Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLANS VACATION AFTER HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 25

by Donny Mumford

Fridays are special because the weekend looms ahead and weekends in the summer are as good as it gets for working stiffs like me. This Friday's been okay at work. Today's were the last interviews for the month of June and I happily hand Carl his monthly report at three-thirty as instructed, so now I'm in the office twiddling my thumbs waiting for the end of the work-day at four-thirty. Actually I'm not doing anything with my thumbs, I'm sitting here thinking about tonight's baseball practice. Everyone else at practice will have a fun catching, hitting, and throwing a baseball around like they've been doing since they were little kids, but for me I'll be wondering nervously if this is the practice I'll be found out as a fraud.

Yeah, it's much more likely I'll make a fool of myself at practice than make miracle catches like at Wednesday's practice. Letting that good fortune go to my head I temporarily lost my mind getting excited about continuing to try out for the team. Now I'm dealing with the reality of the situation. I should have quit when I was ahead. It's nonsense thinking that I can actually keep up with these talented players on a day to day basis. Luck ain't gonna cut it for long. Danny's convinced I belong on the team as a back-up player on the bench at least. I'm beginning to think he believes all the bull-shit he told Coach Benintendi about my superstar exploits as a high school second-baseman for Braintree High. I can't ever recall ever being in Braintree.

I'm still sort of 'crushing' on Danny though so I suppose I want to impress him, and certainly I'd like to impress Rob, but I'll apparently need miracles to pull that off and miracles are usually in short supply. The pats on my back and the players pointing their gloves at me in recognition of the three miracles of me making those awesome plays though... wow! That was a really good feeling. The opposite feeling is what I'm concerning myself with at the moment. The moment where everyone is frowning at me, like, 'What the fuck is that spastic doing now? when the ball bounces off my head, or I throw the ball back to the infield twenty-feet short of the second baseman, or trip over my own feet trying to field a grounder, or any fucked-up thing I can think of. Jesus, why did I get myself into this? I guess it was mostly Danny being persuasive. Hell, Robby left it up to me. He didn't put any pressure on me to do it, or not do it.

Putting my feet up on my 'desk' and lacing my fingers behind my head I feel my bristly hair and grin to myself. Yeah, Rob's haircut! Jesus though, about eight of the interviewees today mentioned my new haircut and mostly made positive remarks. A couple of others were more curious than impressed but there were no overtly negative comments. They all seemed sincere unless they all have an extremely subtle way of breaking balls that I didn't pick-up on. Sure, those who commented were females of various ages. None of the three guys I interviewed had anything to say about my haircut whatsoever, or my awesome suit either which was another thing the ladies liked. Jeez though, I've never seen Rob go on so much about a haircut in my life; certainly not like he has about this one. Well, he was the barber and he's justifiably proud of the results. Huh, if the haircut turned out to be shit though, I wonder what his response would have been then?

Well it didn't turn out to be shit, and even if it did, it wouldn't change the fact Rob and I are really as tight a loving-couple as there is. There's a depth of completeness to our relationship that I've never felt before. It's so solid as though we've found a comfort zone that works in every way there is. Us sleeping together at his house has in a way been the last piece of the puzzle for me. His parents have blown me away with their acceptance of me as Rob's boyfriend and lover. Mr. Dickers even said, 'Well, here are the Dickers boys now', when we came down for breakfast this morning. It's like I was part of the family. Maybe I'm projecting, but when I marry Rob I think he parents assume I'll be taking his last name too. Some gay married couples do that. Any paranoid thoughts I might have that Mr. Dickers was being facetious, implying I'm always here so why don't they adopt me, or something like that, doesn't seem realistic anymore. Not when he's been so friendly, like the way he sincerely complimenting us on not drinking and driving. I think he likes me and I know he thinks I'm doing a good job at work.

And then there's Rob's Mom whose also been super accepting and friendly. That's my biggest surprise of all! It's been almost unbelievable how nice she's been! Sure, she can be a bit of a manic/depressive at times, she's way 'up' one day, very positive that everything is awesome, and then other times she's like a grumpy walking-minus-sign when nothing seems to suit her. The last two days with me she's been sort of in the middle though; for of a normally pleasant person. Yeah, your normal run-of-the-mill Mother-type... nothing to see here folks.

In my opinion Rob seems rude to his Mom, not that she appears to notice, or care. They both seem fine with their relationship. I'm thinking Rob was this star baseball pitcher in high school, and he was on the middle school basketball team too, so his parents were proud of him and probably spoiled him some and bragged about him to friends and relatives. His Mom was probably always ready and able to take him where he needed to go for practices or whatnot, and they just fell into this relationship were his offish behavior was overlooked because he was their 'star'. Rob is different around his father though. He works his ass off to impress him while Rob's Mom is still catering to the star-son whom she likes to brag about.

Yeah, in some ways she's apparently still bragging about him even though he's gay, and why shouldn't she. Maybe she's a little bit proud of his boyfriend too. That would seem the case since she took pictures of Rob and me together this morning to send to her sister. This whole unexpected developing thing with Rob's parents allows me to smile and relax a little. Of course I'm aware that my amateur physiological analysis of the situation concerning me and Rob's parents could be a pile of doody, but I'm hoping it isn't. I'm being optimistic that I've seen sincere progress with Mr. and Mrs. Dickers, and me... from my point of view at least.

And then there's their other son, Dodger who was a star athlete himself. A star diver and a swimmer with unique quickness. He has trophies too, but let's face it, what's gonna get the most attention: swimming... or baseball and basketball? Where's the majority of recognition going: to the baseball or swimming star? Swimming's a niche sport, if it even is a sport in the truest sense of the word 'sport', as in competitive team sports where there's an offense and a defense. Swimming, like gymnastics, has mostly an esoteric following of those who swim and dive or do gymnastics themselves. I'm sure his Mom took Dodger to practices and whatnot, but perhaps not with the same enthusiasms as for Rob's endeavors. Hope I'm wrong but I'm probably not. Also Rob was the 'first' of the Dickers' boys to appear on the scene, and by a long two-years, which is quite a head start. Dodger was relegated to getting hand-me-down clothes and hand-me-down pickup trucks from his big brother. He was the runt until he got his growth spurt and passed Rob by an inch in height. Jeez, maybe Dodger's outrageousness as a teenager was because he was trying to get someone to notice him when everyone was noticing Rob. Well fuck, that's sort of a 'downer', and I was so 'up' for a couple of minutes there.

While contemplating that with a frown on my face, my cell phone rings and I jump in my chair, my feet coming off the desk. It was dead silent in here for the longest time and the ring startled me. I'm like, "Um, hello!" and hear, "Hi, Dylan, are you alright? This is Rob." "Oh yeah, I'm good. How ya doing, Rob? What's up?" He says, "Ha ha, it's the end of the week, for starters. Jeez though, I'm sorry but I'll be another five-or-ten-minutes. Can you meet me at the spot I dropped you off at this morning?" Hmmm, what the fuck time is it anyhow? I look at my watch: four-thirty-eight! I been daydreaming for over an hour? I go, "Oh yeah, absolutely, Robby. Take as much time as you need." He goes, "Thanks, Dylan. See you soon."

Ha! Someone must be in the office with him or he would have called me, babe' or 'baby'; his awesome terms of endearment for me. Yeah, terms of endearment... that sounds so sweeeeet! Funny how those two words, 'babe' and 'baby', coming out of Robby's mouth used to sound phony, creepy even, but not anymore. I like when he calls me that and, shit, he does it in front of his Mom too. Rob's really something the way he doesn't hide anything about him and me from his parents. He acts the same way around me whether his parents are around or it's Danny and Hayden who we're with, or anybody else. He treats me with affection no matter who's there and it can be a little awkward, but I still admire him for being open about our relationship. That's ballsy of him if you ask me. I'm not saying he throws our lover's status in anyone's face though. No, that's not it at all. Rob's really become special and, is it my imagination or is he more, um, I don't know, more mature and uber sure of himself? I don't necessarily mean he's acting in-charge or being bossy because he's not. It's just everything he does or says has such a calmness about it, a lightheartedness or casualness like... 'No problem, I got this'.

I put some stuff in my backpack, drape my suit jacket over my arm and carrying the golf umbrella under the same arm. Yep, I'm outta here for the weekend. Outside it's stop drizzling, it's been drizzling on and off all day. I lean the umbrella against one of the benches that sit on either side of the back door thinking again that Fridays are awesome! Lighting a cigarette and then while taking a drag my cellphone rings. It's Rob again. "Hey Rob, what's up?" He goes, "That pain-in-the-ass, Max, was in the office with me when I called last time, babe." I grin too myself because I guessed someone was there with him during his last call.

Rob goes, "I've just got one more thing to do before I leave so I'm gonna be an extra five minutes. Oh, and I wanted to tell you that after practice tonight I'll have a beer with you guys but them I'm going to need to leave early. I'm sorry but you'll need a ride home from practice, and then a ride home from practice Saturday too." I go, "Why do you need to leave early tonight?" He groans, "Because tomorrow, after Saturday's practice, I going directly to Westborough. Tonight I need to get home to pack and get my shit together for that trip. Maybe you could make a few phone calls and arrange rides for tonight and tomorrow afternoon. I'll feel better knowing you're all set." I go, "I'll get right on it. See you soon."

Picking up the umbrella I walk toward the spot Rob dropped me off thinking I can maybe slip in some buddy sex in our tight little gay group while Rob's away. Me and buddy-sex are becoming strangers this summer. Danny's in favor of our group having buddy-sex and Rob's good with it too. So am I, by the way... heh heh. I have to wonder though if our leader, Danny, has stepped-ups his game yet? Yeah maybe, but then Hayden and I have been champing at the bit to get it on, so to speak, from before he went to California and yet we haven't done it even once since then. There's simply been no opportunities for buddy-sex since his return from California. That reminds me I haven't heard a word from Dodger who's now in California. I've been over to his house only one time to get his mail. I emailed him telling him about the packages but haven't heard back from him. Suspicious looking packages I might add. Yeah, well I should get over there this weekend too.

Hmmm, Hayden rarely has wheels, so for a ride home tonight I call Danny and he cheerfully answers after one ring, "Hi, Dylan. Is everything okay?" I go, "Yep, it's is, except I was wondering if you could give me a ride home after some beers tonight following practice?" I explain about Rob and he goes, "You don't need to ask, feel free to assume that I'll give you a ride wherever you need to go. I'll get you Saturday morning too and save Rob the trouble what with his trip and all." I go, "Thank you, Danny, you're awesome." he goes, "Thanks for saying that, but I'm not the awesome one, you're the awesome one." No, actually he is but I don't want to get into a thing where I go, 'No it's you, Danny' and he's like 'Un uh, it's you, Dylan,' so I mutter, "We're both awesome. I'll see you at the high school."

That didn't settle a thing about buddy-sex but Rob asked me to be sure I have a ride and that's what I did. Then I'm standing here for like twenty-minutes before Rob shows up in his pickup and he's full of apologies for being late. I poo-poo them as unnecessary and ask, half-jokingly, "Is it okay to kiss you here?" He seriously shakes his head, saying, "At your house, baby, and I'm hoping you'll let me do more than kiss you." Oh boy! I'll put the buddy-sex concerns on the back burner now that I know the 'A' team is stepping up to the plate. I wasn't expecting this because, I don't know, I just didn't expect it. I go, "Damn, Rob, you sure make me feel desirable. You said last night you're gonna take care of me but I didn't think you meant this soon." He chuckles, "Seriously, I can't fucking imagine anyone more desirable than you, and that's the truth for real. As for taking care of you, you're the one taking care of me. I need to be sexually intimate with you in hopes it'll hold me over until I'm with you again Sunday... barely hold me over."

Damn, that makes me feel so good! I ask, "If you want I'll get the Jeep and drive up Saturday night." He says, "I'd love that, but as I mentioned before, Neal-asshole has it set up for us to be working Saturday night. It's because I won't get there until two o'clock tomorrow. You know, after practice." Oh fuck that's right, practice again Saturday morning too. Balls!

