DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 52
by Donny Mumford
After parking the Jeep at Joe's Blair's Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge I look around but don't see John Smith's Toyota van. Huh, it's twelve-thirty and he's usually here by now. Wouldn't it be ironic that I made it here for the first time in two weeks and John eats lunch somewhere else. Or maybe he's just running late; it's not like I'm rushed for time. Rob's having lunch with some of his teammates and after that they have baseball practice which lasts until five o'clock and Rob usually hangs around after practice.
I've got the whole afternoon to myself.
After sitting in the Jeep for ten-minutes I'm getting antsy so I get out for a smoke. It's a nice day, especially considering this is the Northeast where weather often sucks during March. Finished my smoke I'm just about to leave when a Haverhill Toyota van pulls in and parks on the other side of the bar. That's gotta be John. I feel a twitch of anticipation in my balls and then, oh man, I just thought of something. The weather is getting nicer by the day so why would we need to have a smoke in the storage room when we could easily step outside? John doesn't see me when he gets out of the van, and ha ha, his work-shirt looks way too big on him because he's so skinny. He's tall though so maybe a 'small' work-shirt wouldn't fit him either, or more likely Toyota doesn't make a size 'small' work shirt. I yell, "Yo, John." He turns and gives me that cute grin of his and then walks over to me, saying, "Well if it isn't my favorite twin!" He's referring to the oddity of us being born on the same date. We're exactly the same age.
We do a quick hug and fists-bump the way most guys greet one another nowadays. John's an inch taller than me but with his work boots on it's more like he's three-inches taller. There's a random grease smear on his freckled face and one on his left ear. The dark smudges are very obvious because he has the pale complexion most redheads have. Working on automobile engines leaves dirt or grease under his fingernails although otherwise his hands appear to be fairly clean. Also, there's the tire-smell of an auto-shop coming off his clothes. It's not an unpleasant smell though.
As we walk in the front door, I'm like, "How are we gonna justify having a smoke in the back when the weather's nice outside?" He makes a face, "Yeah, I was thinking that same thing last week sitting at the bar hoping you'd show up." He got in a little jab there 'cause, like I said, I haven't been here for two weeks. I go, "It's my fucked-up course schedule this semester, John." He goes, "Yeah, you've explained that before." I ask, "What about our smoke in the storage room? What have you done during nice weather in the past?" He says, "Dylan, I've had only two successes before hitting the jackpot with you. The first time it was snowing and that guy picked me up more than the other way around. That's what gave me the idea in the first place. It was raining the other time plus it was fairly obvious the guy was gay.
That's the totality of my lunch-time pick-ups." I go, "Totality, huh?"
Inside I ask, "Well, how long's your lunch hour?" He chuckles, "Surprisingly my lunch-hour is, um, an hour." I go, "Oh yeah... heh heh. Anyway, I was
thinking maybe we could go to my apartment and skip lunch altogether.
There's like a ninety-five-percent-chance my roommate won't have some unexpected bizarre reason for dropping in on us." We're just standing inside the door, as he goes, "Oh man, that's an enticing thought. I mean, dude, I'm so horny, but are you willing to take that five-percent chance your boyfriend would show up?" I rub my face sort of wishing I never mentioned it. John goes, "No, I can't let you take that chance. You lucky bastards are in love, dude. Come on, we'll get our regular seats and figured out how to handle this." I shrug, relieved he shot-down the apartment idea. Gee, he's a considerate guy.
As soon as we sit down the lady bartender comes over smiling, "Hey, Johnny! Let me see if I remember your friend's name. It's, um, Danny, right?" I go, "It's Dylan. Hi Judy." She's related to John and so is the waitress.
John's father and uncle own this place although neither of them is named, Joe Blair. They bought the bar from that guy and never changed the name even though it's sort of a pretentious name for this place. I mean considering this is basically a bar rather than either a restaurant or a cocktail lounge.
As Judy's pouring our draft beers, she says, "Coors for you, Cousin, and Miller Light for Dylan." Good memory although I'm not especially fond of Miller Light. It was the beer I panic-ordered my first lunch here with John. I was nervous and just said the first thing that came to mind. Then John ordered Miller Light for me at our second lunch and now it's apparently become my beer... in this bar anyway.
John's wearing the same hat he always wears when working. A baseball style cap with NAPA on the front over the bill. His long unruly red hair is sticking out under the hat, "When are you gonna let me give you another haircut, John?" He laughs and rubs my shoulder, "Oh yeah, you were my barber before our Worcester trip. I almost forgot that." I go, "Yeah, I was your barber for a free haircut." He nods, "Yeah I liked the free part so thanks for that, but like I told you before, I normally get a haircut only like three, or maybe for a special occasion, four times a year." He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his three-inch-long hair, muttering, "I guess it's that time again though, huh?" I go, "It's way past that time actually.
You looked hot after I gave you that burr haircut." He chuckles, "No I didn't. Nobody looks hot with a burr haircut." I ask, "So why did you insist on it?" He shrugs, "Habit I guess. I don't like fussing with my hair."
His hat goes back on as he looks at me, grinning again, asking, "Okay, so when can I avail myself of a free haircut from a pro like you?" I ask, "What time do you get off work?" He goes, "Usually four o'clock unless we've backed-up and then I pile on some over-time hours." I'm like, "Come over after work today. It doesn't matter if Rob shows-up during a haircut." He goes, "Okay, I will." He pats my shoulder, "Jeez, ya know, I really like you, Dylan Newman!" and he pinches my cheek, then rubs at it, mumbling, "Oops, I put a grease smudge on your cheek." What? I thought his hands were clean. He pulls a napkin from a napkin holder and wets it with some spit and then rubs my cheek with it. I almost cum in my pants. Jesus, that was a dominantly sexy move on his part! Holy shit, what a thing to do...
He sees me staring at him out of the corners of my eyes and stops wiping my cheek. He has half a grin on his unusual face, asking, "What? The spit?"
I murmur, "That was hot. I almost shot-off in my pants." He laughs, "Yeah, I'm so sure! More like you almost hurled. I should have asked for a glass of water I suppose, you being such a clean college students and all." I go, "Hey, I like grunge once in a while." He grins again, "Why am I not surprised?"
His sister is the waitress. She taps John's shoulder, asking, "Same lunch as usual, Johnny?" He says, "No, Sis. Today I'm feeling the cheeseburger platter with cole slaw on the side." She smiles, "That platter comes with cole slaw, ya nut." He goes, "I meant extra cole slaw on the side." She looks at me., "How about you, hon?" I say, "Same as John." She's tall for a girl and very thin like her brother. Olive Oil of Popeye fame comes to mind although Sis is better looking and with a better hairdo. As she walks away, she mumbles, "It'll be ten minutes, boys."
