Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 22

by Donny Mumford

This is the first time Rob's driven his pickup since his appendectomy. He's driving us to summer league baseball practice and try-outs at Framingham High School where we'll meet up with Danny and Hayden. Rob's trying-out for a starting pitcher position, mainly because that's one of only two spots still open on the roster, the other opening being relief pitcher and that's the spot Hayden's hoping to fill. Back in our high school days 'pitching' is what Rob primarily was known for. He was the team's 'ace' number-one pitcher. On Merrimack's baseball team, he wanted to be an every-day player though and he was eventually able to secure the starting shortstop position.

As for me, Danny's arranged with the head man, Coach Benintendi, for me to practice with the team and maybe win a spot on the bench as a utility player. I do appreciate Danny going to all that trouble but I've decided I don't wanna be on the team even if it's only to practice with them, and my reason is that I'm simply not good enough, and I don't want to embarrass myself. I'm a good enough sandlot baseball ball player, but all these guys were on organized teams either in high school or college, which means they're the best baseball players at their high school or college... and I'm not one of them! Frankly I'm nervous about telling Danny I'm not going to go along with his idea that our four-gay-guys group all make the Framingham summer league baseball team. I wish to God I was at their skill level but everyone can't be. Life blows like that sometimes.

We get to the high school at ten-minutes-of-seven and Rob parks in a lot next to the baseball park. There are like twenty-some players already on the field throwing a ball around or talking in groups. The team will have uniforms to wear for games but for practice it's whatever you feel like wearing, mostly shorts and T-shirts and baseball caps. It looks like all of the guys are wearing baseball cleats too. I don't own a pair of cleats and I never have.

Rob leans against the pickup changing from sneakers to his baseball cleats. Looking up at me, he goes, "Would you bring your glove with you, Dylan? I might need you to catch me while I warm up." I don't really want to bring my glove because it might look like I want to practice and I don't. Still, if it's to help Rob, I nod my head and get my glove from the back seat and then yank on the bill of the baseball cap a little frustrated by this whole situation. Danny gave me this team hat; it's from last year's team. Ya know, another thing I'm frustrated about is forgetting my sunglasses. I feel out of my element here, like a fake.

My glove is under my arm as I look at the palm of my left hand. It's still red and sore from catching Rob's fast ball earlier, so that sucks too. He glances at me, asking, "Why so glum, babe? This is fun!" I have nothing to say to that. We walk across the parking lot, Rob's scanning the guys on the field, and then he points, "There they are, near the batting cage; Danny and his girlfriend." Looking where he pointed, I see Hayden with Danny as I mutter, "Robby, be nice. Hayden's not his girlfriend" Rob grins and pats my shoulder, excitedly saying, "Let's run, Dylan!"

As we jog across the parking lot and onto the field I'm watching Danny talking with a man I assume is Coach Benintendi. The guy has a whistle around his neck on a string and he's holding a clipboard. Now I'm more nervous than ever about telling Danny I'm not going to do this because he's already setting things up with that guy. Danny and I have become kinda tight recently and I hate that I'm going to disappoint him, but what the fuck, disappointing him is a better alternative than looking like a fool trying to play ball with these talented guys.

Rob and I jog up to them and casually bump fists with Danny and Hayden. Hayden has a pained expression on his face when he bumps my fist and I'm sure it has to do with last night at the airport. He was dressed like, and acted like, a gay-jackass. Today he looks and acts like everyone else here, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, baseball cap and cleats on his feet. I get a vibe that Hayden's feeling an awkwardness between us and I feel it too when we barely mutter "Hi" to each other. We had sexual heat for one another like you can't believe before he left for California, but last night you'd never know it. We both seemed disappointed with one another although I don't know why in hell he'd be disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in him for his ridiculous behavior last night and, to be honest, it hurt my feelings that he basically ignored me.

Danny introduces Rob to the Coach, who shakes hand with him, saying, "Dickers, huh? Yeah, I remember you from high school a few years back. I was coaching at Natick High at the time and we always groaned when you were scheduled to pitch against us." Rob goes, "That's very flattering, Coach." The Coach says, "The question is, do you still got it, Son?" Rob sort of shrugs but says nothing and the coach adds, "Well, you need to see Coach Felton and he'll find out pretty quickly what you have left. He's over near the water cooler; the man with the big potbelly. You and this little fellow, Parks, should be checking in with him now."

Touchy/feely Danny pats both Hayden and Rob on the shoulder, saying, "I'll see you guys a little later. Good luck, guys!" They jog off towards the dugout with Hayden looking over his shoulder at me. He seems sad and he's definitely not showing any of the bombastic bullshit he pulled last night. Danny turns his attention to me now as I stand here feeling nervous and out of place. Putting his arm across my shoulders and squeezing me against his side, he says, "Coach, this is the stud I was telling you about, Dylan Newman." Coach Benintendi doesn't offer his hand so we don't shake. The Coach just nods his head as Danny goes on, "My main man here spent four years on Braintree's varsity baseball team." The coach's eyebrows go up as if he's surprised. He looks right at me, asking, "You made the varsity team as a freshman?" I glance at Danny, who says, "Yeah, that's right, Coach. Dylan was the team's number-one utility player off the bench. Then halfway through the season he became the full-time starting second baseman from the on, right through senior year."

I'd laugh out loud at these outrageous lies except I'm so nervous I can't even swallow. The coach looks at me as if he's having a hard time believing what Danny's telling him, and well he should, but he eventually mutters, "Yeah? Okay, Monday, we'll see what your boy can do." Not wanting any part of this I'm about to pee my pants but I don't want to say or do anything that will embarrass Danny, so I keep my mouth shut. The coach says, "Okay, Newman, report to that totally bald, tall fellow with the clipboard near the dugout, Coach Barkerson." I glance over and then back to Coach Benintendi who has a large head with a reddish face. He, and the coach he pointed to are the only ones here not wearing a hat so I see his curly gray hair that's badly in need of a haircut. He's a big strong-looking-man about fifty years old. He says to Danny, with a grin, "You'd think Coach Barkerson would want to wear a hat and cover that bald-eagle head of his, wouldn't ya?" Danny sort of forces a chuckle as Coach laughs a rumbling laugh that soon turns into phlegmy-sounding coughs.

Someone calls to him and the Coach walks away. When he's far enough away, Danny tells me, "Look where I'm pointing, Dylan! Do you see Coach Barkerson?" I nod, "Uh huh," and Danny goes, "He's the position-players' coach. The guy he's talking to is his assistant, Coach Gay." I made a face and Danny goes, "Yeah, how about that. We have a gay coach." I go, "Whatever, um, I need to tell you that, um," and dammit, this is harder than I thought it would be. I mean Danny seems so happy here on a baseball diamond organizing everything. He reminds me of Robby in that regard.

He's smiling at me, standing a little too close, the way Hayden's does. He has a hand on each of my shoulders, asking, "What it is, Dylan?" and I mutter, "It's really nice of you to go through the trouble to set me up for practice but I'm sorry to have to tells you, um, well I don't think I wanna do this practice thing." I'm really nervous 'cause I don't want him to be pissed at me, but it'd be stupid of me to try playing with these dudes. Now I can't make eye contact with Danny. Goddammit, I should have squashed this fucking stupid idea when Danny first brought it up! He frowns at me for a second like maybe he's thinking he misheard me, and then he sort of smiles, and says, "That's bull shit, babe. Listen, for now all coach Barkerson wants you to do is print your name and telephone number on his clipboard sheet." He pats my ass, saying, "Off ya go!"

I hesitate a few seconds before quietly asking, "Didn't you hear what I said, Danny?" He nods, "Yes, I heard what you said and I said bull shit to it." His right arm goes all the way across my shoulders now, shortening the distance between us even more. His face is six-inches from mine and, this close to him I notice the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose and also he's recently shaved. Gee, I wish he hadn't. Danny's looking into my eyes until I finally ask, "What...?" and he goes, "Dylan, I've got it all set-up with Coach Benintendi and I want you to go over there and print your name on the stupid fucking list! There are two guys ahead of you but if you come to all the practices Coach will leapfrog you over those two stooges and then you, me, Rob, and Hayden will all to be on this team. Okay?"

Well what the fuck? I already told him 'no'... twice! Plus, he doesn't know if Robby and Hayden will pass their try-outs. Yeah, but the thing is Danny's hard to say 'no' to a third time. We stare into each other's eyes for two-seconds before Danny snorts out a laugh, saying, "I'll bet you blink before I do." I glance at his sexy lips for a second, but don't blink. I'm thinking of all our quick-as-a-wink kisses and, fleetingly, can almost feel his lips on mine. My dick squirms in my shorts. I say, "Yeah, well I haven't blinked yet, have I?" I go back to staring into his pretty brown eyes. They're actually hazel in this light. He blinks and says, "You win, Dylan. I never can go very long without blinking, but then I think it's been almost fourteen years since I was last involved in a blinking contest. No wait, it's been sixteen years actually." I go, "Are you trying to infer blinking contest are childish?" He goes, "Yeah, I'm afraid they are. Now get your ass over to Coach Barkerson."

After a couple of seconds, I shrug and say in an apologetic manner, "I don't wanna do that, Danny. I'm sorry," and he grins, "Yeah, I know you don't want to do it because you're nervous and you're probably almost peeing your pants but you're a big boy now and I'm telling you to get over it. Alright? I want you to do what I told you, and I know you're going to." I drop eye-contact again as Danny squeezes the back of my neck giving me chills and then he quietly says, "Please, Dylan. For me."

Well...BALLS! He's too persuasive! I nod my head and mumble, "Okay." He says, "Good boy! Now jog over to the coach and, Dylan, don't walk, run!" Not sure why I'm doing it, I run over to the bald coach and tell him who I am. He says, "Newman, huh?" I nod and he goes, "Print your name and phone number at the bottom of that list and put a 'PP" next to it." I suppose that means 'position player' as opposed to pitcher or catcher. I see 'P' next to maybe eight-names and a big 'C' next to three other names. I'm pee pee and I'd rather be that than have it rolling down my legs after peeing my pants, which I may very well do sometime in the next hour.

After printed my name and phone number, Coach Barkerson, says, "Let's see, hmmm." He's looking at another clipboard and then he says, "Oh I see what's up, you're a special case, huh? Monday is mentoring you, is that right?" I shrug, "I guess," and he goes, "Yeah, well, stick with him like you're his shadow. If he's snagging flies in the outfield that's what you're doing too, same for infield practice and the batting cage. If you have any questions or complaints take them to Monday. If you make the team as a bench player then you can bring your observation and complaints to me. Otherwise I don't have anything to do with you. Got it?" I nod, "Yes, Sir." Jeez, how supportive can a person be? That's awesome... not!

He says, "Off you go then," and he walks away putting a whistle-on-a-string around his neck. He says something to his assistant coach that makes both of them laugh out loud. I'm not so paranoid as to think he said something about me, although I'm pretty sure they'll have plenty of laughs at my expense when they see me trying to hit pitching at this level. Sandlot baseball has slow pitching, which is the opposite of what I'm going to get from high school and college level pitching. Fuck it though, I just need to survive the next hour and then I'll reinforce my decision to Danny that I prefer not to participate.

So okay, I admit it: Danny intimidated me into doing this but it doesn't necessarily mean I'll be doing it for long. I didn't want to disappoint him and I didn't want him to be mad at me because, well because I've got a little 'crush' on him... that's mostly why. Yes, I'm like a middle school girl with a crush on a cute star baseball player, although the baseball player part I can take or leave it. It's the person I'm interested in. Danny's so, um, so something, although I'm not sure what yet. Looking around at the twenty-some players I realize I only know, Danny, Hayden, and Rob... so I look for one of them.

