DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 54
By Donny Mumford
Taking a bite out of my fifth slice of pizza I say out loud, 'You can't eat a large pizza by yourself, dummy!' I should have ordered a small one but
from habit I ordered the large like I do for Rob and me. Whenever I think I'd like more time to myself when I'm on my own it just doesn't feel right. It feels weird being in the apartment alone. Covering three left-over slices of pizza with plastic wrap and putting them in the refrigerator and now I'm wondering what I'm going to do the rest of the night? A then, ah ha, my cellphone rings. Rob? No, the caller ID shows Dennis Raymond. Huh, an unexpected call considering we had sex a couple of hours ago, and he seemed anxious to leave. Never even a hint about getting together later for a couple of beers or whatever. Dennis is a good guy with those soft eyes and pleasant manner. I admire the way he's making the best of his weird real-life situation too. I can't even imagine handling what he's got to deal with.
I answer my cellphone as if I'm asking a question, "Dennis?" and a man with a deep voice goes, "How'd you know I was an asshole, asshole?" and just like that he cuts-off the connection. What the fuuuuck? That had to be what's-his-name, Dennis' forty-year-old roommate. I'm pissed that the old fuck would use Dennis' cellphone to say that bull-shit to me. Angry, I immediately call the number back and Dennis answers, saying, "I'm so sorry, Dylan," and then I hear garbled voices, or is that laughter? Rolling my eyes I 'end' the call. I do not need to get in the middle of that; whatever that is.
Poor Dennis...
Two minutes later I'm on the sofa reading my latest Sanford pocket-book when my cellphone pings. Glancing over at it lying there on the cushion next to me I see a text from Dennis: 'So sorry! Can I call you?' What now? Rolling my eyes, I text back, 'Yeah, sure' and my phone rings. With annoyance in my voice, I'm like, "What's happening, Dennis?" He says, "That was Wayne trying to be funny. He's goofy. I'd really like you to have a couple of beers with me tonight." Oh balls! Well, I don't have anything else to do, so I go, "Yeah, okay. How about Rolf's bar?" He says, "Great! Fifteen minutes?" I mumble, "See you then." I'm not really up for whatever it is he has to tell me, and I say that without having a clue what that might be. Those two are maybe too odd of a situation even for me.
Putting on one of my hoodie sweatshirts and grabbing the pickup's keys off the kitchen bar, I pat my back pocket to be sure I've got my wallet and then I'm on my way. Walking into Rolf's bar I've gotta wonder what the hell I'm getting myself into now. The damn door slams shut, "BANG!" behind me making everyone look over at me. Jesus, I hate that! The bartender nods at me like he remembers me. Huh, I do like that, but what the fuck is his name? It's right on the tip of my tongue. Glancing quickly at a loud-mouth group of older guys, I take a seat as far away from them as I can get and put a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. I've always hated being anywhere alone because I assume everyone is staring at me. One of the loud-mouth older guys waves his hand at the bartender, saying, "When you get a second, Tony," and he twirls his finger indicating the loud-mouths are ready for another round.
They're doing that over exuberant laughing, big boisterous guffaws so everyone will know they're having the time of their life.
Tony nods at the guy and drops a cardboard coaster in front of me, asking, "What'll it be, sport?" I'm feeling stupidly self-conscious as I mumble, "How's it going, Tony?" just to prove I remembered his name even though I didn't until the loud-mouth said it. I order a draft of Bud resisting the urge to tell him that someone will be joining me shortly; as if he gives a shit. I never feel comfortable eating or drinking alone so I'm checking the door every five seconds wondering what's taking Dennis so long to get here.
Tony puts the draft beer in front of me and takes the twenty-dollar-bill.
Returning with the change, he asks, "Is it raining out there yet?" I shake my head, mumbling, "Not yet, but it feels like rain." He's a friendly middle-age guy with a goofy looking handlebar mustache that he obviously waxes.
Give me a break with that! Ya just never know what some guys think is a cool grooming-statement.
I glance at the door again as a weary-looking waitress says to Tony, "Another round for table six." Tony's just finished getting the loud-mouth's a round of drinks and now he gets busy with the waitress's order. There's a group of five college-age guys drinking pitchers of beer while playing liars poker at one table and three other tables with a man and a woman at each.
Six guys at the bar counting me so it's kinda busy for a Thursday night.
I'm almost done my beer when Dennis comes in all smiles and looking extra tall. He's six-feet-four normally but tonight he's incongruously wearing pointy-toed cowboy boots that add a couple inches to his height. Hmmm, cowboy boots. Maybe I need a pair. We bump fists as he slides onto the stool next to me, saying, "Thanks for meeting me, Dylan." I nod, "Sure, what's up?" The bartender comes over with a cardboard coaster for Dennis, saying, "Ya got some ID, cowboy?" Huh, he didn't card me but he cards Dennis, who actually almost looks legal age. I'm mystified how Tony and the afternoon bartended both remember me when I haven't been in here that often. What the hell though, it sure makes for a convenient place to have a beer or two.
Dennis smiles and shows Tony his driver's license. Barely glances at the license, Tony goes, "What'll it be?" Dennis says, "Same as him," and then Tony looks at me raising his eyebrows like, 'Another beer for you?' I nod and he goes off to get our draft beers. I ask Dennis, "What the hell was that, um, thing with your roommate calling me?" He grins, "Wayne is such a dork.
I merely mentioned that my friend, meaning you, said he, meaning Wayne, is an asshole for cutting my bangs off and Wayne wanted to know who you were.
