DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 55
by Donny Mumford
It's seven o'clock on a Friday night in the middle of March and I'm driving the pickup on my way to Tracy's Speakeasy with Pony riding shotgun. Only half listening to his chatter, I'm wondering if Tracy's still humping girls or if he's back to humping guys. Rob's in Georgia so what the hell maybe smashed tonight, just because I can. Obviously, Pony can't get served in a regular bar so that's where the Tracy's Speakeasy comes in.
Speaking of Rob, I talked with him a little earlier today and he told me the baseball team won its first game, and against a pretty good team too.
His roommate for the trip is Danny Monday; that's a shocker! As if reading my mind, Pony asks, "Do you ever get jealous when Rob's with another guy? I'm curious how that works for you two." Glancing at him, I mutter, "Rob and I have an arrangement that's worked pretty well for almost four-years now, but yeah I still get a little jealous at times. I suppose he does too." He says, "That arrangement is really amazing to me. I mean, I'm jealous that you have another side-sex buddy and you and I aren't even boyfriends. Not really." I exhale exaggeratedly and then mumble, "Why are you so sure I have another side-sex buddy?" He shrugs, "For one thing you never said you didn't have one or ten, for all I know... so I assume there is at least one or two." I go, "You know what they say about the word 'assume', right?" He goes, "Duh. You mean, to assume something makes an ass out of you and me?" I go, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking of." Here's another shocker, there's no parking spots available within two blocks on either side of the Speakeasy. I coast by the place and hear the music as Pony emphatically says, "I'd never be in a relationship with someone who cheated on me!" I mumble, "Good for you." He's mostly right though; a radically serious relationship would ideally be a monogamist one. I'm sure the vast majority of people on earth feel that way. Rob and I, on the other hand, are part of the tiny minority who don't subscribe to that thinking.
It's as simple and as complicated as that.
Avoiding further discuss on that topic, I ask, "Are you gonna drink anything tonight?" He says, "Mostly I'm gonna try scoring some pot, but to be sociable I'll have a shot and a beer with you." I go, "We're the perfect pair, aren't we? I hate shots, and you hate beer. I don't like pot, and you love it." He mutters, "Beer is stupid." I'm like, "That statement is what's stupid, Pony." He's like, "Okay, beer can't be stupid or smart, but it tastes like shit, so the people who drink it are stupid." Pulling over to the curb two blocks down from the Speakeasy, I mutter, "Another stupid comment from mister Ponti." He asks, "Well, are you saying beer tastes good?" Killing the engine and turning to Pony, I'm like, "No, beer doesn't taste good. You're right about that, just like you're right about everything else, Daryl," and I rub his head pulling the hair of his too-long flattop forward so it looks like he has bangs. He pushes my hand away, saying, "Stop doing that, Dylan! And call me, Pony, like everybody else does." I'm smirking at him so he grins and chuckles, then mumbling, "You apparently have a hard time keeping your hands off me, but try harder." He's pushing his bangs up, saying, "When you're giving me a haircut tomorrow do not fucking touch the hairs on top of my head. Don't even think about it because I've decided to comb my hair like you do, but don't get a big head about it. Lots of guys comb their hair like you do." Walking back to the Speakeasy Pony has his pocket comb out combing his hair, saying, "So, what's the scoop? Do you have another side-sex buddy, or not?" I go, "Are you again assuming I do?" He says, "More or less, yeah. The other day you said I was your favorite so that must mean there's someone else who isn't your favorite, right?" I'm like, "What difference does it make?" and then, to again change the subject, I ask, "How do you think you did with the midterms?" He says, "Okay, I guess. I finally got my GPA over 2.0.
That's pretty fucking good considering I sucked freshman year at Drexel.
I've been making-up for it this year." I go, "Hey, good for you. Seriously!" He shrugs, "Yeah well, I've gotta get my parents off my fucking back about my grades. How'd you do with the midterms?" I modestly mumble, "Who keeps score, but my GPA is somewhere over 3.0 and I'm pretty sure I did uber good on the two midterms I had so far. I'm in good shape." He says, "You're smart, Dylan. I can tell that from just talking to you and it's probably the only reason I let you hang-out with me." I go, "Ha ha ha! Oh man, you're priceless. But I've never considered myself especially smart, Pony. I need to work at it! My roommate Rob has a bit of an obsessive/compulsive personality which carries over to me. I mean it's easier going along with his study habits than arguing with him about it. He pushes me to put in the time on the less appealing aspect of college life, which is obviously the scholastic
part. I'm good with all the other aspects of college life on my own though. Really good!" Pony goes, "He's in-charge, huh? Your boyfriend bosses you around like you boss me around." I mutter, "I don't boss you around." We're at the steps leading up to the open-deck of the Speakeasy. The bouncer at the top of the steps is ushering out some drunk freshman who are giving him a lot of lip along with flipping him off with their middle fingers.
Jeez, those guys look young. Waiting for the drunks to clear the steps I tell Pony, "Rob and I compromise about who's in-charge of whatever, but I usually go along with him. That's unless I don't want to, in which case he goes along with me." Pony goes, "What the fuck? What you just said means he's only in-charge when you let him be, which means you're in-charge." I chuckle, "If you say so. You're always right about everything, Daryl." He tries messing my hair, but I move my head away as he goes, "I need to admire how your goal of being the biggest prick at Merrimack is coming along so nicely." Somehow, I remember the bouncer's name; it's Rex. He's big and strong-looking but also a very preppy, clean-shaven and conservatively dressed guy with a neat short haircut. He also has a great smile which he's using on the drunks, saying, "Oooh, how original. You're giving me the finger. Yeah, that's what twelve-year-old boys always do. Off you go guys. I'll see you next time but try to be sober when you get here." One of the drunk freshman stops biting his fingernails long enough to mumble, "How about returning our cover-charge?" Rex goes, "You used the tokens to buy beers so I have to say a big fat, NO! to that. Um, do you need me to help you down the steps?" The three drunks mutter curse words and insults under their breath stumbling down the steps on their own. I'm sure if Rex helped them they'd be tumbling down the steps. He smiles but I wouldn't want to make him mad. We're still standing at the bottom waiting for the drunks. When they reach the bottom two of the guys start giggling and bumping against one another, slurring, "Was it something we said, do ya think?" A short little fellow says, "I've been thrown out of better joints than this shit-hole." Pony and I roll our eyes at each other and start up the steps.