We drink some beer, then John mutters, "I'm really needing our, um, smoke after lunch, Dylan. Seeing you is getting me dangerously aroused." I mumble, "Good to know," and he squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "Fact is you're probably way too sexy for me but I'm willing to go up in flames if necessary. I am so glad you showed-up today!" I'm like, "Jeez, me too. Glad you're so up for it."
Actually he's the sexy one. Today he's has some bright-red-beard-stubble on his top lip and chin, and some under each sideburn. Super-sexy-look! Oh sure, his nose is slightly bigger than it should be and his mouth is kinda wide but I've become enamored of him. In Worcester I even elevated his appearance, when we were drunk, to goofy-cute. I'm sticking with that evaluation
even though I'm sober now and know better. Plus, he fucks really good and with a hard spanking thrown-in for good measure whenever it occurs to him.
It's kinda hypnotic the way he's so casual and matter-of-fact about the way he goes about everything. And it's not an affected manner at all, merely his normal way of doing things. At work he's probably the same way casually fixing, um, whatever it is someone fixes in an engine. I know zilch about engines. Ever since Worcester he's had an air of dominance about him too.
Nothing overt, just a confidence during our side-sex together. It's all good...
The food platters come out and as usual John's not a real talkative guy so we eat in silence while exchanging a few smirks. It's odd how I feel as though we've know each other for a few years rather than a few months. We bonded really good during that overnight trip and I'm very comfortable being with him. I like that John's self-deprecating at times and I think he's kinda smart too. His father co-owns this successful bar and has a job too so I don't know why he didn't send John to college. I mean, financially he should have been able to do that. I'm pretty sure John would have done very well academically. He told me he's thought once or twice that he might have made a mistake passing up college life, but he likes working on cars. Not everyone wants or needs to go to college I suppose.
Finishing our lunch, I'm wondering how John's going to handle the smoke part of our ritual and then his sister gives us the opening. She takes our empty plates, saying, "After you smoke your disgusting cigarette, Johnny, would you take a minute to listen to my car engine. It goes, "Taa, taa, ta...
tat, tat, tat, before turning over. I'm afraid it's not going to start one of these mornings." He smiles nodding his head at her, "Yeah, sure, Sis. Ta
ta, tat tat, huh?" and she hands him her keys, saying, "Oh you! I'm a girl so I don't know a fucking thing about cars." The keys go in his pocket as John slides off the stool and nods his head at me, like, 'Let's go.' I follow him down the hall past the lavatories to the door marked 'Private'. He reaches back grabbing my arm and pulling me in front of him, muttering, "Go ahead, get in there, Dylan." Pushing the door open, I ask, "Are we actually going to have a smoke first, or...?" He says, "Hell no, I'm too aroused! I could hardly eat my lunch thinking about fucking you. Drop your pants and lean over." I do that, putting my hands-on top of a case of Miller Light.
Miller Light! Ha, symmetry! John hasn't dropped his pants yet. Instead he puts his left hand firmly on my back, muttering, "Don't move. I'm gonna give you your much needed spanking," and he spanks my ass, "Smack, smack, smack!" He keeps it up longer than normal but I don't object thinking the next smack will be the last, then the next one, and the next one. His right hand has calluses on the pads under his fingers so he has a hard hand and my butt cheeks feel red and hot and they're stinging like a mother-fucker! I'm squirming and just about to put my hands back there to ward off another smack when he stops. I go, "Balls! That hurt!" and right away he grabs a tight fistful of my hair. My hair's much shorter than it was in Worcester but long enough for him to pull me around by my hair and then pull my head down to his crotch as a submissive trance slides across my brain. First the spanking and now the dominant take-charge yanking my head around.
Still tightly pulling my hair, he uses his other hand to undo his pants.
His pants and underpants come down below his balls, and he says, with friendliness in his voice, "I get the biggest kick out of spanking you, Dylan.
It's a rush the way you just take it." Dammit! He always does that. He spoils a dominant act by jokingly being friendly about it. I had a submissive thingie starting there and now it's evaporated back to wherever it came from.
I mutter, "I suppose you over-spanked my ass because I haven't been around for a couple of weeks." He goes, "Hmmm, letting out my frustration, huh? That could have been in my subconscious I suppose, but I wasn't consciously punishing you. I'd never purposely do that." I go, "Well whatever the reason, just so you know, my ass is on fire." He chuckles and yanks on my hair, saying, "Yeah? Well I don't see how it's gonna cool off any when I start pounding my cock up there."
Even though I bitched about it a little, I liked that spanking! It was dominant of him. He told me in Worcester when he was drunk that he tries to be dominant because he knows I like dominant sex. Now it seems to me it's becoming more natural for him to take charge and do things his way. Early on take-charge action from him was obviously forced and not natural for him. I can tell the difference now. He's got my head at his crotch so I lift his limp cock with my thumb and index finger, then lick the head. There's a urine tastes but only the first two licks. Sliding the head of his cock back and forth on my tongue a few times gets a grunt out of John and then I take it in my mouth and suck on it. Right away that gets my own cock stiffening-up even before his dick gets stiff.
He smells clean down here as I slurp on his penis. After a minute of licking and sucking, he yanks on my hair and murmurs, "Dude, that feels so fucking good." I take more of his cock inside my mouth and it soon tightens-up to near boner-status. His cock isn't quite as long as mine but it's fatter, although not as fat as Rob's. I've only seen a couple of cocks as fat as Rob's. Using his grip on my hair John pulls my head forward until the tip of my nose is being tickled by the ends of his pubic hairs. The head of his cock gets pushed back on my tongue until it's poking the gag reflex area at the top of my throat. I gag a little as he murmurs to himself, "It should be hard enough now," and he pulls my head towards him until my face is flat against his stomach. Pubic hairs surround my face with the head of his boner going into my throat. It happened so fast I only gagged that one time. My scalp hurts from all the hair-pulling plus I can't breathe, but it's awesomely dominant of John. I do my part by being submissively docile and not pulling my head away. Moving his hips only, he fucks my throat for fifteen-to-twenty-seconds that seems longer and my cock gets brittle-hard. John's quietly moaning now, "Mmmmmmm." My cock is sticking straight-up and flat against my belly. It's so awesome to have a dominant guy's hard cock in my mouth and throat. There's another submissive trance dancing lightly around my brain getting ready perhaps to take a very firm hold on my senses.