I told him and, kidding around, he grabbed my cellphone from me saying what he said to you. That was his idea of 'funny'." I'm frowning at how weird that is. Dennis goes, "He isn't upset you called him an asshole or anything. No offense but he doesn't give a shit what you or anyone else thinks of him. Being really rich must be fun." Making a 'face' at that, I'm like, "And that's why you wanted to have a beer, to tell me that?" He goes, "No! I was just about to call you when Wayne grabbed the phone from me. I wanted to tell you something cool." I go, "Yeah, what's that?" and he's all smiles, "Wayne's paying my way through college starting this summer! It's surprising good news for me and I wanted to tell someone and since you're my closest and dearest friend, who better to share the news with than you. I wanted to celebrate a little." Hmmm, I've had quickie-sex with Dennis twice and I'm his closest friend? I'm not sure if he's breaking my balls with that, so I go, "I'm your closest friend?" He chuckles, "Pathetic, huh? No, it's just that the guys from work I go drinking with sometimes are more like co-workers than friends and I have a bud in the apartment who I hook up with some times. I should have said you're the friend I like the most." I go, "Um, thanks, I think. Anyway, congratulations!!" and I high five him, then ask, "Have you decided on a college?" He goes, "Right here at Merrimack for freshman year. I already put my application in for a few summer courses getting a head-start for the fall semester." I go, "Cool! I'll get to haze your freshman-ass from my lofty position as a senior." He chuckles, "I'll look forward to that." We drink some beer, then I go, "Let me asks you something, Dennis. You say you had close to a 4.0 GPA all through high school, so how come you didn't get scholarship offers from at least a couple of universities?" He shrugs, "I applied to five but not even one responded back." I look at him suspiciously, mumbling, "Um, it's been my experience they always respond back one way or the other." He shakes him head, "Nope, not a one." Can he be this naive? I go, "Well, obviously, your cold-hearted parents intercepted your mail and threw the college's responses out while you were at school. You'd have been accepted at most colleges and offered a scholastic scholarship from some. Maybe not all because you didn't have any extracurricular activities in high school, but one or two would have definitely offered you a scholarship." He nods his head, "Yeah, I can see that now, but back then I wouldn't dare accuse my parents of doing that. Every fucking day through my junior and senior years I half-expected that would be the day I'd be thrown out of the house." I can't even conceive of something like that, and I don't want to talk about it either. It's too sick! We drink some beer and then he goes, "Hey, I'm not stupid. I realize how hard it is for you to believe this shit I call my life, but it's true. Both my parents are deeply into their Southern Baptist religious upbringing.
They were brought-up bigoted. They're opinionated and continuously positive they're right about everything. I did not have a happy childhood as it was, but it really got bad when I told them I was gay." I go, "Why'd you tell them?" He shrugs, "They asked me and I was taught to always tell the truth." I mumble, "That's often the worst thing you can do." His eyes open wide, so I mumble, " Nah, not really, but I mean sometimes it's better to skirt the truth if the truth is gonna cause problems. There's such a thing as little white lies, ya know." He goes, "Well I didn't know about them at the time." He's being a bit defensive so, on a more upbeat note I pat his shoulder, saying, "Anyway, you're finally going to college!" He smirks, "Yeah, Wayne came through like he promised he would, so that'll be my scholarship." I ask, "Are you boarding at Merrimack? I mean your apartment is only two-miles away." He says, "I'm definitely living on campus in the fall. Wayne's moving back to his Texas ranch and I'll only see him during holiday breaks. I'll be taking courses year-round to graduating in three years." I go, "Good for you! So, you and Wayne are sort of splitting-up, huh?" He says, "It's more like a family with the only child leaving the nest, or however that saying goes." Weirdest family I ever heard of. He adds, "So I better practice the basic reason for going to college by ordering both of us a shot and a beer." I go, "You're implying learning to drink is the primary reason for going to colleges?" He goes, "For most students, yes." He orders us shots of VO with our next beers. Balls! Tony sets the drinks in front of us, Dennis and I click shot glasses as I say, "All the best of luck in college, Dennis!" and we flash down the shots and immediately grab for our beers. He coughs, muttering, "Holy shit, I suck at doing shots. Thought I was gonna toss my cookies for a second there." I mutter, "Pussy," and then chug a little more beer. I ask what courses he'll be taking and discover Dennis is into astronomy. He wants to be an astrophysicist, so I'm like, "Yeah? Damn, I love reading about space. I like getting my mind boggled reading articles from Yahoo Science about the vastness of the universe." He goes, "Ya know, Einstein was right about space and time bending." I go, "Uh huh, I guess." He says, "Merrimack isn't an ideal college for my major, but there are courses in Quantum Mechanics and Electromagnetic Theory that I'll take freshman year. After freshman year, I'll transferring to MIT to finish my bachelor's degree, and then I'll go for my masters." I'm frowning, "Why not do your freshman year at MIT?" He shrugs, "I want to get a general feel for college-life first, plus I'm familiar with this area, and um, you're here... heh heh." Surprisingly I think some of that makes sense. Easing into higher education in a comfortable situation is smart especially after being away from school for three-years.