Pony goes, "Were you ever like those losers?" I go, "No, certainly not! At least I don't recall acting like those guys, but of course it might just be a convenient mind-blockage on my part." At the top of the steps, Rex says, "Well look who it is! Where ya been, Dylan?" and we do the quick one-arm hug routine as I mumble, "Jeez, I don't know, Rex. How ya doing?" He glances at Pony and then back at me, mumbling, "It's been busier than ever; a madhouse this year. We can't beat the cute little underage boys and girls away." He doesn't mention anything about Pony and then doesn't collect a cover-charge from us either, but still gives me two free drink tokens. There's a group of girls talking loudly coming up behind us so Rex and I bump fists, muttering, "Later, dude," and then Pony follows me into the crowd.
Naturally most of the college students here are underage which is the main reason for this private endeavor's popularity in the first place. The cover-charge is considered a membership fee so that legally you're a member of this private club for the night. Being a private club might avoid some of the drinking laws but there's no way Tracy could get away with this without his father and uncle having some kind of influence with the Chief of Police here in town.
We make our way across the open deck to the enclosed part of the Speakeasy. I don't know the bouncer at this door but I get out the special membership card Tracy gave me back in September. As soon as I flash the card the guy says, "Have a nice time, guys," and holds the door open for us. Inside there's like seventy-five students pretty much evenly split between guys and girls. It's a slightly older group than outside and not as rowdy.
My first thought is to look for Tracy. I don't see him but that doesn't mean he's not here; he could be in the house proper. All the seats at the bar are occupied so we stand at an open spot near the end of the bar and a girl bartender comes over and asks, "What's it gonna be boys?" I put the two tokens and a twenty-dollar-bill on the bar, saying, "Two shots of VO and two drafts of Bud." There's loud music of course and some dancing, but mostly just talking and laughing. I see a few guys who are in some of my classes but I don't make eye contact with them. The lady bartender is kinda cute and perky. Her name tag reads, 'Pammy'. She returns and sets our drinks down, mumbling, "Enjoy," then she leans on the bar and says, "I haven't seen you two before. I'd certainly remember. Are you brothers?" I go, "No, not hardly. Um, I've been here a few times earlier this year. I was here all the time during freshman and sophomore year." She goes, "Aah! So you're a junior.
I'd never have guessed that. I'm a junior too. We both look young for our age." The other bartender yells, "Pammy, I'm backed-up here, so if you can pull yourself away..." She grins at me and saunters away to do some bartending." Pony says, "She don't know you're gay... hee hee." I shrug and we lift our shot glasses. Pony does the toast, "Studying for midterms sucks, life's unfair, but here's to the boys without underwear." I snort out a laugh and then we flash down the shot with Pony showing very little after effects while I'm making a 'face' and chugging half my draft beer. I go, "That fuckin' toast was pure nonsense." He goes, "You're not up on your poetry, are you?" I roll my eyes.
We drink some beer and then Pony says, "I saw someone on the deck who I know has grass for sale. As soon as I finish my beer I'm gonna go out there and buy me some weed." I'm like, "Well you probably won't be able to get back in here." He chugs most of the beer and goes, "How about lending me that membership card of your's." I'm like, "It's got my fucking picture on it," and he's like, "So what? We're almost twins." I shrug and give him the card, but we do not look alike. Pony has dark blue eyes and dark brown hair, plus a very light, creamy complexion. I tell him, "We don't look alike, Pony.
Simply tell the bouncer on your way out that you'll be coming right back in. Ya know, so he'll remember you. That way you won't even need the card." He nods at me and makes his way to the door as I order another beer and stand here wondering what Rob's doing right now. Hmmm, not a good thing to wonder about so I think about Chubby at that party where he and John Beverly are the only white guys. Chubby won't have any problem though, he could make friends with a junk yard dog. On the other hand, John Beverly might rub some guys the wrong way. He's done that with me occasionally but I'm never sure if he's pissing me off or I'm merely little jealous that he gets to spend so much time with Chubby.
Checking emails on my iPhone, I re-read Dodger's from earlier in the week.
He's all geared-up for getting out of the Army a year earlier than his enlistment agreement. He's taking advantage of a program where they cut a year off your enlistment if you agree to do two years active duty in the Army Reserve. That means he's still in the Army but only needs to do one weekend a month at an Army Reserve barracks. Dodger says the Army Reserve's need experienced soldiers to continue training the regular reservists after their six months of active duty. Connor's doing the same thing but he'll be going to college here at Merrimack, mostly paid for by the Army. He'll also be doing the one-weekend-a-month active duty along with Dodger. I don't know what Dodger's going to do when he gets out though, and neither does he. He knows what he's not going to do and that's work for Dickers and Son, Inc.
That family feud is still a mystery to me. Dodger has something against the family business obviously. He'll tell me eventually, but until then I'm not sticking my nose into that hornet's nest.
Huh, normally I hate eating or drinking alone but for some reason I feel comfortable doing it here in the Speakeasy. Getting the girl bartender's attention, I ask, "Is Tracy in the house?" She rests her elbows on the bar leaning towards me as she shakes her head, saying, "No, hon, he's in Boston.
Something about his uncle's birthday." Hon? I go, "Oh, sorry I missed him." She goes, "What's your name? I'm Pammy." I go, "Hi, I'm Dylan." The other bartender yells again, "Yo, let's go, Pammy! Ya got three orders backed-up." She makes what she probably thinks is a cute face, like, 'Oh, I'm in trouble again!' or some such shit like that, and asks, "You ready for another beer, Dylan?" I go, "Almost, but no hurry." She saunters off looking back over her shoulder at me.
Gee, I guess she thinks she's flirting with me. A few minutes later she sets another draft in front of me but doesn't charge me for it. Pony comes back and insinuates himself between me and the two guys who took his spot at the bar. They frown at each other and shove Pony. He's oblivious though, smiling as he says to me, "See, no problem, Dylan. Here I am." I ask, "How'd it go?" He holds up a little plastic Ziploc bag with an oregano-like substance in it, grinning and asking, "You gonna smoke with me?" I shrug, "I'd rather not, but maybe I'll do a toke or two. Hey, that reminds me: why is it a 'toke' when you take a puff off a joint and a 'drag' when to take a puff off a cigarette?" Pony chuckles, "I don't fucking know, Dylan. You're the smart one." We have another shot and beer that Pam pours for us while winking and saying, "Wish I could join you boys for a few." Pony frowns at her, asking, "Do you mean this," and he holds up the bag of grass. She goes, 'Even better," but she gets called again and hurries off. Pony goes, "Do you know her, Dylan?" Shaking my head once, I mutter, "Not really." We finish our drinks with Pony excitedly telling me about the joints he going to roll and how the weed he bought is supposedly really good 'shit'.