I tell him, "Danny offered to pick me up tomorrow morning if that'd be a help to you." Rob goes, "Oh yeah, it would be a big help if you don't mind, Dylan." I shrug, "I don't mind." We're quiet for a minute as Rob negotiates his way through the Framingham circle at the center of town, and then I ask, "What time do you think you'll be back on Sunday?" He looks at me for a second and then gets his eyes back on the road as he says, "You look so hot in that suit. Jesus! Oh, um, Sunday. Jeez, I'm actually not sure what time I'll be home Sunday." Another quick glance at me, and then he mumbles, "Um, Dylan, you've gotta do me a big favor, babe." I go, "A favor? Sure, what is it?" He glances over, "Please stay with me Sunday night. I haven't been as happy since our college apartment as I was Wednesday and Thursday after you stayed with me at my house. It's been by far the best part of this summer so far. The nights especially, but also the good feelings that carried-over to the next day." I'm like, "Sunday night?" He nods, keeping his eyes on the road now, saying, "Yeah, babe. The last two-night have been very special having you sleeping with me again." Frowning I mutter, "For me too of course, but I just slept over the last two nights." Fuck, that came out of my mouth kind of whiny-sounding.

Is he fucking serious though? I go, "Robby, I don't want to overdo it and screw up a good thing that's developing with your 'rents. It's been excellent so let's not take advantage of your parents' generosity towards me. You can stay with me at my house Sunday night." He says, "I will if it's the only way I can be with you, but consider your twin bed. Oh man, no offense, I've have some fabulous memories of that twin bed and I love it, but we'd have no breakfast Monday morning and it's a twenty-minute longer ride to work from your house so we'd need to get up earlier." I say, "I'll make breakfast," and he says, "Okay then, we'll get up forty-minutes earlier." Oh shit.

I don't say anything until we get to my condo where Rob knows to drive around to the back. He turns off the engine and turns to me, "Don't be mad, Dylan, I'd love to stay with you Sunday night, and I will. It's settled, baby. You won't need to make breakfast we'll get breakfast sandwiches and coffees at the drive-thru window at Dunkin' Donuts. I love you and just want to see you smiling and happy." Oh balls though. My Mom never sees me in the morning or at night, except on the weekends. Chubby's busy three or four nights a week for dinner and I hardly see him when I sleep at home anyway.

After thinking about it, still sitting in the truck, I ask, "Are you absolutely positive your parents won't mind me staying with you again?" He says, "I swear on my love for you they like having you there. They say I'm easier to get along with when you're with me. You're a good influence on me... according to Mom." I'm smelling the back of my hand listening and staring at him trying to make sure he's being serious and not frivolously bull shitting me. If he's lying he's a very good liar and I happen to know the opposite is true. After a minute, he quietly prompts me, "Dylan?" and I mutter, "I believe you. Sure, I'd love to spend Sunday night with you." He wraps his arms around me and kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "Thank you for believing and trusting in me. You'll always be able to trust me and some day, I hope soon, you'll realize that fact. I love you, Dylan Newman." I mutter, "I fucking trust you, whaddaya talking about?"

Huh, he was perfectly willing to stay at my house even though it really doesn't make good sense at all. Rob has definitely matured or maybe just decided to be relaxed and totally himself, or he gained a lot of confidence, or some Goddammed-thing! He's even better than he was before and I'm not sure when the 'before' ended and the 'better' began. All I know is there isn't a single thing about him lately that I don't think is just about perfect, and while nothing and no one is perfect, he's getting close. And damn, I won't have a chance if he gets any more perfect. I'll be simply going along with any and everything he says, or does, or wants from me. What's wrong with that though? That'll be okay.

We're quiet for a few seconds as I'm looking at him. I'm amazed my affection and love for him is higher than ever before. He finally grins, asking, "What? Why are you staring at me like that?" I go, "Well, we're just sitting here and I thought you were in a hurry? That you had stuff to do." He shrugs, "Well I don't know about being in a hurry, although I do want to have some awesome tough and rough sex with you. After that I have a few errands to run like taking your trousers to the tailors explaining what I want done with them and then probably I'll need to argue about it needing to be done overnight with the tailor, who speaks very little English. Then I need to make a stop at the CVS pharmacy to wait in line to pick-up Dad's high-blood-pressure medication, and then get a case of beer at the package store so when the boys come over to join you and me in the pool house we'll have beer for them. When I finally get home to change for baseball practice, I'll need to eat dinner and then come back to pick you up for practice. I'll need to do all those things in a little over an hour, but other than that, no I'm not rushed." I go, "Oh, so we can take our time with the sex?" Rob goes, "Um, sure, but like I said, it's gonna be more like a rough, hard recreational fast fuck than making love." I go, "What are we waiting for?" and we smile getting out of the pickup. I swear there's nothing in this world better than being in love and having sex with your lover!

Rob takes off his suit jacket and leaves it on the seat as I key in the passcode and then we go in my condo through the garage door. Inside the basement Rob grabs my/his tie, the tie I'm wearing and pulls me to him. We do a one-minute mouth-moving kiss with our arms around each other hugging tightly. Our lips make a wet smacking sound when we pull apart. Still holding onto him I murmur, "Oh man, I love the way you taste and smell, Robby," and we do another quick kiss, "You too, Dylan, you're actually unbelievable delicious. C'mon," and we go up the stairs and right down to my bedroom where Rob helps me off with my/his suit jacket and, as I'm taking off my trousers, he takes off his pants and neatly folds them over the desk chair. He throws his tie over his shoulder and, pulling his underpants down, I hear, "Help me out here, will you babe." Turning around I see he's holding his fat penis out.

Still wearing my dress shirt and tie I sit on the edge of the bed and take hold of his slightly firm penis. It's already a big boy as I lean forward to lick it up-and-down and then all around while holding it up with two finger at the root, his pubic hairs covering the first knuckles of my fingers. When his fat cock is dripping with my spit it goes in my mouth and Rob shuffles his feet a little, grunting, "Umm, ummm, oooh." I suck his fat cock into a hard boner with him changing his moans to, "Oou, oooh, oooh, babe, that's good." He knows where the lube is and takes it from the bedside table as I get up, turn around and lean on the bed with my ass pushed out like I always do. This will be a fast and hard recreational fuck and I'm in a good position for that. I love me some hard, fast anal sex, recreational or otherwise.

Lube is rubbed around and in my asshole and, turning my head, I then watch Rob circle his boner with the lube smeared in his fist. He's biting his bottom lip because obviously it feels good doing that. He takes a deep breath, grins at me, and mumbles, "I'm a little excited, babe, bear with me, okay? You're so fucking sexy to me I need to be careful I don't have a fucking heart attack one of these days." I'm a bit excited myself but don't want to say anything which might delay matters. Moving my shoulders and ass, getting loose and then nodding my head for Rob to do it.

He steps behind me as I lean over the bed, my hands on the mattress. Rob gets between my legs slapping my ass hard, "SMACK!SMACK!" making my buttocks quiver and sting and then the hard, fat head of his cock spreads the lips of my asshole and tightly slides in with me going, "Ooof!" Robby rubs his hands up and down my sides, kicks my legs out a little wider, and then humps his boner up my ass cupping my shoulders and pulling me back onto the last inch of that hard, fat pole. His pubic hairs tickle my smacked ass and then they don't when a last jerk on my shoulders pulls me back the last quarter-inch for a tight docking against his groin. Pain for a minute as I move my head and then drop it down between my arms waiting for the pain to fade which it starts doing right on schedule.

With his hold on my shoulders Rob keeps me tightly against his crotch as he humps against my buttocks, moaning with arousal. I can only imagine how fabulous his fat cock feels stretching my rectum to this degree. The tightness on every-fraction-of-an-inch of his hard swollen cock must be very arousing but he patiently and considerately waits for my ass to stabilize and properly welcome its familiar guest. The pain is replaced by the awesome feeling of being totally filled-up back there and my stretched anus is now firing off those sexy pleasure vibes from the millions of nerve endings situated there, plus the pressure on my prostate gland has it sizzling and anticipating the stimulation it'll experience when Rob begins fucking me in earnest. All of that has me shimmering with pleasure. It has me gasping and looking back with my eyes pleading... do it, Rob! Nothing compares to this for sheer sexual thrills, it's thrilling-excitement like few other things in this world.

Rob brings his hands down to hold onto my hips now and then begins plowing me a new asshole with fast, hard thrusts. "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds ringing off the walls of my bedroom as his body slaps against my ass. "Slapslapslap," and, "Oooh, ooh, ooh!" Such sensations! So many nerve ending and his cock gets them all ringing out pleasure; Rob's boner isn't missing any of them. Omigod, so much sexual pleasure to enjoy along with the rough rustling of my body. Rob does 'rough' sex really good! He holds nothing back; this is so different from last night's sex while at the same time in many ways its similar.

"Slapslapslap," and grunt, grunt, grunt from Rob and, "Aah, aah, aah," from me as the sexual pleasure trains roars down the tracks faster than last night with its whistle blowing and me moaning as though I've never experienced anything like this before. This is the full thrill ride of sexual activity and it brings on a thrilling albeit fast hard orgasms that flies up on us as Robby's making his whining sounds of desperation now and humping extra hard against my buttocks as we shoot off together with a wall of sparkling white spots covering my vision. The explosion of climax spreads over me like fireworks. It's the initial burst of pleasure that then spreads out and pops again. With me leaning over the bed my orgasm explosion shoots out a mere eight-inches before splattering on my bedspread. My throbbing boner is sizzling hot with the pee slit burning as more creamy hot cum flies out, and then again. Rob's humping so hard he flattens me against the bed with him on top of me, both of us moaning and Rob still thrusting, me now lying on my cum and squeezing all the muscles in my groin trying for one more stream of cum. I'm empty though and I go limp after that beautiful violence known as 'CLIMAX'.

Quietly moaning I'm trying to grasp all the still sizzling sensations of orgasm. The orgasm that reached a crescendo ten-seconds ago. It's the world greatest thrill that approaches closely to human's endurance for sheer pleasure and at its peak it's almost touching pain, backing off at the last millisecond. It's fantastically amazing, except it just doesn't last very long.

We're gasping and sort of chuckling and I suppose it's in amazement that climaxes never disappoints and always shocks at how sexual hot and exhilarating the latest one was. You think you know what to expect but that second at the peak of the thrill, you're like, holy shit I forgot how fantastic it can get. No wait, you don't think that until one second later. At the peak, the very top of the pleasure mountain your eyes are bulging out and there's a tiny fear you've finally slipped too far to the other side of pleasure and you won't be able to get back, but you always get back quivering and looking forward to the next ride that'll be so intense it briefly touches its opposite sensation known as cold and merciless pain.

Rob goes, "Oh sweet mother of pearl! How can it get any fucking better than that?" He staggers back pulling his extraordinarily fat cock out of my ass leaving my anus gaping open. Rob's patting my ass, mumbling "Sex will never ever get old as long as you bring your ass with you, babe," and he leans down to kiss my right butt cheek." I snicker, still feeling phantom sizzling sensations in my rectum.

When pushing myself up off the bed the cum I'm lying in is sticky strings for a second and then it pulls apart with some of my cum coming along with me and the dress shirt of Rob's I'm wearing and the rest remaining on the bed content to be fucking-up my bedspread. I mutter, "I knew I shouldn't have made-up the bed whenever it was I last slept here. Now I need to throw the bedspread in the wash." I get off the bed, asking, "Did I get any on your tie I'm wearing?" Rob shakes his head, "Nope, I pulled it over your shoulder. It would have been a casualty of your climax otherwise." I go, "You're so smart, Robert," and he grins and then leans over for a kiss on my lips. Sugar kisses, lips like candy!

We're both on our feet now, checking each other out. Rob nods his head toward my bathroom and we troop in there, both of us still with our ties over our shoulders and our shirttails hanging down covering our junk. I go, "I hope cum comes out of your dress shirt at the cleaners." He mumbles, "It's been my experience that it does." When I'm next to the sink Rob pushes my shirttails up my back and wipes my ass and legs while I'm taking my tie off and unbuttoning my shirt, saying, "If it's okay with you, I'll take this dress shirt of yours along with my shirts to the cleaners and return it to you in the condition you lent it to me in." He goes, "Could you diagram that sentence, babe?" I go, "I couldn't in middle school so I most likely still can't."