In professional baseball, head coach Benintendi would be called 'manager' and then he'd have a number of coaches under him. The summer league has apparently done away with 'the manager' title and everyone is referred to as Coach so-and-so. So that's something I've learned from being here ten-minutes. It's information that goes directly into the useless-bin department in my brain. Meanwhile I'm feeling self-conscious standing here by myself. I've got my glove on my left hand and I'm pounding my fist into it like I actually know what I'm doing, mostly looking for Danny. I see Rob talking to the potbelly coach, and there's little Hayden pitching to a guy in a full catcher's outfit. So, where the fuck did Danny get to? And then three coaches start blowing their whistles at the same time and players begin jogging to their separate groups.

I'm jogging around randomly when Danny runs up beside me laughing, asking, "What are you doing? Where were you jogging to?" I go, "Where were you? I'm supposed to be your shadow." He pats my back with his glove, saying, "Sorry. You all set?" I mutter, "I guess," and he tells me, "This is when the Coaches takes attendance and then our coach will assign guys to the outfield or infield. Wherever he assigns me you'll be right by my side. Okay, babe?" I mutter, "Okay, that's what coach what's-his-name told me to do too."

There are about a dozen guys in our position-player group. I learn that half of these guys are primarily outfielders and the rest are primarily infielders, although some, including Danny, can play an infield and an outfield position. Danny's primarily a center fielder but he can play second base too. The coach listens for a variation of 'present' muttered for every name he calls out and then he says, "And Monday you've got your boy there, um," and he looks at the clipboard and says, "Newman. He's your responsibility, right?" Danny says a strong, "Yes, Coach!" and then he pats my back, grinning at me. Yes, Danny's very likable.

After attendance, there's some standing around while the coaches deal with something, who knows what, so I'm just standing next to Danny. He has his hand casually on my right shoulder as he talks to a young-looking black kid. I notice there are some people scattered in the stands, obviously people with nothing better to do. What the hell, some guys just like watching baseball even at a summer league practice level, which is not to say there aren't good players here because there are. The trouble is, from my perspective, all the players have a baseball cap on their heads so I don't get to see their hair and a guy's hair is a big part of my evaluation process. Good hair that's cut short can elevate a guy's cuteness or sexy status in my mind, mostly just for ogling purposes.

In the stands, I spot an older-man wearing a rumpled overcoat, a beat-up fisherman's hat, and very dark sunglasses. He frankly looks out of place. Who wears an overcoat in the summer? Well, he could be a scout for a local college on the look-out for talent. Maybe to offer some guy a partial scholarship or just offer a try-out invitation for his college team in the fall. The thing is though, while most of these summer league baseball players are good, very few of them stand-out above the rest. They're mostly equally-good so a college scout, if this guy even is a college scout, needs to go from summer league game to summer league game looking for that extra-special player. It's like the fisherman who shucks a million oysters looking for the elusive pearl. In the entire summer league of ten teams and almost two-hundred-fifty players there's maybe one, or two at the most, who qualify as special players. A guy who is one or two rungs up the ladder above all the rest. That's who the rumpled college scout is looking for, or maybe the rumpled man is a pervert looking to ogle the cute baseball players amount us. Either way there nothing to be done about him. Just ignore him until he lures an unsuspecting player into his van of terror for untoward purposes. Or the rumpled man could be one of the player's father for all I know. Nah, he's a scout or a pervert. No one would allow their father to be in the stands if he looked like rumpled man wearing an overcoat.

When Danny taps my shoulder, it startles me and I jump a little. He chuckles and says, "We're in the outfield for the first fifteen-minutes. Run with me," and he takes off running pretty hard. I keep up with him until we're in center field about twenty-feet or so from the fence where we both stop. He tells me, "I play a deep center field because I'm fast and can cover a lot of ground for fly balls not hit very far." I mutter, "Uh huh," and we stand here looking like we're paying attention to the balls being hit out here. There are five outfielders for practice, plus me. Danny and I are pretty much exactly in center field with two guys to our left and two to our right. Not too many fly balls will drop in for a hit with the six of us covering all this ground. Both coaches are using aluminum fungo bats to lifts fly balls out to us outfielders. One of the coaches is primarily working one side of the outfield and the other hits balls to guys on the other half of the outfield. Often there's two balls shooting out here at the same time, but not usually in the same area.

A towering ball comes our way and Danny mumbles, "I've got it," and he does too although for a few seconds there I didn't think he was going to catch it. He drifted under it but didn't even put his glove up until it was almost on top him and then he made it look easy with his casual one-handed catch at shoulder height. Glancing over at me with a grin on his lips, he then fires the ball on a line to the second baseman, who then throws it home. Sure, Danny made it look easy and then I'm about to shit my pants when he says, "Here comes one with your name on it, Dylan," and he turns away to shout something to one of the other outfielders, who shouts something back. Their shouting is just noise to me because I'm watching the ball coming at me and concentrating so hard my eyeballs ache.

Danny turns to me, saying, "Make a basket catch, babe. Impress everyone." I do not try a basket catch at my waist but instead catch the ball with both my arms in the air and when the ball plops in my glove I cover it with my other hand. My heart's pounding so hard I'm dizzy. Danny goes, "Toss her in, Dylan. Second base." I heave it as hard as I can and it bounces twice but at least it reaches the second baseman on the second bounce. The second baseman scoops it up like it's routine and fires it home where a catcher pretends to tag out an imaginary runner from third.

Holy shit! I did it! Jesus, I thought that fucking ball was never coming down. The sound of aluminum bats hitting a hard baseball is a cool sound. It's a solid sounding "PING!" and off goes the balls further than it would go if the same energy was used to hit a ball with a wooden bat. I'm out here hearing, "PING!" every fifteen-seconds and then scanning the sky for the ball. It's much wiser to watch the ball come off the bat and I try doing that but most of the "PING!" sounds are from balls hit to other fielders. We get one our way every minute and Danny catches two out of every three that come our way. I wait for him to tell me, "Next one is yours, babe," and he just said that to me for this one, but it's going way over my head and I can't get back fast enough. The ball bounces off the fence. No problem though because this happens to other outfielder too.

I catch two flies in a row, Danny catches the next three and then "PING!" and a ball is hit between me and the left fielder whose closest to me. I jog after it just for show because I'm positive the left fielder will get to it except he's only jogging too, so neither of us gets to it and it bounces all the way to the 360- foot sign on the fence. The left fielder yells, "Hey, asshole, that was your fucking ball! You're making both of us look bad lollygagging after it like that!" Lollygagging? What's that? I give him a 'look' but he's a big fucker so I don't say anything and then I hear someone yelling my name.

What the fuck? I turn around and see Coach Benintendi running out towards me and he's a lot faster runner than I would have imagined. He's on me fast yelling something, his face dark red. I stand here kind of frozen in place as he gets right up in front of me, maybe three-inches from my face and yet he's still yelling, spit particles flying out of his mouth with every word. He's like, "Look you! If you pull that lazy ass shit on another fly ball don't even fucking think about showing up here for another practice. I don't give a shit what you did on the Braintree High School team three years ago. I care about my summer league team and it's a damn good one too so I don't need some lazy ass ex-player sauntering after a fly ball and giving other guys the wrong idea." He's now so close to my face our noses are almost touching and I'm leaning my head back so far, I'm afraid I'll fall over backwards. The man's insane! He goes, "Ballplayers on my team run their asses off for every single fucking ball giving it all they've got and that's what I expect as a minimum from you. Do you get that?" He must have run twenty-yards, and he got here pretty fucking fast too, especially for a man his age.

Naturally my face is dark red from blushing, not from running twenty-yards like he did. My eyes are stinging too but I can do nothing but stand here and take this abuse. Are there other coaches who yell at summer league ballplayers like this? The man's unhinged! I've never experienced anything this embarrassing and humiliating in my life, not before this maniac went postal on me. I have the distinct impression he'd punch my lights out if I give him any shit at all. He asks again, "Do you got it, Newman?" What the fuck's he think this is, Paris Island Marine boot camp? I mumble, "Yes, Sir," and I said that meekly because I'm dealing here with someone who needs a lot of serious professional help with his anger management problems.

The coach takes a deep breath, and I mean this nut is legitimately angry; really seriously pissed off. Naturally everyone is gawking at us with nothing else going on. No "Ping" sounds. It's deadly silent. Done staring me down he steps back and gives Danny a hard 'look' for ten-seconds before waving that the coaches need to start hitting balls out here again. I run back to where Danny is, hoping for a little support, some morale boosting. Maybe commiserating with me that Coach Benintendi is unbalanced. But no, Danny's pissed too. He's red in the face saying between clenched teeth, "You just embarrassed the shit out of me," and he actually smacks my ass hard. It stung though the thin material my shorts are made out of and then he smacks my ass again, saying, "Run your ass off the next time a ball is anywhere near you! GODDAMMIT!"

I can't say anything because first off I'm in shock and secondly, I'm afraid I'll have that weird crying-sound in my voice if I try talking. I get that sound when I'm really stressed about something and you might say I'm really stressed at the moment. That fat-ass asshole of a coach must have been watching me and hoping I'd do something wrong. And what did I do wrong that the left fielder didn't also do wrong? We both jogged after the ball thinking it was the other guy's ball. FUCK! I didn't want to do this shit in the first fucking place! Mother-fuckers! All of these mother-fuckers, especially Danny and the psycho Coach, can go fuck themselves, or fuck each other for all I give a shit. My heart's pounding out of my chest and the unfairness of it is enough to make me scream. As soon as the opportunity arises I'm outta here, never to return. These fucking cretins won't be bothered by me much longer. Mother-fuckers!

Oh man, I can pout with the best of them and then I hear, "Dylan!" Looking up quickly I see a line-drive hit near the same spot the fly ball was hit. This one is hit on a rope screaming towards the fence. Well I know that worthless piece of shit left fielder isn't going to catch it, so I take off like a bat out of hell and I'm almost going to get there in time, but not quite so, without thinking about doing it, I dive parallel to the ground and as my body hits the ground, almost knocking the wind out of me, I feel the ball pop into my glove. Omigod, a miracle! A Goddamn miracle! I'm sure I had my eyes closed when I hit the ground. Anyway I roll over, jump up and heave the ball so hard I hear something pop in my elbow. The ball screeches on a line right into the second basemen's glove. He nods his head and points his glove at me acknowledging a great throw as I let out the breath I've been holding.

Looking around I see a few of the outfielders pointing their glove at me too, which is apparently their way of congratulating a fellow outfielder for an extraordinary catch, and then I see Coach Benintendi doing mock clapping, his hand hitting lightly against the clipboard he carries. Then he points the clipboard and yells, "I fucking knew you had it in you! Nice catch." My heart's beating way too fast but what I'm feeling right now, after receiving my fellow outfielders' and the head coach's congratulations, well fuck it totally overwhelms that huge shit storm of criticism I got for the other ball. Oh man what a fucking rush! I'm tingling all over while trying my ass off to be casual about everything, and above it all I'm telling myself... do not smile! I want to give the impression, yeah, that's right, assholes, I've been there and done that...

Danny comes over with this awesome expression like he's incredulous at what he just saw, as he goes, "That was fucking awesome, Dylan!" He pats my back with his glove. Okay that was nice of him but I still can't forgive him for further humiliating me after the coach was through yelling at me a mere three minutes ago. And then Danny spanking my ass like I'm his kid, for chrissake! Everyone saw him do it too... he did it twice! Fuck that, so I give him a nondescript 'look' and then turn my head away. Looking down I see grass stains on my shorts and knees. So what!