To show I'm no dummy; that I know something about the vastness of space, I go, "Trying to comprehend how big our galaxy is gives me a Popsicle headache. I mean our Milky Way galaxy, which by the way has a great candy bar named after it, is so large that traveling at the speed of light it would take you a hundred-thousand-years to go from end to end." He smiles, "I prefer Snickers over a Milky Way myself. But yeah, the speed of light is hard to wrap one's head around. It's approximately a hundred-and-eighty-six-thousand miles per second." I yell, "Brain freeze!" He laughs and then says, "It would take less than two-seconds to travel from here to the moon. That's really fast!" I go, "Stop that!" he laughs again, and adds, "Think about how big you said the Milky Way Galaxy is. Then try comprehending this: there's a
galaxy named, IC 1101, that fifty of our galaxies would fit inside it." I go, "Get the fuck outta here with that!" He chuckles, "This might completely pop your Popsicle head. In the observable Universe, there are two-trillion galaxies." He goes on to tell me things about black holes and dark matter, and other things, but he may as well be speaking Greek as far as me comprehending any of it. I mean, I have only a curiosity, a casual interest in the general topic. He goes on about Spacetime, Relativity, Quantum Physics and Quantum Gravity until I put my hands over my ears, begging, "Mercy! Mercy! Dennis, my brain is unable to hear this shit." He laughs, "Sorry, I get carried away." Smirking, I radically change the subject, "How 'bout those Red Sox, huh?" Then Dennis spouts off statistics about current and past Red Sox teams until it gets my head spinning again. He talks about Red Sox trivia in a nonchalant manner as if I'm aware of all the facts and figures he's somehow memorized. I don't dare mention the Patriots.
We're on our fourth beers, well it's actually my fifth, as he asks about my grades. I shrug, feeling kinda proud to be able to say, "Well, nothing like your 4.0 Dennis, but I do have a GPA a little over 3.0. That's better than my GPA for high school." He says, "That's nothing to sneeze at, Dylan.
It's way above average." I go, "Hey, how about you doing my term papers for me. That'll help me get where I'd like to be, which is a 3.5 GPA." He laughs, "That's very Machiavellian of you." I go, "How's that?" and he's like, "Machiavelli's 'The Prince', ya know?" as if everyone knows that. I'm like, "Um, yeah that sounds familiar I guess." He nods, "His political treatise basically is... the end justifies the means. Like me doing your term papers so you can get the GPA you'd like to have. And it doesn't matter if the 'means' are unscrupulous or whatever." I go, "That's me, Dennis.
Unscrupulous." He goes, "Oh no! I wasn't implying that..." and I interrupt, "Actually that sounds sort of like my brother's and my philosophy regarding fighting.
Our goal is to win the fight using whatever's at our disposal. We didn't realize there's a name for it though." He frowns, probably not sure if I'm serious or not.
Leaving that topic behind, Dennis goes off on the probability of intelligent life elsewhere in the Universe stating a probability-equation that's so far over my head, I mutter, "Earth to Dennis, it's usually a good idea to keep a conversation totally free of equations?" He chuckles again, mumbling, "I'm being obnoxious again, sorry." Getting back to sports I'm like, "Some guys are born with unfair advantages for sports; awesome reflexes and eye-hand-coordination that's off the charts. Like Tiger Woods, for example. A child prodigy in golf." Dennis says, "At the risk of being obnoxious again there's only two kinds of child prodigies: mathematical and musical prodigies, and just to set the record straight, I'm not in either category. Also, since music is so closely related to mathematics it's almost like there's only one kind of child prodigy." What the fuck? He adds, "There are precocious children though, ya know with other talents such as writing, painting, and athletics." I order another round taking Dennis' word for all that.
It's getting late but I'm having fun listening to stuff that sounds smart when I hear it but then when I think about it I realize I have no idea what it means. Dennis is telling me about an autistic kid he knew who was a genius in mathematics, but in any kind of social situation he was unstable. I nod, mumbling, "Unstable," and Dennis grins, saying, "Oh, you're using a psychologist's trick on me, huh?" I'm clueless again, mumbling, "Whaddaya mean?" He goes, "Repeating the last word I say in a sentence to keep me talking. That's how psychologists keep their patients talking." I say, "Talking," and grin at him. I like hearing intelligent conversation that I haven't a clue about. Like my brother and his obscure factoids. They're fun to hear, but are they accurate?" Dennis could be telling me total bull-shit for all I know. I don't think he is though.
Later Dennis starts repeating some Red Sox factoids he mentioned earlier.
He stops in mid-sentence to say, "Wait, I already told you that, huh?" I laugh and he goes, "I'm drunk. Hey, are you too drunk to give me that buzz cut like you mentioned in your apartment? I told Wayne I was gonna ask you to do it for me and he doesn't care, so..." I go, "Yes, I'm too drunk to do that now." He asks, "How about tomorrow?" We leave it at that; he'll text me tomorrow.
The bartender goes, "Last call guys," and I shake my head as Dennis mutters, "I'm good," so we skip last call. Outside I light a cigarette and Dennis goes, "I'm guessing you'd rather not hear me tell you all the things that are wrong about smoking cigarettes." I go, "You guessed correctly. I don't fucking wanna hear it." He chuckles and then we bump fists, "Thanks for helping me celebrate, Dylan." I go, "It was fun. Text me," and he points at me, mumbling, "Tomorrow." Getting in the pickup I'm telling myself, 'You're drunk, numb-nuts, so drive like a little old lady'. And that's what I do, plus I find a parking spot in our parking lot. How about that! Sleeping alone blows and all night I keep waking-up thinking I'm late for something when I don't even have classes on Friday. I stay in bed until eleven-twenty and then stagger up with a hangover. Taking three Advil I get in the shower and stay there for quite a while. When dressed and drinking coffee at the kitchen bar I'm thinking the apartment is so quiet. So, quiet I hear the ambient sound of the heater cycling on, and a little later cycling off. Huh! I'm trying to decide if I want to cook something for breakfast or just get a bowl of Froot Loops and then my cellphone 'pings' signifying a text message. It's from Dennis asking about a haircut today at five o'clock after his day at work. I tell him fine, I'll see him then.
