Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 26

by Donny Mumford

After Saturday's baseball practice Danny's driving me to Dodger's townhouse for a quick stop so I can take his mail inside for him. I barely remember the way but when I see the Frederick's Plaza on route 30 I know where we are. Dodger and I had some beers in Frank's Tavern once. It's only one of six-establishments in the plaza; a Dunkin' Donuts shop is one of the other shops which is convenient for Dodger who's a big fan of their coffee.

The new road is near the firehouse and when Danny turn onto it we see the huge construction site hidden from route 30 by a forest of trees. It'll be a picturesque setting when completed and surrounded by the lucky trees that escape the bulldozer. Unfortunately, there will probably be a billion mosquitos in the hot nights of summer as the huge reservoir is a few hundred-yards behind the hill at the back of the site and then part of this site was once marshlands. I didn't notice any mention of mosquitos or marshlands on the billboard picturing the idyllic completed project.

At Dodger's townhouse, I find some packages on his front stoop. In his mailbox are a couple of smaller packages along with some junk mail. Danny's sitting in his idling Volkswagen as I unlock Dodger's front door and take everything inside. I won't snoop even to the degree of looking closely at the packages. Actually I'd rather not know what's in these packages although I'm not sure exactly why I feel that way. It's just that Dodger... oh, I don't know.

Everything gets put on the kitchen table and then after a quick look around, assuring myself all is well and that no one's broken in and stolen the flat screen TV, my work here is done. Nice place and it still has the new paint and new carpet smell. The way a new car has it's distinct new-car smell. Locking the door behind me I'm relieved to get this favor behind me for now.

Getting back in the car, I mumble, "Thanks, Danny. I promised to do this for Dodger and now it's off my mind." He drives away, mumbling, "Fuck, if I knew it was for him I might not have brought you over here." I go, "Yeah, you would have because you're a good guy. Plus, Dodger and Rob have reconciled, I told you that. Robby would want me to do this little favor for his brother." He shrugs, perhaps not so sure about that.

To change the subject, I ask, "Ya wanna get some lunch? I skipped breakfast." He nods, "Yeah, I didn't have anything for breakfast myself. Wasn't sure I could hold it down, but after running around at practice with all the fresh air in my lungs, plus the Tylenol I took this morning I'm feeling okay. Where do you wanna eat?" We decide on Friendly's because the grease associated with a fast food restaurant probably wouldn't be a good idea considering the delicate condition of our stomachs. On the way, I text Dodger and tell him how many new packages came in the mail: seven, plus I assure him all is well at his townhouse. Naturally I get no text back, but Chubby's like that sometimes too.

Okay, realizing I'm gonna need to deal with a certain pain-in-the-ass topic sooner or later, I go, "So... um, last night you were asking me to reassure Hayden that his gay affectations are not annoying to me. Is that about the gist of the matter?" Danny glances at me, "Yes, that's it exactly and thanks for remembering. You're a good friend to help me with this, and I'm serious!" Nodding my head, my heart not really in it, I go, "So, we agree Hayden should keep his act down to say the level it was at when I first met him at the movies a month ago. Is that about it?" Danny looks at me grinning and saying, "You just summarized beautifully what I took half-an-hour to get at last night in the bar." I mumble, "Alcohol challenges us all, Danny." He nods, looking serious and then says, "It's not an act with Hayden, ya know. Hayden's affectations, as you call them, are him being himself doing his, um, swishy stuff for lack of a better description. I don't know a better word for it, but don't put him down for being himself, okay? I don't like when guys do that."

He's right of course. I go, "I wouldn't dump on Hayden or anyone else for being themselves. Bottom line: as far as I'm concerned Hayden should be himself, period!" He nods, "Yes, and now you need to tell him that." I go, "Yes Sir, I will." He drives of route 30 and onto route 9 for a minute and then, at a traffic light he looks over, "I didn't mean that as an order! Are you mad, Dylan?" I shrug, "No! Absolutely not. You're totally right, honestly!" He goes, "Fuck, you are so nice!" Shaking my head, I mutter, "Not always I'm afraid. Sometimes I'm not as nice as I'd like to be."