Then, all of a sudden, I want to get out of here and away from the noise.
Pony has no objection so we make our way out after I leave four dollars on the bar for Pammy's tip, and then something occurs to me. I'm like, "Pony, are you at all familiar with the concept of: I buy a round of drinks, and then you buy a round, and then it's my turn again?" He goes, "What the fuck ya talking about? I bought the grass." I chuckle, "Oh, yeah, that's right.
Guess we're even." Even my ass! We make our way through the crowded deck. At the steps Rex pats my back, "Don't be such a stranger, Dylan. Tracy was asking if I'd seen you just the other day." I nod, "Good seeing you, Rex. Say 'Hi' to Tracy for me," and then we're going down the steps to the sidewalk where it's relatively quiet.
We can still hear the music as we walk toward the pickup but it not so loud that anyone is likely to complain. The house with the huge deck, that Tracy turned into a Speakeasy, is located perfectly. There's a three-store strip mall on one side of it and a town 'common' area on the other side.
Neither get much use after dark. At the pickup Pony asks, "Can we stop at my dorm so I can get some rice papers?" Nodding, I drive us to the beginning of dormitory row and wait in the pickup while Pony runs down to his dorm. He comes back with his roommate, Tom Higgins, right behind him. Pony holds the door open, saying, "You get in the middle, Tom." As Pony gets in the shotgun seat I bump fists with Tom while Pony's telling me, "Tommy lost big, often,
and early at the card game. I hope you don't mind if he joins us. He needs
a couple of hits off this premium shit I just bought." I go, "No, I don't mind." Imagine how awkward it would be if I did mind.
At the apartment I again find a parking spot in our lot. Twice in a row, whoopee! As we go up the stairs, I'm saying, "Ya can't smoke those fucking joints in the apartment." Pony goes, "No shit, Dylan. Ya don't smoke cigarettes in the apartment so why would I think we could smoke pot inside?" I give him a 'look' and he goes, "Don't be mad at me, I'm just saying..." Tom goes, "How about smoking out on your balcony?" I mutter, "Of course." Huh, I've just now realized that with Tom here Pony and I can't fuck. I sort of wanted to do that. Pony, always ready with a complaint of some kind, goes, "My freaking nipple still hurts, Dylan." Like it's my fault. I unlock the front door and we go inside where I say, "Let me see it, Pony." He unzips his jacket and pulls up his shirt. His nipple is red and a little swollen. It does look sore, but it's definitely not infected. I go, "That's how mine looked for like a week after getting pierced. And, hell, you've still got six-weeks before it's completely healed, and that's at the absolute earliest." He mutters, "Why does shit like this always happen to me?" Tom's gawking at the nip ring reaching a finger over, so Pony yells, "Don't touch the fucking thing, Tom!" I ask, "Do either of you want a beer?" Tom does but Pony takes a shot from the bourbon bottle I bought earlier in the week. I'm sipping a beer sitting at the kitchen bar watching Pony and Tom huddle on the sofa rolling joints on the coffee table. After putting a CD on I mostly listen to the music and some of what the two sophomores are talking about, which is normal college conversation about their classes and midterms. They're sounding very much like I did last year. Yeah, but there seems to be a big jump from sophomore to junior year as far as maturity goes.
It probably has something to do with turning twenty-one for junior year. Ya know, being legal now for, well legal age for just about anything and everything except running for president.
I've noticed that this year I'm not getting nearly the charge out of being at Tracy's. Nothing like I got the first two years of college. Back then it was cool being in a bar environment, but now the Speakeasy seems kind of like amateur-hour and the younger students seem silly for the most part.
Not all of them, but enough of them to be annoying. Daryl and Tom smoke a joint on the balcony while I lie back on the sofa slowing drinking my beer not thinking about anything except the music. They come in off the balcony bouncing off the walls, giggling and laughing at anything either one of them says. It's kind of funny actually. Their highs don't last long though and then they both get the idea of me doing their haircuts tonight. I'm a little high from the shots and beers but still capable of giving them haircuts, and I'm kinda glad to do it because otherwise I'd have to do five haircuts tomorrow for Pony and his friends and roommate. Plus it's fun for me doing haircuts for guys around my age 'cause with a few exceptions I generally like guys around my age.
I get the barber stuff out and have a good time with the haircuts. Pony's hair only requires some trimming around the sides and back while Tom needs a full haircut for his date tomorrow night, or so he claims. I give both guys regular preppy-type haircuts and I even add a touch of hair gel so I can comb a little pompadour in front on both of them. They're kinda cute actually and I have to chuckle to myself seeing them with identical haircuts, and neither of them apparently realizing it. They share their second joint while I have a cigarette on the balcony with them. Both Tom and Pony are telling me stories of their roommate escapades. Things like one of them hiding under the bed until the other one comes in and then scaring the shit out of him grabbing an ankle, and shit like that. Huh, as a freshman I used to do that with Chubby and Rob in the apartment. They'd retaliate until it got so we were all jittery all the time so we stopped doing it. You walk into a quiet empty bedroom not thinking about anything as you open a closet door and, with a loud scream, out comes someone wearing a Halloween mask or panty hose pulled over our face. Jesus! Enough to give you a fucking heart attack! Pony bought a gram-and-a-half of pot so that's barely enough for three joints. They're both real giddy after sharing their third one however, and I'm starting to get a headache. I made the mistake of not drinking enough to get loaded so I'm hazy and in-between drunk and sober, which is probably why I'm getting a headache. By eleven-thirty the guys have had some booze, they got their haircuts and smoked all three joints so they're mellow and don't argue too much when I say it's time to go. During the short ride to the campus they get into a very annoying fit of giggling, poking at each other and screaming dumb shit out the window. I drive illegally right down dormitory row to drop Pony and Tom off at the door to their dormitory ignoring the shouted insults and curses from the students hanging around outside who need to get out of the way of the pickup truck. Flashing the finger at them, I back up fast scattering some students and then drive sensibly back to the apartment. Not a real satisfying night, but it wasn't horrible either. I usually enjoy being with Pony; I especially like that he gives back as much shit as I give him. What's slightly disconcerting though is one minute he's a twenty-year-old college student exchanging fun-insults with me and then the next minute he acts like a sixteen-year-old with a crush on me.