I'm hoping to get so turned-on my cock tightens to the salute position which is to say it's sticking straight out from my body, but before that happens John yanks my hair pulling my head back and his cock slides out of my throat and then he moves my head back further and it comes out of my mouth completely. I'm like a statue staring at John's boner that's so hard it's sticking straight out from his pubic hairs. It's extremely hard with my saliva dripping off the shaft. A drool of clear precum is hanging from the piss slit so John murmurs, "Lick that off," and with the fistful of hair drags my face over so I can lick off the precum. I feel like I'm gonna cum, but will myself not too.
Letting go of my hair John's excited, exclaiming, "Oh God, that felt so fucking good, Dylan! You are the best!" He exhales a long noisy breath, then says, "Jesus, I gave a thought for a second there that'd I'd fuck your throat all the way to orgasm. That wouldn't be fair to you though, would it?"
I'm still feeling the submissive trance even with him being excited about the oral sex. When I don't reply, he lifts my head with a hand under my chin, "You are so awesome, Dylan," and I lose the trance again. Jesus! I go, "Thanks. That oral sex was really good."
He goes, "Yep, it was great, but turn around now and I'll spank you again." My startled expression makes him laugh, then he mumbles, "I'm just kidding you, although maybe I'll include some spanking along with a good hard fucking. Ya know, as a special treat for you." He's like, "Hey, why so serious?" Shaking my head, I go, "No reason," and he hands me a condom, saying, "It's your turn to buy condoms by the way." I nod and rip open the packet and then roll the condom on his wooden boner. He goes, "Oooh, the condom feels good too. Turn around and put your hands on those beer cases the way you were when I spanked that cute ass of yours, which appears to have survived the spanking just fine. It's lost its bright pink color." I turn around facing the beer cases and lean over supporting myself with my hands on the top case. John squeezes my butt cheeks and then spreads them and immediately the nipple at the end of the condom slides down my ass crack slippery with lubricant. He hesitates two seconds and then plugs the hard head of his boner in my ass. We both go, "Oooh!" like we're surprised, then, "Aaaah, mmm."
Pushing his cock steadily all the way up my ass spreads my rectum while my stretched anus lips ache deliciously. Pain to pleasure is a fantastic trip
heightening the pleasure. Leaving his cock fully inside me John humps against my buttocks and then slaps the side of my ass. He humps harder, murmuring, "Oh fuck, this feels good." Completely in-charge now he does a few more hard humps against my butt cheeks, each hump moving his hard cock inside me a tiny bit which gets my prostate sizzling. I groan, "Ooooh, fuuuuuck."
Precum runs down my hard boner. His smacks on my ass don't hurt that much when done one at a time, but string a dozen together one right after another like he did a couple of minutes ago and it really gets to hurting.
After another hump against my ass he lifts his hips with his hard boner pulling my rectum up and I go, "Oooh!" going up on my toes a little. Damn, I like that too! My rectum is throbbing with sexual pleasure as I'm bent over holding onto the case of beer with my pants around my ankles. John's behind me with his cock as hard as a cock can get fully impaling me. It's a pleasant gooey sensation and gets better when he puts both hands under my shirt and tightly rubs up and down my bare back. Then the palms of his hands slide under me to rub across my stomach and up to my chest to twist my nipples. The one with the nip ring gets hard immediately. Then he rubs him hands down and over my bellybutton and then to my groin and I know I'm going to cum, but it's another false alarm. His right hand goes around my hard wet cock and John strokes, strokes, strokes it. Oh my God that feels so good I'm shaking. Stroke, stroke and I gasp, "Oooh, ooh, John, I'm gonna cum."
He lets go, murmuring, "We can't have that," and pulls his hands out from under my shirt and, like he usually does, grabs a fistful of my hair at the front of my head pulling my head back stretching my neck. He holds my head there and begins withdrawing his cock. It moves backwards in my rectum until the fat head is distending the lips of my asshole. My shoulders shudder and, oh man, everything feels so fucking good! My shoulders shudder again as he maintains the backward pressure for a second before thrusting his hard boner back up my ass fast making a "Slap!' sound when he smacks against me. Then it's the deliberate extra upward hump lifting me up on my toes again. More precum drools down my hard cock as he pulls his boner back a second time and drives it right back in, "Slap!" then the extra rough hump upwards lifting me on my toes. He groans, "Oooh fuuuuck, this is awesome." While pulling hard on my hair he does half-a-dozen of those deliberate hard thrust with the extra upward hump at the end that lifts me on my toes. My eyes are closed loving the dominance and wanting it to go on for a long time.
When I hear him gasp and shuffle his feet, however, I figure his climax has begun building. Mine too and then he lets go of my hair and we're off to the races. With both his hands gripping my hips it's fast, hard thrusting to the finish line, "Slapslapslapslap!"
Hard fast thrusting for a delicious two-minutes before my body tightens and all my muscles clench. Holding my breath with my eyes wide open now I'm hearing the sounds of being fucked hard and fast, "Slapslapslap," and then there's only a few seconds of anticipation before, "Eeeeeiii!" as my hips hump and cum streams out my cock in an arc that splashes near the top of the beer cases. Then another stream of cum pumps-out of my quivering boner as my shoulders shudder and a million lights turn-on in my head. It's an awesome climax for nine, then ten-seconds before brilliant sensations spreads out from my rectum and groin to tantalize my whole body before fading quickly and then a weak, "Oooooh, fuuuuck," from me. I feel weak but good. It's over too quickly but the peak of pleasure for a few brief moments in time was exquisite.
John's not thrusting now so he must have climaxed too although I'm not sure when he did it. It must have been almost simultaneous with my climax because I didn't notice the normal desperate humping against my buttocks he always does as he climaxes. John's breathing noisily now, his hips motionless as he goes, "Omigod! Oh shit, what an orgasm..." He pulls his cock out, "Oh man, Dylan, you've gotta come around more than twice a month. You're my only sexual relief." Like that's my fault? He goes, "Hold it there," and slides his cock back up inside me and my back arches at how good it feels.
Another minute of fast thrusting with John grunting with each thrust and then he pulls out again, murmuring, "I almost shot off again but my dick's getting sore." I shake a little reaching back to feel my wide open asshole, gasping, "You poor thing. A sore pecker from fucking me so hard."
I'm still breathing deeply as I straighten-up amazed again at how wide open my asshole is. It's a familiar feeling though; one I always marvel at. I know what it looks like too because I see Pony's asshole opened wide when I've finished fucking him. It doesn't take long for assholes to get themselves back together though. Assholes are awesome things, as are penises for that matter. John has an especially good penis for my ass. Sure, there are hard cocks in my ass that feel better than others, although the worst one I ever felt up my ass was still mighty good.
