugh and drink beers while I'm concentrating my ass off doing the haircutting. When done I personally think the hairstyle looks better on Lawyer but both John and Chub are very complimentary so I feel pretty good about that. I'm looking at Chub and, damn, he does look uber cool. Ryan could have done 'fade' haircuts, no problem. That's if he wasn't such a bastard about taking it way too far cutting the hair on top too sort. Damn, I guess I miss him but can't get it out of my head how mean he was to his roommate, Steve, and me too the last weeks Ryan was here. I hate that that's the last memory I have of him. And it looks like he's gonna be right after all, I apparently do miss him more than he misses me. If I had it to do all over again maybe I should have just let him be the boss. What was the big deal anyway? As for the haircut, nowadays guys are asking for almost the same haircut Ryan was giving me. Plus, nothing about him ever effected Rob's and my relationship. Yeah but that ship has fucking sailed, so that's that.
As I'm thinking about that John and Chubby are admiring their hairdos and Rob joins us again. It's a little after three o'clock. I go, "Rob, how are you..." and he anticipates the question, saying, "Feeling better by the hour, Dylan. What are you guys doing?" I go, "Drinking and talking. How do you like the boys' new haircuts?" Rob goes, "Just like you did for Lawyer.
Very cool!" Chub says, "Your boyfriend is very talented." Rob grins, muttering, "So is your brother." He goes in the kitchen and I'm like, "You're not getting a beer, are you?" He's like, "Yes, mommy, I am." I say, "Is that a good idea, Rob?" He snaps off the cap, saying, "I guess we'll see," and he drinks some beer, then goes, "So far, so good." I'm shaking my head but glad he's feeling better.
The four of us watch the end of a spring-training Red Sox game on TV and then Chub and John Beverly leave to get ready for their dates. I watch them go, admiring my barbering. They're styling alright and I can't wait to hear Chubby tell me about being the only white guys at the party. Then I think about how I never wonder how Lawyer feels being the only guy of color at affairs I seen him at. It never entered my mind before now.
Rob only has the one beer but he claims it didn't affect him one way or the other. I ask, "Do you think it'd be okay if I left you alone for an hour or two? I promised Daryl I'd drive him some place," and then explain where and why. He goes, "Jesus, a pierced nipple. He probably wants to do that because you have one." I shrug, "Yeah I suppose, um, would you mind?" He shakes his head, "Absolutely not, Dylan. You've nursed me past the worst of it.
I'm feeling better." I go, "Thanks. Um, do you want to do something tonight. It's a Saturday night..." He says, "Oh, not really. Would you stay in with me tonight? I don't want to push it. I'd like to be ready to go for Monday's afternoon practice." I'm like, "Sure, I'll stay with you after I do this favor for Daryl." Rob mumbles, "I'm gonna take a shower and finally put some actual clothes on. See you when you get back." I put my coat on as Rob starts walking to the bedroom, then stops, and says, "Oh fuck! This is the
only Saturday Golden's doing haircut for the month. Would you mind driving me over there. Can you get the Jeep so I can drive back in the truck?" I shrug, "Of course, no problem." Rob mumbles, "I'll throw some clothes on real fast and take my shower after the haircut." Why Rob still insists on that stupid haircut I'll never know! I mean he's done with mentoring Golden and I can't believe the other teammates give a shit where Rob gets his hair cut. Whaddaya gonna do though? While he's getting dressed I call Chub and find out where the Jeep's parked. Then, with Rob, I drive the pickup to the campus. Parking near dormitory row, we both get out with me asking, "You okay to drive back, Rob?" He grins hugging my shoulders, "Of course. I love how you take care of me though. I think I'm pretty much past the worst of the concussion." I gently feel the back of his head, muttering, "The lump is still there. Tell Golden to go lightly over that." He smiles, saying what he said earlier, "Yes, mommy."
I grin, "You're so cute, Rob. Now that I'm sure you'll live I'm afraid I'm gonna need to insist you participate in some sex with your roommate tonight." He says, "Count on it. See you later, Dylan." Watching him walk down the
sidewalk I'm a little bit jealous he still wants Golden to be his barber.