In the bathroom I take a piss, wash my hands and face, and then brush my teeth. It all takes about two minutes. Stripping to my boxer shorts I get in bed and sleep straight through until eleven o'clock Saturday morning. Holy shit that was awesome! Laying here alone I'm missing Rob but at the same time I had a great night's sleep, unlike last night. So that's swell except I feel odd somehow, like I'm depressed or something. I've been noticing this weird feeling on and off recently, but I can't figure out what's causing it. Hell, maybe it's not depression at all.
Hmmm, I'll use Google and see what I can find out about depression. I hop out of bed smiling at the fact I do not have a hangover. Sitting at the desk in my boxer shorts I access Google and type in 'depression'. It comes up with, Symptoms of Depression: feelings of sadness, helplessness, and/or worthlessness. Apparently if you have one or more of those three symptoms it means you're one depressed mother-fucker. Yeah, but for some there are different symptoms, such as restlessness, irritability, trouble concentrating, and/or some kind of sleep disorders. Any of those could be symptoms of depression too, as well as, unusual fatigue and/or experiencing a radical change in your appetite. It goes on to say, 'Of course depression symptoms overlap symptoms for people who are experiencing anxiety or are bipolar, or experiencing post-dramatic stress disorder, or they're addicted to something.
Well, fuck, that sure covers just about every possibility. I'm surprised stubbing your toe isn't a possible symptom of depression. Reading this information is what's depressing.
Hmmm, I'm probably not depressed so I'll chose one of the alternatives, and no, not the addiction one either. Being slightly over-sexed isn't an addiction. I don't feel sad or helpless or worthless, but I was a little irritable last night. I don't have a sleep disorder because I just had a great night's sleep, so hmmm, what's that leave? Anxiety, I guess. Well yeah because I've never been to war so the post-dramatic thingie is out. Here's what I'll do: I'll keep my eyes opened, metaphorically speaking, for something that might cause some anxiety in my life. Maybe it has something to do with Rob although I don't know what that might be. Wait a second! My subconscious
mind is probably merely fucking with me again. Getting up from the desk I need to admit that Googling didn't clear anything up.
Hmmm, Rob won't be back until sometime Sunday so what I'd like to do is take the opportunity to hook-up with Chubby tonight. I'll see if he can think of a reason for me feeling sort of blah at times. With that decided, I do all the necessary things one does in the bathroom, including a shower, and then get dressed before calling Chubby. He goes, "Omigod, it's my favorite person ever! Good morning, Dylan!" I say, "Hi, Chub. It's actually the afternoon but, um, you doing anything tonight?" He goes, "Nothing I can't change for you, bro. Why?" I mumble, "Oh, I sort of was hoping we could hang-out
tonight. Just you and me." He says, "Then we will. I'll need to break a date but that's no big deal. I hardly know the chick and she has this girl-mustache that you can hardly see but I noticed it while making-out. So I'm glad you called and rescued me." I mutter, "You need to break a date? I don't want to cause..." He interrupts, "Consider it already done, Dylan. Where and when tonight?" I go, "Um, how about picking me up around six and we'll have dinner someplace." He goes, "Absolutely the perfect idea! You got it, bro, I'll see you at six." I mumble, "Thanks, Chubby." Huh, just like that.
Funny how I feel better already. To prove I don't have a radical change of appetite I'm going to have two or three bowls of Froot Loops for breakfast just like I did yesterday morning... depression can go fuck itself! I do feel bad Chubby has to break a date though, but dinner with him will probably cure any blahs I have. On the balcony after my nutritious breakfast I have a smoke while looking at all the cars in the parking lot feeling a little foolish for thinking I've been depressed. Huh, I guess John Beverly will be slightly depressed though. I mean with Chubby's blowing-off double-dating with him tonight to have dinner with me. Ha ha, too fucking bad for him.
Chub's my brother, not his.
Done my smoke I flick the cigarette butt off the railing and it comes back and hits off my sweatshirt. Jesus! Swiping at my sweatshirt I kick the butt off the balcony and hear someone below go, "What the fuck?" Heh heh, going inside I grab my cellphone off the kitchen counter and see a text from Pony. 'Can I bring my friends over for haircuts now, pleeeease?' Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I text back telling him to bring them over anytime he wants. Depressed my ass! I push the kitchen table against the wall and pull a stool over. Then get out the barber tools expecting the guys any minute now. As it turns out Pony's 'now' isn't until three o'clock when I'm eating a cheeseburger that I cooked on the outside gas grille. When I hear the buzz coming from the back door I let them in and have a mouthful of burger opening the door. Pony's standing next to that guy, Mark. He's the kid in the parking lot last night.
I don't recall his last name. There's two guys behind them who I don't believe I've ever laid eyes on before in my life. If I had I wouldn't look twice. Oh man, that's so unfair of me. Looks aren't everything! And anyway the fidgety little guy in back might be cute in a goofy kind of way. I'll need to check him out a little closer.
Pony comes in first and we do a one-arm-hug, as he's saying, "G'morning, Dylan. Um, I mean, good afternoon." I mumble, "Yeah, hi, Pony. I thought you were coming right over after you texted me. I was thrown off by the word 'now'." He says, "It's complicated. Um, you remember Mark Colvechio, right?" I bump fists with Mark as he mutters, "Whassup?" He's a couple inches shorter than me with a swarthy complexion and very dark brown hair. Mark has a fully developed beard that's a dark five-o'clock-shadow this afternoon.
He's probably one of those guys who needs to shave twice-a-day. Big nose on the guy but he's average looking other than that. After Mark is a guy who's a little taller than me. Pony goes, "This is my boy, Ryan Flynn." Ryan only nods, looking a bit surly as he gawks around at the apartment. He has long brown hair that he runs his fingers through every ten seconds to keep it out of his eyes. His hair looks clean though.
At the rear is the little jittery guy. He has short blond hair that isn't particularly in need of a haircut. It's combed neatly with a part, looking very much like Pony's hair after last night's trim. Pony introduces the guy as Paul Matthers. Paul is very slim and maybe five-foot-five-inches tall.