He's dropping the condom in the trash barrel and then covering it with a couple pieces of yesterday's newspaper. Using a paper towel, I'm wiping lubricant that scraped from the condom onto my ass and then turned almost to liquid form. As I wipe I'm saying, "I'd like to get over here more often, John, I really would. I'm loving the rough-house stuff you're doing with your fucking. Rob and I usually eat lunch together though, so...." He nods his head, "Yeah, I understand. I was just being selfish thinking about only me.
Just so you know, every time you make it here for lunch is appreciated greatly, Dylan." I'm pulling up my pants, "I enjoy it too, John. It's not like I think I'm doing you a favor. Boy, you fuck good!" He grins, "Well thank you very much.... Hey, and how about that spanking I gave you this afternoon. It wasn't too much, was it?" I go, "Nope, and anyway it's totally up to you what's too much. You're in-charge, dude." He nods, "Yeah, that becomes more and more obvious every time we do it. It gets me extra hot too. Jesus, I really like your submissive act." He chuckles, "You are really something with that submissive shit you pull off!"
We're put back together now, so he sweeps his arm towards the door, saying, "After you, my friend." I open the door and we walk five steps and then go into the men's room to wash-up. As he's washing his hands, he says, "We've got special soap for the grease at the shop, but getting the grease out of the creases and under my fingernails takes at least five-minutes. For lunch I only do a quick version. I guess what I'm wondering is, do my dirty fingernails bother you?" I shake my head, "Nah, nothing about you bothers me, John. I'm just sorry we can't get together more often." He goes, "Yeah well, you're in a relationship. Plus you two have the same classes and you live together and...." I'm like, "Yeah, it's awesome in lots of ways but I still enjoy my free time."
He looks over at me, saying, "Ya know in some ways, and please don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes when I'm daydreaming about you at work, I wish I never met you. You know, I wouldn't know what I'm missing if we never met." I go, "It's kinda hard not to take that the wrong way, John."
We're drying our hands as he says, "No, I'm super glad I met you, but you know what I meant, right?" Ignoring that, I go, "Isn't there anyone who you think might be gay that you could put some feelers out to?" He shakes his head, "No, there isn't. It might seem pathetic to you because you've been incredibly lucky with your sex life, and now you're spoiled. You don't realize how tough most of us gay guys have it. Meaningful sex is rare for most of us. Some gay guys rarely, if ever, have relaxed enjoyable sex with a desirable partner. One out of a hundred, or a thousand probably, has sex fall into their lap like you." I go, "You've greatly overestimated my side-sex life."
He goes, "I wasn't even referring to your extra curricular sex activity. I mean, you live with your boyfriend and, I suppose, you two fuck all the time." I mutter, "Not all the time." He goes, "Whenever you want to, right?"
We go back and sit at the bar to finish our second beers. No one is the wiser about us having sex. When John eats alone he has a cigarette in the back every day, so him and I doing our version of having a smoke doesn't raise a single eyebrow. Side-sex is almost always quick anyway, usually taking about as much time as smoking a cigarette. It's quick but almost always hot! Tracy and I used to have the fastest and hottest side-sex imaginable but now he's back to fucking girls. This year the guys I know hardly ever stop in at Tracy's speakeasy because of all the underclassmen who are there in large numbers, especially the freshmen. All those first-time drinkers with their silliness and immaturity ruin the speak-easy experience. We'd rather pay a little more to drink at legal-age bars avoiding the childish binge-drinking and throwing-up that goes on all too often at the speakeasy.
Finished our beers I leave money for my check. John eats for free, but leaves a tip for his sister and then we walk out together. Outside we light cigarettes and stand near my Jeep smoking. John asks, "Should I text first before coming over to your place after work?" I'm like, "Yeah, I guess but I can't imagine any reason that I couldn't do the haircut for you." He goes, "Um, do you think we can sneak in a quickie after the haircut?" He's grinning, adding, "I wasn't kidding about being horny... especially for you." I go, "You flatter me, John, but I like doing it with you just as much as you like it." He mumbles, "I very much doubt that." We bump fists as I say, "Later, dude," and he goes, "Can't wait and maybe I'll follow your advice and get a different haircut." Whatever...
With a wave of his hand John Smith walks towards his sister's car to analyze the "Ta ta, Tat tat", sounds her car's engine is making. I get in the Jeep. He's really a good guy and he gave me something to think about too.
He's right, I am extremely lucky with my sex life and I haven't given much thought to the many who aren't as lucky. I guess that applies to straight guys too. I should stop taking things for granted, not that that'll do anything for the unlucky guys. Still, I gotta believe there are a lot of guys and girls having sex on a regular basis. It's not just me and Rob. Also, while I sympathize with the unlucky ones, there's no real reason I should feel guilty about my embarrassment of riches. I'm not preventing anyone from having sex. They need to step-up and go for it if that's what they want. It takes putting yourself at risk a little, like getting turned-down or the guy you proposition turns out to be straight. Shit like that, but it's almost always worth the risk.
Back at the apartment I work on tonight's assignments for class, getting a head start for when Rob and I will be doing this later. Actually, I feel good about staying on top of course assignments so I guess Rob is rubbing-off on me in that regard. Before you know it, I'll be as conscientious as he is... Dylan the brown-noser. Well, let's not get carried away. I'd drop the homework assignments in a second if I had something better to do. The truth of the matter is I spend so much time with Rob I haven't been making the kind of friends that I can be comfortable just hanging-out with. The exception to that is my two side-sex buddies although this semester our schedules don't match up very well. Other than those two I don't have a friend I feel comfortable texting and saying let's hang-out. Chubby is busy with John Beverly spending most of their free time trying to get in some girl's pants. It's funny that before sex became an issue Chub and I did everything together. We had the same interests back then. Our interest in sex exploded on the scene about the same time as our first full-time summer jobs. I didn't have a clue that we'd be traveling such different paths once we got those jobs. I had no idea what would follow.