After watching him go into Golden's dormitory, I need to walk over two parking lots to where Chub parked the Jeep on the other side of dormitory row.
Getting in the Jeep and firing up the engine I'm wondering how I'm going to talk Pony out of this piercing bull-shit. Then I'm wondering why the hell I feel I need to talk him out of it. I got my nipple pierced so why is he different than me? He's twenty-years-old and he wants a nip ring. I was nineteen when I got mine. If the place looks sanitary I'll hold his hand and stop badgering him about it. Oh man though, he's gonna be screaming in pain! Ha ha, I told him it hurts like a mother-fucker so he only has himself to blame.
Damn, I should have texted him first. Driving the Jeep back to where I just walked from, I park and walk down to Pony's dorm. I knock and he's here so I go, "Yo, 'sup, Pony?" Smiling, he takes my arm pulling me inside, saying, "Omigod, you actually kept your word for once." He's wearing pajamas. I go, "You haven't left the room all day?" He says, "No, I ate lunch from the
vending machine. Didn't want to be out when you came to get me. Look," and he opens his pajama top and squeezes his nipple, "This tit has no idea what it's in for," and he laughs. I'm like, "Laugh now, Pony, and we'll see how much you laugh when that needle pokes through your super sensitive nipple." He goes, "My nipples get hard when you're fucking my cute ass so imagine how quick this one will get hard with a nip ring." I mumble, "Hard to even imagine." He takes his pajama top off and I get a whiff of BO. "Pony, when did you take your last shower?" He goes, "Ooops, I've got some BO going for me. I forgot deodorant yesterday." It's not bad and actually almost a sexy smell... far from an offensive one.
He drops his pajama bottoms and I'm shocked how horny I am. I didn't realize I was horny until this very moment glancing briefly at Pony's naked body. Maybe there's some left-over haircut fetish arousal that I didn't notice because I was concentrating on doing a good haircut. I grab Pony's arm and pull him against me, saying, "Maybe I better give you a hard fucking before we go out." He leans against me putting both his arms around my neck and I
get more of that body odor scent. It's like a musk scent; that's how my olfactory glands interpret it. He kisses my lips, and says, "I know how much you were dying to kiss me on the mouth so I did it for you," as he humps against my junk.
We're the same size so our package of sexual organs hump together very nicely. I run my fingers through his recently barbered hair by moi, and murmur, "I'm beginning to think you're slightly sexy. Imagine that." He goes, "You like me a lot, and I'm more than slightly sexy." Reaching behind him I give his bare ass two smacks grinning at the sound my hand makes against his left butt cheek, "Smack! Smack!" Then two more, "Smack! Smack!" He gasps, looking flush, mumbling, "I need to suck your dick now," and he drops to his knees and fumbles the button of my jeans open and then pulls down the zipper. I run my fingers through his short hair again feeling undeniable hot arousal and desire. Well what the fuck, it has been almost two days since I've had sex with anyone. It was with Pony I think. Hard to remember that far back when sex is involved.
Pony's making wet slurping sound sucking my cock as it scraps on his sharp bottom teeth which gets my penis really hard, really fast. I take a deep breath puzzled by my quick arousal. The sexual heat I'm feeling is insane and I can't wait to fuck this cute and eager buddy of mine. I never thought when I first spotted hoodie-boy the he'd turn-out to be such a big part of my junior year. Pony's always aroused around me so we're good to go. He takes my saliva-soaked boner out of his mouth and holds it in his fingers.
Looking up at me, he says, "I've got a hard boner myself now." Damn, he's so much like me in a number of ways. I go, "Good for you. Now get on all fours
and I'll give you the hardest fucking of your life." He nods his head, and mutters, "Do it," and gets on his hands and knees, then lifts his ass up towards me. Jesus! Without lubricant, but with Pony's saliva and my pre-cum's assistance I plug the head of my cock right in past his sphincter muscle and he goes, "Oooh! Fuuuuck!" and squirms on his hands and knees pushing his ass back at my cock. Smacking his left butt cheek so hard it leaves my hand print, "SMACK!" get him to hop on his hands and knees yelping as I hump a couple-of-inches of boner up his ass. His back arches as he grunts, "Ahhh, that hurts, but don't stop." After giving his ass three more hard smacks I ram the rest of my throbbing boner up inside him. Groaning, he pulls his ass back off my boner a little, and goes, "Aaaah, fuuuuuck this feels good!"