He gives me a nervous grin, murmuring, "Nice to meet ya. Um, I've, ah, never had anybody but, um, you know, a regular-barber cut my hair." I'm not sure what to say to that, other than... don't do me any fucking favors, which I don't say. Instead I pat his shoulder and grin at him because up-close I was right, he's actually kind of cute in a funny sort of way.
I ask, "You guys want flattop haircuts, is that right?" Two of them look at me like I'm speaking Chinese. The surly guy, Ryan Flynn, goes, "Why would you think that?" I glance over at Pony, who says to Ryan, "You said you liked my retro flattop look, so I told Dylan..." and Ryan goes, "We were being sarcastic, Pony." Pony goes, "You jerk-off! You asked me where I got my haircut and I told you." Ryan goes, "Jesus, ya don't need to jump down my fucking throat. We were interested mostly in the 'free' aspect of the haircut." Oh man! I go, "Whatever the fuck. Just tell me what you want. Ya know, like you would if you were at a barbershop." They all shrug, and as they're taking off their jackets, surly Ryan Flynn goes, "I'm first. I gotta meet someone in twenty-minutes." Pony says, "Then you'll need walk back to campus." Ryan shrugs again, muttering, "So what? It's only a ten-minute walk." Mark asks, "Okay if we turn the TV on, Dylan?" I nod my head at Pony and he turns the TV on and, as they argue about what to watch, I tell Ryan to take a seat on the stool.
As I'm putting the barber cape around him, he asks, "You know how to do all kinds of haircuts, right?" I go, "Probably, what'd you have in mind?" He says, "A real short haircut that I don't need to mess with, but not like Pony's flattop or a burr haircut. Nothing like that." I ask, "Well how about a haircut like the one Pony has now? It's not the flattop anymore." He goes, "Nah, that haircut is slightly gay-looking, heh heh. I want a short haircut without a part. Do you know what I mean?" I go, 'Yeah, I guess," and put a half-inch guide on the clippers and then cut the hair on the sides and back of his head to a half-inch length halfway up his head. Seeing all that hair falling away from his head gives my fetish a really good buzzing. As I'm doing it, Ryan says, "The last haircut I got was just before coming to college last fall." He doesn't appear the least bit concerned about the pile of hair accumulating on the cape at his lap. Using clippers over comb I blend the remaining hair from the half-inch length to three-quarters-inch length the rest of the way up the sides and back of his head and then use the thinning scissors for all the long hair on top of his head the way Robby did for the first haircut he gave me a few months back. What a rush it is for a haircut fetish guy, like me, to be cutting all this clean hair off this kid's head! When I've evened-out the remaining long hairs on top of Ryan's head the hair is just long enough to lay forward with short tapered bangs he could flip up if he wanted to. I leave then as short tampered bangs. Passing the hand-held mirror to him I then use the trimming clippers outlining around and behind his ears. After a little bit of taper at his neck's hairline it's done. He moved the mirror around giving his haircut a quick look, for like three-seconds, and mutters, "Yeah, that's good. Thanks, um... I forget your name." Ryan, like a surprisingly number of guys, basically don't give a shit about their hair. I mumble, "No problem," but wow, a lot of hair hits the floor when I take the cape off him. He runs his fingers through his short hair while Paul Matthers gawks at Ryan while adjusting his junk, licking his lips and then stares at Ryan Flynn's pile of hair on the floor. And Ryan isn't acting surly anymore. He acted shy when admitting he forgot my name.
He very well could be one of those guys with no confidence who tries covering that fact up by being grumpy or surly.
Paul definitely seems aroused looking from the pile of hair on the floor and then to Ryan's very short nondescript haircut. He's the one Pony told me is all squirmy about getting his hair cut by me. He surely has some level of haircut fetish whether he knows it or not. Ryan mumbles, "I'm taking off. See you guys later." Pony turns away from the TV to look at Ryan, and says, "Omigod, you look normal, Flynn," and then Mark goes, "You look like you did last year, Ryan." Ryan's putting his jacket on, asking, "Where ya gonna be later, Pony?" Pony says, "I don't know. Text me." This scene reminds me of the haircuts I gave to Sam Workman's brothers in Georgia. Sam's brothers didn't know me, just like these guys don't know me. I'm just the barber and they're in a barbershop. Sure, they mutter thanks after the haircut, but then ignore me and talk to their friends. I'm perfectly good with that! Ryan leaves and Pony says, "Go ahead, Mark. You're next." Mark says, "No, send Paul next! I wanna see the college football highlights from last week." Paul says, "So do I," and Pony says, "Mark, what'd I just say? You're next! You can see the fucking TV from there." Huh, Pony's the leader just like I guessed he would be. Mark comes over saying to me, "Just a regular haircut for me. That's what I always ask for." I go, "Fine," and take ten minutes giving him a regular haircut with the back squared-off the way I can tell his last haircut was." He mutters, "Thanks," and goes back to sit on the sofa again watching ESPN's Sports Center.
Paul Matthers looks pale when he comes over and sits on the stool. As I'm draping the cape over him he takes a deep breath and then murmurs, "Whew, I'm short of breath." I ask, "Why are you short of breath?" He shakes his head slowly, muttering, "Fuck if I know. Haircutting gets me sort of feeling funny or something. It's weird." I ask, "Feeling funny, how?" He shakes his head again, mumbling, "I don't fucking exactly know how to describe it.