When we're satisfied we've cleaned ourselves enough, we go back in the bedroom where Rob's putting on his suit pants as I'm putting on clothes I'll wear to baseball practice, saying, "Rob, please don't be disappointed if I screw up at practice today. I was lucky Wednesday." He says, "Don't think negatively, Dylan. Do your best, that's all any of us can do. Anyway, you won't disappoint me no matter what. I've told you that over the years like a hundred times." I go, "Okay. You're right, I'll do my best but I'm out of my league." He looks at me grinning and muttering "What'd I just say?" I go, "Oh, was that negative, what I just said?"

Dressed, we go back through the garage door to the pickup where Rob gets his arms around me, saying, "That was so fucking awesome, Dylan! It was exactly what I needed to hold me over till Sunday. Now I can't wait for Sunday night in bed with you again." I go, "Don't forget to tell your parents I'll be sleeping over again!" He goes, "I won't," and we do a quick kiss. He lets me go, saying, "I'll pick you up for practice at six-thirty tonight. Okay?" I nod, "Sure, see you then.' As he's getting in his pickup I say too loudly, "Wow, that was a damn good fuck, Rob!" He laughs as his eyes glances up at the closer balconies and then he goes, "Yeah, it was, wasn't it! How do you like your haircut?" and we both laugh, and I go, "I still love this haircut." He chuckles, nodding his head and mumbling, "Lair," as he drives off. Oh man!

Upstairs, sitting on a kitchen bar stool, I call Chubby but it goes to his voice mail. He probably doesn't even know where his cellphone is. Even with evil baseball practice looming ahead of me I feel wonderful. Stupid of me not expecting sex with Rob this afternoon. I mean it was our last realistic chance until Sunday. While going up the steps to Chubby's condo I can't stop smiling. This has been the best summer of my life so far.

Chubby answers the doorbell wearing only jockey shorts. He's drinking beer from a bottle as his eyes open wide. Pointing at my head, he yells, "Bro, that's a fucking cool haircut! I want one just like it! I love that fucking cool look. It's the 'IN' look now, you know." Making a 'face' I step in and he hugs me with one arm. Unfortunately, it's the one with his hand holding the beer bottle and some beer spills on my shirt. "Oh fuck, Dylan, I'm sorry." I kick the door closed behind me, saying, "That's okay," and I give him one of those quick-as-a wink-kisses on his lips that doesn't faze him at all. We've been kissing-brothers all our lives. He goes, 'What's for dinner?" I go, "I don't know." Chubby has such a hot body, everything perfectly proportioned and, like me, no body hair. I can see more muscle in his chest and shoulders than I have, but both our bodies are pretty much Mother Nature's choice. I mean neither of us has done serious body building. We lifted some weights in college but mostly what we've got came along compliments of our genes-package.

He's so good looking with the most wonderful smile, his brown eyes always shining. I always have this overwhelming feeling that Chub couldn't be happier seeing anyone else in the world as much as he is seeing me. What a great thing it is to be Chub's brother! I grin to myself because it's our running gag that he wants whatever I get. Not only does he want this haircut I have but he gets everything I get. He got his two ears pierced like mine and he has the tattoo like my small one with his name in it exactly like mine. He had 'Chubby' tattooed stead of Jeffrey even though I'm the only person who still calls him that. He did it to honor me, although he'd never be so corny as to tell me that and then whenever we go shopping he buys the clothes I buy and orders what I do in restaurants and all kinds of stuff like that. He thinks it's fun doing that... I do too.

I ask, "Aren't you going to put some clothes on?" He goes, "Oh yeah," as if he didn't realize he didn't have any on. He goes into his bedroom as I sit at their kitchen bar looking around. Tris keeps their condo immaculate except for Chubby's room. He comes out wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, baggy shorts and flip-flops, but a different one on each foot. Chub doesn't do shit like wear two different flip-flops on purpose to be eccentric or cool. No, he simply doesn't know where the other one is for either set, and more importantly he doesn't care. He has tons of friends and lots of girlfriends although no one ever has meant much more to him than any of the others. He once told me he's never been 'in love' and wonders if he ever will be.

Chub goes, "How 'bout a beer, bro?" I nod, "Sure, thanks," figuring it won't make a lot of different if I'm drunk or sober at practice. Un oh, Rob will say I'm being negative if he hears me say something like that! Chub plops an open bottle of Miller Lite on the bar in front of me, asking, "So, can you do that haircut for me?" I explain about Rob being the only barber who can do it, unless Chub wants to pay a hundred-dollars in Boston for the haircut, one not quite as good as Rob can do. I tell him that during Rob's convalescence he studied barbering tutorials and practiced the little quick wrist flicks that's necessary, the one that looks simple but isn't. Chub nods his head, "Damn, you've been my only barber for the last fourteen-years, Dylan." I shrug, "Rob will be honored you asked for this haircut." He goes, "Nope, I can't be disloyal to you, my brother." I chuckle, "Gee, thanks, Chubby, but I swear to God it's okay. If you got a haircut at some scalp-job barbershop in town, then my feelings would be crushed, but not so with Rob as your barber."

He wipes his jaw and then reaches over the bar and holds my chin to move my head this way and that, mumbling, "It's so cool looking. You know who has this haircut?" He tells me about two guys we went to high school with who have this type haircut, neither of the guys do I remember but I nod my head like I do. Chub ran into the two guys in a bar downtown and now they're best friends again. He goes, "Okay, I'm trusting you, Dylan. I trusting that you're being honest with me and really don't mind if Robby gives me that haircut." I go, "I sincerely don't mind and, hell, I'll set it up for you, Chub. A guy I work with asks me to do the same thing for him." Chubby points at me, and goes, "Grilled cheese sandwiches. I'll make us a batch for dinner!" I go, "Do you have bacon?" He nods, "Yes! Even better, grilled cheese and bacon!" He has so much energy and he makes mundane things seem exciting!

Chub gets the stuff out to make grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches: butter, bacon, white bread, American cheese, and a cast iron frying pan. I watch him while feeling a warm happy sense in my heart for my brother. He looks at me full of grins and then starts in by frying as much bacon as he can fit in the pan. Looking up, he asks a non-sequitur question, intended to be out of the blue like it's no big deal, but I know he's dead serious about it. "Um, you and Robby getting along okay, bro?" I tell him that we've never been better and then about me spending two nights sleeping at the Dickers with Rob, and how his parents seem totally okay with it. Meaning the gay part of it; us sleeping together. Chubby nods his head but doesn't say anything, so I ask, "Are you still hesitant about Rob being the right one for me to maybe marry?" Chubby goes, "Actually I'm much better with that lately. Rob seems changed somehow. He seems calmer recently and less, um, less like he's trying-too-hard about, um, about everything. Ya know?" I go, "You're amazing to have recognized those things from the few times you've seen him recently. I was thinking the exact same thing today. I think what you said about him not trying so hard to be perfect... that hits the nail on the head. He's more relaxed and it's like he finally decided to just be himself." Chubby nods, "I agree, so I was wrong about him not being good for you. I was right back then, but since Robby's changed he's right for you now." I go, "Thanks, Chub, I think he is too."

While the bacon cooks Chubby tells me a few stories about his date with, as he puts it, 'that Wanda Blake bitch' and then a story about Jay James, his co-worker who got so drunk last week he couldn't figure out how to unlock a toilet stall in a bar and had to yell for help, and then a story about his friend from college, John somebody, I forget his last name, getting him and Chub a dormitory room in the new co-ed building at Merrimack. They decided against an apartment because the quantity of babes to potentially hop in bed with in a co-ed dormitory is too perfect to pass up. The new dormitory rooms have been in such demand there was a lottery for them and John knew someone in the office who was in charge who slipped John's name in as a lottery winner and on and on.... Chubby always has lots of interesting shit to tell me.

By then the first two grilled-cheese-and-bacon-sandwiches, perfectly made, have been consumed and two more go in the pan. I listened and laugh along with Chubby all through his stories but something is bothering me. All those words without a single word about what I told him. I mean about the Dickers being so accepting as me as their son's gay lover. Not a single comment, just a head nod acknowledging he heard me. I'm only half done the first bottle of beer as Chub opens another one for himself. We've both wolfed down our first sandwich and I'm wiping the butter grease from my fingers, asking, "Chubby, are you disappointed I'm gay?" He looks up with a serious, maybe even an annoyed expression, saying, "Please don't insult me, Dylan. We've had this talk five or six times already. In short and to the point, no, I'm not disappointed you're gay."

I nod my head feeling a little choked-up, but persist. "I was wondering because you didn't have anything to say about Rob's parents making me feel comfortable that I'm Rob's boyfriend and lover, sleeping with him in their house. And when I think about things I can't help but notice you never personally mention my gayness unless I bring it up, and neither do our Moms, so I don't know... it makes me wonder." He's looking at me with such compassion in his eyes, his overall expression making me feel like crying. He gently takes hold of my hands and holds them between his, "Dylan, I'm guilty. Guilty of not knowing when or where you'd feel it appropriate for me to say, 'Here's my gay brother who I love with a passion', or when to ask you about what it's like being gay, or what exactly I should do or say that would be the right thing in your eyes, in your opinion. I want to say or do something, but I don't know what. I just don't know how to do any of that the right way and I'm sorry."

I'm spellbound as he holds one of my hands against his chest, saying, "All I know for sure in this world, and I swear I know it in the deepest places in my heart, is that I don't care if you're gay or straight or have brown hair or black or have tattoos all over your body or you have none at all. None of that or a million other things matters to me, not about you one fucking little bit. You could have all or none of those things or a million other possibilities I can't think of right now, but none of it would matter one twit to me... there still wouldn't be anyone on earth I love as much as I love you. I bonded with you those first seventeen years of our lives together in a way few, if anyone, ever bonded with another human being before and nothing will ever break that bond. We were inseparable doing everything imaginable together to help each other grow-up and experience life. That was a hard-wire-bonding that's unbreakable and will stand forever and maybe longer. My love and devotion for you is as total and comprehensive as any unconditional love that's ever existed since time began, so whatever makes you happy I'm on the bandwagon leading that parade. You are my number one concern in this life and while I don't ever want to intrude into your life, I watch you all the time and when anything doesn't seem right I will force myself into your situation until you tell me not to and then I'll work behind the scene to make whatever's wrong, right again. So, no, I don't care that you're gay. I'm so proud of you and so proud to be your brother I don't know the words that would do my feelings justice. And please don't ever ask me anything like that again! It's heartbreaking you'd even think there's anything about you I'd disapprove of."

I've got tears in my eyes and I don't dare try to talk. He puts my hands gently back on the bar where he got them two minutes ago and then hands me a Kleenex from a square box of then on the shelf behind him. Finally I manage to say, "Oh, okay. I was just wondering, Chub, that's all." He flips the next two grilled-cheese-sandwiches over and grins, "Well now you know, my brother. And I know that you know that I know you already knew every word and emotion I just expressed. You knew it all in your heart before I started" I shrug, "Yeah, I did," and he goes, "Well, I liked saying the words again anyway so thanks for giving me the opening to say that. It's just that my heart would break if you stopped believing those words somewhere along the line." I go, "I won't, Chub. I just needed to hear the words. You know, hear them just once in a while because I need you to love me." He nods his head slowly a few times as a tear comes down his cheek. He croaks, "I know you do, Dylan. I'm sorry I haven't told you how much I love you recently. We, meaning me, our Moms, and our future Step-Dads try to think what's the right things to say. You're the best of all of us and we struggle to find the best way to show our love and support for you. We worry that you'll think we're being condescending if we say or do it wrong."

We're both nodding our heads slightly, maybe not sure what to say next. I finally go, "You know how much you mean to me and how I feel..." he holds his hand up, "Yes, I do, Dylan, and thank you for feeling that way about me. It's all I really need in the way of love in my life." Staring at him for a few second, I then take a bite of my second sandwich, and say, "The bottom's burned," and he shorts out a laugh, still with tears in his eyes, and says, "Always the chronic complainer!" I go, "Well it is burnt." We lighten up and have four grilled-cheese-and-bacon sandwiches each with only a little more conversation about how I'd like the rest of my family to react to my gayness. We finally decide everyone should continue doing whatever they were doing before, plus feel free to mention my gayness whenever they feel like it. Yeah, it's a 'smoke 'em if you've got 'em' situation...