I'm so fucking aroused it's crazy, but it happens to me like this at times. Daryl's got such a hot slim hard body too! His buttocks are really firm; almost hard and they squeeze my boner when he tightens his buttock's muscles. Grabbing both his hips I pull him back towards me and start fucking his ass like beating a drum. He's groveling and groaning with his head back as he moans, "Oooh! Ooh! Oooh!" at each thrust up his ass. One, then two-minutes of hard thrusting and it feels so fucking good on my cock my shoulders are going crazy shuddering like mad. My eyes are squeezed closed so I can concentrate on the world of pleasure coming off my hard cock. The pleasure is rolling all around my stomach now and it's almost too much as the, "Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds fill the dorm room. I'm thrusting my swollen boner back and forth in his tight ass as hard as I can... and then harder.
In less than three-minutes Pony lifts up as he thrust his hips making a, "Shhhhhh, aaah," sound and I see his streak of cum fly out and splatter three feet in front of him, then another steak of creamy cum and then another before he sinks back down on him hands shaking, his head hanging between his
arms now. Another body shudder and he begins stroking his cock doing low moans and sighs. I was so into my own impending climax with a million awesome sensations roaring all around my groin I didn't even do my normal peek at Pony's boner when he climaxed. It gets so hard it looks like it'll break-off. Climax is my whole world now as I'm humping against his butt cheeks, then my high squeal as cum blows up his ass with fireworks going off in front of my eyes. Another hump pushes Pony so hard he drops his head to his hands as more cum shoots scintillatingly out from my six-inch rock-hard cock and my whole body does a shudder. Then, for a few seconds, I'm an immobile statue absorbing all the incredible sensation of orgasm.
Letting out a held breath I go, "Oh fuck... that was good," and thrust in Pony's cum-filled rectum for another minute. His forehead is resting on his forearms that are flat on the floor, Pony still on his knees but no longer pushing his ass up at me. He's been fucked good and he's contented for the moment. Pulling my cock completely out of his hot sloppy rectum I'm a little dizzy. Stepping back, I plop down on his desk chair. We both breathe deeply for a few seconds, then he looks back at me, asking, "What was that?"
I shake my head, "It just came over me. I got so hot to fuck your ass it got a bit wild. I don't know, but it happens like that with me sometimes." He
goes, "Oh, so it's not just me, huh? You get like this with other guys too." I go, "It was with you just now, wasn't it? What do you care about someone else?" He does two more strokes on his now flaccid dick and gets up on his feet, saying, "It'd be nice to think I'm your only side-sex-buddy." I go, "Settle for being the best one. And have I mentioned how hot that sexy naked body of yours is, Pony." He goes, "Yeah, it is nice. Some candy for the gay boys, huh?" Chuckling, I nod my head, "Yeah, sure."
I reach down and grab either Pony's or his roommate's t-shirt from the floor and wipe my dick with it as Pony says, "Hey, maybe it was my BO that turned you on like that." I shrug, "It could have had something to do with it I guess." I don't want to mention the haircuts, but I think they had something to do with it too. Like I said, I don't actually know why sometimes I'm so hot for sex... but this was one of those times! Pony's rubbing Mennen Stick deodorant under his arms, mumbling, "In lieu of showering I'll apply a dab of this." I go, "Hey, is that Mennen original scent?" He goes, "Yeah.
I saw that you used it so I got a thing of it too. Really cool smell." I mutter, "You've got good taste copying me." He grins muttering, "Yeah, when I grow-up I wanna be just like you." I mumble, "Yeah, but that'll be four-or-five years from now."