Before another ball is hit in our direction whistles are blowing again and everyone in the outfield is jogging to the infield while everyone from the infield is jogging out here. The second baseman goes out of his way to pass by me holding out his hand. I smack it with mine as he says, "Hell of a throw from way the fuck over there," and I just nod like it's nothing. Actually there were two miracles, not one, and on that same play. The first miracle was the ball finding my glove when my eyes were closed, and then with my adrenaline at an all-time high. The second miracle was my unbelievable throw to the second baseman. So yeah, if I'm going to experience a couple of miracles every practice I can do this shit!

Danny comes over to jog towards the infield right next to me, asking, "You okay, Dylan?" I mumble a sarcastic, "Yeah, I'm swell," and he says, "We'll be at second base now, babe." I say nothing and don't even look at him. When we're standing at second base, well, to be accurate we're standing a few feet to the left of second base, Danny says, "This will be about a twelve-minute drill." I still don't say anything or look at him so he comes over to my right side and cups the left side of my neck and part of my shoulder with his hand, pulling me close to him, saying in a pleasant voice, "Okay, you're pissed at me for yelling at you. I get that and I'm sorry for being an asshole. It was way out of line and I'm really, really sorry that I lost my shit for a minute there. I saw coach running all the way out there to yell at you and I should have had compassion for you, Dylan. Please say you forgive me."

Whoa, that's a pretty fucking good apology right there, but still I'm not sure I want to let him off the hook that easily. I shrug my shoulder slipping away from the hand he was holding me with, and say, "Forget it, alright?" He rubs his nose, muttering, "I can't forget it until you say you forgive me." And I realize he's dead serious, totally sincere about this apology. There's nothing cursory about it. He's biting his bottom lip and his eyes look moist as he says, "Dylan?" Jeez, I didn't think he'd take it this hard, so to lighten things up a little, I look at him and then deliberately knock his hat off, saying with a grin, "It's just that I didn't appreciate you spanking me in public, that's all. Next time do it behind closed doors, which would be more than okay with me." He brightens considerably and grins, saying, "Okay, that's a date, babe, but let's make it a bare-ass spanking. And you still need to say you forgive me." Picking his hat up off the ground and handing it to him, I mutter, "I forgive you." He hugs me saying, close to my ear, "I really am wicked sorry about that, Dylan."

A coach blows yet another whistle and the "PING!" sounds of the balls off aluminum bats begins again. Balls flying to the outfielders and then lesser "PING" sounds sends grounders to us infielders. Only one coach is hitting grounders so there aren't a lot coming our way. Guys field the hard hit grounders routinely and throw to first base. When the second bouncing grounder is heading right at us Danny says, "This one's yours, Dylan." As I usually do I catch grounders on one knee so if the ball takes a bad hop it still will stay in front of me or roll up my body. No one has any objection to that and just when I think I'm going to successfully fake my way out of this situation, a really hard line-drive shot is hit right at me. It bounces sharply three feet in front of me and flies up hard. I flick my arm out, trying to keep my eyes open, and the ball smacks into my glove. There you have it, folks... miracle number three! Danny goes, "Whoa, fuck! Nice grab, Dylan!" I fire the ball at the first baseman who catches it and then motions at me with his glove. Another congratulatory glove-pointing, and by the first baseman this time. I've gotten a glove pointed at me from the first and second basemen and about four outfielders, plus a clipboard pointing from Coach. Maybe I'll impress the shortstop and third basement before practice is over and they'll point their gloves at me too. Gee, this is fun! The only problem is I'll need three miracles each practice in order to pull this off successfully.

Another whistle and we jog in to take fifteen minutes of batting practice. Not fifteen-minutes for each of us. Fifteen-minutes total. Danny tells me everyone gets six swings. Okay, that doesn't seem like much, but that's cool. As we wait our turn he's hugging my shoulders again, always the touchy/feeling guy, as he's saying, "You've been awesome. I knew you would be too," and he hugs me with both arms this time. I like all his touching, I really do, and I wish Rob did more of it. Yeah, and while I'm pretty sure it would get on most guys' nerves, it doesn't get on mine.

Rob comes over and says, "I saw that play you made at second base, Dylan. Awesome!" Danny say, "You should have seen the diving catch he made in the outfield. It had Coach Benintendi clapping." Being modest, I mutter, "I was super lucky," and then ask, "How'd your try-out go, Rob?" He tries not to, but he can't help smiling and saying, "I only needed to throw six pitches and coach said, "You're good, Dickers. Don't waste your arm. You're our fourth starting pitcher." I go, "That's fabulous! Way to go, Robby!" He says, "Actually it's not so fabulous because being the fourth starting pitcher means I might get to pitch in three or four games all season, at the most."

I don't fully understand why he'll only get to pitch a couple of times, but I don't get to ask questions because Hayden comes over, gloomily saying, "I don't think I made it as the last relief pitcher. Coach said he'd call me before Friday's practice if I made it. He's got those two assholes from Wayland to try-out first." Danny hugs Hayden's shoulders, saying, "They're from Wayland, fuck 'em. Coach will take a Framingham guy over them. And anyway I'll put a bug in Coach Benintendi's ear that you need to be the last relief pitcher." Hayden shrugs and, as I'm pulling my T-shirt out from the waistline of my shorts, Danny goes, "Oh, I've got something for you, Dylan," and he takes a pair of batting gloves from his back pocket. I was wondered what was hanging out of his pocket but never got around to asking him. He hands me the batting gloves, saying, "I used these a couple of times last year. They're a little small for me. They're not new but they're almost new. Use them until you buy a pair of your own. Or don't buy a pair and you can have this pair permanently."

Immediately trying the gloves on, I'm like, "Thanks, Danny. My first batting gloves!" He chuckles, "Pretty exciting, huh?" and when I have both gloves on, I mumble, "Jeez, these look cool." Robby says, "Hitting a home run should be easy now." Danny says, "Do me a favor, Dylan, and get the two bats I brought with me. They're in the bat rack near the batting cage. We'll swing a bat to warm-up before it's our turn in the cage. Oh, and Rob I brought one of your bats too." I'm like, "How will I know which ones are yours?" He goes, "Oh yeah, heh heh. Look for my initials on the bottom of the bats' handle, okay?" Well let's call it what it is: Danny's sending me on an errand to do something he should probably do himself, but he did give me a baseball cap and batting gloves so I'll do it for him. Robby says, "Get mine too, babe, if you don't mind. Look for number '8' on the bottom. That's my uniform number at Merrimack."

The miracles for me today have sort of changed my mind; now I'm thinking I will give it a try even though I've probably used up all the miracles I'm going to get for the rest of my life. To demonstrate to Danny and Rob I'm with the program, I run to get their bats. I feel bad that Hayden was looking at me with a sadness in his eyes. Maybe the sadness is because he doesn't think he's made the team, but I think mostly it's something else that involves me. Seeing him today has softened my negativity somewhat about his act at the airport and, I don't know, today I'm feeling kind of sorry for him. I mean, what's going on in his head that makes him feel he needs to act goofily outrageous in a gay swishy manner. For one thing, it takes a lot of energy to be as outrageous as he was last night; wasted energy if you ask me. Does he act like that to basically get attention... hey, look at me somebody... or is it simply to make Danny laugh. In either case I think it's sad.

At the bat-rack there are guys looking for their bats and then other guys swinging the team's generic bats trying to decide which one feels good. I slide in between two sweaty players and right away see Rob's number 8 on the end of a bat. I pull that out of the rack and look for Danny's 'DM' initials. There they are! I get both of Danny's bats and carry all three with me jogging back to the guys. After a muttered "Thanks," from Danny he tells me to use his thirty-two-inch bat and he'll use the other, a thirty-three-inch bat. I swung both of them and surprisingly that one-inch difference is quite noticeable. I'm assuming it's the length of the bat, but don't quote me on that. And I'm not showing my ignorance about bats by asking either of these guys.

I swing the bat again almost taking a guy's knee out who was walking by, and he goes, "What the fuck? Jesus, watch it!" Rob turns around and says, "You watch it, asshole. Watch where you're going!" They stare at each other for a second and then we all hear one of the leather-lunged coaches bellow out Danny's name as the next on-deck hitter. Rob and the other guy take the opportunity to forget about killing each other as Rob, me, and Hayden drift over to the batting cage. Danny goes over to the batting coach to tell him about me, and that I'd hit before him.

The guy currently batting is waiting to take his last swing. There's a coach behind the batting cage who sees each hit ball and decides if the ball would be an 'out' or a 'hit' if there were fielders on the infield and outfield. The ballplayer in the cage, a tall skinny kid with a nose the size of Rhode Island, hits a long fly ball with the coach, in a monotone, calling, "Fly out," and notes something on his clipboard. Danny tells me, "I told Coach who you are. Get in there, Dylan, you're next."

Danny says I get six swings so when the first pitched ball comes in low and outside I need to lunge at it and the ball lazily is popped over second base. The coach mutters, "Single over the second basemen's head." There is no second basemen of course as all the players are waiting to bat. The next pitch is inside but since I only get six pitches I swing at it and hit a dribbler foul. "Foul ball, strike one." says the coach. Jeez, Danny didn't say anything about me striking out! I thought I got six swings no matter what. The third pitch is right down the middle but I pop it up. Coach monotones, "Pop-up out." Fourth pitch I get a lot of the bat on the ball and, "Ping!" it flies out with the coach, again in that monotone voice, saying, "Two bases in the gap." I take a deep breath waiting for the fifth pitch and then I pop that up too. "Pop out," from the coach and then I hit a weak grounder that's hit so slow it's like a bunt and the coach calls, "Infield hit." And that's it. I leave the batting cage and the coach says, "Son, c'mere a second. You swung at, by my count, at least three pitches that were 'balls'. Wait for strikes next time. You did good hitting balls out of the strike zone so imagine how well you'd do if you wait to swing at strikes." What? Danny said I had six swings and I interpreted that as six pitches. Fuck!

Danny's in the cage now. He swings his bat a few times saying over his shoulder to me, "My fault, Dylan. I didn't tell you to wait for strikes before swinging. You get six swings but you don't need to swing at pitches you don't like." I nod, thinking, 'Yeah, but fuck that was kind of an important piece of information!' Shrugging, I think I did okay anyway. That coach said I did. The thing is I'm well aware that batting practice pitches are coming in at around sixty-miles-an-hour which is significantly lower than I'll see in a game. Of course, the coach is throwing them to us hitters from in front of the pitcher's mound so the balls appear to be faster than they are. I watch Danny who hits a long ball toward the left field fence that the monotone coach calls, "Fly out to left." Hayden taps my shoulder, asking, "Can I talk to you, Dylan?" I go, "Sure," and follow him to the other side of an empty refreshment stand. Guess he wants a little privacy.

I ask, "What's up?" He takes a deep breath and says, "I know you hated the way I acted last night, but it's just that I don't know what the right thing to do. I mean, in that kind of reunion situations after being separated from Daniel. It was the same thing when I was away at prep school and now college. I don't know what the right amount of enthusiasm is, or what would be proper to say or do so I act the fool to get him to laugh. And I never expected you to be with him. It unnerved me so badly I couldn't look at you. You make me get all hot and bothered just seeing you. So, I'm really sorry, which is what I wanted to tell you."

Now I feel really bad for him, and mumble, "Ah, no problem. That's okay, Hayden, we're good." He grins and smirks, saying, "I knew you'd forgive me, Dylan. When I saw you at the airport I started getting a boner thinking about how much you seem to like me 'topping' you. And you know I don't get the chance to 'top', well fucking ever, so it's a very special experience for both of us." Listening to him, I'm smelling the back of my hand sensing again the sexual heat Hayden creates in me. Creates in me for reasons unknown.