I found out all I needed to know from what Chubby said, but like he also said, I already knew it before he said it. And who could want a stronger endorsement of love and support than Chubby gave me? Well perhaps a seriously deranged person might, but I'm not serious deranged enough I guess because I'm totally content and a little bit thrilled to have Chubby's love and support. If I was temporarily a little short in the confidence tank about any of that, Chub filled me up again and I'm good to go.

Good 'talk' but it's time I get my shit together for baseball practice. When I'm leaving we don't do some kind of an emotional hugging and kissing routine. I just say, "Thanks, Chubby. The sandwiches hit the spot and I liked our 'talk'." He grins and goes, "Yeah, good 'talk' bro. Hope you make the team!" I wave, " Thanks, Chub, although there's no fucking chance of that," and the door closes behind me.

Some guys might feel like a pathetic weakling, or a sap for needing to hear all that from his brother, but I don't. I feel much better than I did when I was going up to Chubby's and I felt pretty good before then. I wasn't planning, didn't have a hint I'd even mention the topic of Chub being disappointed in me for being gay. Not an inkling until the second I brought it up. It just happened organically because I guess subconsciously I needed to hear what I already knew. Brothers can be competitive like Rob and Dodger always were, or supportive and loving the way Chub and I have always been. Actually, brothers can be a positive influence for each other like no one else on earth can be. If you've got the right brother, you've got something worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox, or wherever the fuck they're keeping it now.

Okay, that was good. I wasn't really worried about my family's support, and I'm not truly worried about failing at baseball practice tonight, not really. It's not as those I have an anxiety disorder, and I'm not paranoid... not really. A little reinforcement from Chubby about his feelings was nice to hear and he threw in a bonus package by including that the Moms' and our future Step-Dads' were thinking about that too, and in every way, they know how they're all supporting me. None of them care that I'm gay as long as I'm happy and I didn't think otherwise... not really.

I've got ten-minutes before Robby's due to pick me up so I do some bathroom stuff including brushing my teeth. After getting my glove and putting on Danny's summer league baseball hat, I go outside to wait for Rob in the alley where we agreed to meet. Instead of my usual smoke I chew a piece of Spearmint gum 'cause ballplayers always chew gum. Usually Double Bubble gum but I don't have any of that at the moment. If the long-shot comes in and I make the team I'll buy some. See, that's the kind of positive attitude Rob wants me to have, and so why not have it. It's can't hurt and it might actually help. And how about the way Chubby picked up on the same changes I did about Robby? That impressed me and confirmed what I was thinking about Rob; he's finally relaxed and being himself. Maybe he decided: 'World, this is me, take me or not, it's who I am.' Or maybe something less dramatic than that, that's something I'd think, not Rob. He definitely has changed though. Ya know, it very possibly it wasn't even a conscious thing on his part; the changes just fucking happened with age.

Between Rob's better and improved self, and his folks' apparent approval of my relationship with their son, and Chubby's 'talk', well I'm kinda flying high thinking my life's pretty fucking good. Oh, here comes Rob's pickup now. I get in and we exchange smirks, both of us thinking about our sex earlier I'm sure. "How ya feeling, Dylan?" I go, "Good, Rob, how 'bout you?" Turning around in our driveway, he says, "How am I? Whoa, after our recent bedroom experience together I'm feeling pretty fucking awesome!" Yeah, life's good!

Driving up Center Street, he goes, "Damn, my trip to Westborough tomorrow is hanging over my head like a big dark cloud. That fucking, Neil Trenton, is the problem. Didn't I tell you he sucked even before this latest cluster fuck he's created?" I go, "Yeah, you did, but get back in a positive mood, Robby. Here's some interesting developments that'll help you with that. He looks at me, "Oh yeah? Please tell me." I go, "First of all, from the interviews I did today I got eight compliments of varying degrees about my haircut. A haircut that a good friend of mine did for me. They were from the younger female interviewees, but none of the interviewees had a single negative thing to say." He chuckles and nods his head a few times, muttering, "I can't say I'm shocked at that. Did any of them happen to mention the skill level obviously involved in making that haircut perfect." I go, "No one used the word 'perfect' that I recall, but they generally liked the haircut." We both snort out a chuckle.

I let that sink in before saying, "But that's not the news I was referring to however. It gets better." Rob goes, "More good news?" I go, "Yep, and it's still about the haircut." He glances over, "No shit?" I chuckle again at his smirking and then tell him, "Chubby, he's my brother ya know, and Marty West, a guy from your company who I ate lunch with when you were convalescing, both of those guys asked me at different times today to give them a haircut exactly, not sorta like mine, but exactly like mine." He goes, "Holy shit! Really? And you're going to do it?" I shake my head, "No way! I'm not fucking up their hair trying to replicate this haircut. I told them I'd ask you to give them haircuts." He glances over again with this incredulous expression, asking, "Seriously?" I go, "Very seriously, although with full transparency I gotta tell ya that neither of them mentioned anything about paying for it." He laughs, "Fuck the money. I'm flattered, Dylan, and you're so nice to refer them to me. I think doing these haircuts is very cool. Gives me a nice feeling of accomplishment outside of my regular job." I shrug, and he gets real serious, "I mean, if you're okay with it, babe. Jeez, Jeff is your brother and I feel kinda bad that..." I go, "Yes, I know he's my brother, and I want the best for him, and for this haircut that means you, boss."

Rob's sort of nodding his head looking kinda shocked and kind of excited. Pulling onto the parking lot near the baseball park, he goes, "If you're really okay with it, um, when should I do their haircuts?" I go, "I'm the middle man for this deal and I'll be expecting a kick-back from you of at least twenty-percent. I'll contact my clients and arrange a time for them to show up at the pool house." He laughs but I can tell he's wicked pleased and feeling really good. That makes me feel good for Rob. Damn, he looks pleased!

As we get out of the pickup, he says, "Thanks, Dylan... really!" Getting his cleats from the backseat he adds, "That's cool but I guess we need to think 'baseball' for the next hour though." After Rob changing shoes we walk off the parking lot and across the outfield. Robby bumps fists with a couple of acquaintances from his old high school baseball team as we go and then Danny comes over followed by Hayden. No quick-as-a-wink-kiss here, just quick one arm hugs and a pat on the chest, "How you guys doing?" from Danny. I look at the almost nonexistence of hair on the sides and back of Danny's head and unconsciously feel the side of my head hitting the hat Danny gave me and almost knocking it off my head. I guess I can call it my hat now just like Rob's tan khaki suit is mine now too. Guys keep giving me their leftover shit like I'm a homeless person, not that I mind.

Hayden pats my ass, saying, "Hey Dylan, guess what?" I go, "I can't guess," and he goes, "The coach left a message in my voicemail saying I made the team as a relief pitcher." I smile and do a high five, saying, "Congratulations!" He goes, "Thanks. Now it's up to you to complete our foursome. You need to make the team too." I go, "How nice of you to remind me of that. I really needed that extra pressure!" He goes, "I'm sorry. You'll do great," and then whistles start blowing. I hug Hayden's shoulders, "No, it's me who's sorry for snapping at you, Hayden. I'm kinda tense, kinda nervous." He says, "Ahh, that's alright. Good luck!"

As we're jogging to our group Danny awkwardly gets his arm around the back of my neck hugging me against his side, saying, "After attendance stick with me like glue again, okay?" I nod, "Sure." Ya know, with all the touching Danny does to me, and everybody else, it's never sexual touching. Never grabs my ass or hits my junk with the back of his hand. Nothing like that, it's all, um, buddy-touching. Like I've thought before, all the physical touching Danny does must annoy some guys tremendously although it's never bothered me. Then my name is the last one called, "Newman?" "Here" I say, and I raise my hand. Coach says to me, "Stick with Monday until further notice." I yell back, 'No shit, Coach, how many times are you numb-nuts gonna tell me that?' No I don't yell that, I don't yell anything. I feel conspicuous enough as it is with guys looking over at me wondering who the fuck I am to get a special try-out. I ignore them all until I see the second baseman, the one who slapped hands with me after my unbelievable miracle catch and throw to him from way the fuck over in the outfield. He sees me look at him and smiles giving me a little hand wave. I nod my head at him noticing for the first time his eyes are much too close together. Jesus, he must be cross-eyed half the time.

Danny and I are starting this practice in the infield which has poor footing because of all the rain; it's kinda muddy and slick. Two of the guys heading for outfield slip in the wet grass and fall on their asses, cursing and getting up wiping wet grass off their shorts and legs. Guess the grass was cut recently. Yeah, all this rain we've been having has fucked-up field conditions something terrible. Then I hear the "PING! PING!" sounds as balls start flying off aluminum fungo bats to the outfielders. I pay zero attention to the outfielders though. My eyes are glued to the infield Coach's grounders and popups to us infielders. Danny's joking around with the shortstop and then he casually walks over to squeeze the guy's shoulder and say something to him that they both laugh at with the shortstop saying, "you wish, Monday!" Whatever...

This will only be a fifteen-minute drill although I bet it'll seems much longer to me. Danny fields a towering popup with a basket catch at his waist getting the Coach yelling, "No more fucking showboating, Monday! Join the Globetrotters if you wanna show off." Danny yells, "Yes, coach!" and some of the guys exchange smirks with Danny. He's popular. I field a wet-ball grounder that runs up my arm and another one goes right under my glove. Coach yells, "Get your glove down, dummy!" No miracles happen until... ta da, five-minutes into the infield practice all kinds of whistles are blowing. Oh, what's this?

Well, what it is actually to me is sort of a miracle. Coach Benintendi waves his arms for everyone to come in. When everyone's clustered around him, most of the guys full of so much energy they can't stand still going from one foot to the other, Coach says, "This fucking field's a disaster. Somebody's gonna slip and split open their ass, so no more field work today. We'll have extended batting practice and I'll see you boys tomorrow at noon." Mumbled agreements about the wet condition and then "PING" batting practice starts.

The order we'll bat in is posted on the batting cage. Danny checks it out as Robby says to me, "I didn't even get a chance to make some pitches before coach called practice off." I go, "Oh, that sucks," not really sure if he's happy or disappointed about that. Watching batting practice, it seems the guys are hitting the shit out of the ball, much more so than Wednesday. I've got that wicked nervous feeling in my stomach again anticipating my turn in the batting cage. I don't know but it's sort of feels like I want to throw up. How long ago did I tell myself not to worry about shit like this? An hour ago maybe. It's easy to scoff at my nervousness hypothetically, but then when I need to do it in real life it's not so easy to scoff off. How can all these guys be so relaxed? They're grab-assing and laughing while waiting their turn and I'm about to pee my pants, my hands sweaty and... this blows!

Hayden and Rob are talking pitching with Rob again trying to help with Hayden's change-up. And of course, I don't know where Danny is. He's always rubbing someone's back, or jumping on someone's back for that matter. He's like a Mexican jumping bean all over the place. It's like he knows maybe two-thirds of the guys on the team personally and is on a first name basis with the rest. Man, the energy he has and always with his great cute smile! I heard some nasty comments about his haircut, but that's not unusual. A lot of the guy's comments are of the ball-busting variety which is typical among guys in a group, but atypical when having a one-on-one discussion. That's just the way of the world with young guys. None of the guys know me well enough to rag on my haircut though. That's the thing about ball busting; you mostly do it with guys you know and like. And of course, there are a number of guys who already have variations of the same haircut Danny and I have and they naturally think this haircut rocks. I did hear one of the guys sort of refer to me. He said to Danny, 'You and your shadow go to the same butcher for haircuts, didn't ya?" Danny laughed and told him Rob did our haircuts but I don't think the guy believed him.