I don't leave the apartment, just lie around watching some TV and reading.
When Dennis arrives around five o'clock he's all smiles and full of energy having put in a full day on the job while I basically did nothing all day.
Getting out the barbering tools it takes a mere six-minute to do his buzz-cut and as we're sweeping up his cut hairs, he asks, "Would you be up for a slower version of the quickie sex we've been having?" The thought makes my pecker shrivel-up a little. I shrug but can't resist saying, "Sure." We go in the bedroom and get mostly undressed. Dennis has another over-sized, extra lubricated condom handy and we fuck in my bedroom with me holding onto the bureau like yesterday. He forces that big boner of his up my ass slowly, like before, and goddamn I feel really wide open back there and every second that big cock is going up my ass it hurts.
Fully impaled, I'm bent over holding my breath waiting for my rectum to stop complaining. Dennis rubs my back leaving his huge cock up my ass. He's considerately allowing my rectum to adjust. He murmurs, "This feels better for me every time I do it with you, Dylan. I can't begin to express how wonderful I feel having sex with you, and I don't mean just while we're doing it. It's awesome anticipating its and it feels great all day afterwards too." I nod my head mumbling, "It's buddy-sex, Dennis; it's supposed to feel good." He finally pulls his large boner back and then casually pushes that large hard penis back up my ass with me grunting at the electric sensations buzzing pleasurably inside me. I gasp, "Oooh, fuuuck, that's starting to feel good now. Damn that's tight..." He leaves his big log-of-a-cock fully impaling me again to squeeze my shoulders giving me chills, as he murmurs, "None of the dozen-or-so guys I've picked-up at bars or paid for from the escort service have expressed as much pleasure at having my cock up their ass as you. That's one of the best things about having sex with you. And just so
you know, you have a fabulous ass." With tantalizing sensations flickering in my ass I go, "You don't say," then ask, "Have you ever 'bottomed'?" He simply says, "No, I never have," so I ask, "You wanna try it sometime?" He goes, "No thanks," as he's pulling his big boner back, then slides that big boy back and forth in my ass twice. I shudder and moan, "Ummm, oooh." My cock is pretty hard already but when Dennis gets into a steady smooth rhythm moving his hips while continuing to squeeze and sort of massage my shoulders it gets my cock sticking straight out and so hard it makes me grunt and stare at it. This is the third time I'm feeling his big boner inside me and it's feels better each time. It reminds me of that dumb summer I spent primarily with Ray Reeves. His huge mushroom-headed cock, pound for pound, isn't as large as Dennis' boner but the head on Ray's was maybe even a little bigger. With Ray it was rough going at first, but once he got me opened-up, and he was dominantly rough about it too, he got my ass shaped-up and
used to that large hard mushroom head and fucked me regularly without any complaints from me. With all his faults, he fucked me spectacularly and he knew it too. He had me right where he wanted me because pretty soon I couldn't get enough of it that summer, which is primarily why I stuck it out with Ray so long. And that's even though Ray was, and still is, a ginormous asshole himself.
This sex with Dennis is my only sex since Rob left for Georgia. It was a one-timer with Dennis yesterday and then nothing today until this, so I expected to climax quickly but it's not turning out that way. Dennis is doing steady but slower thrusting than the first two times he fucked my ass. I'm noticing as the novelty of being filled-up with a hard cock the size of Dennis' wears-off, there's a growing sense of being dominated by its size. I can't help but feel submissive to it because once it's in my ass I have no choice but to be submissive. Dennis himself doesn't have an intentionally dominant bone in his body except for the one up my ass. I literally need to bend way forward when that bad-ass-boner is pushed up my ass. It's stretched my anus and the inside my rectum significantly, and now that's it's been accepted by my body, and the initial pain has passed, the million-and-one nerve ending around and inside my rectum have begun sending out increasingly delicious sensations of sexual pleasure. Then, when Dennis presses down on my shoulders, squeezing them with his big hands, telling me, "I need you t to get down lower for me, Dylan. Bend over further." That brings on a full-blown submissive trance and it feels so fucking good I do a long embarrassing moan, "Oooooh, ummmmm," while doing as I'm told. He murmurs, "It makes me feel so good knowing I'm giving you pleasure, Dylan." I go, "Ooooh, yeaaaah..." gritting my teeth at the awesome vibrations coming off my prostate
gland.