We're both being too serious here; after all we're talking about buddy sex, not planning a future together. I gotta lighten things up with a little ball busting. I take my hand away from my nose and go, "Ya know, all of you 'tops' are the same. Always bragging how great at 'topping' you are and then sniffing around for compliments from your 'bottoms'." He knows I'm just breaking balls and chuckles, mumbling, "Ya got me there, Dylan, but you're the only person who lets me 'top' so I'm not sure what's the right thing to say in this situation." I go, "A little humbleness would serve you well. But no, now you've taken it a step further by eliminating my feedback and deciding for yourself how much I like it." He grins, "Just saving you the trouble. You do love how I 'top', right? And let's drop the euphemism", you love how I fuck you, right?" I go, "Now that word 'love' might be a tad overstating the facts of the matter, but I am quite a fan of your, er, fucking, yes."

He goes, "You're awfully good with the compliments, so thanks and I'll give you one back. I couldn't stop thinking about the sex we had together and I've never felt as appreciated as you make me feel when I'm, you know, fucking you. That was on my mind the whole time I was in California." I modestly say, "Aw, it's nothing. I'm like that." Grinning now, Hayden puts his hand under my T-shirt in back and rubs his palm along my bare back giving me chills; good chills. His voice is beginning to have that hypnotic effect on me again too. I need to take a gasping deep breath covering it up with one of my fake coughs. He's serious again, quietly asking, "Is this okay, Dylan? Do you mind me touching you like this?" and he rubs the palm of his hand lightly up my spine. I shrug, "It feels okay but don't you mind that I'm a little sweaty?" His hand comes out the neck of my T-shirts to squeeze the back of my neck. I gets goosebumps as I lean a little closer to him, murmuring, "You're giving me goosebumps and chills," as his hand rubs up the back of my head ruffling my hair, "You don't feel sweaty to me but you need a haircut, Dylan." I'm like, "Ha! Look who's talking!"

He says, "Your skin feels silky smooth and kind of magical to my touch." I go, "You're pretty generous with compliments yourself." He slides his hand back under my T-shirt and drags a fingernail lightly down my spine making my whole body shudders and now it's getting sexually arousing, all joking aside. His touch and voice can put me in one of my trances if I let it. Hayden, maybe feeling he's got my undivided attention now, steps in front of me, his hand still under my T-shirt as he quietly says, "I missed seeing your pretty face last week," and then he quickly adds, "And I know I shouldn't use the word 'pretty' when describing you but that's how I think of you" I shrug, "Thanks," with my cock now beginning to stir I need to stifle a moan by doing another fake cough. It's fascinating to me that he affects me this way so I let him go on with whatever he has in mind.

Obviously, I'm still somewhat captivated by Hayden although I don't know why. That not an unusual condition for me though as I never figured out the heat I'd feel for Ryan Wilcox either. Hayden can get me sexually aroused although I don't think either of us knows how or why. Weird! Now his arm slides across my back with his hand holding onto my hip. I'm smelling the back of my wrist again feeling weirdly comfortable with a slight dreamy trance developing. Hayden reaches up and gently pulls my arm away from my face, murmuring, "Ya know what? I noticed my debating partner, Tommy Davis, does the same thing you do; smelling the back of his hand or wrist. I didn't get a chance to smell his hand though so I don't know if he smells as delicious as you do," and he brings the back of my hand to his nose and smells it, saying, "Mmmm, you smell gooooood!"

I know I'm becoming kind of hypnotized again and Hayden's voice and his light touching has given me a boner. Biting my bottom lip now I let Hayden pull me totally against him, chest to chest as he's grinning like crazy and then mumbling, "I see how much you let me get away with, although any second now I'm half expecting you to punch my lights out." See, he doesn't understand the effect he has on me. I put my right hand on his narrow, left shoulder and kinda squeeze it. What I'd really want to do is hug the shit out of him and have him do that special kiss of his that makes me feel as though I'm going to cum. We stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds saying nothing. I can almost see the sexual heat drifting up off our bodies.

His arm feels so good against my skin. My boner throbs and for a brief moment I wouldn't care if the entire team comes behind the refreshment stand with us and watches me cum in my pants. The top of Hayden's head is level with my nose that bumps his hat to the back of his head. The hairs in front tickle, but his hair smells good. Not like conditioner or shampoo though, just a nice clean-hair smell. The hand under my T-shirt now pushes down under the waistband of my shorts and he grips my bare butt cheek looking for my reaction. We've been back here for no more than three-minutes but already I feel captivated my him. Getting even more brazen Hayden pokes my anus with a finger and this time I do moan, not playing now but getting aroused for real. Still looking me in the eyes his finger slides into my asshole which makes me come to my senses a little, saying, "Please, no, Hayden. That's too much." He rubs my prostate anyway and then pushes his finger in about two-inches and leaves it there.

I go, "Aaah, oooh," and doing a little hump with my hips against his belly thinking I'm going to cum, but I don't. Looking up he smiles, and says, "This is sexy fun, and you like it as much as I do." Taking another deep breath, I say, "Cut the shit, Hayden. I mean it! Guys are leaving. They'll see us." He says, "I don't give a shit if they do, but I know you'd care," and he pulls his finger out of my ass and his arm comes out from under my T-shirt. He backs away, quietly saying, "I wanted to see if you felt the same way about me as you did before I went on my trip and I see that you do, so thank you." I murmur, "Well, you're a sexy little fucker, aren't you?" He asks, "Can I see you tonight?" Shaking my head, I mumble, "No, not tonight. I'm staying at Rob's house tonight. Maybe tomorrow night."

He smiles, "That's so cool, Dylan. Can I spend the night with you?" I go, "Wha..., you? Um, I don't know. Um, I guess you can if you want to." He says, "If I want to? Of course I want to," and we hear, "Dylan! Hayden! 'C'mon!" Looking in the direction the shouting came from we see Danny and Rob almost to the parking lot. They couldn't see us here until they'd walked way up past the refreshment stand. Hayden backed off me just in time or we'd have some explaining to do. I wave at them and say, "Let's run, Hayden," and that's what we do. As Hayden runs he's vigorously wiping the finger he had up my ass on the back of his shorts.

Naturally I'm now thinking, 'Holy shit I just invited Hayden to spend the night with me! What was I thinking?' Oh man, I need to be honest with myself though, this is deja vu all the fuck over again. It's like Ryan Wilcox and me freshman year. Same intense heat and the same mystery as to what's causing the heat. Oddly enough I didn't especially care for either of them, Ryan or Hayden, when we first met, and in both cases only later did I begin to pick out the cuteness in both of them. I only need to substitute the name Hayden for Ryan and it's the same thing. Well no, that's not right. It's not the same thing at all. It's different in some ways with Hayden because Ryan had a mean and angry streak in him, plus he took advantage of my submissive nature many times. Hayden's not like that at all. And then of course Hayden's swishier and smaller than Ryan, and nowhere near as strong. They have very similar penises though!

Yeah, Ryan Wilcox. Damn, I'm having a hard time remembering why I stopped being his boyfriend, or side-sex boyfriend to be more specific. The time I was in Georgia with him last summer had some spectacular moments and then, of course those low points too. So far the only low moment with Hayden was his act at the airport. He doesn't dominate either, not like Ryan did. Well wait a second! Hayden just did dominate me behind the refreshment stand. I let him, yes, but he was the aggressor. Other than that Hayden mostly tries to please me and he's fun and the sex is good, but I still can't believe I asked him to spend the night with me! Maybe he actually does hypnotize me.

We catch up with the guys at the cars as Danny's saying, "Rob, I'll follow you to your house and then we'll all take my car to the Dairy Queen." Rob goes, "Sure, okay, Danny," and then, "C'mon, Dylan." In the pickup Rob's very upbeat, "That practice was awesome! I mean for you, baby. I'm glad I made the team, but I'm really psyched you did so well! Danny says you'll be on the team within two or three practices. There's going to be an opening because he heard some grumbling from a bench player threatening to try out for a team that he can be a starter for. You can take his place on the bench." While driving us to his house, he goes, "Didn't I tell you that you were underestimating yourself? You're good enough and I knew you were." I roll my eyes because he's wrong. I go, "Sure I'm good enough as long as I have three-miracles per practice." He laughs muttering, "Miracles, my ass. You put yourself in position to make those plays!"

When Rob parks the pickup in his driveway Danny drives up behind us and Hayden jumps out of the passenger side, saying, "You can ride shotgun if you want, Rob." Rob goes, "I believe I will," and Hayden shrugs at me, saying, "Our men sit in the fronts seats and us girls need to get in the backseat and keep our giggling under control." That kind of talk pisses me off! In the backseat I whisper to Hayden, "You know damn well I don't like it when you say shit like that." He mutters, "Sorry, I forgot you get all bent outta shape if I refer to you as a 'girlfriend'." I make a face slowly shaking my head because I don't know why he needs to talk like that? Jesus!

It's a hot night in June so naturally the Dairy Queen is hopping. It's a hangout as well as an ice-cream-treat destination. The teens are the worst, like we used to be. We're members of the twenty-something age group of guys and girls now, not that some of our-age group aren't just as whacky wacky as the older teens. And then off course there are families with young children getting an ice cream treat. The parking lot is too small so there are cars parked illegally near the picnic tables, which are usually taken over by teens smoking cigarettes and cursing trying to see how many times they can use the f-bomb. Then there are other unruly types behind the building smoking pot. The cops come along every hour-and-a-half-or-so to shoo away the guys and girls who are just hanging-out and not buying anything as customers of the Dairy Queen, or they were customers but finished what they bought long ago. And, as usual, there are skate-boarders causing havoc doing their tricks. It's bedlam, but kinda cool too.

Danny parks illegally in a Handicap Spot, justifying it by saying, "There's another handicap spot right next to my car. If someone with a handicap plate takes that spot I'll move my car so there's still an open handicap parking spot available. Hayden says, "Good rationalization, Daniel." As soon as Danny gets out of the car someone yells, "Yo, Monday! Over here," and Rob and Danny go over to talk with guys they know from various high school sport teams. That group of five-or-six guys and girls are either sitting-on or leaning against a late model black Cadillac Escalade, a needlessly big and ugly car if you ask me.

Watching Danny and Rob walking away, Hayden says, "Us girls are left behind again, Dylan." I give him a dirty look but obviously he can't help himself with that 'girl' shit. I'm looking around to see if Marty West might be here. He lives around the corner from the Dairy Queen and now that Rob and I are back fucking with each other I'm again feeling okay about side sex. Plus, dammit, I've regretted turning Marty down on our date that time at the Natick basketball courts. I'd like to feel his big cock up my ass. Also, while he's very accommodating normally I picked-up on a few clues during our date that when sex is involved Marty is the 'man'. He's definitely the one who'll runs the sex-show and obviously that intrigues me quite a lot.

Yeah, and that short make-out Marty and I had in his car outside my condo was kinda hot too. That was one of the hints that sex will be done his way because he totally took over our make-out. It gives my dick a tingle just thinking about that and the possibility of side-sex with him. He totally makes-out in the proper buddy-sex manner too, meaning it was a little rough and he's the one who does most of the groping as well as dictating when we kissed and when he just kisses me. He'd stop, hold my head and bite my ear or lick my lips. He held his finger up to get my attention and then he'd do what he thought was sexy. And it was sexy too. He actually pushed my hand away when he didn't like me rubbing his crotch and then he held onto my wrist until I behaved. Ha ha, it seemed that way to me anyway. Totally unlike the way Danny makes-out and does foreplay. He does it more like we're lovers and I'm not saying I don't like Danny's method, just that it took me a little by surprise. Variety is a good thing too though.

Well, Marty isn't here tonight so that's that. I missed that opportunity once, but I won't miss it twice. Truth is I expected Marty to contact me by now. Even though I had that long barren period after Rob's appendectomy I've still gotta admit that this is turning into one of the best summer I can ever remember as far as sex goes, and there's still that week in Wildwood ahead of me where I've had some quick but hot buddy-sex encounters in the past. A few bad ones too but I know better now how to recognize the bad scenes.