When dressed, he's like, "Ready to go?" Shrugging, "Yeah, okay," and he says, "Wait! Aren't you gonna try talking me out of this?" I mumble, "Nope, let's go. I gotta get back to check on Rob right after your nipple piercing." As we're walking out the door, he's like, "Wasn't that incredible sex, Dylan?" I nod, "Amazing, Pony. You've got a spectacular ass on you!" He says, "Yep, I do." I fight off the urge to ask for a compliment about my 'topping' and instead mess-up his hair. "Goddammit, Dylan! You're always doing that." I go, "Don't be such a baby," and hug him around the neck. I got a thing for Pony.
We drive right to the joint that Pony picked-out the other day. It's way past all the good Malls and stores on route 28 in Salem, New Hampshire.
There's the big sign, 'Ed's Heritage Tattooing and Piercing Parlor'. The sign is attached to an old building with two broken-down pickups and a tow truck parked outside. I go, "No fucking way are you getting anything pierced in that shit hole." Pony has an expression on his face like, 'Ewww'. He says, "Can we at least look inside just for the fuck of it?" I make a, "Sssshhhh,"
sound noisily showing exasperation, but then say, "Yeah, c'mon, let's take a look." Pony mutters, "Thanks," and we get out of the Jeep.
When I open the door, it sets off a buzzer. We're in a waiting room of sorts. I gaze around and everything in here: the chair, coffee table, automobile magazines, big old TV looks like it belongs in a building that looks as run-down as this one does on the outside. Old, beat-up, and neglected.
Through another door a man wearing a sleeveless 'Motley Crue' t-shirt with an enormous pot belly distorting the 'Motley Crue' logo appears. He has corn-row hair with braids to his waist, and tattoos every place I can see on his body. A full black beard reaches below his neck and he's got matching bushy eyebrows. There are big eyeglasses perched on his large nose and when he breathes I can hear the inhale and exhale like maybe he has a deviated septum or some kind of sinus problem. He reeks of pot. I'd be leery of this guy picking up my trash, never mind piercing anything on me or Pony.
In a deep voice, the man says, "Let me see some ID, boys. Ya gotta be at least eighteen for a tattoo." Pony says, "I was, um, thinking about getting my nipple pierced." Pot belly says, "Ya got a hundred dollars in cash on ya? I don't take credit cards." Pony says, "How 'bout a debit card?" The man says, "Cash only for piercings," and he opens Pony's jacket and then pulls up his shirt to rub a fat finger over Pony's nipple. Meanwhile I've got Pony's arm pulling him toward the door, saying to fatso, "Sorry we wasted your time. He changed his mind." The man's hand comes away from Pony's nipple.
He shrugs and says to Pony, "Fuck, son, my big brother tried running my life too until I kicked him in the nuts when I was about your age. Word to the wise, kid."
We're out the door with Pony zippering up his jacket, saying, "His finger felt like sandpaper." I knew this was a fool's errand from the start. We get in the Jeep and Pony asks, "Where can we go?" I mumble, "Of fuck, Pony, I don't know about nipple piercing, but look," and I point to both my earlobes, saying, "I've got earrings. Why not get that done first?" He frowns, "Both ears?" I go, "No, start with the left one. That's what I did and you can have it done at the Mall with sanitary conditions." He says, "Okay," and I go, "What the fuck? This is the tenth time I suggested the earring to you and you never said 'okay' before." He says, "Look, mister big brother, if you don't want a kick in the nuts drive us to the Mall. I changed my mind, that's all."
Starting the engine I mumble, "If you were actually my little brother you wouldn't be such a wise-ass, I can tell you that right now." He goes, "That guy thought we were brothers. Do we look alike?" I mutter, "If so, I'm flattered." He changes the radio station from sports talk to music, asking, "Is it okay if I change the station?" I chuckle, "What an ass-pain you are."
He goes, "Don't give me that shit. You're crazy about me." A car almost T-bones us backing out of a convenience store parking lot. I slam on the breaks, then say, "Put your fucking seatbelt on, Pony. Fer chrissakes we're in New Hampshire."