I'm bent over so much my face is almost against my knees with me now holding on to the handles of the bureau's middle drawer. Dennis murmurs, "That's good for me right there, Dylan," and he does a half-dozen harder and faster thrusts. Oh man, I slide deeper into a submissive frame of mind moaning quietly at the pleasure I'm feeling inside me. His cock swells even more as he grunts, "Ooooh, ummm, fuuuuck. My climax is coming on pretty quickly, so here we go," and it's hard fast thrusting now with loud, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds in the bedroom with my body bumping against the bureau with every hard thrust. Dennis is holding my hips now to keep me from falling on my head as he rams that huge cock back and forth in my ass. I'm making squeaky sounds of submission as my hard cock quivers getting ready to blow, and then, "Eeeeiii," with cum spurting from my cock shooting straight out against the bureau. It's like a one-foot shot that splatters spraying all three bureau drawers with creamy white cum. I'm trembling as another streak of cum hits the bureau. Shuddering all over, I'm stroking my cock tightly and whining, "Ahhhh, mmmm, oooh Dennis..." Millions of nerve ending buzz with pleasure and then quickly subside leaving me so limp now Dennis is mostly holding me up as he humps against my butt cheeks, gasping, "Ooh! Oooh! Ohooooo! Aaaaaaah!" filling the condom with his load of spunk. I can feel his tall body shaking for like three-or-four-seconds. Then a long sigh from Dennis as he pulls his softening cock out making me shudder all over again.
He lifts under my arms helping me to straighten up as he takes a deep breath, mumbling, "Fucking unbelievable. That was, um, something else altogether... Holy shit." I'm leaning my back against the bureau now, my elbows back resting on top of it gawking at that big cock as Dennis pulls the condom off. Still sensing fleeting remnants of submissiveness in my head my body quivers a little. And there's not a trace of dominance in Dennis as he smiles at me, "That was awesome, Dylan." I nod as now my trance slips away completely. My ass is dripping lubricant so I go in the bathroom, saying, "Jesus, Dennis, good fuck, dude." He flushes the condom down the toilet, saying, "You couldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did. Damn that felt good!" After cleaning-up and getting dressed I offer him a beer or a soda while thinking he looks good with the buzzcut. He's got the perfect hairline across his forehead and he has dense, very light blond hair, with no scalp showing like it does for guys with thinner hair follicles. He takes a Pepsi and tells me about the hangover he experienced this morning and I tell him about mine, adding, "This is the best I felt all day. Nothing like a hard orgasm to perk me up." That's about all we have to say about our buddy sex.
Curious, I ask him why he's never considered 'bottoming' and he shrugs, "I'm a 'top' only. I couldn't imagine someone fucking my rear end. It's just, I don't know, it's not like guys haven't asked me to bottom, but I always insist on doing the fucking." I go, "My advice is for you to try it once at least." He shrugs again, "Nah, I'm not feeling that at all. I'll stick to 'topping'." Swallowing some of my soda, I ask, "Um, do you feel dominant when you fuck a guy with that large dick of yours?" He looks puzzled, "Dominant? How do you mean?" I wave a hand, "Oh, nothing." We talk a little about our science conversation from last night and then, using my laptop, Dennis shows me science sites he visits regularly. Right away I can see they're too advanced for me. I read one paragraph and realize I have no idea what I just read.
Too technical and not the kind of articles I read on Yahoo at all.
Jokingly, as a counter point to Dennis' intellectual articles, I bring up a computer-game that Rob and I play once in a while, and Dennis knows the game. We play it and it's soon apparent he's better at it than either Rob or me.
At six o'clock he says, "I gotta get home for dinner pretty soon. Ya wanna try it again before I go though?" I assume he means the computer game, so I'm like, "Nah, you're too good at it." He laughs, "Thanks, but I think we're talking about two different things." I go, "Oh, duh. You meant buddy-sex. Jesus, we did it an hour or so ago! I'm not sure my ass is up for it." Dennis is Johnny-on-the-spot with a second condom though, saying, Please." Ah, what the hell...
We're back in the bedroom with just our pants down this time for what I assume will be a quickie. Adjusting my junk, I mumble, "You carry two condoms with you, huh? You're an optimist I see." He grins, "Nah, I bought a six-pack of condoms on the way over here. Usually I carry only one, which for me is being optimistic." We follow the same procedure as earlier except this latest boner of Dennis' goes in easier because my ass hasn't nearly closed up after the first time. Plus, his big cock is training my ass to accept it. As I thought, it's fast and hard fucking right from the start and Dennis gives my butt cheeks a few slaps as he's thrusting. I notice a more confident manner in the way he does everything now.
My second climax of the day holds off for a long six-to-seven minutes so I was wrong about it being a quickie. The world reduces to the size of a pin-head at my astounding second climax even though there isn't a lot of semen
shooting out. Dennis, on the other hand, pulls his large boner out and when he takes the condom off there's another big jism ball at the nipple end.
After this second fuck within an hour-and-a-half my ass is sore. Really sore, but what did I expect? Dennis notices me walking kind of funny into the bathroom and says, "You're sore, huh? I figured you would be. I mean, I did give your asshole a pretty good workout this afternoon. Some guys I've fucked hard for like two-or-three-times in a night have been hurting pretty badly, although most say their anus closes back to normal in a few hours and their ass feel okay in about the same amount of time." I shrug, "I'll be fine. That was some damn hot sex." He nods his head, "I'll say. It's the best I've ever had." Dennis leaves to get home and make dinner for him and weird Wayne. I'm lying on my stomach on the sofa thinking about my sore ass, but grinning to myself too. That super-sized boner felt good plowing my ass. Then, using the remote, I get Comcast Sports Center on the TV thinking how the only thing I've had to eat all day was that bowl of Froot Loops. When Rob's home there's a routine to our lives. With just me here it's the opposite. Then I get that feeling I've been noticing lately. It's like there's a problem or something I need to do or fix. It's not really depression, it's, um, I don't know exactly what the fuck it is...