Robby been very much into sex with me too, I mean before the operation. Lover's sex with him is still by far the best kind of all, and now it looks like he's picked-up where he left off, not only with lover's sex but with great recreational sex too. That afternoon our sex wasn't lover's sex, it was hot extemporaneous sex. Obviously Rob and I have similar libidos which is to say maybe we're slightly oversexed as compared to your normal 'Joe' out there in the world, but not to an absurd degree I don't think. We like the intimacy of sex with another age-appropriate male. We decide what's appropriate although neither of us would so much as touch an underaged lad. And while Rob was incapacitated, Dodger filled in for his brother very well. And I've also had that nice experience with Danny that I don't expect will be our last, and then what can I say about Hayden? Yeah but who am I missing? Well, Pony's coming for a weekend and, oh yeah, Sonny. Oh man, I like me some occasional Sonny! That's about it for side-sex buddies so far this summer. Dodger's the one who put things a little over the top, I guess I'd have to say.

While I'm doing my musing Hayden's content to lean against me and not say anything, until he excitedly goes, "Oh fuck, how did I forget this." I'm like, "What?" He takes out his cell phone and Googles something and then asks me, "Who's this," as he hands me his cellphone. I look at the picture and mutter, "It's Danny from maybe two years ago, but I don't remember him ever needing a haircut so badly." Hayden uses his finger to spread the picture and it becomes the May, 4, 2017 cover of Rolling Stone magazine. I'm baffled, asking, "Was it you who photoshopped this picture of Danny onto the cover?" He goes, "No, that's not Danny, although I thought the same thing you did at first. I also know the summer he didn't get his haircut even once so I thought, omigod, that's Danny." I'm staring at the picture, mumbling, "Yeah, but that's not Danny," and I'm spreading the picture further to eventually see it's Harry Styles. I go, "I've seen Harry Styles before too and he didn't look like this." Hayden goes, "Yeah, I agree the photographer got quite a pic and maybe he photoshopped it a little." I nod, muttering, "I'll be dammed."

Handing his cellphone back to Hayden, I'm like, "Do you subscribe to Rolling Stone?" He shakes his head, "No, there was a music store not far from our California hotel selling old record albums, mostly second-hand and selling them for more money than the albums cost originally. Collecting old artists' albums is a hobby of my debating partner, Tom Davis. We were killing time in the stored and while he was going through the old albums I was browsing through a pile of old Rolling Stone magazines that the man behind the counter was selling for five-bucks each. Used ones if you can believe that. I'm looking at the covers and then, WHAT THE FUCK? I see who I think is Danny on the cover of a relatively recent magazine." I ask, "Did you show Danny yet?" He goes, "It slipped my mind what with the baseball try-outs and all." I say, "Well yeah, plus the trauma at the airport too." He goes, "Hey, don't rub it in, Dylan!"

Huh. Darkness has finally snuck up on the day, although this place is lit-up very well. I stare at Hayden as he takes one last look at Danny's lookalike picture and then puts his cellphone back in his pocket. I'm reconfirming to myself that I've definitely got a 'thing' for him and then he notices me staring and grins, asking, "What?" Lighting a cigarette, I say, "Nothing. I like your looks, that's all. You need to let me give you another haircut though." He goes, "Don't jump to the conclusion I'm ever getting another haircut. Like I told you, I'm only thinking about it. What the fuck, I probably will though and you're the only person on earth I'd let cut my hair, so maybe you have something to look forward to after all." I go, "Be still my heart!" and we both snort out a laugh, bumping against one another. Hayden mumbles, "You have me wrapped around your little finger, don't you? Not that I mind." I laugh, "Oh Jesus, what a crock of shit that is. It's you who hypnotized me an hour ago and did whatever you wanted with me. I just stared at you completely powerless to do anything about it." He smirks, "You didn't want to do anything about it... that would be more like it."

He takes my cigarette and wets the filter with saliva while taking a drag. I'm watching him with half-a-grin on my lips. Exhaling he says, "Actually you're very complimentary to me and I'm beginning to think you're trying to get me to fall in love with you? You know, you want to steal me from Daniel, is that behind all the nice things you say and do on my behalf?" I'm covering my mouth chuckling. I go, "You've seen through me. Oh no! Don't tell Danny... he'll beat me up." He laughs and then chokes on the smoke as he's trying to exhale, and then that gets him into a laughing fit.

I can't pinpoint exactly what it about Hayden I'm so attracted to. I'm also waiting for him to stop giggling because that's annoying! His voice tends to put me in a lazy trance but his giggle does the opposite. I did like watching his lips move when he talks. He has smaller than normal lips, but extremely white teeth, with little spaces between the upper ones. I think that's adorably boyish and cute. His lips, well forget about it, he has very sexy lips and he can do a Ryan-like make-out, including that unbelievable long kiss that almost paralyzes me. I look away from him, take a deep breath and adjust my junk, before saying, "Let's get some soft serve ice cream." He says, "Sure, I love the strawberry sundaes they do here." I go, "I'm getting a root beer float," and he puts both arms around me, saying, "You could probably win me from Daniel if you keep trying." I almost kiss him except there's fifty-fucking people around us. There's also a long line at both serving windows with little kids chasing each other in-between people waiting in line.

We get in the back of the line with Hayden's fidgeting so I'm like, "What's your problem?" He goes, "I need to take a piss." I go, "There are Men's and Women's lavatories in the back." Frowning at me, he says, "Never mind." I'm like, "What, you're afraid to go back there because this place is crawling with teens who look like all they wanna do is make trouble?" He says, "Yeah, something like that." Making a face like, 'Ya gotta be kidding me' I say, "Okay, little fellow, I'll go with you and be your bodyguard. We're at the back of the line anyway, so we can't get much further back than this." He goes, "Aww, you're gonna be my bodyguard." I mutter, "Apparently somebody needs to be."

We start walking around the building which is bigger than you think when looking at it head on. It's a long building on the sides but in front it's mostly just the three serving-windows, usually with only one or two windows in use. Tonight it's really busy so there's two window with teens taking orders and collecting money. Here's an idea though: why doesn't the owner of this Dairy Queen franchise have all three serving-windows open, paying the three clerks at the windows minimum wage, while selling thirty-three percent more of their wickedly overpriced imitation ice cream? I mean, you see cars slow up all the time but when they see the lines they say fuck it and drive to Richardson's or Friendly's for their ice cream fix. That's my management tip of the day for the owner of this dump. Open the third fucking service-window, dummy!

As we walk to the side of the building I'm smelling the back of my hand again and looking at Hayden's skinny legs. I can't see a whole lot of his legs because his baggy shorts extend below his knees. I like that he has fairly hairy legs though. Real curly hair on his legs but none anywhere else on his body except for a little at his arm pits. Like me he shaves his pubic hairs. He shaves his face every day and if he didn't he'd have a full beard. Not a thick one at all but I see a beard shadow at this time of night, now maybe thirteen-or-fourteen-hours after he shaved this morning, and the so-called five-o'clock-shadow is in all the places it's supposed to be: his upper lip, cheeks, chin and neck down to his Adam's apple. Then he has a hairless torso that's small but nicely proportioned. Hayden has basically a nice, tight little body-package with a huge penis and hairy legs. If you're into that sort of thing he's your guy. And I do believe I'm into that sort of thing, at least for now, plus he smells good.

Oh fuck, it's dark walking down the side of the building although not because they haven't tried lighting it. Asshole keep breaking the light bulbs. When we get to the back the pot smoke is thick and there's only one light left to illuminate the area. It's over the Lady's Room door. There's maybe ten teens and a few slightly older guys and girls back here and mostly what I see of them is the glow at the end of their joints. Hayden, taking in the scene, mumbles, "Oh, dear mother of God," as he quickly slips into the Men's Room. Holding the door open, he asks, "You coming, Dylan? It's creepy back here." I snicker and go in with him.

Inside Hayden goes right into one of the two toilet stalls. That's a move after my own heart. I do that too whenever possible. In this case the other stall is occupied but I don't need to piss anyway. I'm just here to hold Hayden's hand, so to speak. There's one guy at the sink and when he turns around he goes, "Newman! What the fuck are you doing lurking around in Men's Rooms outside the safety of Framingham?" I go, "Yo Rocky! Whassup, dude? You still on probation?" He says, "That's my brother, ya smart-ass, and you knew that." I go, "Huh, where ya working now, Rocky?" He's washing his hands, which actually I'd never have guessed he'd feel the need to do after taking a piss. See, you can't tell a book by its cover.

Rocky goes, "I'm the assistant manager at the Jiffy Lube out near the car wash." I go, "Oh yeah? Can ya get me a deal on an oil change?" He goes, "No. Hey, how's your little brother?" I go, "He's fine. We're going to Merrimack College. How 'bout that, huh? College students." Little brother, ha! He goes, "Yeah that's surprising alright. Last I recall you and your pint-size brother were roaming the halls at the middle school beating kids up." I go, "Nah, that wasn't us." Rocky's getting close to a punch in the mouth. I don't wanna hear anymore crap about Chubby.

Drying his hands on three paper towels, he says, "Yeah, it was you two. See, you're an elitist snob with your pretty boy looks, living in those new ritzy condos. You'd never take a guy like me seriously." I shrug, "Gee Rocky it's hard to take a guy serious who has a three-inch long Mohawk with the end of the hairs died orange and a tattoo on his fucking forehead. Ya see my point?" Ritzy new condos? Ha! Hey, maybe they seemed ritzy fifteen-years-ago when we moved in.

The door opens next to the stall Hayden went in and out comes a guy I've never seen before. He has a big tattoo on the side of his neck and tattoos all the way down his right arm. I ask Rocky, "Is this your boss at the Jiffy Lube?" He goes, "Yeah, how'd you know? Bill Black, meet Dylan Newman." Bill squints his eyes which I assume is his greeting so I go, "Nice to meet ya." Rocky says, "Yeah, Bill was a senior when we were freshman." I shrug at that, and ask, "How many guys work there at the Jiffy Lube?" He goes, "It's just us two, why?" I shrug again trying not to smirk. Assistant manager, huh? Actually I don't know why I'm antagonizing Rocky which, by the way, is his given birth-certificate's first name. Naturally I can't remember his last name.

Bill finally gets curious and points at me, asking Rocky, "Who the fuck's this?" Rocky goes, "A guy I went to school with. He's okay." Bill is one of those people who can't, or won't, close his mouth. It's always open about an inch which is unnecessary because he has some kind of sinus problem and he's apparently ignoring that and doing all his breathing through his nose, making an annoying sound while doing it too. How'd ya like to work next to that all day? Right now, there's a string of saliva connecting Bill's top and bottom teeth that isn't the most pleasant thing I've seen today. He's big, well he's fat actually. Why be politically correct when dealing with the Bill Blacks of the world?

Now I'm starting to wonder what the fuck Hayden's doing in that stall this long. Rocky starts walking to the door, saying to me, "My last impression of you, Newman, was you're a real stuck-up sarcastic prick. I mean by the time we were both in the twelfth-grade. Don't you remember that you and I were friends in grade school." Jeez, yeah? I remember Rocky from high school but we weren't friends. If we were friends in grade school he surely looked a lot different than he does now. So no, I don't remember him in grade school. It was primarily me and Chubby against the world until age seventeen, but I lie, saying, "Sure, you were awesome then and you still are." He looks at Bill and says, "See, he has to be a sarcastic prick." Bill gives me the evil eye and they leave.