I'm at my desk with the text book and worksheet in front of me thinking those thoughts when this odd feeling comes over me like I'm depressed. I don't know what causes it but sometimes I get like this of late. Actually, I don't think it's depression so much as it's like something isn't right and for the life of me I don't know what. Maybe it's simply that Chub and I don't spend nearly as much time together as we used to. It's the reality of the matter, but even so, the times Chub and I do get together now, just the two of us, it feels the same as when we were inseparable. We formed such an incredibly strong connection during all those formative years together, him and me against the world, that we'll always for the rest of us lives be close like neither of us will ever be with anyone else. Even being in love with Rob I have a different feeling for him than I have for Chubby. And obviously, I mean aside from sex. The part of my relationship that doesn't involve sex will never be as meaningful with anyone to the degree it was and still is with my brother. Rob's a wonderful substitute but if it weren't for sex, the person I'd most want to live my life with is Chubby. Sex obviously can't be excluded though, so the idea of it being Chubby and me going through life together is just another one of my pipe dreams, like the one I have about a nudist colony where only guys under-twenty-three would be admitted.
Pipe dreams? Yeah but what the fuck does a pipe have to do with dreams? Bored with my study material I get my coat on and go outside for a drive.
No place in-particular, just get out of the apartment. Until this year there was always Ryan to spend time with. I wonder how he's doing. Then, driving by Rolf's bar in downtown North Andover, I see Chubby and John Beverly going in the front door of the bar. Oh man, I gotta stop and say hello to Chubby. I was just thinking about him a little while ago. I park the Jeep and walk inside where I see John Beverly patting some big guy on the back.
Standing just inside the door I hear John saying, "Jeff, meet Ronald Banjo.
He's in my Environmental Science class. I cheat off him during test even though he tries covering his answer sheet with his arm." Ronald looks annoyed as
Chubby chuckles.
This guy, Ronald, I already don't like. He's another one of the large students. Tall with a wide body although it's soft looking. Pillsbury dough-boy. Lots of curly hair on his head with it hanging over the collar of his shirt and he appears put-out that he needs to meet Chubby. An inconvenience perhaps, or maybe he's simply bored that he needs to meet some inferior person. With a sigh, he gives a slight head nod acknowledging Chub. I know his type. The smug type that feel they're superior to most but reluctantly realize the need to deal with inferiors while going to college. It's like they take a deep breath and condescendingly barely tolerate their peers.
And I can tell from Chubby's expression he feels the same way I do about Ronald. Chub doesn't see me yet, as he says to Ronald, "Dude, do you play the, um... piano?" The guy says, "What? Play the piano? I thought you were going to ask me the obvious question: do I played the banjo," and Chub's like, "Why would you think that? Are you musically inclined, Ronny, is that it?" The guy says, "You're talking in circles, but whatever. The thing is though I'm gonna insist you call me 'Ronald', because that's my name. Can you do that much for me, pal? Not too much for you to remember, huh?" Chub goes,
"Oh jeez, yeah sure thing." Ronald goes, "And I don't know why the fuck you'd assume I'm musically inclined." Chubby spreads his hands, mumbling, "Um, correct me if I'm wrong, Ronny, but didn't you just mutter something about a fuckin' banjo?"
John Beverly goes, "Heh heh, Ronald, don't mind my friend. He's aspiring to be a standup comic." Ronald's huffy, "Well he needs a lot more work on that. I don't find him funny at all." Oh-oh, I know that expression on Chubby's face, so I go, "Hey, Chub," and he turn and gives me the smile he only shows me and comes right over to where I'm standing. We do a big hug. I hug him back extra tightly, saying, "I was thinking about you and saw you walk in here so I had stop to say hello." He's like, "I'm glad you did.
Everything okay, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, except for missing you." He hugs me again saying, "C'mon, I'll buy you a beer."
John Beverly and this Ronald person are sitting at the bar talking. When we walk over John turns on the bar stool to bump fists with me, saying, 'Hey, Dylan, 'sup, dude?" I mutter, "Not much," and Chubby says, "Dylan, meet John's friend, Ronny Guitar." The guy shakes his head, grumpily saying, "It's Banjo, not guitar, like your wise-ass friend said. And as I've explained to this slow-learner here, I insist on being called Ronald for the simple reason that it's my name." Chub goes, "Of course you'd insist on that.
Anyone would." Ronald shakes his head once at Chubby and then looks at me explaining to me, like he's talking to a five-year-old, "My last name is Banjo and I'm aware it's sort of an unusual name. I'm Ronald Banjo, not Ronny Guitar like the uncouth one here would have you believe." I nod, muttering, "I'm Dylan, um, nice to meet ya. Do you play the banjo?" and he goes, "Jesus H. Christ! Are you two retarded? It's my fuckin' name, fer chrissakes!" I go, "Huh."
We sit on bar stools next to Ronald. Chubby looks him in the eyes, saying, "Ronny, baby, do ya know how to make a dumb person curious?" Ronald rolls his eyes, exhales exasperatedly, and goes, "No, how?" Chubby says, "Maybe I'll tell you the next time I see you." John Beverly grins, saying jokingly,
"Ahh, can't we all be friends," and Chub goes, "Speaking of friends. Two flies, best of friends, are on a big pile of dog poop." Ronald goes, "Oh, really!" and Chub continues, "One fly asks the other if he'd like to hear a joke. The other fly says yes, but nothing gross because I'm trying to eat here." We laugh as Ronald mutters, "Disgusting." Chubby goes, "Yeah, it is a little disgusting but in case you don't know Ronny some people are as dumb as a hat full of shit. So my earlier dumb joke about being curious was for the dumb ones among us. The joke about flies on a pile of dog poop was for, um, flies, I guess." John Beverly smirks as he slowly shakes his head while Ronald, who apparently was having a solitary lunch of beer and burger by himself looks disdainful at our intrusion.
Chub smirks at me and then holds his arm up to get the bartender's attention, "Freddy, what do I gotta do to get a drink in this dump." The bartender comes down and goes, "What'll you have, Jeff?" Huh, Chubby gets on a first name basis with everybody. Chub buys a pitcher of beer for the four of us and then he and I talk, ignoring John and Ronald. Current topic of concern for us is Peter the gorilla, who neither of us has seen since the time I saw him sliding in gravel and hitting his head on the light standard in Merrimack's parking lots. Chub goes, "He very well may have given up his quest.
You know, it being so hazardous for him and all. I mean, every time he sees you he's hitting his head on something." I'm like, "Yeah, but I still wish I knew how to get in touch with him and, you know, maybe come to some kind of resolution. I hate that it's hanging over my head not knowing when he'll pop-up next." Chub goes, "If he messes with you I'm gonna put that asshole in the hospital for way longer than his recent two-or-three-day stay."