Finally, I work-up the energy to get off the sofa and walk oddly into the kitchen being careful not to tighten my ass muscles. I check what we've got in the freezer that I could have for dinner. Hmmm, I shrug and take out a frozen Stouffer's lasagna package that's been in the refrigerator since our first week in the apartment. Taking the lasagna out of the box, I microwave it and eat the whole thing. Now what? I practice walking without sticking my ass out but that makes me walk bowlegged. Yeah, but my rectum is actually feeling better by the minute. I'm soon walking around the apartment almost in a normal fashion wondering what it is I'm forgetting. I can't figure it out and then Rob calls. It's great hearing his voice as he tells me about the first game and how Danny won the game hitting a ninth-inning double with the bases loaded. He's rooming with Danny, who takes the cellphone from Rob to tell me it was Rob's two hits in the earlier innings that drove-in three runs but Rob's too modest to tell me that. Huh, those two have a mutual admiration thingie going for them tonight. They're high on baseball and sure sound happy.
Rob gets back on the phone asking what I did all day and I tell him truthfully that I never left the apartment, and then fast-forward to my eating the Stouffer's lasagna that we bought during our first shopping trip the first week we were here. We talk for ten more minutes and I finally wish him luck in tomorrow night's game and hang-up. That's funny: hang-up. That's what people used to literally do; hang up the phone when they were finished the call. Now we tap a button.
Okay, I've made a big decision: I'm staying in for the night. That's my plan. I mean, I'm feeling sexually satisfied, with a slightly sore ass, so I'll do something sensible and rest up. Ten-minutes later Pony texts: 'Your #1 fan, Pony Ponti, wants to know if you can come out and play?' Oh balls, do I wanna go out after all? Hmmm, I'm flexible so I text back, 'What do you want to do?' and he texts: 'Anything you wanna do.' I text: 'Where are u? I'll pick you up.' He's leaving the dining hall on his way back to his dorm
room. I tell him that I'll be over shortly. Texting is the best form of communication ever invented! There's no obligatory chit-chatting involved like with a phone call. Texting is right to the point.
My ass is still a little sore from that second fuck with Dennis but now I can walk more or less normally. The lube off the condom from inside my rectum has oozed out and made my underwear sticky so I gotta do something about that. In the bathroom, I dump my underpants in the hamper and wash my ass with soap and water. After rinsing it well and drying my backside I put on clean jockey shorts, wash my hands and face, and comb my hair. I've been wearing flimsy sweatpants and sweatshirt all day so I change clothes putting on faded jeans, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie. I don't know what Pony and I will do, but it's probably good to get out of the apartment for a while.
It's after seven o'clock, hmmm. Hey, maybe do some candlepin bowling. I haven't done that like forever. Tom Higgins, Pony's roommate, can join us if he wants. It's a long shot for a Friday night but I text Chubby to see if bowling interests him. He tells me he has a date tonight but he'd love to go bowling with me any other time. I text him, "Yeah, okay. Don't do anything I wouldn't do on your date tonight, Chub." He texts, "Oooh, jeez, bro, I can't promise to be good." Driving the pickup on campus I need to drive carefully because the place is jumping on a Friday night. As the weather improves a lot more students are now fucking around outside their dorms and as the state of Massachusetts has convinced everyone, the pedestrians have the right away on the streets.
Just walk right out to cross the street 'cause it's up to the drivers to run into a tree to avoid you. Stupid! Ya know, if I asked around I'd surely hear of a party happening some place. Chubby would find one in three minutes but I'm not Chubby. Anyway I'd like to avoid drinking tonight, which will be quite an accomplishment at college on a Friday night.
Parking legally near dormitory row I saunter down past a group of students passing a joint around. At Pony's dormitory I go inside the front door and down to his room to knock on his door. He opens it, asking, "What took you so long, Dylan?" I laugh, then say, "Hey, nice to see you too, Pony." Then I go, "Hey, Tom, 'sup, dude?" He grins, saying, "Not much, Dylan. Oh, except I need another free haircut. I've got a date tomorrow night with this girl who's kinda classy." Pony says, "You mean, kinda doggy," and Tom mutters, "Fuck you, Ponti." I ask, "Does this either classy or doggy girl give a shit if you have a haircut or not?" He shrugs, "It's never a bad idea to look my best." Pony's reading something on his cellphone and Tom's lying on an unmade bed. I think he was playing with himself. I ask, "Do you sophomores wanna try your hand at candlepin bowling?" Without looking up, Pony says, "I know I don't," and Tom says, "I'm playing poker tonight in about, um," and he looks at his cellphone, "About an hour. We play fifty-cent ante with a dollar limit on bets." I go, "Jesus! How big do the pots get?" He says, "We've have hundred dollar pots a couple of times every night." Still reading something on his cellphone, Pony mumbles, "Higgins has a gambling addiction." Tom goes, "I do not! I simply like some gambling action to spice up my life. Hey,
Dylan, I'm up over two-hundred-bucks betting on football games last season. I bet like fifty-bucks a game against the spread. Maybe two or three games a weekend; mostly college football. The pros are more unpredictable." I ask, "Where do you get your money to do all this gambling?" He goes, "I worked all summer. I'm responsible for my spending money at college and the 'rents pay the tuition." I'm like, "Well look at you!" Messing Pony's hair, I say, "Whaddaya wanna do tonight, hot-shot?" He pulls his head away frowning, and asks, "You gonna give Tom a haircut?" I go, "Yeah, but not now." He says, "I want one too. I'm tired of rocking' this flattop." I go, "Well, you actually don't need to. Wet your hair and comb it any way you want. It's long enough now on top to lie over. I purposely left it longer than a normal flattop because I know you can never decide what you want." Tom says, "Do you date, Dylan? Pony doesn't." I go, "Yeah I date," and then with a grin, "Why don't you date, Pony?" He gives me a dirty look, muttering, "I date when I meet someone worthy of dating. Higgins indiscriminately goes out with any bow-wow he meets." Tom goes, "I've got standards, Pony! Hell, you know the girl I'm going out with tomorrow night. Cheryl McFadden." Pony says, "Oh, yeah, from Economics' class. She's okay. I thought you were going out with that 'hoochie' bitch with the tattoo on her shoulder." Tom goes, "Get real!" I go, "Well I simply can't take any more of this childish sophomore chatter and since Pony doesn't want to do anything I'll be on my way." Pony says,
"I'm coming with you." He puts his cellphone in his backpack and slings the backpack over his shoulder. I'm like, "Why do you need your backpack?" He goes, "Because I like it," and Tom asks, "Okay to text you tomorrow morning about a haircut, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, okay, Tom. See ya." As Pony follows me out the door, I'm like, 'Aren't you and Tom getting along?" He says, "Whaddaya mean. Tom and I are tight! He's an awesome roommate." I shrug and we walk outside the dormitory.