Friendly's is at the end of an upscale strip-mall that Danny enters at the opposite end for some reason. He carefully drives though the various parking lots to the Friendly's end of the mall dodging people who are pushing shopping carts and giving us the finger whenever Danny dares to drive within twenty-feet of them. These assholes will switch from pedestrians to drivers themselves in a couple of minutes and then people will be giving them the finger. As a pedestrian, you hate drivers and when you get in your car you hate pedestrians. Human beings blow!

Danny parks near the Friendly's restaurant which is, like I said, on the far end of a large groups of stores that includes Kohl's, Market Basket, Payless Shoes and six others. There's lots of parking available on the other side of Friendly's and almost none available on the mall side. Also, it's a little past one-thirty in the afternoon so the lunch crowd has thinned-out considerably and inside Friendly's the hostess greets us with a pained-smile and sits us at a table immediately.

All types of people are eating here: there's the haggard moms with screeching five-or-six-year old children who clearly have way more energy than their mothers. Where the fuck the fathers are is anybody's guess. Golfing is a good guess. Then there are some older couples grumpily eating their clam chowder pissed-off that they've gotten so old, and teenage girls of various ages in giggling contests in between gulping down large burgers and fries adding inches to their already fat asses. Plus there's the usual group of young, loud-mouthed teenage boys making disgusting burping sounds on purpose and sticking French fries in their noses making each other laugh... disgusting! And then the other middle-of-the-road customers not causing anyone any trouble. In other words, from toddlers to great grandparents, that's the cliental for Friendly's.

We're at a sticky table-for-four near the windows. Looking out the dirty window mostly what I notice is that the parking lot's badly in need of repaving. Across the aisle from us are booths all along the inside wall. I hate booths. Danny, sitting across from me is grinning again causing a passing thought to flicker past my brain, to wit: does his face ever gets sore from cheerfully smiling or grinning all the time? The hostess reappears and drops two sticky oversized-menus unceremoniously on the table mumbling an insincere, "Welcome to Friendly's," and then she takes her over-worked skinny body back to the front of the restaurant to await whatever comes next for her.

Danny looks at the menus and then at the hostess who's quickly walking away, and he brightly says, "I like this place!" I shrug and he opens his menu, adding, "They have the most delicious-looking pictures of food in these menus!" I haven't touched my menu yet as Danny looks at a few pictures and goes, "Have you noticed that the food when it's served never lives up to these high-gloss pictures." I go, "A metaphor for life, my friend." He looks puzzled by that, so I move on, asking, "So, whaddaya feel like having for lunch today, Danny?" He's turning the plastic-covered pages and goes, "Oh, fuck! I see what I want right off the bat. They have a Clam Strips Platter with fries, cole slaw and tarter sauce." I laugh out loud, muttering, "Yeah, riiiiight!" and then, glancing up, realize he's serious, so I go, "Oh, yeah, that sounds, um, interesting. Hmmm though, I'm inclined to go with one of their ten-burger-platter offerings. Now if I can only discern what's different between the ten." Danny reaches across the table to grip my wrists, seriously saying, "You can get a burger anyplace, babe. Try one of their platters why don'cha." Shrugging I go, "Yeah, okay, but I'm definitely buying our lunch today. Just want you to know right from the start. It's my treat and no arguing about it. I owe you for drinks the other night and you've been driving me around for two weeks now, which I thank you for."

He does argue against me buying lunch but then we get interrupted by the waitress. She's twenty-something-years-old with lackluster hair, an almost non-existent nose. She's also unfortunately got a two-wide mouth in which she's giving a small piece of gum quite a workout. "What are you gonna have, boys?" Danny confirms he was serious about the clam strips when he orders that for lunch, plus a glass of milk for his beverage. I get my gagging under control, and go, "I don't know. Um, how about the Country Chicken Tenders platter and a large Coke?" She goes, "Was that an order or are you asking about the Chicken Tenders platter?" Omigod! A smart-ass waitress, what fun! She snaps her tiny piece of gum, a Chiclet perhaps, and I realize I'm up against a superior mind so I meekly mumble, "It was my order," and I give her a nasty stare which bounces right off her. Wonder Waitress! After three more deliberate cracks of her tiny piece of gum, she picks up the menus and takes off without a friendly word. And we're in a Friendly's restaurant!