Um, I think I'd like that retro haircut you did for Pony a few weeks ago." Shrugging, I say, "Ya sure?" He lets out the breath he's been holding. Takes another deep breath and grunts, "I guess I'm sure, yeah. I've never had a really, really short haircut before and I'm kind of.... ooooh, fuck." I ask, "Are you okay?" He nods his head blushing and muttering, "Uh huh." Jesus, I feel bad for him. I go, "Relax, Paul. You've got a good head of hair so any haircut will look good on you," and I pat his shoulder, adding, "Now, I can do the longish flattop like I did for Pony, or a regular length flattop that's shorter?" He takes another deep breath and squeaks out, "The regular one." While putting a quarter-inch guide on the clippers, I casually ask Paul, "Do you ever watch haircuts on YouTube?" Paul turns his head to look at me with a startled expression on his face. Blushing a dark rosy color, he stammers, "How'd you, um, know that?" I grin at him shrugging, and as he continues blushing, mumbling, "I mean, yeah, I do. Um, do you?" I go, "On occasion, yeah." He's excited, "Oh man! Dude, I think Michael Ryan Cassidy's videos are the best haircut videos on YouTube. Have you ever see those?" I shake my head, "No, I don't think so. I watch instructional videos trying to learn the technique for doing new hairstyles that get popular." He nods his head, "Uh huh, because you're a barber, right? That Cassidy guy's videos though, um, I mean the ones where he cuts young guys with long hair to really short haircuts. They're awesome! He's merciless." I mumble, "Huh! Okay, here we go..." I'm a little merciless myself giving him a short flattop. Cutting his hair to one-quarter inch by running the clippers way up the back of his head and over onto the crown three or four times, Paul cums in his pants like a haircut-fetish-person does at times. Well, I'm pretty sure he did because I saw his body stiffen and heard his quiet grunting moans as his hips moved forward a little. Most people probably wouldn't notice him doing that but I was looking for it. The last thing I'd ever do is mention it to him though; he'd probably faint with embarrassment if I did. Poor guy. I don't let on I know what happened as he now slumps on the stool limply, apparently savoring his orgasm. Fucking fetishes, ya know? His hair wasn't very long to start with so even with a three-quarter-inch flattop there isn't a lot of hair on the cape when I'm done. Handing him the hand-held mirror, his hands are real shaky as his eyes get big gawking at his reflection. He squeaks-out, "Omigod, that's awesome..." Oh, God, it's..." and he gasps-in a deep breath. I again pretend not to notice. He rubs both hands from the back of his head over the top and takes another deep breath. Jesus, Paul has it worse than me. He quietly says, "If you get a chance, Dylan, you should look at that guy Cassidy's video titled 'Flip up cut.
How to!!!!" I mutter, " Yeah okay, sure, Paul," without ever intending to do that.
When I take the cape off him I glance at his lap but don't see a wet spot.
He probably put a sock in his underpants expecting to shoot off during his haircut. Pony looks over and says, "Oh fuck. Copying me again, huh Paul?" Paul frowns, muttering, "Fuck you, Ponti," and Pony goes, "Well, is it what you expected, Matthers?" Paul nods his head, "Yeah, pretty much," and he runs his hand over his head again, murmuring, "It's really short and just what I wanted." The last word caught in his throat.
Pony and Mark are completely oblivious to Paul's sexual haircut-experience. They get up off the sofa as Paul, sliding off the stool, quietly asks me, "Can I come next time I need a haircut, Dylan?" Patting his shoulder, I go, "Of course, Paul." Like I said, I feel bad for him and would like to reassure him he isn't the only guy with that fetish, but not now with the other guys around. Next time I'll commiserate with him about how neither of us knows why we're affected like we are. I say, "Here ya go, Paul," and show him my cellphone's number. "Log this into your cellphone and text me when you want a haircut." He mutters, "Thanks!" With jittery fingers he punches my number into his phone as Pony's saying to Mark, "You and Paul drive to the campus. I'm hanging out with Dylan a while. Text me in an hour or so." Bossy Pony! When Paul and Mark leave, Pony goes, "Do you think we can do it, Dylan?" I'm like, "Yeah, if we can skip the spanking part. I'm not feeling like doing a spanking on your awesome ass today." He goes, "A few smacks at least, okay?" I go, "Yeah, but let me ask you something. Weren't you kind of abrasive to your boys today?" He frowns, "Whaddaya mean abrasive?" I go, "You weren't nice and that tone of voice! Don't try using it on me. Plus you were a bossy pain-in-the-ass to them." He looks befuddled, "What? No, I was nice.
They're my buds!" I shrug, "A word of advice; don't take friends for granted." He goes, "I don't, and who's being bossy now?" I mutter, "Just saying.
Now, help me clean up your friends' cut hairs." We sweep up most of the cut hairs and then I run the vacuum over the tile area. Big deal, it takes one minute and so what if Robby's got me brainwashed about keeping the place neat! Pony says, "You had lunch right? Is that what you were eating when we got here?" I nod, "Uh huh, why?" He goes, "Well I didn't have lunch so do you think I could grab something to eat here?" Looking in the refrigerator, I'm like, "How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" He comes over to put his hand on my shoulder looking inside the refrigerator, mumbling, "Um, that hamburger patty looks pretty good, and with a slice of that Kraft American cheese I could have a cheeseburger." I mumble, "Unless I was planning on having that later myself." He grabs both the patty and cheese, smirking at me, saying, "This will make-up for me paying for the grass last night." I go, "I didn't have any of your pot!" He says, "But you like me best out of all ten of your side-sex buddies, so I can have the cheeseburger, right?" I'm like, "Go ahead, but cook it on the gas grille so we don't dirty a frying pan. I'll defrost a hamburger roll." He says, "Because you're so generous you get a prize; one you've always value greatly," and he kisses me on the lips. I mutter, "Oh, it's my lucky day again." Pony's on the balcony now, yelling in to me, "It won't start." I go out and get the grille started and he goes, "Okay, I can take it from here." The hamburger is on the grille and we're inside sharing the last Pepsi. Each time, before he takes a swallow, Pony wipes the mouth of the bottle with his hand. I go, "That hand of your's has a thousand-times more germs than my lips. Lips you just kissed I might add." He goes, "Yeah, I just do the wipe from habit. Most guys aren't as clean as you." I go, "You always look clean yourself, Daryl. That pale creamy complexion of yours and that same skin all over your hot little body." He goes, "Little? I'm the exact same size as you, but my body is even hotter than yours. And you're crazy about me, admit it!" I say, "By now that hamburger is a piece of charcoal." He goes, "Oh shit!" and rushes outside yelling, "What'll I put it on, Dylan?" I take the hamburger roll out and he uses a spatula to transfer the very well done hamburger onto the roll. I plop a piece of American cheese on it and put the top on the roll.