I don't know how Chub would do that since we don't even know Peter's last name, never mind where he lives. I mention that to Chubby and he says, "Well fuck, bro, you told me he's a senior at North Andover High, right?" I'm like, "Jesus! I forgot that. Yeah, we could look up his picture and find out his last name in the high school's yearbook." Chub says, "Yep, there are undergraduate classes in last year's yearbook. He was a junior last year so we look up what homeroom he was in. Remember the pictures of students in each homeroom in our yearbook?" I'm like, "You're right, but where we gonna get last year's yearbook?" Chub says, "At North Andover High School of course."
We finish our beers and Chub says to John Beverly, "I gotta do something with Dylan. See you back at the dorm," then to Ronald, "This is a long-shot, Ronny, but are you related to Ronald McDonald?" Ronald looks pissed, muttering, "Are you fucking for real?" Chub's off the bar stool, saying, "It's the 'Ronald' you insist on, Ronny. That's what pisses me off because it's so pretentious. Nobody knows a Ronny McDonald for instance, or you could go simply by, Ron. I'm trying to help you out here. I knew a guy named Donald who was often referred to as Donald Duck. He started introducing himself as, Don, and banjo, I mean, bingo... no more duck references." Ronald says, "You're an asshole. And who are you to make fun of my name when your friend calls you Chubby?" I see the look in Chubby's eyes again and so does John Beverly. He's shaking his head 'no' at Ronald as he puts his hand on Ronald's arm, saying, "I'd go easy if I were you, Ronald. Best to just drop it."
As big as he is, Ronald looks nervous and goes, "No offense intended."
Chubby says, "Well, none taken then. You have yourself a nice day, Ronny," then, "I'll catch you later, John."
Walking out of the bar I'm like, "How's John Beverly getting back to Merrimack?" He says, "He borrowed a guy's car from our dorm, that's how we got here." I get in the Jeep's driver's seat, saying, "You were doing a pretty good job of breaking that guy's balls in there." He chuckles, "Oh, I don't know. Like I told him, it's so pretentious of him insisting he be called 'Ronald'. Plus, he had a superior way of talking down to me initially. I haven't had a fight in over a year and I didn't like his attitude so, ya know."
I go, "Oh," then, "So, are we driving to the high school?" He nods, "Yeah, let's find out who this gorilla asshole is so we can even the playing field a little."
During the short drive up Main Street to the high school Chub and I decide we need a brother's weekend away from Merrimack, just the two of us. Maybe a weekend in New York City. That would be cool. See a Broadway show, do some bar-hopping, and some tourist sightseeing maybe. We talk about that or maybe when the weather gets better an over-night trip to the Cape. We know it's not as good as Wildwood or Ocean City, New Jersey, but maybe we can discover what the big attraction for the Cape is, and then a trip to Provincetown.
At the high school Chub says, "Pull in here, bro." It's a 'teachers only' parking spot close to the front door. As we get out of the Jeep kids are running out the front door, then out a side door that's halfway down the side of the building. Chub grins, muttering, "School's out." We wait until the rush of students getting out of school tapers-off. Soon there are cars lining up in the students parking lot all trying to get out the same exit. We walk down and slide in the side door of the high school avoiding any kind of interrogation at the front desk. Inside Chub grabs a young guy by the arm, asking, "Hey dude, where's the library?" The kid points to his left, saying, "End of the corridor, two door doors down on your left." Chub goes, "Thanks," and then, "Nice jacket. Where'd you get it?" This is a short kid, on the heavy side, and his jacket is a raggedy-ass 'Member's Only' jacket from an earlier generation. The kid looks nervous, muttering, "I don't know.
It was my brother's." Chub goes, "You're looking good, dude, that's all I'm saying." The kid nods, 'Thanks," and scurries away. Chub points to where the kid pointed, "It's down there I guess, bro."
There are students drifting into the library so we blend-in and begin looking up and down the aisle. Chub mumbles, "Yearbooks, yearbooks," and a perky girl says, "Aisle 9 at the end." Chubby smiles, "Oh, hi there! Aisle 9, huh? I don't recall seeing you around. What grade are you in?" She sticks her developing tits out, and says, "I'm a junior, how about you?" Chub nods his head at me, saying, "You're a junior huh, we're both juniors too. Funny we haven't met before. What's your major?" She laughs. "What a corny question," and a lady with eyeglasses hanging around her neck on a chain and her hair done up in a bun, says, "Keep it down. This isn't a dating site." Chub makes a face at the girl, whispering, 'Oh man, we're in trouble now!" and the girl giggles as I walk by them looking for aisle 9. Huh, it's next to aisle 8, duh... and there are the yearbooks going back forty-some years.
The first one is for last year so I slide it out and randomly ruffle through the pages and just like that I remember Peter's last name. It's O'Neil.
Goddamn, just like that I remembered it. I look the name up in the index and go to the page indicated. I'm looking closely for Peter to be sure I've got the right O'Neil. The pictures aren't that large and in each homeroom there's thirty or more boys and girls, but I spot him pretty fast. Big cute smile as he stands taller than everyone. Again I think, what a waste his cute face is on that over-sized body. You'd never know from his picture that he's a psycho. The thing is there's no personal information; only his name and his last year's homeroom number. Well what'd I think there'd be, his cellphone number and home address? Yeah but why couldn't I remember his last name until I ruffled through pages of the yearbook? Brains are weird! Chubby's still talking to the girl... in between her giggling that is. I put the yearbook back where I got it. Walking back to them and ask Chubby, "You going to the sock-hop with giggles here?" She goes, "You're cute.
What's a sock-hop?" I shrug, "Something from the nineteen-fifties. I think I read something about it online once, or maybe I heard about it in a movie."
Chub asks, "Did you find our boy?" I nod, "Yeah, let's get out of here." Chub says, "Bye, Jennette, it was nice talking with you." She giggles, then says, "Yeah, you too. Don't forget what you promised." I'm pulling on his arm so he turns around and we walk out. "What's his last name, Dylan?" I tell him how I remembered Peter's last name before finding him in the yearbook, and he goes, "That's spooky."
We drive to the apartment and go online. Bringing up Google, I type in...
'Peter O'Neil in North Andover'. Thirteen O'Neil names appear on the screen. It says the search took one-hundredth-of-a-second. Chub goes, "What took it so long?" No Peter O'Neil though. There are addresses for each O'Neil, then their age. The last column on the right is titled, 'Related To.
Related to a forty-five-year-old, Michael O'Neil, is nineteen-year-old, Peter O'Neil. I remember him telling me he missed-out on a year of school recovering from being hit by a car, or some such shit like that. Anyway, he's a year older than he should be as a senior in high school. I go, "It was a snap finding him once you reminded me Peter went to this high school." Chubby shrugs, "You told me about him the night poor Peter slipped and fell down." I'm
like, "There's the address." Chub nods his head, "Now the question is, what are we going to do about it?"