I go, "Did you happen to notice how many calories your clam strips platter has in it, Danny?" He shakes his head, "No, how many?" I couldn't believe it when I read it in the ingredient section so I'm kind of grinning because it's so ludicrous. I'm like, "According to the menu it has a mere fifteen-hundred-and-fifty calories, plus the calories in the milk, ugh!" He ignores the high calorie amount and responds to my 'ugh', by asking, "Don't you like milk?" I shrug, "In a milk shake or ice cream, yeah. Or with a big bowl of Froot Loops." He goes, "I drink milk whenever I can." Why doesn't that surprise me?

Danny asks, "How many calories in your chicken tenders platter?" I snort out a chuckle because I have little room to smirk at the calories in his platter. I go, "A little over a thousand. Friendly's has some big balls listing the calories though, huh?" He goes, "Maybe there's a law that requires them to list that information." I mutter, "Undoubtedly! Ya know, ever since the pilgrim landed they all got right down to the business of making laws and there's been law-makers from then on, all frantically writing new laws. That's been going on for four-hundred-plus years now. They've come up with a law about any and everything you can think of, and then some." Danny looks serious, "How do you know it's been four-hundred years?" Never sure if he's putting me on, and usually finding out he isn't, I grin, mumbling, "Just a guess, buddy."

Our drinks arrive and from the condensation on the outside of Danny's glass of milk it looks cold. Warm milk, well gag me with a shovel, ya know? I suck on my straw getting a lot of ice cold Coke down my throat to help offset the dehydration part of my hangover. Danny drinks milk like he drinks beer: gulp, gulp, gulp, leaving the milk mustache on his top lip that six-year-old boys made famous. I smile at him because I'm still 'crushing on him, and because I like him a lot even if he is a few screws short of a hardware store.

Waiting for our lunch I hear a giggle and feel a presence so I turn to my left and there's an overly-buxom chunky cheerleader-type teenage girl with traffic-stopping torpedoes stretching out her sweater, severely testing the resiliency of the material. My best guess, going by the size of those Gerber Servers, this girl is anywhere between fourteen and seventeen. Danny frowns moving his head toward the windows and away from the torpedo as if he's worried she might fire one of those guns off. She giggles again covering her mouth with a hand that has five rings; one on each finger and another for her thumb. Danny and I are now both frowning at her as she twists her torso to look back at the booth containing her three girlfriends, who are all sucking on the straws of their drinks either looking embarrassed or mischievous; it's hard to tell which. Our chunky cheerleader's lung-protectors couldn't keep up with the centrifugal force of her fast torso swivel but struggle to catch-up and now threaten someone other than Danny and me. Her bra must contain some heavy metal.

Turning back to us, the cheerleader flutters her obviously false eyelashes and giggles again and again covering her mouth, before saying, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but my friends," and she does another torso swivel to point her over-sized tits at the other three giggling creatures in the booth she came from, and then, swish, go her guns catching up with her body, her sweater looking tired and maybe about ready to give up the challenge. She goes, "I lost a bet and so I'm here to ask if you two are brothers or fraternal twins?" Danny's frowning so hard his eyebrows almost touch over his nose like he can't believe this intrusive person from another tribe. He blurts out, "Go away!" and I snort out a laugh and slap the table. Perfect! And then manage to say, "Danny, please!" The chunky cheerleader is standing here unaffected by Danny's request. Yeah, she's standing but at the same times she somehow appears to be in constant motion.