The Rockingham Mall is five miles from here but the traffic on route 28 blows! It takes us twenty-minutes to get there and when we're inside Pony says, "I don't want to do this." I naturally assume he's kidding, as I tell him, "There's a kiosk right there that will pierce your ear and include an earring for thirty-five bucks. And they take all credit cards." He says, "Fuck a whole bunch of earrings. I changed my mind again. It's a pierced nipple or nothing." After staring at him hard for two seconds, I stalk over and ask the girl with a ring through her nose, "Do you do nipple piercing?" She says, "I wish, but no, we're not allowed. They'll pierce your nipple at the Piercing Pagoda kiosk around the bend there," and she points to her left.
Her fingernails are painted black and they're over an inch long. How the hell does she do ear piercings with fingernails that long? I go, "Thanks,"
and tell Pony, who didn't even come to the kiosk with me. He looks scared now, so I say, "Goddammit, you don't need to do this. C'mon, let's get out of here." He goes, "No, I want to do it," so I make a 'face' and we start walking in the direction the lady pointed.
At the Pagoda Piercing Kiosk Pony says, "You talk to the guy, okay?" I go up to a nice looking young man, not much older than me, and say, "Excuse me. He's interested in getting," and I point over my shoulder at Pony, "His nipple pierced. Do you do that here, and if so what's it cost?" This guy has his ears pierced in a couple of places but that's all the piercings I see. He's about Pony's and my size with a nice face and a very nice grin as he asks, "Is his nipple piercing your's or your silent friend's idea?" I go, "I tried to talk him out of it, so it's definitely his idea, although he's shy." This guy has a name tag that reads, "Shawn," and I'm assuming he's gay
from the way he moves. I could be wrong of course and it makes absolutely no difference if he is or isn't.
Shawn has a recent short faux-hawk haircut that's very well done. Brown hair and big green eyes. He says, "Yes, I do it there," and he points to an enclosed area behind the booth, adding, "But right now my partner, Bobby, is getting something to eat and there's only me here. I need to be in the front of the kiosk in the unlikely event someone wants to buy something. At least until Bobby gets back." I go, "How much do you charge?" He says, "It's $45 for the piercing but we insist you buy the jewelry here so we're sure it's top quality and won't cause an infection. The jewelry is from $30 to $100." I shrug and he adds, "Your friend should start with a barbell because that easier on a newly pierced nip. They only cost $30." Pony says from behind me, "I want a ring like he has," pointing at me.
Shawn says to me, "He's cute," and I go, "Ya think so?" He does a really cute grin and then, raising his eyebrows, he asks me, "Do you mind if I see yours?" I unzip my jacket and pull my shirt up exposing my nip ring. He nods his head, "Very good job of piercing and that's at least a $100 nip ring." I ask, "How long do you think Bobby will be?" He says, "He should've been back by now, but Bobby isn't the most reliable partner, so I'm not sure."
I look back at Pony, "You wanna wait?" He nods, then says to me, "Ask him how much it hurts," and both Shawn and me snort a laugh. He says, "Go ahead, ask me." I go, "He'd like to know if it hurts." Shawn says, "Yes, but not as much as everyone would have you believe. Did it hurt you?" I go, "Of course not. A pinch and maybe I screamed for a fraction of a second before fainting, but afterwards I realized it wasn't any worse than a root canal." We chuckle again and I look back at Pony, "Do you want me to repeat all that?" Pony goes, "Very funny."