Why I was looking for trouble I haven't a clue. I've got nothing against Rocky. I let his appearance fuck with my brain I guess. It offends me that some people make themselves look ridiculous, but then who am I to decide what looks ridiculous? Now I feel like a shit because Rocky was nicer than I was. He looks like a hood, but he's not. I go out the door and say, "Yo, Rocky." He stops, and I go, "You're right. I was rudely sarcastic and I apologize. I don't know what got into me." He stares at me for a couple of seconds and then says, "See, I don't know if you're being serious or not." I go, "I'm being serious, really. I had a weird day. It was nice seeing you." He nods, "Yeah, okay. Come around to Jiffy Lube and I'll fix you up." I go, "Thanks, Rocky, I will."

Someone smoking pot in the dark goes, "What? You guys a couple of fags or something?" and then he mimics me, "I was sarcastic and I apologize. Give me a lube job," I snarl, "Go fuck yourself shit-head!" and I stand here in case someone wants to make an issue out of it. Nobody does apparently and another voice says, "Stop being an asshole, Murphy!" Hayden comes out, asking, "Are they gone?" I go, "Yeah, C'mon," and we start walking up the dark side of the building towards the bright lights at the front. I'm confused by my behavior in the Men's Room, but didn't Rocky start it with his own smart-ass comment? Fuck, I forget, but even if he did I didn't need to take it where I did. I put my arm across Hayden shoulders wondering if I'm imitating Danny when I do the arm-across-the-shoulders thing with Hayden. I do believe I actually do have a thing for both Hayden'sand his boyfriend.

Hayden puts his arm around the back of my waist and the next thing I know we're in a crazy wild-makeup with my back up against the building in the dark. We can hear the people in front shouting and laughing and we can still smell the pot from the back, but I don't think either of us takes a lot of notice of any of it. My head leans down to accommodate Hayden's height as our mouths are devouring each other, or at least trying to. Low moans but no words as I'm holding his head so his face is up towards mine using a fistful of his hair to accomplish that. I feel my lip get cut on one of Hayden's bottom teeth and now we both have my blood running down our chins although we can't see it in the dark. Three-or-maybe-four-minutes of intense making-out and then we both stop at the same time breathing hard. Hayden lays against me, his arms around me squeezing while I'm wondering again what the fucks going on in my head?

I gasp for air like I usual do after getting sexually aroused... it's because I forget to inhale. Dropping my head, I inhale Hayden's clean hair smell again and then let go of his hair and lightly rub his shoulder and up the back of his head. He murmurs, "Dylan, are we gonna be alright? I've never had an experience like this one with you. It's a little scary sometimes. It's like if you told me to, I might jump off a bridge or something. I think I'm in love with you." Needing to avert a serious conversation, one that I'm not up for, I go, "Everybody tells me that same tired shit, Hayden." He laughs out loud and then mutters, "Bull shit."

I gently unwrap his arms from around me and, still holding onto his wrists, say, "Thank for the make-out, Hayden, let's get that ice cream now." Letting go of his arms he says, "Yeah, it was really hot. Did you start that, and what's wet on my chin?" I get out my handkerchief and wipe my blood off his chin and, while doing the same to my chin, I mutter, "You cut my lip on your teeth, that was my blood on your chin." He chuckles, "I wish I knew that. I'd have licked it off."

Looking around, I wanna get out of this dark area so again mutter, "Let's get that imitation soft-serve ice cream we started out to get ten-minutes ago." He goes, "Yeah, okay, but it's imitation ice cream, not imitation soft serve. It is soft serve. I go, "Oh, excuse me, could you explain that to me one more time?" We're almost to the front of the Dairy Queen building as Hayden asks, "What am I supposed to do with my fat, eight-inch boner?" I say, "Ask me that Thursday night and in the meantime do what I did with my tiny boner. I moved it to the side of my underpants and the protrusion is hidden by my oversized T-shirt that's hanging loosely down below my crotch. Always have a back-up plan." He adjusts his large junk, asking, "Do you know which one of us started that make-out?" I shrug, "I think it was instantaneous. Other than that, I just don't know." Back at the service-windows the brightness hurts my eyes for a second or two. To set the record straight, anyone needing to use the lavatory facilities, anyone in their right mind that is, goes around the other side of the building where it's lit-up all the way to the back. I stupidly just followed Hayden without thinking.

We get in the back of the line again sort of smirking at each other and slowly shaking our heads because it gets a little crazy with us sometimes. We're not talking and maybe Hayden's thinking about our unusual developing relationship, while I'm thinking about the reason I was such a dick to that guy, Rocky, in the Men's Room. It was probably a delayed reaction to Coach Benintendi going way the fuck overboard yelling and humiliating me for not hustling enough. And it was odd the coach said nothing to the left fielder who was equidistant from the ball. Danny tried explaining it to me while driving us to the Dairy Queen hypothesizing the Coach chose me to make an example of because I was the most expendable player on the field. Danny thinks it was a message to the whole team and he used me as the vehicle to get the message across. I did notice that after the scream-fest directed at me everyone was running their asses off for balls. I guess it makes sense, and it's not like the Coach held a grudge against me or anything. He was smiling at me and doing the mock applause with one hand clapping his clipboard three-minutes later. Still, it wasn't an easy humiliation to swallow and maybe I wanted to take it out on innocent Rocky. Dumb!

What the hell do I know though? I survived today's practice okay. Actually baseball practice went better than okay, but only because of the intervention of miracles. Probably unwise to depend too heavily on a recurrence of miracles though... ha ha. Yeah, life's got more shit up its sleeve than you can shake a stick at. Hmmm, I can't remember the last time I was shaking a stick... Oh, there's Rob walking back from somewhere to join the ugly-Cadillac-group and I think, 'Try doing something nice for once!'. I tell Hayden, "I'll keep your place in line, but how 'bout you going over there to ask Rob and Danny if I can treat them to something from the Dairy Queen." Hayden goes, "Good idea," and off he goes. I watch him go thinking, 'Actually it would have been nicer if you took your ass over to asked them. Dylan!'

Much more importantly though, getting serious here about my Hayden situation, I need to admit to myself it's time for a reality check. For his own good I needs to pump the breaks on Hayden's and my relationship. It's a shame but he slipped into the conversation that he might be in love with me, and that's a major red light right there. While crazily unpredictable and sexually hot, in reality ours is merely a temporary summer fling and it's never going to be more than that. To let Hayden think otherwise, in case he even does, is wrong! I hope he doesn't think it'll ever be more than a passing fling, but to be sure I need to have a heart-to-heart talk about that... with him, obviously. Already had the talk with myself just now.

I'll say something like: sure, we've had some nuclear hot encounters made even more so because we're new to each other, but in my experience the newness wears off pretty quickly. The key word though is temporary and, while I know it is, I need to subtly make sure you, Hayden, know it too. Then I'll remind him that I'm in love, seriously in love with Rob, and that's never going to change. Yeah, I'll work on exactly what to say. He's no dummy and I don't believe he really believes he might be in love with me. It's stupid for one thing considering the short time he's known me and the few times we've even been together and I don't mean just sexually, I mean in any way. Okay, I won't say 'it's stupid', that's not necessary. Sure, Pony mentions the 'L' word, as he calls it, but he and I both know he's joking. I'm not sure Hayden knows if he is or not. Tonight's not the time or the place though. Tomorrow night might be the perfect time for the 'talk' though. I'll see how things unfold.

Compared to sleeping with Robby tonight, for instance, my interest in Hayden seems trivial. That sounds cruel but it's the difference between buddy-sex and real love. I need to be sure Hayden understands, and really believes in his head and heart, that what we're doing is buddy-sex and nothing more than that, or else we're fucked. I mean our hot buddy-sex is fucked because I won't string him along by letting him think we'll ever be in love. I learned my lesson with Ryan when, because of the awesome sex with him, I did string him along allowing him to think it might be more than buddy-sex. In my defense I didn't know I was doing it at the time, but in retrospect I think that's what happened and I see where that got both of us. Not speaking to one another, that's where it got us. I'll accept my share of the blame but Ryan was over the top in many ways too. Whatever, the bottom line is I don't want to go through that again with Hayden.

Oh hell, I may be grossly overstating the situation and I sincerely hope to God I am, but the only way to be sure is to come right out and have a frank discussion with him about our status. I'll feel so much better if I know for sure we're on the same page in the buddy-sex handbook, and if we're not, then... Oh here he comes now. Hayden gets in line with me, saying, "They both want medium vanilla cones dipped in chocolate sauce, and Rob gave me this." I look at his hand and see a ten-dollar-bill. Fuck, I was treating. I'll give the ten-dollars back to Robby along with the cones.

We eventually, after seemingly two life-times pass before our eyes, get to the front of the line and put our order in. As we're waiting for our imitation ice cream treats I see that Rob and Danny are back hanging out around Danny's car. Hayden and I get what we ordered and each carry a cone for Rob and Danny. I suck down half my root beer float as we walk over to the guys. The root beer float comes with a long-handled plastic spoon in the unlikely even any of the soft serve is left when I've finished drinking the soft-serve-infused root beer. Soft serve dissolves pretty quickly.

As we enjoy our Dairy Queen selections the conversation is mostly about today's baseball practice. We have a smoke after that and then there's a ruckus and a circle of teens forms around two guys fighting. Danny rolls his eyes and says, "C'mon boys, we're outta here." We get in the car and Danny drives off the parking lot as two police cars with sirens blaring pull in. Rob goes, "Escaped in the knick of time." I mutter, "That seems to happen almost every time we come here."

It's quarter-to-ten when Danny drops Rob and me off with a quick-as-wink-kiss for both of us and fist bumps from Hayden. Walking up the driveway, Rob's like, "Danny sure is big on the quick kisses hello and goodbye, ain't he, babe?" I mumble, "Yeah, but I kinda like it, us being gay brothers and all." Going thru the gate to the back yard, he says, "As long as Hayden doesn't get in the act trying to do it with us too. Actually I'm used to Danny's quick kisses because he's been doing that for a couple of years now." Ya don't say...

Before going in the backdoor, he looks at me with a smirking grin, and goes, "Ya know, I saw you 'crushing' on Danny a couple of times tonight. You were using those big blue eyes of yours ogling the hell out of him." I go, "No, you didn't see me do that! You didn't see me doing that because I wasn't 'crushing' on him." Rob opens the door, saying, "You were too, but that's alright. I thought it was cute, and anyway Danny doesn't even realize it." Inside I'm like, "That's because I'm not doing it in the first place. It's a figment of your active imagination." In the kitchen now, he goes, "No, it's not," and his mother calls from the family room, "Is that you, Rob?" He calls back, "No, we're burglars. Where do you keep your valuables?"

He opens the refrigerator and stares in at it for a long-minute. I do that at home sometimes too. He asks, "Ya want a beer?" I shake my head, "No, thanks." Closing the door, he mutters, "Then I don't want one either," and I follow him to the stairs where he calls out, "Dylan and I are taking a shower and then going to bed. This is my one-and-only official 'goodnight' to you guys." I can just imagine Mr. Dickers rolling his eyes at that and then going back to whatever it is he's doing. Mrs. Dickers, who isn't slurring her words tonight, says, "Goodnight then. See you boys in the morning." Robby snickers, saying, "Boys," and we go upstairs with me whispering, "You made it sound like we were showering together." He grins in my face, saying, "We are."

In Rob's bedroom we're getting undressed, which doesn't take long when you're wearing only shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Robby says, "Leave your underpants on for the long trip down the no-man's-land-hallway that you're so self-conscious about." I go, "You're not thinking of having shower-sex, are you?" He goes, "No, because it would traumatize you. I would do it if you wanted to but since you don't, we won't." I mutter, "Thank you," and pull off my socks. We pad down the hall which, to be honest, is only like ten-or-twelve-feet from Rob's bedroom door. The bathroom is down the hall to the right and ten-or-twelve-feet to the left of his bedroom door is his parent's bedroom on the other side of the hall. Of course they have their own bathroom. Dodger's bedroom, or old bedroom, is directly across the hall from his parent's. I slept in there once and it wasn't real relaxing knowing either parent might come out at the exact instant I came out of Dodger's room to go to the bathroom. There should be a law in Massachusetts that every bedroom have an adjoining bathroom! Why not a law about bathrooms, they've got a law about every other fucking thing you can think of and then a few more on top of that.