It's fifty-some degrees, so not really nice weather although it seems nice compared to the weather we've had the previous three months. Pony goes, "Why did you embarrass me asking if I dated? Tom will get suspicious that I might be gay." I do a long exhale, then say, "Pony, you haven't been with, or even mentioned a girl all year. Don't you think Tom might be suspicious of you already?" He shrugs, "No! He hasn't said anything about me being gay.
Nobody has." I go, "That's because nobody gives a shit if you are or aren't." Pony bumps into my side and then hugs me with an arm around my waist for a second, saying, "You're so wise. I hope I'm as wise as you when I'm twenty-one." I mutter, "Considering you act like your sixteen you've got quite a wait before you find out what it's like." He mutters, "Jesus, Dylan, you're really nailing that prick thing!" As I'm lighting a cigarette Pony says, "Oh, can I bum one off you, Dylan?" Passing my just-lit cigarette to him, I ask, "Do you smoke when you're not with me?" He goes, "No, of course not! Smoking is disgusting. I told you that before. It's just that I know how badly you want to kiss me on the lips and if I don't have a smoke your cigarette breath is gross. If I smoke, it's a little less gross." I chuckle, "That didn't hurt my feelings at all." Grinning, he blows smoke in my face without inhaling it first, and says, "You smokers should be used to being insulted by now. Don't you notice when you smoke all the frowning faces of people around you? All the waving hands at your cigarette smoke while they mutter rude comments under their breath." I go, "Oh, those people! They can pound nails up their ass for all I care." He laughs out loud and bumps into my side again.
At the parking lot, we're leaning against the pickup finishing our cigarettes. Watching Pony smoke, I go, "You smoke like a girl." He laughs and leans against me, saying, "My fucking feelings get hurt easily. You know that, so stop being a prick for once." I get my arm around the back of his neck and pull his face to mine kissing him on the lips. I feel his face get hot as he struggles to get away, sputtering, "Somebody will see us. For fuck sake...!" I'm smirking at him as his face blushes a bright red. I say, "You should grow a pair of nuts and come 'out' of the closet. Then you wouldn't be constantly afraid someone will discover you're gay-as-May." He goes, "If I did, the gay boys would be lining up to make it with me... and you'd be left in the dust." I say, "Yeah, I'm so sure. Hey, put your hood up, Pony. I want to remember the first time I saw your cute face." He grins, muttering, "What an asshole you are," as he puts his hood up. Damn, with warmer weather we're almost past hoodie-season already. Yeah but there aren't many college students that still look cute with their hood up anyway. I miss high school where there were many more cute guys than here at college. Hoodie-boy is still cute though.
Pony asks, "Well, how do I look with my hood up?" I go, "Never mind. You can put it down. You looked cuter six months ago." He mutters, "Prick..." As he's pulling his hood off, then asks, "Did the hood mess-up my hair." I go, "No, but I will," and I rub his head. He leans into my hand like a gay boy should, and says, "Are we gonna have sex tonight?" I ask, "Do you want to?" He nods his head, "Yeah, of course I do now that you've ruined me. I think about you spanking and fucking me all the time, especially in class where I get wicked hard-ons and a couple of times I almost shot-off in my pants. You're the sexiest person I've ever met or seen in the movies... or on TV." I go, "Yeah, I know," and he laughs bumping against me again. I drop my cigarette butt and step on it so Pony drops his too. "What'll we do tonight, Dylan?" Before I can answer a guy calls over, "Yo, Pony," and we both look over to see a guy jogging towards us. Pony says, "That's Mark Colvechio. He's one of the guys who wants a free haircut." Mark is dark complexed complexioned with longish dark-brown hair. He's got a compact body and he's about five-foot-eight-inches-tall. He stops in front of us, "Whasup, Pony? Um, is this the barber?" Pony goes, "Where the fuck were you this afternoon, Markie? Flynn and I were waiting for you at the basketball courts. We were supposed to challenge one of the three-on-three games." Mark goes, "Oh yeah, don't get mad, Pony. I forgot. Hey, you should have been there when Burton and I did that skank, Tina Burgeon. She was willing so we take her in Burton's dorm room. It was slam-bam-alakazam... like that. We took turns." Pony goes, "Get the fuck outta here with that bull-shit. You and Burton more likely took turns jerking each other off." Mark mutters. "Think what you want, Ponti.