It's kind of awkward standing here but in a minute or so a husky guy who looks about thirty-years-old walks up behind us and slips through an opening in the kiosk to stand next to Shawn. What a disappointment! Shawn deserves better than this brutish looking guy with his nose pierced and a dragon tattoo on his neck. Shawn says to me, "Bring your friend around to the side,"
then to the brute, "He wants a nipple piercing. Oh, and Larry called. He wants you to call him back." Brute has this high-pitched voice that totally doesn't go with his appearance, "Fuck what Larry wants. You want me to do the piercing?" Shawn smiles and says, "Don't make me laugh," then motions with his head that we should follow him to the side. Their relationship may be nothing like I imagined. I knew Shawn wouldn't have a boyfriend like that
guy! We go inside and Shawn says to Pony, "Please take your coat and shirt off and sit there," pointing to a stool with a back and arms. Pony frowns looking at me and I say, "Go ahead, Pony." He frowns again almost making me laugh. He takes off his jacket and shirt and gets in the chair. Shawn says, "Are you sure you won't go with a barbell? It'll heal better than a 14-gauge ring." Pony croaks out, "A ring like his." Shawn pats Pony's shoulder, "Sure thing," and brings over a sample case of nip rings with a price on each one. Pony says, "Which one should I get, Dylan?" Puffing out my cheeks while exhaling and again trying not to laugh, I glance at Shawn who's grinning, then point to a $40 stainless steel ring, saying, "This is good. You can always change it later after your nipple piercing heals, but it's a nice looking ring to start." Pony says to Shawn, "That one," pointing at the one I pointed at. Shawn mumbles, "Good choice," and gets a sterile package containing that ring, then asks, "Which nipple?" and Pony looks at me. I mumble, "The right one."
Shawn puts on gloves and then carefully puts a dot on either side of Pony's right nipple using a fine point magic marker, saying, "You have small tight pecs, Pony, which will help the piercing heal quicker. Maybe as soon as six to eight weeks but don't be alarmed if it takes longer." He wipes disinfectant around the nipple, gets a serialized thing that clamps on the nipple pulling it out and sticks a needle right through at the base." Just like that, bang! Pony's face gets red and scrunches up. His eyes water and then he makes a funny face at me, saying a quiet, "Ow," and that was it. A drop of blood at the most. Wow, way to go Pony! When Shawn's threading the ring through the piercing though Pony's squirming and holding his arm out. I take hold of it as Shawn says, "One more second," but Pony's almost sliding out of the seat. Then, "There," says Shawn, "All done. You were awesome, Pony!" and he pats his shoulder again.
Pony looks pale now, saying to me, "That last part really fuckin' hurt." I go, "Pretend it didn't. I mean it's over now so you can make up any lie you want." Pony goes, "Like hell it's over. It still aches!" Shawn say, "Only for a couple of hours. It'll settle down." he hands Pony a pamphlet, "Read this and follow the directions in there. You'll be fine. Salt water soaks early on. They will soothe the sore nipple." He holds up a plastic pouch, "This is an after-care kit I strongly suggest you buy. It's only $7.99."
Pony nods his head and slides off the stool."
All that remains is him putting his shirt and jacket on and paying with his debit card. We thank Shawn who smiles again saying, "No problem. You guys make a really cute couple." Pony blushes a dark red. I shrug, not about to clarify our situation. We walk away with Pony saying, "Shawn thinks we're a couple and the fat guy thought we were brothers." I go, "That's not the worst thing anyone could think about us, huh?" He says, "Man, I cannot fucking believe I just did that! He was so fast I didn't have a chance to change my mind." I go, "Yeah, I didn't expect it to go that fast either, but it's over." He says, "Now I feel like I'm going to throw up." I go, "Pretend you don't feel like that," and he chuckles, muttering, "You're such a prick. Like I can pretend I don't feel like throwing up." I go, "Try pretending you can pretend that," and he goes, "Try pretending you're not a prick,"
and he bumps against my side grinning at me. I put my arm around his shoulders, muttering, "You did good, Daryl."
Outside as we're walking to the car he's pinching his jacket away from his nipple, saying, "You're going to stay with me tonight, right? I just basically had surgery." I go, "You can hang out at the apartment until the aching subsides. I gotta keep watch on Rob for concussion symptoms although I think he's on the mend." Pony says, "Do you think Rob will mind if I'm there?" I go, "Don't be silly. Of course not." Inside the Jeep he goes, "I'm so fucking excited I did this, but mostly I happy it's over!" I go, "No shit, you were really good though. Better than I was when I got my nipple pierced." He says, "I don't believe that for a second, Dylan, but when he was putting the ring through the just pierced hole... mother-fucker!"
This should be an interesting night. I wonder what Rob would say to a three-way? Ha ha, that'll be problematic of course since Pony doesn't want anyone except me knowing he's gay. We can probably work something out though...
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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