The girl has beautiful big bright-green eyes but alas, like so many, her long pointy nose is letting her down big time! Having had experience with members of this tribe up close and personal, I mean, get serious, one of them tricked my boyfriend into getting her pregnant. With that experience behind me, I take the lead and go, "Which one did you guess, brothers or fraternal twins?" She hunches her heavy shoulders and acts like she doesn't want to tell me, and then goes, "I guessed you're just brothers, not twins. That's what I told them," and then another torso twist with her big-boys lazily following slightly behind the rest of her. I go, "Well you're correct!" Pointing across the table, I go, He's Danny Tuesday and I'm his little brother, Mickey Tuesday. We're with the carnival that's set-up at the Framingham common." She's excited now, "There's a carnival in town?" Danny's eyes are slightly bulging as he moves them back and forth from me to her, depending on whose talking. I go, "Yes, that's correct." She's says very fast, "You're both beautiful," and almost slips and falls on her ass turning quickly to leave us. She regains her footing and stalks back to her booth, triumph that she'd guessed correctly.

Danny chastises me, "She was annoying but don't make fun of her, Dylan. Poor girl, but why do they think we're brothers?" I shrug, "Probably because we have the same haircut. It's pretty much the only thing we have in common except our height." Now that she's gone and Danny feels safe, he's leaning out slightly and looking down at the girls' booth, muttering, "That was weird. Does shit like this happen to you a lot?" I shake my head, "No, it must be you." He goes "Bull shit, just yesterday it was that J.J. character and today that girl." I don't know what to tell him because I don't know myself. Yeah, why do these odd confrontations happen to me? Fortunately, our waitress has arrived with our twenty-five-hundred-plus calorie lunches so I don't need to have an answer for Danny.

Putting it mildly, Danny's right, the food doesn't taste nearly as good as it looked in the pictures, but Danny, like Robby, is a determined eater just the same and he easily works his way through the clam platter with the aid of another glass of milk. I lose most of my appetite smelling the strong fishy smell of Danny's clam strips. Such is life sometimes, but I do get to glance at Danny quite often as he's chowing down. I need to admit to myself that he does look cool with that haircut. Maybe I do too. Fucking Robby, could he be right again?

Leaving most of my platter, explaining earnestly that I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was. Danny listens to that lie of mine while eating three of my chicken fingers. He finally agrees it's okay that I pay the bill, but with a compromise that he leaves the tip. Then I hesitate before heading to the front to pay the bill because Danny's tip is approaching, but not quite reaching, eight-percent of the bill. Hmmm? Oh fuck it, the waitress sucked anyway. We just won't be coming in here again any time soon. Danny sees me gawking at the poultry tip he left, asking, "What's wrong, Dylan?" Smiling at him, I go, "Absolutely nothing. Let's go," and that's what we do, stopping at the cash register on our way out to pay for the wildly overpriced and over-caloried meals. I'm not a complainer, not just for the sake of complaining anyway, but when it's appropriate, which it is an alarming amount of the time, I feel obliged to mention when something sucks and this lunch really sucked!

In Danny's car he turns toward me and goes, "Here's my confession, Dylan. Since baseball practice I've had the strongest urge to fuck you so hard your eyes pop out of your head." I don't know what to say to that. Certainly not 'Finally!' So I say, "Gee, really? That's, um, flattering, Danny. And, minus the eyeball thingie, I'd love to do buddy sex with you. Let me call home, although I'm positive my Mom's out." Yeah, one Saturday a month she takes off from work and her and Tris usually go to lunch and then shop. What else!