Rob stops outside the bathroom to get us clean bath towels and washcloths from a linen closet. I'm straining my ears trying to hear if his parents are both still in the family room but all I hear is a muffled TV sound, which means one of them is still there. Rob taps my shoulder, murmuring, "C'mon, babe," and I follow him into the bathroom and close the door behind me, asking, "Isn't there a lock on this door?" He chuckles and reaches past me to turn a knob. I was looking for a button on the doorknob. Rob stays leaning past me and says, "The door is locked tight, Dylan. Have no fear." I snort out a chuckle and then he goes, "You have the cutest face of any person on earth. Did you know that?" and he kisses me. I go, "No, I didn't know that and I don't believe it. I can say this about you though: you're still a tiny bit cute even though you're more mature looking than you used to be. Stop maturing facially, okay?" He snickers and mumbles, "Okay, I will."

He puts a hand on my shoulder to push me against the door and then looks into my eyes. I look back into his blue eyes as he slips a hand down my underpants and gets his fist around my dick. My eyes open wide as he uses his other hand to pull my underpants down past my buttocks. Without a word, he drops to his knees and sucks my cock into his mouth and then tongues it as I go up on my toes balancing myself with a hand on top of his head. My dick's prone to boning-up even more easily than usual because of those couple of boners I got when Hayden was touching me at the baseball field and then later at the Dairy Queen. Plus there's my anticipation of sleeping with my true love tonight. Yeah, but what happened to, 'No shower sex because it would traumatize me?'

Well, so far I'm not traumatized and we're not actually in the shower, so technically Rob hasn't contradicted himself... yet. Oh man, he sucks cock good as I bite on my bottom lip, but only for a fraction of a second because the cut there still fucking hurts. Hayden needs to file his teeth down a bit. In less than a minute my pecker is a steel poker and Rob is putting the poker in his throat, "Ooh, ooh, oooh!" Oh God that feels good, "Mmmm, aaah, aah, no, Rob, I'm gonna cum." Oh shit, did I say that too loudly? Rob pulls my boner out of his mouth and rubs the pre-cum bubble off the pee slit with the pad of his thumb. He looks up, smiling, "Damn, you taste good. I wanted to give my star ballplayer a little suck, and we're not in the shower yet, so..." I go, "So you kept your word... so far. "He gets up on his feet so easily it's like magic. I ask, "What am I supposed to do with my boner?" Robby squeezes my cheeks together and kisses my lips, saying, "That was just a tease for what's to come, Dylan."

He turns the shower on as I go, "I want to worship your body tonight," and he goes, "That's tantalizing news, boyfriend, and we'll have slow lover's sex after you're done worshipping, and I can hardly wait to do that, but first let's bathe each other." Nodding in agreement I step under the flow of water taking Robby's hand to pull him in with me. As the water beads off my boner I watch it go down along with the water down the drain. Like Dodger's apartment this bath has a tub shower with a curtain, but it also has what I wish my shower had, a hand help nozzle on a metal hose with different water pressure adjustments. The adjustment is on sharp-needle-spray presently and we use it a lot on our private parts almost raising boners 'cause it feels so good. It's good for rinsing shampoo out of our hair too.

With our heads almost touching we saturate our hair under the overhead shower fixture and then Rob takes a bottle of shampoo and pours some on my head and then his. Shampooing each other's hair at the same time, mugging at each other and doing quick-as-a-wink-kisses every thirty-seconds until Robby laughs, saying, "Danny's turning us into gay nerds." I go, "Oh good, I like nerds and, by the way, as I recall you and Dodger were the inventors of the quick-as-a-wink-kiss." He looks somber for a second, muttering, "That was a long time ago, babe. Things change, but you and I never will," and he does another quick kiss on my lips getting some shampoo-rinsed-water in his mouth. He's giggling and spitting and then holding his mouth open under the water flow, swishing it around and then spitting it out.

When our hair is totally rinsed, using both the overhead and handheld nozzle needle-spray, I wash Rob's hot body and take my time doing it. He rises off and returns the favor. It's so luxurious being bathed by your lover. Total time in the shower is at least twenty-minutes and now that we're both really squeaky clean we're just hugging under the water that pours hotly down on us. Rob says, "We're clean and rinsed by now, babe, don't ya think?" I go, "I want you really rinsed so I taste and smell your body, not the bath gel."

Eventually we have to get out of the tub and turn off the water. While drying ourselves we're staring at one another with lust in our eyes. Sure, we fucked earlier today but there's nothing quite as wonderful as fucking naked in bed. For me there isn't anything as special as doing that with Robby. I really do think I love him more than I ever have before in my life. Ironically it might have something to do with me getting to know Rob's number-one side-sex buddy better and discovering those two haven't had nearly as much side-sex as I sometimes imagined they were having. Also I can see why Rob would choose Danny as a side-sex buddy; Danny's a very nice person. They've been fuck buddies for longer than Rob and I have known each other. Danny's awesome but Rob chose me over him, and he chose me a long time ago. I've never doubted his love in all that time. He's never let me doubt it even when he seriously doubted my love for him.

Like I said, it's been kinda helpful finding out that Danny's not what you could call promiscuous, um, not even close. And sure, I know Rob's had other side-sex partners but none of them has meant much to him, I feel confident of that. Not compared to what I mean to him, and it's not even close. I think by now Rob realizes any side-sex-buddies I might have from time to time, in the big picture don't mean any more to me than Rob's side-sex buddies mean to him. We like our side-sex buddies and are even close friends with some, but our feelings for them pale in comparison to our feelings for each other. Love rules, dude, that's all I'm saying. The rest is the side-sex toy store... just playing at it.

We're dry now and have towels wrapped around our waists while we brush our teeth side by side. And then, carrying the underwear we wore into the bathroom comes the testy part for me... making it safely back to Rob's bedroom. We could be in the hallway when his parents are coming upstairs or coming out of their bedroom. I whisper, "You go first, Rob, and make sure the coast is clear." He snorts out a laugh, saying, "If you could see the serious expression on your face right now." I go, "It's not funny! You go first."

Rob nods, "Okay," and when he unlocks and opens the door I get behind it and hear his father's voice, "Goodnight, Rob." Robby's snickering, probably thinking how ironic it is his Dad's there in the hall just like I was worried about. He goes, "Goodnight, Father." I'm like furious that I almost walked right into that and I would have if I hadn't insisted Rob go first. I'm backing against the wall as much as I can because I don't know if his Mom already went into their bedroom or maybe she's still downstairs turning out lights or something and she'll be coming up the steps as I'm coming out of the bathroom?" Goddammit!

Listening closely I hear a door close down the hall so that probably means Mrs. Dickers is in the bedroom already. Peeking through the space between the doorjamb and the door I don't see anyone, including Robby. Hmmm, opening the door I take four quick, almost running steps and just about fall into Rob's bedroom. He looks up as he's pulling the covers back on the bed. He's naked now, his towel folded neatly on the desk chair. I push the button on the doorknob and say, "That went pretty well I thought." He snickers, "You're awesome, Dylan."

Walking over I hug him from behind, mumbling, "You too, boyfriend." He turns around and we hug and kiss for a minute and then Rob says, "You need to shave," and my fingers go to my face, "Really, Rob?" He goes, "I'm referring to down there." I go, "I could have done it in the shower and I would have if you'd mentioned it." He says, "Well no problem. You stay here, I don't want you having a heart attack chance-encounter in that hall. I'll be right back." I take my towel off and fold it like Rob's towel. Rob's slightly anal about things like folded towels. He's back in two minutes with a hand towel over his shoulder and a steaming hot washcloth in one hand. He's carrying a can of shaving cream and his Gillette Fusion razor in his other hand. "Sit on the desk chair, babe, I'll do this for you." I go, "First I need to do this," and I go over to push the button in the doorknob locking the door." Robby smirks at me while nodding his head at the desk chair. I'm like, "There's towels on the seat," and he goes, "Just sit on them, okay? Jeez!"

Sitting on the damp towels I watch Rob position the wet, hot washcloth around my groin as he's saying, "You've got the smallest pubic area." I shrug, "Yeah, I guess," and he looks up at me, and says, "But even more amazing than that is you don't have any hair on your ass, not even around your asshole." I'm like, "Is that so unusual?" He's like, "Yeah, everybody has at least some random hairs around their asshole." I go, "How do you know," and he nods his head, mumbling, "Good point. I guess I don't know for sure, but I think I'm right. I only care about your asshole anyway so who cares."

He's shaking the can of saving cream while pulling away the washcloth. Spreading shaving cream around the stubble, he goes, "We both need to shave our faces for work tomorrow." I'm like, "I only shave every three days," and he looks up and goes, "Humor me, okay? You've got scraggily beard growth. Well, it's actually closer to pale hairs than a beard but it looks, um, raggedy." I mumble, "Okay, I'll shave in the morning. Um, do you really notice some beginnings of a beard on my face?" He nods, "Yep, but I'll bet when it finally matures you'll have a light beard all your life." I say, "My Dad didn't have any beard according to Mom, but then he was only seventeen when he died." He's holding my dick in his left hand keeping it safe from the razor, saying, "I know, Dylan, you've told me that at least ten times and it makes me sad every time I hear it." I mutter, "Me too."

It takes less than two-minutes to finish with Rob wiping the razor on the washcloth after each scrapping shave. Finished, he doubles over the washcloth and wipes all around my groin and then uses the hand towel to dry me off. I go, "Nice job. Would you do this for me all the time?" He stands up, saying, "I'll do this and anything else you want me to 'cause I'm head- over-heels-in-love-with-you." I mutter, "That's the spirit! I like the way you think, mister." Smirking he says, "I'll run this stuff back to the bathroom." I go, "Not naked again, I hope." He says, "My 'rents have seen me naked quite a few times. Stay right there, baby," and he's gone.

Sitting on these thick damp towels is actually comfortable. Rob's back with a comb. "I'm going to comb your hair while it's still damp," and he combs the hairs down on the sides and back, saying, "Goddam, your hair grows like weeds. It's a half-inch over the tops of your ears when I comb it straight down." I go, "My barber's been unavailable. I'm considering changing barbers." He chuckles, "Oh no you don't. Not when I'm finally getting good at it." Combing the hairs on top of my head forward, he says, "I love fussing over you, Dylan. I'm going to treat you like a prince when we're married." I go, "Yes, king Robert." Combing my bangs up and then patting them down slightly, he mutters, "Your bangs are actually too long now for this hairstyle. I'll cut them shorter next time." Done combing, he goes, "There you are, sir. Anything else I can do for you this evening?" I grin, "What do you think?" He nods, "Oh, that. Yes, Sir, for that we should probably get in bed." I go, "Right you are, but first things first; I need to worship your body."

After we're in bed Rob turns out the light and we cuddle and make-out for a while and it pure bliss doing this again with him. I'm going to consciously appreciate sleeping with Rob during our senior year instead of taking it for granted like I did last year. Rob has a truly incredible body with muscles aplenty, awesome smelling skin and soft sexy lips with an absolutely perfect tongue to go with his flawless brilliantly white teeth. We're doing everything slowly, kissing deeply while rubbing our hands over each other and squeezing butt cheeks as our bodies squirm together until our cocks are like heavy stones between our legs. We stop for a while, Robby on top of me, and we do our normal gasping deep breaths for a minute.