So I'm standing here with my glove under my arm when someone pokes me in the ribs. I look over and see the little second baseman. Huh, and his eyes are definitely too close together. He says, "Hi, I heard about you from my Uncle and I think I saw you play for that power-house Braintree team a few years back when I was a junior." I very much doubt that. I do my automatic smile, saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan, how ya doing?" and hold out my fist to be bumped. He bumps it as a reflex action, saying, "Yeah, I know who you are in more ways than one. I'm J. J. Benintendi." I look over at Coach Benintendi and sort of half-point at the Coach as J. J. goes, "Yeah, he's the Uncle I mentioned, but I made the team on my own talent. I was on, well I am on the Swarthmore College team. I'll be a junior next year and get a chance to be the full time second or third baseman. This year I'm the infield utility player." Hmmm, Coach Benintendi's nephew huh. I'll try Danny's friendly touchy/feely technique. I give J. J's shoulders a quick squeeze, saying, "Well good luck this year. It's nice to meet you, J.J. Is that two capital letters 'J's?" He nods, "Yes, for John Joseph."

He's smaller than I thought when he ran past me and slapped hands at last practice. I ask, "How'd you hit last year for Swarthmore?" He shakes his head, "I didn't pay attention to my batting average." Which means it was low. He goes, "Ya know, Uncle says he'd have made you a starting outfielder if you were here for the original try-outs, but by now guys have been promised starting spots." Oh Jesus, would Coach be wickedly disappointed if he made me a starter! I go, "No, problem, I'm just here to have fun." He pokes my side with his hand again, "I can't fucking believe how good looking you are. I thought, whoa, what a good looking guy when you made that miraculous catch and throw to me. And now seeing you up close like this, holy shit! Have you modeled or, um, anything like that...?" Do I want to make the team this bad? I guess I do for Danny's and Rob's sake if not mine, sooo... I go, "Thank you, J.J. but no, I've never even thought of doing something like modeling." Is this guy gay? No straight guy would say what he just said about me being good looking, and then that modeling bull shit!

He's staring at me and, no, amazingly his eyes don't cross, but how the hell they don't I can't imagine. It's like each eyeball must see the other eyeball whenever he moves his head. J.J. has a nose like the beak on a large bird. Yeah, it's pointy although looks aren't everything and I guess he seems like an okay kid; gay or straight. He also has big hands for his size so that helps him athletically I imagine. He's only Hayden's height but with a solid build. J.J. probably weighs as much as I do. He has sort of a hard square body. Normal mouth but ears that stick out as much as Sonny's, only Sonny looks cute with those ears and J.J. looks like he might fly away with his beak.

Thinking about Sonny make me grin, and J.J. asks, "What's so funny?" I shake my head thinking about all the things I could say to him about 'what's so funny?' Instead I mutter, "Nothing, why?" J.J. asks, "Do ya ever go clubbing, Dylan?" I'm trying to be very pleasant and keep a nice little smile on my face, as I ask, "Clubbing? Um, hardly ever. Mostly just local bars although I like to dance." Oh my gawd, did I just say that? I don't know, I guess I'm thinking maybe he's gay.

He laughs, "That's an odd thing to say, Dylan. You like to dance, huh?" He pokes me in my side again and then he looks serious, asking, "Have you ever heard of the club, Machine Nightclub?" He didn't ask that tentatively either; it was a bold question. Machine Nightclub is a Boston gay club. Holy fuck, he is gay! How do they know to come around me though? I've heard it's my eyes, but he didn't see my eyes until just a few minutes ago, that's if he can actually see out of those eyes of his in the first place. I look confuse and repeat the name, "Machine Nightclub. Funny name but, no, I don't believe I've heard of it."

He pokes my side smirking right in my face, asking, "Are you sure?" What the fuck is it with him? I go, "Um, yeah, I'm sure, but some friends and I are going to a club tonight called the Green House. I think that's the name of it. I've never been there before myself. Like I said I'm not really into the club scene." He grins and rubs low on my back, close to my ass, saying, "It's Green Door, nor Green House. If you like to dance you'll enjoy yourself at the Green Door. It's in Quincy." I shrug, "Like I said I'm going with a couple of friends. They nagged me to get out of Framingham once in a while, ya know... heh, heh. Mostly I've always been just a jock." Oh man, one lie after another!

He's sort of smirking again and sucking on his lips, still staring at me until he says, "That's a super cool haircut ya got there," and he reaches up and brazenly takes my hat off and puts it under his arm, saying, "Let me feel," and he runs his fingers all around my head with me pulling my head away, giving him a pissed-off expression so he immediately stops and says, "My bad! Sorry." He put my hat back on my head, but backwards. I say nothing but don't give him a smile either. He takes his hat off, grinning and saying, "Mess-up my hair, if you want to get even." Now I'm looking at him like he's from another galaxy.

He's short but he certainly doesn't lack balls, and he's adopted mostly an arrogant manner. Nothing like I expected when he first approached me. He has pale red hair that looks like doll hair. It's not dyed though and it's cut in sort of a nondescript Supercut haircut. I finally respond to his, 'I'm sorry... mess my hair up to get even' bull crap, muttering, "No, that's okay, J.J." I don't say, I'd rather not touch doll hair! Then I hear, "Monday" you're at the on-deck circle. J.J. goes, "That's your guy, huh? I know Danny." I nod, ignoring that, muttering, "It was nice to meet you," and turn toward the front of the batting cage figuring I'll get there first. Danny will want me batting before him to make sure Coach knows I'm still trying out.

I've lost total interest in sucking up to J.J. and fuck I don't care if his Uncle puts me on the team or not. As I'm walking away J.J. says, "Yeah, maybe I'll see you at the Green Door." I go, "Um, ah," but Danny appears out of nowhere to pat my back. saying, "Hey, J.J. wassup?" and, patting J.J. on the shoulder, he tells me, "We gotta go, Dylan, we're up next." I go, "Um, I need to get a bat, Danny." He holds up the bat of his that I used last time, saying, "What's this look like. C'mon, babe, you're next. I'll bat after you." J.J. heard Danny call me 'babe' and his close-together-eyes open as wide as they can, which isn't a lot. It's like he's shocked that maybe, 'Danny Monday's gay?!'

Fuck J.J., my balls are the size of acorns from worrying I'll screw-up in the batting cage. Wednesday, I had the accolades going for me due to my miracles, but today I made an error on both balls I tried fielding. The only saving grace is Coach Benintendi was watching the outfielders when I screwed-up, and my apparent gay admirer, J.J., was in the outfield. We walk up to the batting cage and Coach says, "Get in there, Monday!" Danny saunters over to the coach explaining about me and the Coach mutters, 'Oh, yeah, the special case'. That's what the batting coach called me on Wednesday too... the special case. If only they knew.

Danny motions for me to get in the cage as if I wouldn't know to do it without his help. I take his thirty-two-inch bat and stand at the plate telling myself to swing only at strikes this time. First pitch comes in and I swing so hard my hat comes off and the ball connects somehow and it goes over the short fence in right. Coach says, "Home run to right" and writes something on his clipboard. Looking up I see Coach Benintendi nodding at me as he's walking by. Thank God he walked away after my lucky home run because I have three swings and misses after that, with Coach saying, "You're swinging for the fences, Monday, um, Newman. Dial it down a notch." He thinks I'm a home run hitter. Ha! The next pitch I try to hold-up my swing but the ball hits my bat anyway and pops over shortstop. Coach says, "Single over shortstop" and, while making a notation on his clipboard he says, "That's the idea, Newman." Fuck, I was trying to hold-up my swing. Hmmm, so there are some miracles left. Last two pitches are swings and misses and then I make contact with the rest but no hits or home runs. Coach says, "Ya can't hit 'em all gotta the park, kid."

Jesus, I'm sweating as Danny steps in. I had five swings and misses, a few harmless grounder 'outs' and one accidental single to go with the miracle homer. It was probably the only home run I'd hit if I had a hundred swings. Oh fuck, at least practice is over for me until tomorrow. How the fuck can I get out of this without disappointing Rob and Danny? I hear, "PING" PING" "PING" as Danny hammers the batting practice balls all over the field. Hayden and Rob bat last so when Danny's done batting we walk over and get bottles of water. He says, "You were over-swinging like a mother-fucker in the batting cage, babe." I go, "Didn't you see my homer?" He shakes his head, "No," and I go, "First pitch I hit over the right field fence." He's swallowing half the bottle of water doing it the same way he drinks everything, gulp, gulp, gulp, and then says, "Oh, that explains the over-swinging. Ya got homer-happy." He doesn't get it! He thinks I'm talented like him and the others when I'm not! I seem to be the only one here who realizes that. Maybe it's that they just assume I'm good because of Danny's lies about me, and therefore they see what the wanna see no matter what.

Finished the bottle of water, Danny says, "Let's get out of the sun," and we walk to the overhang at the front of the refreshment stand where he asks, "What are you doing after practice tomorrow? Rob will be heading out to Westborough." I shrug, "I don't know. What are you doing?" and in the back of my mind I'm thinking maybe he's going to suggest some buddy- sex. He says, "Hayden and I are driving to Sherborne where there's this awesome pizzeria. They make this thin crusted pizza you'll love, ya wanna come with us?" Oh fuck, pizza! Well I'll need lunch, so I'm like, "Yeah, thanks, Danny. Pizza for lunch." He goes, "They don't sell beer, I'm sorry to say, but they have really good fountain sodas," and he grins at me rubbing his hand up the back of any head knocking my hat off. He goes, "Oops, sorry," and catches the hat without taking his grinning eyes off me, asking, "Isn't this haircut Rob gave us awesome?" I shrug, "Yeah, I guess... especially for the summer." I'm getting pissed about all this fucking haircut-fuss! I've been doing guys' haircuts for years and just because Rob does this one... oh fuck it! It's not that important.

After practice about half the players walk down a block to that big old bar that's loud and smells like draft beer. It's raucous and rowdy inside on this Friday night. Huh, I feel like getting drunk for some reason. That's unlikely however because I don't know these guys except for Rob, who's only having one beer because he needs to leave soon to get his shit ready for the weekend and Danny, who can't drink for shit. That leaves the only other guy I know here, Hayden, who isn't even drinking beer; he's got a mixed drink. I like, "What's that you're drinking?" Hayden says, "It's just sparkling water. All of a sudden my stomach's upset." Oh jeez, what a fun group I'm with tonight. Where's Chubby when I need a drinking partner.

A game of liars poker starts but I don't know the guys so I'm not interested in joining. Well fuck, I'd just as soon leave when Rob does, but that would add over a half-hour of driving for him taking me home and then basically passing this bar on his way home. I'm not asking him to do that. Sure to his word, after one beer Rob and I do a quick guy-hug 'goodbye' and I remind him, "Danny will pick me up for Saturday practice, Rob, I'll see you at the high school." He nods, pats my shoulder and leaves, but he's not a happy camper because of the Westborough trip ahead of him after tomorrow's practice.

Damn, I wish I knew some of these other guys. I'd even settle for J.J. but he didn't join our group at the bar. Hayden's feeling sick and Danny's apparently intent on patting every single guy on the back and generally being the life of the party. Ya know what? I'm actually gonna order a shot just to get a buzz on. When the bartender's in front of me I order a shot of bourbon just like it's something I routinely do. Before my shot arrives, Danny comes up behind me to squeeze the back of my neck, saying, "Damn, I'm sorry, but Hayden threw up and we should get him home. Do you mind leaving now?" I shake my head, muttering, "Nope," but the bartended is putting the shot in front of me. He gives me a dollar and a few quarters change from my five-dollar-bill which I leave as a tip. Flashing the shot down, without gagging for once, I mutter, "Well then, let's go, boss."

We make our way through the guys near the door with Danny doing high-fives and exchanging laughs with many of them. Right outside the door we find Hayden leaning against the building looking green. I ask, "What's wrong, Hayden?" He says, "Fuck if I know. I got really sick in like three minutes. One minute I'm okay and the next I try drinking seltzer thinking I have indigestion and the next minute I'm heaving my guts up."