We decide to drive by the house. In the Jeep I type the address into the GPS and follow the English-accented-voice's instructing me to, 'Turn left at the end of the road'. Chub goes, "We should change the GPS's voice to a sexy chick's voice." I go, "I like the English guy." The O'Neil house in question is on the outskirts of North Andover, almost in Lawrence. It's on a street of colonial-style homes built in the eighties and they're looking their age. We cruise by number 242 and see the name O'Neil on the mailbox at the end of their driveway. Chub says, "Circle around and park right in front of his house. We'll see if Peter's home." I gulp, asking, "What'll we say?"
Chub shrugs, "We'll think of something, bro. For one thing, see what he has to say for himself about stalking you." I mutter, "Stalking?" as I circle the block.
Parking at the curb in front of the house, I'm like, "Are we just going to walk right up and ring the bell?" Chub goes, "Exactly, c'mon, Dylan. We'll confront Peter as to what his intentions might be. See how ballsy he is when we're both in attendance, so ta' speak." We walk brazenly to the front door where Chubby rings the bell and then knocks on the door. He's grinning, "In case the bell doesn't work," and he knocks loudly on the door again. I mutter, "I heard the fucking bell, Chub." He chuckles, "So did I but in the movies the cops always do both to intimidate the residence."
The door opens and a nice-looking woman asks, "Yes? Can I help you?"
Chubby goes, "Hi, Mrs. O'Neil, is Petey home?" She goes, "Petey? Oh, Peter. Yes, he's in the basement with the Caryle boy, Andrew." Chub's like, "Andy Caryle's here, huh?" She nods her head, "Are you classmates of Andrew?" Chubby says, "Not exactly. Um, do you think it'd be okay if you mentioned to Peter that Jeff and Dylan are here and we have something for him?" She steps back, saying, "Well come on in, you can tell him yourself."
Chubby's doing his fake smile as we walk in. He looks around and then says, "You've got a beautiful home here." She knows bull-shit when she hears it, saying, "Really? It's a total mess right now. We've begun some early packing-up for our move." Chub goes, "Moving soon, huh?" She goes, "As soon as Peter graduates. Mr. O'Neil has already relocated to Dallas. It'll be quite a change for all of us." Chub goes, "Huh, I've heard Texas rocks." She kinda rolls her eyes, saying, "Uh huh. The steps to the basement are through that door, boys," pointing at a door near the kitchen. She walks towards the door so we follow with Chub mumbling, "Thanks," and she says, "Nice meeting you boys and, my oh my, aren't you the handsome ones though. If you don't mind me asking, are you... um, well never mind," and she opens the door to the basement. Peter's been 'out' as gay since he was thirteen and I think she was going to ask if we're gay.
We start down the steps of the finished basement with me saying, "She was going to ask if we were gay, I think." Chub shrugs as we go down six steps to a landing, and then the steps go off in another direction. We hear Peter's voice asking, "Is that you, mom?" Chub walks off the bottom step, saying, "No, it's Dylan and me, Petey. Surprise!" They were playing an Xbox game and the so-called Caryle boy is almost as big as Peter and very nice-looking in a preppy way. Short blond hair, big blue eyes, and a bemused expression on his face.
Peter looks dumbfounded staring open-mouth at a smiling Chubby, who asks, "What game ya playing on Xbox. I'm a killer on that entertainment devise."
Andrew asks, "And who the fuck might you two be?" I smile and do a little hand wave, saying, "Hi, Peter, 'sup?" He regains his senses, saying, "What the fuck?" Chub walks over to the pool table in the middle of the room and rolls the cue ball into the ten ball, saying, "We wanna talk about your clumsiness, libelous false accusations, and illegal stalking." Andrew laughs, "Is this some kind of put-on, Peter? Did you set this up or something?"
Peter tells him, "Shut the fuck up! These two are the assholes who fucked with me at that frat party last year and they're scared what I'm gonna to them."
It's not clear if Andrew is gay. He has no stereotypical gay mannerisms.
Chubby goes, "Scared, you say? Yeah, Dylan and I are scared to death which is why we came to your fuckin' house." Peter goes, "And why did you do that?" Chubby chuckles, "You're not real quick on the up-take, are you, Petey? I already told you why we came, but I don't mind telling you again... we came to talk about your clumsiness, your stalking, and your false accusations regarding moi and my brother."
This is a really nice finished basement with a full size pool table and large flat-screen TV on the wall, the Xbox and some nice looking club chairs.
Peter says, "Yeah, well I'm not interested in talking with either of you faggots at this time so get the fuck out of here. I'll deal with you when I feel like it." I sit in one of the club chairs, asking, "Are you happy about moving to Texas, Pete?" He goes, "How'd you know...?" then, "Never mind that, just get the fuck out of here." Chub picks up a cue stick and sinks one of the random balls on the pool table, then says, "We'll be happy to leave once we've sorted-out our differences. We're hoping to avoid attorneys.
We can sort things out the easy way or the nasty way. What's it going to be?" Andrew says, "Oh fuck, count me out of this, Peter. You make more fucking enemies than anyone I've ever known." Peter looks quickly at Andrew and then back at Chubby, who's grinning at him. He doesn't know what to do. I'm grinning at him too as I sit with my legs crossed in this comfortable chair. Chubby taps the cue stick menacingly in the palm of his hand.
Frankly I don't blame Peter for being flummoxed. I mean, who the fuck does this? He finally says, "Okay, what have you got to say?" Chub goes, "First off you need to apologize to my brother for ambushing him at Merrimack."
He goes, "Me apologize? He tripped me and I still have scabs on my fucking face from gravel scraps." Yeah, he does have some fine scab lines on his forehead and one on his nose. I'd have assumed his cuts would have healed by now. I go, "I didn't trip you, dick-weed! You fell over your own feet just like you did at the frat party." Andrew goes, "Yeah well you are a clumsy fucker, Peter. Ya gotta admit that." Andrew is more relaxed now that he senses nothing physical is likely to happen. I'd sure like to know if he's gay because Andrew's hot! Peter says, "All I know is this girl, who was at the frat party, says you two tripped me on purpose." Chub says, "Well I was there too, as you know, and I can unequivocally verify that no tripping occurred. That cunt is either a vicious liar or she's playing you for a sucker! Your feet got tangled with my bro's feet. Nasty fall, but shit happens." Peter goes, "I'm so sick of this shit with you two. Can we call it even and I'll never need to see either of you, especially him," and he points at me, "again?" Chub goes, "Yeah, okay, if that's what you want, but how about the apology?" Peter goes, "If I was misinformed I'm sorry, Dylan."