Mom answers my call and I can hear lots of background noise telling me she's in a restaurant. I guessed that from the clinking of silverware and a lady, a waitress for sure, explaining to someone what kind of sauce comes with shrimp scampi. Ignoring that, I go, "I didn't see you this morning, Mom, and just wanted to say I hope you and Tris are having a great time on your day off." She says, "Sweetheart, thank you, we are, but please refrain from drinking all my orange/mixture drinks. I buy the OJ exclusively for you, Honey. You know, so I'll have my special juice mixture. Okay, sweetheart?" Huh! I guess my note wasn't an 'Awww' mom's moment after all. She's pissed, or as pissed off as Mom's capable of getting, which ain't a lot. I apologize and then she overwhelms me with her apologies for coming on too strong about the juice. I find out the twins are taking the Moms to Foxwoods again for a show and some slot machine gamboling and then another over-nighter which I'm sure is what's mostly behind going on the trip in the first place; at least as far as the twins are concerned. Mom and I say goodbye on awesome terms after I accepted her last eight apologies for her even mentioning the juice fiasco.

I tell Danny, "The coast is clear. Let's make our next stop my place and we'll visit my bedroom." Danny goes, "Oh man, I'm excited! We'll get naked, right? I don't get a chance to get naked for sex hardly ever." I go, "Yeah, okay, good idea." And it is too. I feel excited myself and consequently I'm over enthusiastic, saying, "Nothing like afternoon extemporaneous sex!" Danny goes, "Technically, is it extemporaneous if we've just planned it?" Way to go, Danny! I mutter, "No, not technically."

I get him to park behind the condo and we go in through the garage door with Danny saying, "Um, you're sure your Mom's out for the day.' Ha, I'd be asking for that same reassurance if we were going into his house for sex. Hell, I seek reassurance from Rob every time we're planning some sexy fun at his house. Sexy fun! Yeah, I like that way of putting it because sex is fun, and a whole lot more too. Yeah, what's more fun than sex? I can't think of a single thing.

Looking over at Danny, whose driving is slightly on the dangerously aggressive side, but mostly I can't help smiling to myself at his excellent profile. He's probably never given his 'looks' much of a thought although he's very nice-looking with cuteness now mostly only from his grin and really-nice smile. I'll bet as a fifteen-year-old he was so cute you'd want to ruffle his hair, or pinch his cheek, or tell him `You're cute as a bug's ear', any of which would probably result in him telling you to go fuck yourself and then try doing you harm or harming the dog you're walking, or both. Yeah, that's a difficult age, fifteen.

Danny has no blemishes of any kind that I've noticed on his face or body, and I've seen him naked a couple of times and I've checked. His skin is smooth and especially sexy where the skin is covering his many muscles that are smooth and rounded rather than overly obvious and sharply defined like body-builders. I personally find exaggerated body building repulsive; male and especially female body builders... gag me with a barbell! I don't necessarily mean the guys or women who do the body building are repulsive per se, their bodies are what's repulsive... as in grotesque. They might very well be awesome people other than that. 'Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how'd you like the play?'

Danny's hunky shoulder are sexy too; and no, he's not the slightest bit grotesque. Overall he has an A+ body without a single piercing or tattoo. Sort of a flashback to guy's in the fifties and sixties maybe. Yeah, when did tattoos become so prevalent anyway? In my lifetime?

We're sitting in Danny's idling Volkswagen and I suppose tattoo-less Danny is waiting for me to get out, while I'm thinking about my first tattoo. It was a 'Dylan' tattoo because I couldn't think of anything else to tell the scary mother-fucker who did the tattoo. I got it in that shop on the boardwalk three or four years ago. The Mohawk Man's Barbershop and Tattoo Parlor. What an experience that was! Holy shit! Without me even asking for it, Mohawk man, a huge gruff and scary-looking man with a long Mohawk hairdo, gave me a truly authentic Mohawk haircut too. Yeah, my scalp was completely shaved-shiny except for the strip of hair down the middle of my head, and he didn't leave much of a strip either.

Oh man, that's a scary but yet exhilarating memory. I was in the deepest sexual trance I've ever been in my life. When that big scary ape was done scalping and tattooing me, handling me like I weighted twenty-pounds, he fucked me with abandon. Wow, what a fucking animal! And he had one of the biggest, fattest, hardest cocks ever on a human. Done fucking me, his cum gushing out of my ass, he spanked me really, really hard and then sent me on my way like a little kid, which is how I felt; a smacked ass little kid with an authentic mohawk haircut and a stinging tattoo high on my right arm. Regressed me in age through his dominance and I felt too young to have a tattoo and was mad he didn't give me a lollypop after my Mohawk haircut. Mommy! Jesus, ha ha, that was probably the most submissive I've ever felt in my life! I actually tried working-up the balls to go back to his shop that summer for another spanking and fucking, but I was younger and stupider than I am now. Omigod, what a vacation in Wildwood that was!