Still lying on top of me Robby puts his chin on my shoulder with the sides of our heads together, our arms around each other moving against one another only slightly, both our stone cocks between our bellies. Finally I roll both of us over so I'm on top now and give Rob an open mouth kiss for half-a-minute before licking up from his chin, continuing up the front of his nose and then down to his neck and under his chin. Little licks, tasting him and then sucking on his nipples one at a time leaving them at attention. Rob's doing quiet moans and arching his back and then squirming on the sheet. With the covers over my head I move down to lick a line from his chest to his belly button and then suck on it a bit making Robby moan again as he reaches under the covers to rub my head messing up the nicely combed hair he did for me fifteen-minutes ago.

I lick down from his belly button following a line of fine hairs, his pale-haired happy trail, that leads me to his pubic hair. Trying not to have any pubic hairs pull loose and drive me crazy in my mouth, I lick straight down to the head of his boner. His hard-as-stone-cock is pointing at his belly button and I lick from the root to the head before lifting his boner away from his belly and putting the head in my mouth. Sucking on it until out comes a long smear of pre-cum with Robby moaning again, moving his legs and pulling my hair now. Taking all four inches of boner in my mouth forces the head into my throat where I work my throat muscles. Robby gasps and pull himself up towards the head of the bed, his boner coming out of my throat. I lick the shaft before taking it out completely and then holding it against Rob's belly while I lick his scrotum as his balls begin moving up toward his body which tells me he isn't too far away from an orgasm.

Not wanting him to cum before I rim his ass, I slide my tongue over his asshole as Robby pulls his legs back, his knees up in the air. He throws the covers off both of us and moves his hips up giving me full access to his asshole. My tongue is all over it and he does have a few random ass-hairs around his anus not that I care as I lick the hairs flat against his butt cheeks. There's no acrid shit taste at all because I washed his ass good, even pushing a soapy finger an inch up his ass and using the needle spay rinsing it. Think ahead, that's one of my mottos. An inch is as far as I can get my tongue up there anyway.

When I get his anus lose from lapping at it, I curl my tongue and get it up his ass a little at a time. There's nothing I know that makes me feel more submissive than rimming an asshole and it puts me into a deep submissive trance, my tongue inside his ass for maybe three-minutes before Robby goes, "Oh, ooh, ooh, oooh, oooh!" and lifts his hips. My tongue comes out and I look up to see his climax shooting out from his stone boner in an arc that lands behind him against the head board. That's all I needed to see and I go, "Ahh ahh," and shoot a long stream of cum up my chest with spray hitting my neck. I see Rob's stomach muscles clenching and another shorter stream of cum shoots out at the same time I shoot out another blast making me shudder violently. I'm pulling on my cock realizing I'd been on the verge of climaxing for quite a while now, but my rimming-trance kept it just this side of the tipping-point until Rob's explosive orgasm set me off that is. Sucking cock and rimming are two very sexually arousing activities for me. The only thing better is getting fucked hard up my ass.

My face is all scrunched up as I concentrate and marvel at all the sensations still zipping around my cock and all around my groin. I shake a little bit and then lie on the mattress between Rob's legs. My legs curled up behind me or they'd be hanging off the foot of the bed. Rob's doing his fast, deep breathing but manages to say, "C'mon up here, babe, and let me hug you." Blowing out a lot of air I slide up next to Robby pulling the covers with me and snuggle next to him, both of us on our sides now, my back to his chest with his arms around me. We're like this without talking for a couple-of-minutes. I've got cum on me, my own cum that I shot on my chest. Miraculously Rob's got his arms around me just under where I'm wet with cum.

That was a weird climax but it was a very strong one too and I feel weak but very contented in Rob's arms as my body begins settling down after that explosion of energy. When Rob's breathing normally again he lifts his head and says in my ear, "Did you plan that?" I shake my head, "No, but I got into the rimming so hot and heavy everything else left my mind." He murmurs, "I love when you worship my body, Dylan. It's the most special thing I know." I murmur, "For me too, mister head-of-the-household. I need to satisfy my man." He laughs at that and it makes me chuckle a little too although I hate that it reminds me of Ray. That was his major reference, him being 'my man' and he said it in one form or another every ten minutes when I was his boyfriend that summer. Sure, a couple of times when he'd just fucked me so good it's hard to believe I'd actually refer to him as 'my man', but that shows you what stupid sex with the wrong person can make you say. I never seriously thought of him as 'my man', not for more than a fraction of a second anyway. Like most everyone, Ray has some damn good points to go along with all the bad ones.

Rustling around on the bed I get facing Rob and, as my cum dries on me, we talk quietly about the condo he's put a down payment on. It won't be finished until this time next year and I'm kinda thinking, 'Do we really want to live in Westborough?' Also I wonder if Dodger having an apartment of his own is the reason Rob's talking about, as he puts it, 'Our condo'. What the hell, I like talking about it too. It's fun thinking of life after college and it's reassuring to know I have a job working for Rob's company and a condo to share with him even if it is in Westborough. I try half-heartedly to insist it's only fair I pay half the down payment, although where I'd get the twenty-thousand-dollars I can't imagine. He won't hear anything about it anyway. That's a discussion for another time. Then he again teases me about me having a crush on his side-sex buddy, Danny. It's funny, as in odd, but I really do like that we can be so open about referring to Danny as Rob's side-sex buddy. That's remarkable considering even six-months ago Rob wouldn't even openly admit he and Danny were still doing it together.

Then I remember Hayden and the Rolling Stone picture, so I sit up, saying, "Wait'll you see this." I hop out of bed to fish my cellphone out of my short's pocket. Googling 'Rolling Stone Magazine's cover for May 4, 2017', and the Danny lookalike picture on the magazine's cover comes up. Getting back in bed I pass Rob my cellphone, asking, 'Who do you think this is?" Rob looks at it frowning for a second, and then mutters, "Well it's not Danny, which I imagine is why you're showing me this picture. At first glance though I thought of Danny Monday, but right away knew it wasn't him." I go, "Spread the picture." and he does, nodding his head, mumbling, "Yeah, that's who it is, Harry Styles. Danny doesn't look this young either. Maybe a couple of years ago..." I go, "Well what a killjoy you turned out to be. I thought it was Danny and so did Hayden. At first I mean. It looks just like him and Hayden even said two summer ago Danny's hair was almost that long, so we're talking about how Danny looked a few years ago!"

Robby lays back on his pillow handing me my cellphone, saying, "Yeah, in that picture he looks a little like him I guess, but I wouldn't have guessed that was Harry Styles either." I mumble, "Yeah, Hayden and I said the same thing. The photographer photoshopped it or something, but you don't think it looks like Danny, huh?" Robby's grinning, "Does someone have Danny Monday on their brain?" Frowning at him, I go, "I'm just saying I thought it looked like him. Anyway it wasn't me who found the fucking picture. Hayden found it." Rob goes, "I'm only teasing, babe. Calm down. Yeah, it looked like Danny, sort of."

We joke a little about me having a little crush on Danny and then get even sillier with some silly-nonsense-talk about what if this or that happened and who might be whose boyfriend and what that might be like. After a while though we're back to making-out sweetly and slowly with both of us getting sexually aroused all over again. After an extended foreplay, with both our cocks hard and dripping pre-cum Robby fucks me with both of us on our sides, his right arm over my side and his hand rubbing my chest. It's slow penetrations that hurt at first because his cock got really swollen during the foreplay and neither of us wanted to stop and get lubricant. I don't mind the pain though because I'm used to it and it's temporary and it contrast strikingly with the pleasure which significantly increases and increases until it feels so good it's like otherworldly, the pain not even a memory now.

His fat rock-hard boner slides up inside me so tightly the lips of my asshole, with nerve ending by the tens-of-thousands, stretched almost to the max sends out the most tantalizing pleasure sparks imaginable; it enough to make me scream with pleasure. But it's Rob's constantly moving boner sliding tightly over my prostate gland that has me in a constant state of euphoria. The pleasure off that gland is indescribable but most off all, for me, it's the thrill of having Robby slowly doing the fucking on my ass... that what matters most. The familiar feel of his chest against my back, his arm with it's hard bicep muscle on my side and the way he rubs my chest and nipples with his fingers. His scent and his love and the fact we're doing this together and it's all so wonderful it's impossible to put into words. Rob's perfect hard, fat cock never stops moving and it's a slow boat ride to the ecstasy of orgasm I know is coming and I'm doing one moan after another, almost a mantra. I'm in a delicious pleasure trance so happy and contented because it's Rob and me again doing my favorite activity in the world.

Nothing lasts forever, or almost nothing, and I'm feeling the distinct beginnings of climax after our exquisite longish ride of sexual pleasure and now for the greatest pleasure known to humans and maybe all the members of the animal kingdom too for all I know. It's the incomparable peak of sexual pleasure still ahead of both Rob and me, but not for long now. Our orgasms are building in sync I think because Rob's grunting and picking up the pace of his thrusting making an almost whining sound as his climax gets on top of him and I'm squirming and closing my eyes and mouth with sensations souring, ready to blow. Robby's tight against me now humping my buttocks two last times before he goes, "Oooh! Ahhhh..." and his cum stream warms my insides for a split second and then there's Rob's sloppy wild thrusting putting me over the top, 'Eeeetiiii!" with cum shooting out hard, burning my pee slit, and then another sizzling stream of cum flies from my quivering stone boner and I'm trembling with Robby holding me tightly, his body against my back with only his hips flying, continuing to fuck my sloppy ass for thirty-seconds more before we both sigh, "Ooooh, ooh, man. Ooooh, fuck..."

I'm weak as a kitten again. Just before climax every muscle in my body clenched tightly almost to the point of me getting muscle cramps and that happened for each shot of cum and, oh fuck that was sooooo great! Robby rolls over on his back pulling his now soft cock from my ass and dragging some of his cum over my right butt cheek. There's cum in a streak straight across the sheet in front of me where I shot my load of spunk, and then a streak on the rug next to the bed where the first shot went past the bed to wet the rug. That was a long explosion of pleasure. A billion sperm are once again on a fool's errand trying to find an egg on the sheet or the rug. That thought makes me think of Rob getting that conniving bitch pregnant first semester, and then I think about what Dodger told me about him having sex with a number of girls. Maybe I should try that, or maybe not.

Rob says, "Dylan, that was very fucking special, baby! I loved every second of it. Ya know what, my life would suck if I didn't have that to look forward to. And I mean doing it with you again and again and again." I flop over on my back and look at him, saying, "I was going to kid around with you saying something funny or goofy, but you're right, Rob, without you in my future life would suck. Will you go steady with me?" He laughs and moves over to put his arm over my chest, asking, "Go steady, huh? I thought that term was too corny to be used after eight grade." I shrug, "It probably is, but will you go steady with me and wear my friendship ring?" He laughs and we wrestle a little just to be doing more bodily touching. Finally he says, "I'm sticky and I think it's your cum. Would you be pissed if I insisted we change the linens?" I'm like, "Absolutely not. Great idea!"

After Rob brings another wet washcloth from the hall bath and we clean ourselves, using the hand towel from earlier to dry ourselves, we then change the sheets and get back in bed. How he's going to explain the cum-stained ones in the hamper to his mom, I don't even want to think about.

In Robby's arms, the way we went to sleep most nights at college, I jokingly ask, "Do we have to go to sleep already, Robby?" He chuckles, and then goes, "What the fuck time is it anyway?" I look at my wristwatch and I'm startled to see the time. I mumble, "Jesus, it's ten-of-one." He goes, "Oh fuck! Five hours from now we gotta get up for work. I really hate to have to put my foot down like this, but you won't be allowed to sleep over if you're gonna keep me up this late." I say, "Does this mean we're not making S' mores like you promised me?" He goes, "Oh, okay we can make S' mores, sure. I'll get a fire going in the fireplace, but right after that it's to bed for you, young man." We laugh some and then say our 'goodnights' and it's off to dreamland with me smiling... and very happy with the way things are going this summer.

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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