Chubby's nodding his head, asking, "That's it? That's how you apologize?"
Andrew snickers, probably he's never seen Peter bullied before this. It's usually the other way around. Peter's getting a little hot under the collar by now as he says, "That's my apology. Now kindly get the fuck out of here." Chubby goes, "You've got what's called in psychiatric circles a one-track mind, Petey. How about a friendly game of pool?" Andrew says, "Yeah, how 'bout it, Peter?" and he makes a cute face at me. Ah ha, he might be gay! I go, "Great idea!" Peter makes an un-cute 'face' at Andrew like, 'are you out of your fucking mind?' and then takes a couple of steps towards me, saying, "Dylan, would you please take your spokesperson here and the two of you just leave... please." I shrug and stand up half expecting to get punched in the face, so I'm ready to duck. No punch though. He holds out his hand to shake or maybe to pull me into him where he can knee me in the balls, but no. We shake hands as he bends his head close to mine whispering, "Earlier that night made it almost worthwhile, um, tripping over my own feet." I go, "Okay, we're good," and Andrew goes, "Wait! Did you two get it on...?"
and Peter and I both says, "No, we didn't." Andrew looks disappointed as Chubby goes, "No pool game, huh? Very inhospitable of you, Petey, but we can tell when we're not wanted. Um, could we at least grab a beer or something for the road?"
I'm chuckling at that, but Peter says, "Yeah, anything that'll get you to leave," and he goes to a half-refrigerator under a counter. Holy shit, I didn't know that was a refrigerator! He pulls out two Corona bottles and hands them to Chubby, saying, "You can go out the cellar door," pointing to the door across from the steps. Chub goes, "Yeah, okay. Um, thanks for the beers, Pete. C'mon, Dylan. We've been politely asked to leave." He passes me a beer, and Andrew comes over to put his hand on my shoulder, asking, "Do you go to prep school, or...?" Peter's pissed, "He's in college, Andrew! And he's way out of your league anyway. Plus much too dangerous for you." I go, "I'm not dangerous, Andrew." Chubby's out the door that leads to the driveway. Peter's pushing my back, saying, "Thanks for stopping by but next time wait for an invitation although you best not hold your breath. Okay?" I turn, "See ya, Andrew." He grins and nods his head, asking, "Do you ever get over to the Rockingham Mall?" Going out the basement door I say over my shoulder, "Yeah, sure I do. Maybe I'll see you there sometime," and the door slams behind me, BANG! We walk up the driveway with Chub saying, "Was it something we said, do you think?" I go, "Seriously, that couldn't have gone any better!" Chub mutters, "Guys act differently in their home," and he twist the top off the beer bottle and takes a good swallow. I carry my unopened bottle, asking, "Is that it, do you think? We're done with him forever, Chub?" He nods, "Yeah, he's sick of us, but damn he's a good-looking dude." I mutter, "Andrew was sexy hot too." At the Jeep Chub mutters, "Can't say I noticed that about Andrew, bro, but he definitely wasn't up for a fight." I mumble, "Neither was I."
In the Jeep with me driving again Chubby's drinking his beer, then he goes, "It was all over for Peter the second he didn't take the offensive when we appeared in his basement. That's when he would have done something if he was ever going to. And then his friend telling the gorilla he was on his own, that sealed the deal." I mutter, "That and you hitting your hand with the cue stick." Chub chuckles, "That'd make a damn nice club. But hey, nice finished basement, don'cha think?" I go, "Yeah, but I still can't believe it was that easy settling everything." Chub says, "Almost nobody likes confrontation, especially totally unexpected like that was for him. He was in a bind and with his mom upstairs too, plus he is only nineteen and unsure of himself, especially when put he's on the defensive like that." I'm like, "How do you know all this shit, Chub?" He shrugs again, "Common sense I guess."
Gee, I feel good that potential pain-in-the-ass problem is off my mind, and I feel confident that it is resolved. Forty-five minutes ago, it was a big concern and now it's not. Damn, just like that! I drive to my apartment and ask Chub to come up and hang-out with me for a while but he's got a paper that's due tomorrow so he'll be in the rest of the day doing that. Chub is sneakily very conscientious about the academic side of college while pretending to be blasé about it. I give him a hug and then get out of the Jeep and watch him slide over behind the wheel. He gives me a cool grin as he drives away with me thinking... what a hot-shit brother I have.
After putting the unopened bottle of Peter's beer in the refrigerator I text Rob asking how his practice is going? Then, at my desk I look at tonight
busy-work assignment again. It's mostly reading this terminally boring, 'Ethics in Technology' textbook. I'm still reading when I get a text from John Smith. 'I'm done work for the day. Any problem if I come to your place now?' I quickly text back, 'No problem. See you soon.' In the bathroom, I wash my hands and face and then brush my teeth, not that I expect to be doing any making-out with John Smith. It's just that my mouth feels good after brushing my teeth. Combing my hair, I again think how I'm overdo for a haircut. What with baseball practice and Rob's concussion he's neglected his barbering duties. Then I get another text. This one is from Rob answering the one I sent him, 'We're on break. Practice going great, thanks for asking. I should be home by six. Love ya!' I like it when Rob calls the apartment 'home' as in, 'be home by six'.
Waiting for John I feel some tingling in my balls thinking about giving him a haircut and then maybe another quickie sex act. Ha, I rarely have enough sex to totally satisfy me, although there have been exceptions to that.
Rob and I have had episodes of repeated fucking and sucking when we'll sexually satisfied each other; not that it lasts all that long though. Jeez, it's hard imagining going two weeks between sex like John just went through.
Yeah, but here's an idea: John's a 'top' and Pony's a 'bottom'. Hmmm, maybe something just might work out if I introduce those guys. I know John Smith would jump at the chance because Daryl's kinda cute and a hot number, but obviously I'll need to see if Pony's interested before mentioning anything to John. Pony can have side-sex with John and make me feel less guilty about
not being able to see Pony as much as last semester. That' assuming Pony considers me his primary sex partner. A primary sex partner who hasn't been able to have sex with him very often of late. The poor lad.
I like both of those guys and they both exclusively used condoms.
Initially anyway so it could work. Dylan the match-maker. A match that could be the rare exception that actually works out. Then the downstairs buzzer sounds in the apartment. I forget about Pony for the moment as I hit the buzzer unlocking the back door to let John Smith in. It's only quarter-to-five so we'll have time for a quickie after the haircut. This has been a very productive day and it's not over yet...
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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