Danny interrupts my musings as I'm unconsciously poking my junk, asking, "Shall we get out, Dylan?" I go, "What's that? Oh, we're here! Of course, let's get out." Damn, I'd never have the balls to go into that Mohawk shop now. Back then everything intrigued me. Holy shit though, did I ever have a climax for the ages, and Mohawk man knew it too. My ass was sore for hours after I left his shop, and I mean both from that hard spanking and especially the fucking. Quite the memory, huh? Whoa! "What's wrong, Dylan? Aren't you going to punch in the code?" I look at Danny, "Yeah, sorry. Those chicken fingers were playing havoc with my stomach there for a second." He shrugs, "You hardly even touched your lunch." I punch in the code and we go in with me saying, "I'm good now, Danny. Let's go upstairs."

As we're going up the stairs, I say, "I just wanna tell you, Danny, and I'm sincere about this, no joking around... I'm really happy we've become friends. And just so you know, I think you're a really good guy and I like you a lot. Wish I'd been smarter and followed up on your offers of friendship in the past." Looking serious, he gets his arm around the back of my neck pulling me against him, saying, "I don't know anyone else who would be a big enough person to admit something like that, Dylan, and I appreciate it a lot," and he kisses the top of my head." Fuck, I don't know anyone who is as affectionate as he is! He might misinterpret my meaning though if I told him that, so I just put my arms around the back of his waist giving him a hug, returning some affection. He mutters, "Uh oh, this is gonna be hot, huh, Dylan?" I mumble, "I hope so."

We go upstairs and he turns right at the hall, remembering where my bedroom is from the last time he was here. It's the only other time he's been here but I hope to make it a more frequent event moving forward. In my bedroom, he says, "I hope this isn't rude of me, but would you mind if I wash my mouth out in your bathroom, and maybe borrow some mouthwash? Ya know, there's a lingering fish taste in my mouth." I nod, "No, I don't mind!" I go in the bathroom with him to take a piss. He goes, "Okay if I take a piss next to you?" I chuckle, "Are you kidding? Of course you can."

We fish out our almost identical dicks and hold them in place with a couple of fingers and a thumb, pointing our peckers at the open toilet bowl, and we're all set for step two. All we need to do now is think in our brains, 'release the piss' and two piss streams hit the toilet water at the same time. The brain has some mysteries still uncovered by scientists. Normally I don't like to piss in public bathrooms when strangers are at a close urinal, or even in the lavatory with me. It's a 'thing' I have, but with friends I can piss into the small opening of a can of Coke standing next to said friend while doing it... if need be, ya know? That'd be some kind of emergency situation obviously. It's just that in public places, with strangers nearby, sometimes I can't prime the pump to get started, which is why I always go for a toilet stall if at all possible.

Done pissing we wash our hands side by side as I ask, "Would you like to use my toothbrush?" He laughs out loud shaking his head, finally saying, "I never know what crazy shit you're gonna say next. That's a good one!" I'll take that as a 'no', so I use my toothbrush while he cups handfuls of water to rinse out his mouth. Many handfuls of water get sucked into his mouth and then extensive gargling takes place before he spits out the water and does it all over again. After a while I'm beginning to think he's never going to stop doing that, and consequently I'm positive I'm going to scream although I never actually do it out-loud, only in my head giving me a slight headache. At least a dozen mouthfuls of water get slushed around in his mouth for like ten-seconds each before spitting it out and doing it again. I'm done brushing and rinsing while he's on his fifth mouthful of water. I use some mouthwash too because Danny's foreplay involves mostly making-out. Hey, and that's not a complaint!! I'm looking forward to it although normally there's only rough making-out, if any, associated with true buddy-sex. Danny's apparently rewriting the book on that though.