We slowly walk back to the high school and then across the ball field to the parking lot, as Hayden adds, "It might have been that fucking nacho-dip I took when Kramer offered me one from his basket." Danny goes, "Is he sick?" Hayden shrugs, "Probably. Do ya think I can sue?" We have nothing to say to that. I get in the backseat of the pickup and Danny drives Hayden home. At Hayden's house, they don't even do their normal quick kiss 'goodbye'. Yeah well, that's perfectly understandable considering Hayden threw up fifteen-minutes ago. Danny offered to stay with him or drop me off and come back to see how he's doing, but Hayden claims his Mom's home and she's good at taking care of him. We watch him go up his front walk with Danny looking concerned. I mumble, "You offered to stay with him, or check in on him later. What else can you do?" Danny nods his head, muttering, "Poor kid," then he looks at me, "Will you have a couple of beers with me?" Kinda surprised he wants to go drinking, I go, "Yeah, sure, I guess... it's early on a Friday night, so..."

He drives us to their neighborhood bar, Mac's Bar. It's the one Hayden brought me to; the one with the pinball machine. Not an especially large bar; just a U-shaped bar and no tables. The bar is half full plus five-or-sex guys clustered around the pinball machine shouting like maybe they're playing for money. We get two barstools at the 'U' end of the 'U-shaped' bar with no one within three bar stools of us. It's mostly men over thirty with no women, but it's definitely not a gay bar. After the cursory check of ID, Danny orders two drafts of Bud and two VO shooters." My eyes open wide, "Danny, you're ordering shots?" He goes, "You had one at Mike's Tavern so I thought you might...." I go, "Yeah, and I was the most surprised person in the bar that I ordered it." He shrugs, "I need to get used to drinking these shots like everyone else." Peer pressure, ya know? Dumb, but we're all susceptible to that powerful force.

The shots and beers are put in front of us with the bartender saying, "Enjoy, boys," and then taking Danny's twenty-dollar-bill with him to get change. We both drink some beer and then look at the shots, but don't touch them. We're leaning forward, our forearms are on the bar as I look at Danny who moves his arm so the side of his arm is touching mine. I glance at that, not at all sure he even realizes he did it. It's in his nature to make bodily contact no matter how small apparently. He asks, "Have you noticed a difference in Hayden since he came back from California?" I go, "No, not really, but then I don't really know him that well, um, yet." Danny grins and pats my arm, "The four of us are becoming close friends, aren't we?" I shrug at that, thinking it's kind of a creepy thing to say, but I finally mutter, "Yeah... I guess." He says, "And last night there was some bonding between Rob and my boyfriend." Well that's true, and I was really surprised to see it, so I nod again, "Yes, after all those years, huh?"

We drink silently for a minute as I'm getting the feeling Danny has something he wants to say to me. He finally takes a deep breath, looks at me, and goes, "Like I told you before, I find talking about someone's private sex life an uncomfortable thing to do. It's fucking awkward, ya know?" I look sideways at him as I drink some beer and he goes, "Funny though that I feel comfortable with you, Dylan, like I can confide in you and it'll stay between us. Right?" I go, "Sure, absolutely," and it actually will too!

The bartender brings back Danny's change and that must have reminded him we have shots. He says, "Oh fuck, let's drink these shots first, babe," and he picks his up, so I do too. Danny says, "To new friendships," and he taps my shot glass. Down the hatch go the VO shots with both of us making a 'face' and gulping down some beer right after swallowing the burning liquor. He says, "Whew, that wasn't bad at all. Um, what I want to say is... well, Hayden and you both know Rob and I are long-time side-sex buddies and Hayden accepts it's what us gay guys do, ya know. I'm concerned though that Hayden is maybe getting jealous now that you're a steady side-sex buddy of mine too." Steady? We're barely side-sex buddies, but I don't say anything because I'm curious where he's going with this.

Twirling the empty shot glass on the bar, Danny looks at me again grinning and mumbling, "This is awkward, isn't it?" Well no, not so far it isn't, but I just do a little noncommittal shrug. He clears his throat and goes, "Here's what I'm trying to say: I think Hayden jealous that as the leader of our little group I now need to, um, well servicing you too, so to speak." Oh fuck, he couldn't possibly mean that the way it sounded. Servicing me? Oh please! He forges on, "Ya know, Hayden might be worried I'll cutback on him." What, cutback to zero? Danny mumbles, "Of course, I wouldn't do that to Hayden because, well, I don't want to. He's my boyfriend and I love him. Not in love, but you and I talked about that already, didn't we?" I don't remember if we did or not, although Hayden and I had a conversation about it. I mumble, "Uh huh, I guess," and sort of make a 'face', as if I'm trying to remember if we did.

Danny finishes the rest of his beer. He does it the way he drinks everything, gulp, gulp, gulp. I get the bartender's attention and sort of twirl my finger around our glasses only realizing too late that he'll bring another shot too. Fuck, but I don't know where Danny's 'talk' was headed and I wasn't thinking straight. Oh well, I chug the rest of my beer. Anyway these beers are only like eight ounces.

We get two more shots and beers as Danny looks at the new drinks, grinning and saying, "Holy shit, this is so awesome of you to buy us a shot and beer, Dylan. Thank you!" Is he fucking serious? I snort out a laugh thinking he's being factitious considering he just bought the first round, but he frowns at my laugh, asking, "What?" Oh, he was serious. I mumble, "Nothing. Um, what were you saying?" Looking up I see my twenty-dollar-bill going with the fat bartender. Danny goes on, "Oh yeah. Well, I assured Hayden that he's my number one concern and nothing has changed in that regard, you know, um, sexually between us," and his face blushes a pale pink. Clearing his throat again, he says, "Hayden seemed okay with my explanation knowing we'll still find someplace to, you know, someplace for me to fuck him as often as three times a week, if we get really lucky." Ding, ding, ding... news flash! If they're lucky... three times a week, huh? That's not bad! It's not good, but it's not totally bad either. I bet there are lots of gay and straight guys who's be happy to have sex three times a week.

Danny takes two big swallows of his new beer, looking at me, "You know, Dylan, drinking with you makes this conversation easier than I thought it would be. You're awesome company, babe!" and he hugs me with both arms around my shoulder right here at the bar. Awkward! Didn't he say something was awkward for him a minute ago?

The side of his face brushes against mine and his short light-beard feels just as sexy-good as I imagined it would. After the five-second hug, which seemed much longer, he sits back, saying, "It's fun being with you. Rob was always telling me that same thing, that it was fun being with you, and now I see what he means." What? I haven't said five words or done anything since we sat down. Jeez, Danny's a sweet and sexily unique guy. Very unique, which I never knew until a few weeks ago. I wasted all that time being oblivious to him and in the process probably squandered, ha ha, as many as two-or-three side-sex experiences in those three-years. Ha ha, he's not a prolific side-sex buddy. Not yet he isn't, but we'll see.

Really though, Danny has an innocent and caring outlook on life and it's fucking endearing. Who knew? Robby never talked about Danny to me, or about me to Danny. That's obvious. Incongruously, Danny now reaches over and gently brushes across my cheek with the pad of his finger once, twice, and then, frowning and mumbling, "I'll get it this time," and a third swipe at my face. I'm using all my willpower not to pull my head away, but I can't help moving it back a little. Then he mumbles, like it's a normal thing to touch someone's face, "There was a loose eyelash, babe, I got it for you." Almost anyone, if they'd even bother, would point, saying, 'There's some shit there near your left eye' and I'd brush it away myself. Glancing around I see we've attracted some casual 'looks' from the men at the end of the 'U' shaped bar.

Danny's oblivious naturally. He drinks some more beer and then says, " So I'm dealing with Hayden's jealousy fears. That's one thing. The other is I need to admit I'm disappointing you. I just know I am, but I'm gonna get better! This is primarily why I wanted to talk with you tonight. As our leader, I need to reassure you I haven't forgotten my responsibility with you." Danny's even more clueless when drinking apparently, but I think he's going to be talking about side-sex between him and me, so talk away Danny.

But no, he wants to explain about him and Hayden having problems with finding convenient places to have sex, and it's almost never in a bed. Poor fellows. Trying to get him back on track talking about him and me, I go, "Gee, I'm sorry you and Hayden often having a problem finding a place for good sex. That won't be a problem though because my place is almost always available." He goes, "Holy shit! That's awesome! And you wouldn't mind if Hayden and I use your bedroom? I mean if we give you advance notice." I go, "What? Um, huh? I'm talking about you and me." He goes, "Oh, of course. Your bedroom!" I nod, "Yeah, you were getting around to discussing our buddy-sex. Remember, you said you're letting me down, or something..." He says, "That's right! I admit I've been ignoring you but I'm gonna 'up' my game and make sure I save some time for you and me, um, not tonight though."

It takes my mammoth willpower not to ask, 'Why the fuck not?' Instead I say, "I wasn't hinting about tonight. Jeez, Danny! You brought it up; not me." He goes, "I'm sorry! I guess I've been talking in circles but this Hayden thing has me upset. I'm missing his bubbly personality and the way he used to be all over me too, hugging and kissing me. I'm a big fan of bodily contact, ya know, like the foreplay I do for you." Jesus, foreplay? I can hardly remember it, it's been so long ago now. I go, "Oh yeah! You do that as good as anyone, Danny." His eyes get big, "Really? Thanks! You're the nicest guy!"

It's finally too much, and I have to ask, "Just curious, but why can't you and I do it at my place in like a half-hour?" He shrugs, "We're drinking," I nod, "Yeah, so?" and he goes, "I like to be sober and at my best, and we have another shot of VO sitting right in front of us." I go, "We don't need to drink it. Seriously, Danny, I kinda miss our buddy-sex." Oh what willpower I have! Not really... gee, why don't I get on one knee and beg him? Danny's nodding his head and then he says, "Really? Okay, yes, why not? Let's do it! And I can have the shot too. I don't want you to think I'm a pussy." I go, "I don't! The thought never entered my mind. You and pussy do not compute. Not in my brain." He grabs the back of my neck and squeezes, saying, "You'd be an easy person to love. Do you know that?" and he pulls my head over against his for a second. Holy shit, he's not going to kiss me in here, is he?

He doesn't. He sits back but at least it's settled that we'll finally have buddy-sex at my place... maybe. He goes, "Another thing, Hayden used to make me laugh with all his exaggerated gay mannerisms and, um, swishing stuff, but he hardly does it at all now which is to say he's not being himself and I know why. You, me, and Rob are just naturally straight-acting as much as the straight guys I know. Not because we plan it this way, it's just how we roll, ya know?" Damn, he's back on Hayden-talk again. Oh well they are boyfriends so I nod and drink some more beer thinking I'm gonna probably need that second shot pretty soon, or is it the third one for me? I mean, all the stalling he does!

Danny takes hold of my arm, the one that's innocently just resting on the bar. I look at him and he goes, "Hayden doesn't feel he can be himself, ya know? So what I wanna know is, would you mind if I encouraged him to be more like himself? That's the other thing I wanted to ask you." What was the first thing? I go, "Frankly speaking, if you mean Hayden's outlandish act at the airport, it'd be hard for me to pretend it wasn't annoying. I'm sorry, but that was over-the-fucking-top, um, to be honest with you." He says, "You're always honest as far as I can tell," and he squeezes my arm again. Glancing at the side of Danny's series expression and damn, he does look cool with that haircut. Or maybe the booze is making my little crush on him get bigger. His light beard felt so sexy against my face. Oh man, how about the way it would feel against the inside of my thighs? Oh shit, that thought makes me tighten my stomach and groin muscles. I do a little fake cough like I'm clearing my throat covering up a possible quiet moan.

One-track-mind-Danny, says, "I don't mean Hayden acting crazy like he was at the airport. He was nervous about our reunions and just trying to make me laugh. I mean if he acts himself, like he was at the movies the night he met you. Would that annoy you?" I shake my head, "Not really I guess, but it would annoy Rob quite a bit." He finishes his beer gulp, gulp, gulp. For a guy who doesn't drink much, he sure drinks fast. He does a quiet burp and says, "That's what I think too." Meaning I assume that Rob would be annoyed at Hayden's gay act. Danny orders another round and I go, "Hold off on the shots, Danny!" Naturally my mind is on Danny and me in bed for that buddy-sex we agreed to do tonight. And, no I'm not horny, or no more than usual, but I have a crush on him. I'm talking about Danny and I having fun recreational buddy-sex, ya know, the way Danny does buddy-sex.