Pony looks at me, so I ask, "Do you want some ketchup on that?" He nods, "Yeah, thanks," and carries the super-well-done burger inside. He sits at the kitchen bar, setting the burger on a napkin saying, "I can't wait." Without the ketchup he takes a bite of his cheeseburger and then spits it out on the napkin, saying, yelling, "Fuckin' hot!" I'm shaking my head, mumbling,
"Feeb," and he goes, "It's still a little pink inside." I look at the piece he spit out, "That color is called gray the last time I checked." He picks up the cooled-off piece he spit out and plops it in his mouth. I go, "Lucky you're cute, Pony, cause you're a lot of trouble." He frowns, "I am not a lot of trouble, but you got the other part right." Watching him eat gets me horny. The haircuts earlier aroused me some, especially Ryan Flynn's haircut, and now I'm thinking Pony looks sexy-cute as he eats with his mouth closed. Oooh fuck, I just noticed he tried duplicating the pompadour I combed in his hair last night. That makes me grin... that's cute. He looks up at me grinning and then grins himself, asking, "What?" Shaking my head, I'm like, "Nothing. Finish your burger." His pink tongue flicks across his lips and then he plops the last of the burger in his mouth and says, "It needed ketchup but it was pretty delicious anyway. You got another one?" I go, "You saw what I have in the refrigerator." He nods and then smirks, saying, "How about that peanut butter and jelly sandwich you promised me." I tell him where the bread is and he makes the sandwich himself, asking, "You keep peanut butter in the refrigerator?" I go, "Yeah, where do you keep it?" He goes, "The pantry at home. It's too hard to spread coming out of the refrigerator." I mutter, "You'll work it out," and he does too. Done that sandwich he goes in the refrigerator again and gets the last bottle of Peach Snapple, asking, "Do you mind?" as he's holding the bottle up. I shake my head, "No, but ya gotta share it with me... and without wiping the mouth of the bottle." We drink it passing the bottle back and forth with both of us wetting the mouth of the bottle with as much saliva we can before passing it back. No talking but lots of eye contact and halfway through the Snapple he goes, "I'm getting a boner." Leaving the half bottle of Snapple on the kitchen bar I take Pony's arm and pull him off the stool. He's standing there looking at me for a few seconds and then he drops his pants to his knees and turns around bending over looking back at me, murmuring, "You were right, I was very abrasive to my friends earlier and need to be punished." After a half-dozen, "Smacks!" I say, "Bring your smacked ass into the bedroom; I'll get some lube." He nods and follows me holding the waistband of his pants so he doesn't trip over them. After dropping my pants to my knees, I take the lube from the drawer in the bed-side table. Getting a glob of it on my finger, we both look at my finger and then at each other. I nod my head toward him and he turns around. With a hand on his shoulder I smear the lube on the lips of his asshole and then push my finger in past his sphincter as he grunts, "Ooh." I'm rubbing around in there with Pony squirming and then he starts stroking his cock. With the pad of my finger I rubs over his prostate and his body jerks a little as he goes, "Oooh, mmmm," and then, "Nooo, Dylan! I'll cum!" Pulling my finger out, I say, "Time to suck my dick." He nods and while turning around, mumbles, "Absolutely," and drops to his knees still holding his cock in his fist.
Lifting my dick with his thumb and forefinger Pony pushes it inside his mouth sliding it in on his bottom teeth and I snort out a laugh. He looks up, asking, "What?" which sounded like, "Whom?" with my cock in his mouth. I grin and shake my head, mumbling, "Nothing. You're doing great, Pony." Those
sharp incisors scraping on the underside of my cock caused shivers all around my groin and the inside of my thighs. When he has more than half my dick in his mouth he begins making lots of slurping wet-mouth sounds. Glancing
to my right I see our profile reflected from the mirror over the bureau.
The reflection shows me from my ass up and Pony from his shoulders up.
Pony's eyes are closed with the tip of his pink tongue appearing between his lips and then disappearing only to appear briefly again as he licks and sucks my cock. His profile is almost pretty. He has very well-proportioned facial features; chin, pink lips, cute nose, long curving eyelashes, perfect-sized forehead and an almost perfect hairline along with his attempt at a pompadour in front. Seeing it makes me grin again. He's pretty special and he knows it too.
More wet mouth sounds as my penis takes notice and then he starts stroking my foreskin and sucking on just the head and it gets me really hard. He looks up holding my dick in his fingers, "How's that?" I go, "Awesome," and as soon as he stands I get him turned around so his back is against my chest. My right arm goes around the front of his neck pulling his head back. He goes, "Ouuuweee, I like this." Tightening my arm on his Adam's apple I jerk his head up with my arm sliding up and under his chin." The side of our faces slide together and now I smell peanut butter on his breath as he pants in short quick bursts. This boy gets aroused easily and he really enjoys having sex. Makes me feel good and, just like me, Pony gets hard-ons sucking a guy's dick. His boner is up against his belly, straight up! Pony reaches back with both arms to claps his hands behind me at the small of my back, murmuring, "I'm your helpless captive now, Dylan. Show me no mercy." Unable to see between us, I've got my boner in my fingers moving the hard head across his butt cheek until I feel it slip into his ass crack and then the head is at his anus. I hump in half the head, spreading the lips of his asshole and he squirms in my arms making a whining sound. Looking at our reflection from the mirror again I see his five-inch hard boner sticking straight out now; just that quickly it tightened really hard and moved to it salute position. That was really quick! His boner is a creamy-white color contrasting starkly with his dark pubic patch. The foreskin is pulled back and then there's the swollen rosy-pink one-eyed head; it's a very cool-looking boner.
A half-inch of my boner's head is docked with Pony's slippery asshole so all I need to do is thrust my hips slightly to get Pony arching his back as the head pokes in past his sphincter muscle. Pony makes another quiet whining sound as he's pressing the side of his head tightly against the side of mine. I'm teasing him by not pushing my cock further up his ass and he take in a long inhale and now I smell his normal scent from the side of his face; it's boyishly youthful and sexy. The short hairs on the side of his head are brushing against my ear. I turn my head towards him and give his cheek a five-second kiss and then murmur, "My very favorite buddy-sex partner." He moans a little pushing his ass back on my boner getting it to slide tightly three inches up his ass while both of us do noisy inhales. He murmurs, "Kiss me again, Dylan." His body is as much against mine as it's possible to be, including the back of his legs against the front of mine.
While kissing his cheek again I hump the rest of my boner up his ass and his back arches again as he makes a,"Ssssshhh," sound drawing air in through closed lips. Oh man, my boner feels so good surrounded tightly from the root to the swollen head by Pony's tight youthful rectum. Very tight and I imagine in my mind his prostate throbbing against my hard member about an inch-or-so up from the root end. Pulling my hips back, slowly retracting my boner gets Pony leaning back hard against me making his, "Sssssshhh," sound again. I pull back until I feel the swollen neck of the head caught in the tight lips of his anus. I wait two seconds and then push it back up his ass and we both go, "Mmmm, ooh fucccck." My shoulders shudder against his and I feel his body shake a little.