Ask Burton when you see him." Oh brother... sophomores! Then Mark holds out his fist to me, saying, "I'm Mark Colvechio," I bump his fist mumbling, "Dylan, and yeah, I'm the barber." He nods at Pony, "Ponti here says you give free haircuts. I liked that fucked-up retro flattop you did for my cool friend here. Do you think I could get one?" I shrug, "I don't know, and Pony doesn't like his now anyway." Mark looks at Pony, "You don't? I thought it was cool." Pony looks disgusted, muttering, "Like you'd know what cool is, Colvechio." Mark looks at me, "How about a regular haircut then?" I go, "I guess," and he runs his fingers through his long hair, asking, "What haircut do you think I should get?" I shrug, "Do you have wheels?" He goes, "Yeah, I got a car." I say, "Bring Pony and his roommate to my apartment tomorrow afternoon sometime and we'll come up with a haircut for you." He makes a face and mutters, "Whoop-de-doo. You look like a girl." I go, "What, you forget your glasses today?" and Pony goes, "He does not, dick-head." Mark whines, "I was joking, fucccck." Pony tells Mark, "Yeah, well I'll text you tomorrow. Flynn's coming too." I roll my eyes and Pony goes, "What the hell, Dylan? You told me you'd do it for them, so why are you rolling your eyes?" I go, "No reason. Fine, bring this guy Flynn too, but that's it. Nobody else!" Mark goes, "Hey Pony, you told Butch Burton you could get him a free haircut too and he needs a haircut way worse than us." Pony looks at me and then bursts out laughing.
"Um, Dylan, I did sorta promised all three of them. C'mon, don't be your normal prick self." I snort out a laugh, "You asshole. Okay, three of your friends, plus you and your roommate, Tom, but that's positively it." Mark goes, "No offense, but what's the big deal if one more guy comes? Haircuts take ten-minutes at most." He's a pushy bastard. As I turn to look at him I must have an expression on my face like I'm gonna say something Pony doesn't want to hear because he jumps in saying, "Jesus Christ, Mark, Dylan's doing us a favor. Don't be such a dork! If you don't think it's a big deal, then pay a hack-barber downtown twenty-bucks for a fucked-up haircut." Mark goes, "Okay, I'm sorry, Pony. Um, I appreciate it, Dylan. I didn't mean... jeezus." I say, "Okay, that's about all I can take of you two squabbling, so I'll be taking off now. Pony, shoot me a text tomorrow," and Pony's like, "Shoot this," and he grabs his crotch, adding, "I'm coming with you." Mark goes, "Wait a second. There's a booze bash at the Knights of Columbus hall tonight. We could see what's up with that. Booze and mara-joo-wanna.
Whaddaya think, Pony?" Pony's eyes light-up as he goes, "Who has the pot?" I'm getting in the truck so Pony's conflicted: pot or me? He goes, "Wait up, Dylan," then to Mark, "Buy some grass for me if you can. Text me tomorrow, Mark," and he gets in the passenger seat. I'm flattered that Pony passed-up pot to hang-out with me. Mark says, "See you tomorrow, Dylan. Nice meeting you and, um, thanks for the favor." I wave a finger at Mark and fire-up the engine, asking Pony, "That's one of your crew, huh?" Pony goes, "He's okay. There's four of us who mostly hang-out together. We smoke a lot of dope, but none of us is stupid enough to smoke cigarettes. Pot is better for you than cigarettes." I mutter, "Neither one is good for you and I'll remember how stupid smoking cigarettes is the next time you ask to bum one off me." He snorts out a laugh, "Who you kidding, Dylan? You're too nice. You'll give me a cigarette if I want one...
won't ya?" I go, "Probably," and he asks, "Where we going?" I say, "Away from the campus for starters." He goes, "Oh, ya know what? My bud who really wants a haircut is Flynn. He says he's never had a short haircut and he's real nervous about it too." I go, "Well please tell him not to do me any fucking favors." Pony goes, "Oh, he's nervous, but more excited than nervous.
Oh, and get this; he told me he gets a boner in the barber's chair when some old barber's cutting his hair." I go, "You say he gets a boner getting his hair cut." Pony shrugs, "He's probably lying through his teeth about that, but yeah, that what he claims. He told me that last month when he was really fucking high on some super weed, really high! I don't know that he remembers even telling me." Hmmm, that's very interesting. If this kid, Flynn, has a haircut fetish he's only the second guy I know with the fetish, other than me, and I forget who the other one is. Interesting. What I also find interesting is how differently Pony is with his buddies. Different than he is when it's just Pony and me. He's the prick. I'm guessing Pony's the leader of that group.
There's always one guy in any group that's the leader. That kid, Mark, definitely deferred to Pony.
I drive off campus as Pony again asks, "Where we going, Dylan?" I say, "Um, I told myself I wasn't drinking tonight but I changed my mind. First, I want to stop at the Speakeasy because I haven't checked it out for like three months, and then I've got a bottle of bourbon and a case of beer back at the apartment." Pony goes, "Maybe I can score some grass at the Speakeasy." I mutter, "Whatever, and then we'll get drunk and see what happens." Pony goes, "Fuck, college rocks!!"
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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