I can't get him to leave the bar or stop talking about Hayden so we have more rounds, omitting the shots whenever I can get the bartenders attention in time. Danny's not good with 'bar details' like informing the bartender exactly what we're requesting. When he's not talking about Hayden he talks about a lot of things in a stream of consciousness manner and while most of it is about guys and incidences I don't know or care about, I still enjoy looking at him while he talks. He has the sexiest mouth.

I'm nodding my head as if I'm listening to what he's saying as he goes off on this long-winded story while holding onto my wrist the whole time. And then he lets go of my wrist and holds my hand as he's talking. He does it routinely and without it meaning anything, but others in here don't know that. I soon drop my arm below the bar so it isn't so obvious. This has no effect on Danny as he's apparently just as content to hold my hand below the bar as on top of it. Realizing this, I pull my hand away and as he does most of the taking we have three-or-four more rounds of beers along with an occasional shot of VO. He keeps buying a round because I bought the last round and I try explaining since he bought the first round I buy the last one so we're even. This concept alludes him however and the rounds keep coming. Danny's very animated when he speaks and with total eye contact that's so continuous it's giving me a headache. His sincerity about everything is off the charts so I resist the urge to cover his mouth with mine and stick my tongue in there. 'Crushing' on Danny is fun, but it can be frustrating too.

And here comes the bartender with two more shots and beers. Again I think, for someone who doesn't like to drink, and who doesn't do it often, this boy must have a hollow fucking leg. He's getting very drunk though. He goes, "Oh, " when he sees the shots and raises his arm, saying, "Excuse me," as the bartended is walking away with another one of our twenty-dollar-bills. There's quite a lot of dollar-bills and change in front of us from the twenties. I take hold of Danny's arm, saying, "Forget it Danny. He can't put the shots back in the bottle. We just won't drink them. We've got to get out of here!" He blinks, "What's that, Dylan?" I go, "Let me deal with the bartender." He nods, "Yeah, fuck, I should have thought of that. You're kinda smart, huh? You probably do good in college." I go, "Not really. Rob and I study our balls off to earn our 3.0 GPA. All through high school I had like a 2.0 GPA or something like that. I'm average." He says, "You're modest is what you are."

I drop the subject. He was talking last about his Mom buying a car, and to fill the time while we finish off the last of there the booze, I return to a topic I at least know something about, saying, "This is our last round of drinks. So let's decide what we can do to help Hayden be his old self?" Danny goes, "Omigod, do you know how few guys in this world would even care? You not only care, you want to help." I shrug, "Yeah, well.., most guys in the world don't know Hayden, or you, or me." He goes, Huh?" and he chugs half his beer and then says, "When just you me and Hayden are together, minus my awesome friend, Rob, um, then you need to do, um, something. Hmmm?" I roll my eyes as he slurs, "Oh yeah, you need to tell Hayden, um, something like, hmmm? Let's see, what could you tell him? Oh, you could tell him you miss some of his shenanigans with the gay-acting stuff and he should feel free to be himself around you. That's it! I know he reaaaaally likes you a lot and if it came from you he'd believe you." I'm like, "Look, I'm drunk, and I might even do what you're suggesting except you need to coach him about not taking his exaggerated swishing-self above the level he had it at when we met." Danny nods, "We met as freshman, right." I go, "When Hayden and I met, Danny, not when you and I met." He nods his head and then finishes his beer, gulp, gulp, gulp and holds up his glass to the bartender. Hmmm, kind of a crass move there. I guess this wasn't our last round. At least the two shots are still in front of us, so unless the bartender's an idiot he'll know not to bring two more.

Danny gets a fresh glass of beer and I get backed-up, not having finished my last glass. I tell the bartender, "Please, take that round out of here," pointing at the money in front of me." He moves the pile of bills around and takes four-ones. Huh, two-bucks a beer. Danny goes, "Okay, that's great and thank you very much, Dylan. Now that I got my Hayden situation settled, um, tomorrow night before the club we'll do some front-loading, as they call it at Merrimack. It'll be at Hayden's. His mother is the nicest woman. While we drink our front-loading, um," and he's patting the back of my hand, asking, "What was I saying?" I go, "Front loading," and he nods, "Yes, that's it. Hayden is gonna make-up each of our faces. Not ridiculous amounts," sounding like,'reechilous'... Clarifying further, he goes, "Just light make-up that Hayden's a master at it. The three of us can let ourselves go and be as gay as we want at the club. Oh and I've got the first dance with you and, definitely most of the slow dances."

I'm looking at him like he just dropped in through the roof. "Make-up? Whaddaya talking about?" He goes, "Yeah, some of the guys at the Green Door will be in drag, but not us. We just go with Hayden's expert make-up. Well, Hayden's allowed to get flamboyant at the Green Door, right? Omigod, I almost peed my pants laughing at him the last time we were there." I go, "What about this make-up?" He shrugs, "The usual, eyebrow pencil, eye shadow, and fuck, you'll need to ask Hayden what all else. Tell 'em what you like and he can do it. Sparkles on your nail polish, no fucking problem, um... other stuff too." I'm speechless as he looks at me and pats my cheek, saying, "I'm kinda drunk so I can't recall everything that Hayden can do with make-up. Anyway, ha ha, babe, you're gonna look fucking beautiful. Well ha, you already are, and oh fuck, I'm drunk."

I go, "Huh, sparkles in my nail polish, ya say? I don't want to be a wet blanket but I'm not gonna wear make-up in public. Hayden did some make-up on me once but I just washed it off before leaving his house." He gives me an old 'look' asking, "When were you at Hayden's house?" I go, "I forget." He does the arm behind my neck thing, squeezing and saying, "It's just a little make-up and we, you and me want Hayden to have a good time. At least on Saturday night at least." Two 'at least's', one in the front and one at the end of his sentence. No use trying to talk sense to Danny now and I'm thinking our side-sex tonight could be seriously in jeopardy as well. Ha ha! It's very possible Danny hasn't had a chance to 'up' his 'game' yet. I take my shot and flash it down and finish the rest of the beer. Pulling over the backed-up beer, I go, "Sure, whatever, Danny. We'll talk more tomorrow."

He's still got his arm around the back of my neck with his cute face close to mine, slurring, "You're fucking awesome and one of a kind, baby.' I'm glancing around, saying, "Keep it down a little, Danny. Please!" There's some grumbling over in the corner and some 'looks' are still shooting our way so I drink half the beer and then pull Danny off the stool. "Let's go, Danny. I've had enough to drink." He shrugs, "You're awesome anyway, Dylan." I'm going through his loose change on the bar, putting all but three-bucks in his pocket and then looking at the money in front of me, almost five-bucks. I decide to leave it in case we need the bartender on our side as we leave. The door's right across from where we were sitting so I drag Danny, without being too obvious about it, out the door,

It's so wonderful inhaling the cool fresh air out here tonight, that is until a tractor-trailer goes nosily roaring by leaving a terrible smell of its exhaust in its wake. Danny says, "What's that smell?" He leans on me staggering to the car, and I'm like, "Would you like me to drive, Danny?" He says, "Hold my hand, Dylan," as he grabs my hand, then bends over and vomits. I look away, basically holding him up. He vomits again, straightens up and says, "Yes, you drive." I didn't think he even heard me. Jesus, I never throw-up that easily. Danny did it almost like spitting. When I throw-up my stomach lurches violently and then it doesn't happen right away. First, I suffer knowing it's coming and all this sort of water runs out of my mouth from somewhere, stomach bile probably, and then my forehead breaks out in sweat and then I feel cold and then it's a violent vomit, straining the muscles in my stomach so they ache for a couple of days. Danny says hold my hand and he throws up twice and then says, "Yes, you drive."

I get him in the passenger seat, put his seat belt on, and go around to get in the driver's seat trying to remember how to get to his house from here. It's not too far, I know that much. Turning the engine over in his Volkswagen, I ask, "Do you think you'll need to throw-up again?" He goes, "Oh, no, I'm good now. Thanks for holding my hand. That helped a lot." Sarcasm? No, what am I thinking? This is Danny Monday and he doesn't do sarcasm. Instead he's now babbling on about how much it means to Hayden and him that I'm so awesome to them, and he says he's admired me from afar and now we're best friends... and on and on. I say nothing, concentrating my balls off on driving the speed limit and trying to figure out where I am.

Danny interrupts his monologue about how awesome I am to, out of the blue, say, "Turn here." I almost laugh out loud, but I like him so much I don't. He'd misinterpret it as me laughing at him when I prefer to think I'd be sort of laughing with him. I get him to his house and he says, "Would you like to come in for a beer or something?" I do laugh a little at that, and mumble, "No thank you, Danny. Let me help you get inside?" He can't get his seatbelt unhooked so I take mine off, lean over him and unlatch his seatbelt. He kisses me on my cheek as I'm doing that and all I can think of is the sound of him throwing up ten-minutes ago.

To be safe, I walk him to the door where, after he fumbles with the key for a bit, I take the key from him, "Let me try, Danny. Locks can be problematic at times," He goes, "That's the problem with locks." I look at the lock and ask, "Is this the right key?" He blinks, "No, you'll never get in with that key," and his hand goes in his pocket and he comes out with two more keys. I choose the one that looks like it belongs to this lock and unlock the door wondering what the other keys are for. "Thanks for helping me, Dylan." Yeah, well oh fuck, I better go in with him.

Inside there's a night light on but it's quiet as a tomb in here. I whisper, "Upstairs?" He nods and I help him stagger up the stairs. He goes to the left and into his bedroom fumbling around on the wall until an over-head light comes on. He says, "Thank you," and goes to sit on the bed but misses it and sit on the floor, giggling. Oh balls! Getting him up, I undress him, with little assistance from him, and when I have him down to his boxer shorts I give a slight push and he falls lengthwise on his bed as I'm pulling the cover down, and then up over him. Patting his shoulder, I whisper, "I'll text you in the morning about bringing your car back." He grabs my arm and says, "Stay with me, Dylan," and he moves over in his double bed, whispering and slurring, "and sleep with me." 'and sheeps with me.' Tempting, but I'm way more than a little leary of explaining all this to his Mom tomorrow morning. I pat his head whispering, "Nice haircut," but he's asleep.

Making my way as quietly as a mouse down the stairs, I'm out the door only now realizing I'm roaring drunk myself. Compared to Danny I felt almost sober, but without him to compare myself to I feel drunk. The ride home takes longer than it should because in the dark I make a wrong turn and get lost in a web of connecting roads that takes me deeper and deeper into this development and when I do find a main road I drive right past Rob's house almost stopping to sleep there. All the lights are out but I could knock on the backdoor until someone, probably Mr. Dickers, opens it and I could explain how I don't want to drink and drive, so... Of course, he might ask how I got there if I didn't drive.

That's not the only reason I keep driving, but it gives me a chuckle thinking about it. Oh man though, I'm very tired and it's not even twelve o'clock yet. At least I know my way home from Robby's and I make it there safely although I'm pretty sure Mr. Dickers wouldn't approve. Parking down below at the curb I'm so happy to be going up these steps to my condo and safety... and sleep. Inside I take three Advil with a big glass of some kind of juice my Mom likes, definitely not OJ, and then I'm in the bathroom for a long piss. Washing my face and hands, brushing my teeth, and then stripping to my underpants... and what a wonderful feeling getting under the covers with my head on my pillow. Without thinking about anything I'm asleep very quickly.

Saturday morning, I wake-up with a wicked hangover but less of one than I expected. Praise the Lord! I'm afraid Danny won't be as lucky, although he did throw up what amounted to the last hour's worth of beer and VO shots, so maybe he won't be so bad off after all. It's ten-thirty and normally I wouldn't even consider getting out of bed feeling the way I do on a Saturday morning except there's that fucking twelve o'clock baseball practice! I force myself to get up and after I do all my bathroom requirements, including a wonderful ten-minute hot shower, I pad into the kitchen wearing underpants and baggy shorts that hang low on my skinny hips, the legs of the shorts reaching my knees. It's the cool way to wear shorts, obviously.