As I'm pulling my boner back a second-time Pony's head shakes slightly as he murmurs, "Fuck me hard, Dylan," and I go at it with, "Slapslapslap," sounds in our ears as steady delicious vibrations sizzle off my sensitive boner, especially the head. Steady fast hard thrusting that gets faster and faster as we moan and groan quietly together. Pony's body is getting jostled around a little as my arm around the front of his neck gets tighter until I hear him gasping for air. Holy shit, I let up on the pressure around his neck and then drop my arm altogether. He moans and, bringing his arms from around my back, he bends forward putting his hands on his knees. With my hands gripping his hips I start pounding my hard pole up his ass, "Slapslapslapslap." Two, three, and then four minutes of sexual pleasure until Pony tightens the muscles in his buttocks as he humps his hips forward and I see a fat string of creamy white cum fly from his boner almost hitting the desk chair about four-feet in front of him. The tightening on my boner causes my climax too erupt three-seconds after his and it, "Eeeetiiii," with cum pumping out of my cock to spatter inside his bowels and then again, and again. My eyes are tightly closed and my face scrunched-up so I didn't see the follow-up shots leaving Pony's cock. I'm concentrating instead on the sensations from my follow-up orgasmic sensations. Pony's limp now as I thrust in his cum-filled ass a few more times and then pull my cock out and smack his ass hard, "SMACK!SMACK!" then get my hands under Pony's arms pulling him upright.
He lays back against me feeling warm and limp. There's some perspiration on the side of his forehead; the sides of our heads are together. Pony quietly
sighs.
A few more deep breaths and I drop my arms from around his belly and we step apart. He murmurs, "Omigod, what an awesome climax." I mumble, "Uh huh, me too." I watch with fascination as my cum begins drooling out of Pony's opened-up asshole. It's still creamy white as it drools down wetly under his left butt cheek and disappears to become clear a little later. I mutter, "Let's clean up," and we walk toward the bathroom with Pony and me holding our pants halfway up our thighs so we don't trip over them.
He's wiping my cum off his ass as I clean my cock of cum and lubricant with some soap and warm water using a washcloth. Pony says, "I loved that! Can I stick around so we can do it like that again later? I wish you'd be even rougher with me." I've plenty of time before my dinner with Chubby and I like Pony's company so I'm like, "Sure, but won't your boys be wondering what we're doing?" He says, "Nah, I'll text and hook-up with them later.
Whaddaya doing tonight? There's another party at that frat house near Stop & Shop. It's a twenty-dollar night with all the beer you can drink." I shake my head, "I had a bad experience early on at that place. I mean before you and me got together near the end of the night. Are you going?" He pulls up his pants, saying, "I'm thinking about it but I'll definitely ago if you're going." Shaking my head, I say, "I don't know. I'm going out to dinner with my brother tonight. Maybe we'll stop in later but I kinda doubt it. I don't want to run into a certain gorilla." He goes, "Gorilla?" and I mutter. "I told you about it." We finish the Snapple that we left on the kitchen bar earlier, and then he lays against me on the sofa texting his boys. A few minutes later, still lying against me on the sofa, Pony does most of the talking. He's telling me about him growing up in Pennsylvania and more about his experiences on the swimming and gymnastic teams in high school. He was apparently very good although it's not like he's bragging. In fact I'm thinking he was better in both sports than he's letting on. I don't tease him this time about swimming and gymnastics not being actual 'sports' per se. Some time ago I was breaking his balls saying they were more individual skills than sports because nobody is trying to prevent you from doing the best you can. I do consider them both sports because there's competition, but not sports the way contact sports are SPORTS. Ha ha, if you know what I mean. Ya know, the four biggies of baseball, basketball, football and ice hockey. They're sports! Pony's in a talkative mood and goes on to tell me about some of his freshman experiences at Drexel University in Philadelphia. Nothing ever clicked for him there. He didn't form any kind of real friendship; just never connected with the right guys I guess. Zero sex and as far as he knew he was the only gay kid there. Ridiculous assumption of course but you only get to interact with a very small part of the large university population, and by happenstance Pony didn't connect with the right small part. He was miserable but his parents just thought it was Pony being homesick so he had a hard time convincing his parents he needed to transfer to another college. I go, "Lucky for me that you convinced them," and he goes, "Yes, lucky you. You need to show me a little more appreciation for transferring here. Without me your junior year would be a dismal failure." I grin, mumbling, "How true." He's good company and after like two hours of talking with him lying against me on the sofa, Pony says, "I think this might be my favorite afternoon at college so far. You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna let you make-out with me. It goes against my core beliefs about gay guys kissing, but for you I'm gonna make an exception so you better jump at the chance." I say, "Well, you are quite the delicious gay guy, but I'll only do it if you promise not to get romantic about it." He goes, "Oh it's going to be romantic alright! For me anyway." I say, "Well okay then," and he lifts his head off my shoulder and we kiss. It turns into a pretty good sloppy spit-involved make-out but it doesn't last long and I knew it wouldn't because Pony is easily sexually aroused. We do the sex like we did it two-hours-or-so ago but it isn't as hot as it was the first time. It's almost impossible to replicate an extemporaneous experience when you're purposely trying to copy it.
Still, we had really good second climaxes and neither of us are complaining about it as we clean-up in the bathroom for a second time this afternoon.
Pony has three text messages from his friends when he finally checks his cellphone. He asks for a ride to the campus and I drive him there. We bump fists as he gets out saying, "You're awesome, Dylan," and I go, "Right back at you, dude." He nods grinning, and then goes off seemingly happy. I feel good too. That was really good buddy-sex, but more importantly to me is the fact Pony's a really cool buddy. Back at the apartment I lie around thinking how strange that I can't even envision earlier being depressed or glum, but yet at times I know that's how I've felt. Certainly not after a really nice afternoon doing haircuts for some sophomore guys and then the sexy afternoon with Pony. But yet this morning I was feeling weird. It's a new weirdness that I've been noticing the past couple of weeks. What is there that would cause me to have anxiety? Maybe nothing; maybe it's not anxiety at all... but something else. Forgetting about that I go in the bedroom to decide what I'll wear tonight. Chubby and me having dinner together sounds so fucking perfect!
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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