Two more Advil go down with a glass of what turns out to be a peach/orange juice concoction that Mom likes, and it's quite tasty actually. Unfortunately, I drank the last of the quart from the carton so Mom will need to have something else this morning. I grab our note tablet and write, 'I'm sorry Mom, I selfishly drank all your juice because it's delicious. Love you! Dylan' For a Mom that'll be an 'Awww' moment. Moms mostly love their sons and we mostly take advantage of it.

Not feeling well enough for solid food, I make a K-cup of coffee and while sipping on it I think how much better Mrs. Dickers' coffee taste than this K-cup of coffee. Carrying the mug of inferior coffee back to my bedroom and, with a sigh, I put on a baggy T-shirt. It'd have to be baggy since all my T-shirts are size large or XL size. I should wear a medium but how uncool is it to wear the correct size! Get real!

When I think of it I text Danny, 'Did you make it through the night?' He texts right back, surprising me he's even out of bed, 'Yes, quite well although I have a blackout situation from about ten o'clock on.' It's twenty-after-eleven so that was thirteen-hours ago. I text, 'I'm on my way to get you.' With his keys in my hand I pat my pocket verifying I have the three vital necessities: my wallet, my cellphone and my cigarettes although the cigarettes won't be even thought about until much later today. Secondarily I like to have a handkerchief in my other back pocket to sneeze into should I need to do that. I'm opposed to guys sneezing loudly into the air in front of them sharing all their tiny mucus droplets with all of us in the vicinity. Opposed to the degree if I had a gun I'd shoot the person twice in their kneecaps... bang, bang.

Danny comes out at the toot of his Volkswagen's little horn and he says to me as he passes by the driver's window, "Best if you still drive, babe. I'm slightly shaky." He gets in, leans over and kisses my lips and then says, "Thank you for taking care of me last night. I owe you one." Or two or three, but who's counting? His breath smelled minty fresh this morning. Danny's breath always either smells fresh and clean or, after a day of eating subs or whatnot, it smells neutral. I don't know how that happens, but it's fact, not opinion. The exception being last night after throwing up, but I'd rather not think about that.

As Danny lies his head back on the seat, I drive away from the curb, asking him, "So, it was a black-out situation last night, huh?" He goes, "Yeah, but I remember all the good parts about you." Hmmm, maybe he's forgotten all that shit about Hayden wanting to be himself. It's a short drive to the high school. He, Hayden, and Robby all live in the same general area on the right side of Framingham Center much closer to the high school than from where I live.

While parking, I go, "Just a heads-up for you, Danny, that kid J.J. is as-gay-as-a-May-pole." His head comes up, " Whaaaat? J.J. Benintendi?" I go, "The very one," and Danny's like, "Are you shitting me?" I tell him about J.J. coming on to me last night at practice with the back rub and talk of gay clubs. We're parked in the lot next to the ballpark still sitting in the car. I go, "And he's coming to the Green Cottage, or whatever it's called Saturday night which, as you may remember, is tonight." Danny's horrified, "How'd this happen? How'd he know you're gay?" I shrug, "Fuck if I know. I didn't ask him and neither of us said the word, 'gay' but we both knew."

We get out wearing our baseball caps and carrying our gloves. He leans against the car changing into his baseball cleats. Danny's gift to me of barely used batting gloves are dangling out my back pocket; the pocket with my wallet. I wouldn't want to put the gloves in the pocket with my handkerchief because that could pull out when I pull out the gloves and everyone would make fun of me for carry a handkerchief, the barbarians.

Danny's baffled and very concerned about gay J.J. He goes, "What'll we do, Dylan? No one knows I'm gay and he'll see me at the club tonight. His fucking uncle is Coach Benintendi!" I go, "No shit. I didn't think there'd be two Benintendi's without them being related somehow." He's frantic, asking again, "What'll be do? Not go clubbing tonight?" There's an idea I could embrace!! But no, they can't go the rest of their lives avoiding gay clubs, not if they like gay clubs! I ask, "What are the chances J.J. is out of the closest?" Danny holds onto my arm, so I stop, but he didn't want us to stop, he just wanted to hold my arm, so we go on. I haven't learned all his touching-signals yet.

He goes, "There's no chance J.J. is openly gay or I'd know about him." I shrug, "So we confront him, that's if we see him at the Green House. We'll form a pack of secrecy with him, basically for you and him. You won't tell he's gay and he won't mention about you. Me, I don't give a shit if he outs me or not." Danny squeezes my arm, "You are one smart mother-fucker, babe!" I go, "Wrong on both counts," and he asks, "Whadaaya mean?" I shake my head, "Nothing. So, we go to the club tonight, and fuck with J.J.!" Danny looks at me, "Both of us?" I shake my head, "Not literally fuck him, Danny. We fuck him over with the threat to 'out' him if he says anything about you. Actually, considering his hard-ass uncle, your friend J.J. has more to lose than you do."

Hayden comes over all bright eyed and bushy tailed. What the fuck does that mean anyway? Hayden doesn't have a tail. He goes, "Hi, guys!" and Danny lets go of my arm to do a guy hug with Hayden. Then he tells Hayden about J.J. and Hayden goes, "That short guy with the weird eyes?" I go, "Yes, that J.J." Both Danny and Hayden now seem jumpy and nervous, but I have no fucking idea what Hayden's problem is. Every-fucking-body already knows he's gay. Danny's in the closet and I mean not only to his mother, but to the whole world, except for Rob, Hayden, and me. Well, there's also the guy who pays Danny, or used to, twenty-bucks to let him blow Danny.

Rob comes over looking very well rested, but not happy. We do a quick hug 'hello' and he grumps, "Fucking Westborough is hanging over my head like a hangman's noose. Damn, I hate wasting the weekend there." I go, "Double-time pay. Don't forget that." Robby grins, "Hey, my positive thinking is finally wearing off on you, babe." Yours or Danny's positive thinking. I go, "You've got no realistic option anyway, ya gotta go to Westborough, so fuck it. Make the best of it and you also need to make up to me for breaking our dinner date in Boston tonight." He goes, "Holy shit! I forgot about that. Yeah, spending some of Dodger's thousand-dollars. Next Saturday, Dylan... that's a date! Definitely and I'm sorry I forgot." I go, "Oh Christ, forget it. You've got other things to think about."

The baseball practice this morning is a full one, meaning it'll last at least an hour. The Coaches taking attendance, that's the first thing on the agenda, and then we break-up into infielders and outfielders and the "PING! PING! sounds mean we're off and running. In the outfield, I over run a fly and it drops behind me, and another ball is over my head but then I do catch one after a kinda long run and that's the one Coach Benintendi happens to be looking up at. The other two he was looking in another direction. Then when Danny and I are in the infield fielding grounders and pop-ups, Coach is walking by when I back-hand a hot grounder headed for the hole between me and the first baseman. Coach mumbled, "Nice stop, Newman," and he's on his way to observe as many players as he can. After my good catch, I looked over at Danny who's grinning at me, mouthing, 'and you say you're not good enough''. The Coaches aren't seeing my fuck-ups so I guess my guardian angel is still with me. In the first place, it's not like I suck at baseball. For sandlot games, I'm one of the first two or three players picked when choosing sides. I'm just not consistently good enough for organized high school teams, never mind college teams. It's not about one good play after three bad ones. Ya gotta make them all, or almost all.

Waiting for my turn at the batting cage J.J., who I avoided until now, comes up behind me and pokes my side like he did last night. I turn and say, "Yo, J.J. what's up, dude?" He goes, "Hi Dylan. I wanted to apologize for being a bit too, um, obnoxious yesterday. I guess that's as good a word as any for how I acted." I raise my eyebrows questioning, like, 'Yeah, and...?' He goes on, "My neighbor, Teddy Tesdavery, and I had a discussion last summer about the best looking gay guys we'd ever seen. Teddy's bi, and he described you. I never forgot your name, Dylan, and when I heard someone call you by that name and then saw you up close aI I thought you've gotta be that fucker Teddy was boasting about."

My mind is going a mile a minute... Teddy Tesdavery? Who the fuck's that? Until, oh no, Theodore Tesdavery the III. Fucking Stringbean! I mutter, "Bean?" and he's like, "Yeah, Bean, he was fucking you on a regular basis a few summers back and he couldn't say enough good things about you. I should have come right and said I knew him instead of jerking you around. So I apologize for that, okay?" I nod, "Yeah, sure, but Bean wasn't fucking anybody routinely, never mind me... just for the record." He shrugs like he couldn't give a shit either way and then his name is called for the on-deck circle. The infielders are batting before the outfielders today. J.J. takes off saying over his shoulder, "Hey, Dylan, I saw that wicked line-drive homer you hit yesterday, dude, that was awe inspiring!" Jesus, all these assholes have me mixed-up with someone else!

Huh! That fucking Bean has always been like an old lady addicted to gossip. Mother-fucker! Danny is of course off doing his Mexican jumping bean routine seeing how many guys he can be cheerful to and pat their back or hug their shoulders, or usually both. He magically appears though when it's our turn to bat, and he tells be to bat before him. In the batting cage, I'm thinking about the J.J. and Bean situation and not thinking about batting. Consequently, I swing free and easy not worrying about it and "BING!" The Coach mutters, "Double in the gap", and notes something on his clipboard. Then "BING' and Coach's monotones," Single up the middle," and another "BING!" with Coach saying, "That ball is fucking outta here," and I look up and see the ball fly over the left field fence this time. Holy shit!

Okay, now I get invested in my hitting and my next three swings are, "No contact. Strike one" and "Easy out to second," and, "Another swing and miss." I'm frowning and scratching my ass as the Coach says, "C'mere, Newman. What'd the fuck I tell you about swinging for the fence all the time? You're obviously a power hitter, but not every fucking swing, son!" He pats my shoulder, adding, "Don't make me tell you every fucking practice. Okay?" I go, "Sorry Coach," and he goes, "No sweat, good batting practice today." Ha ha, this is so un-fucking-believable!

Danny takes his swings and we're soon walking back to his car with him saying, "The fresh air has done wonders for me, Dylan. I'll drive!" He's been back to being the smiling, happy-go-lucky touchy/feely Danny Monday during most of practice, and I've got no problem with that. Rob waves at me and we come together for a regular-guy-hug with him saying, "I'll miss you, Dylan, but don't call or anything, okay? Let me get this Westborough shit done as quickly as I can. I'll text when I'm done and then we'll be together Sunday night, right, Dylan?" I nod, "Right, boss. I'll miss you too. Hey, here's another silver lining: you get to avoid the gay club tonight." He laughs, "Yeah, but Danny will get us all there eventually. I can't wait to hear your version of tonight's activities. I know it'll be different from what I hear from Danny-boy. Try to have fun, Dylan." We do another quick hug and I turn away, crazily wishing I could go with him to Westborough. A night in Westborough though? Maybe the Green Lawn Club is a better option after all.

Danny calls over to Hayden, who we see walking to his car, "Yo, Hayden, wha'cha gonna do now?" Hayden says, "A fucking dentist appointment. Clean my awesome teeth." Danny grins at him, "Ya better text me later, ya hot shit you." Hayden nods, smiling and saying, "Yeah, of course. See you later, Dylan." I wave still thinking about my first three swings in the batting cage. Damn, I almost got a boner hitting the ball like that... and I wasn't even paying attention. Hey! Maybe that's the secret to batting! At least for me... have something else on my mind. This might work after all.

I get in the car and Danny goes, "I haven't thanked you yet for agreeing to help me with Hayden. Get him back to his old self, feeling good about himself." Oh fuck, all my good feelings about discovering the secret of hitting are replaced by... 'Danny remembers our Hayden 'talk' from last night. Oh fuck, yeah but what did I promise to do, anyway? Damn!' I'll deal with that later. For now, I mutter, "I thought we were going for pizza someplace," and Danny goes, "That was my plan but I didn't know about Hayden's dentist appointment. Do you still want to go?" I shrug, "Sherborne's a long ride for a pizza, and since Hayden can't go let's do it another time." Danny's like, "You got it, babe." I ask, "Can you do me a favor and stop at my friend's house? It's not far from my place and I promised him I'd get his mail while he's away." Danny goes, "I'd love to do you a favor, Dylan. Never hesitate to ask me for one anytime." Hmmm, I wonder if that includes buddy-sex. Yeah, we definitely have unfinished business from last night...

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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