I've dried my hands and face by the time he's ready for the mouthwash. He wipes the opening of the mouthwash bottle with his hand, making me grin, thinking, 'Oh, he's one of those, huh?' After three elaborate rinsing with the mouthwash he begins rinsing his mouth out with water again and does it three-times. By now I leaning up against the wall with my arms folder over my chest grinning at how meticulously he does everything and, yeah, I'm also looking at his ass a little bit too. After he vigorously washes his face, he appears to be done cleaning. I hand him a fresh hand towel with him mumbling, "Thanks, babe." After he dries his hands and face completely he tosses the hand towel in the sink and takes my hand, smiling and saying, "Let's have some sexy fun." I go, "Alright." I couldn't help but notice Danny hasn't picked-up on many of Rob's neatness habits. Rob would have folded the towel in half and placed it neatly over a towel rack. I tend to be more in the Danny-camp with things like used-towels.

I gotta say, once Danny's ready there's no hesitating. He's far from promiscuous, but when the mood does hit him Danny's very sure of himself and he moves things right along. Pulling me by my hand back into the bedroom, he goes, "Ah, bedroom sex! What could be better, huh?" I nod, kinda anxious now as I'm definitely feeling my arousal for him building. He's an exceptional side-sex-buddy and I guess I don't understand his reluctance to do more of it. I'd blame it on lack of opportunity except I've given him a number of opportunities that he's pasted-up on... one way or another. Last night for, example, he pasted-up the opportunity by getting too drunk, and that's after saying we'd definitely have buddy-sex last night. I've given a thought that maybe it has something to do with me personally except he's so complimentary about our infrequent sex together that, unless he's an awfully good liar, I have to believe it's not me he's reluctant to have side-sex with. Excellent liar... there's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one. In any case Danny being a good liar would contradict everything else about him, so I don't think that's it.

Without any delay, we undress and drop our clothes on my desk chair in a mixed pile. Danny and me, like I said, are not the neatness guru Rob is. Completely naked now, not even wearing socks, I stare at Danny's body and think, 'Holy shit, am I lucky!' Another thing strikes me for the first time and it's this: with most American boys being routinely circumcised it's extremely unusual that in our group only Hayden has had most of his foreskin removed. The other three of us are an anomaly, especially is our small group of four. I can't imagine another group of four friends that three would be uncut. In the U.S. you'd think it'd be the other way around. Also the word 'circumcised' contains the word 'cum' so I don't know if that means anything. I'm guessing it doesn't. Chubby isn't circumcised either. Mom and Tris would probably have had it done, not knowing any better, except for some dumb luck happenstance preventing it. Probably they didn't have the money for it... Chub and I thank you, Moms, whatever the reason.

Danny puts his hands on my shoulders, rubbing lightly while saying, "I love feeling a guys' body and I know it annoys some guys, especially straight ones, but not you, right?" I go, "Nope, I like it," and he smiles, "I know you do which is why I do it with you. You like holding hands too! Anyway, I just basically enjoy the feel of you. Glad you like it." I shrug, "Yeah, but there's is a time and a place though. I mean it's not appropriate just anywhere, anytime." He nods his head, "We're on the same page with that, Dylan. Now, your boyfriend, Rob, he gets annoyed, and.... oops, sorry for mentioning that. Forgive me." I make a 'face', muttering, "That's alright, Danny. It's not like I don't know you 'top' him too." He nods, "Yeah, I do, and I've been doing it for a long time. We bonded through our love of baseball and then we took it up a level or two, but I've said too much." I mutter, "You haven't said enough."

Obviously him mentioning another of his side-sex buddies when he mentioned Hayden last night, and now he's not about to let anything else slip-out except he just did by talking about Rob like he does from time to time without realizing it. I find the most interesting thing is that when he slips about Robby and says something about the two of them it doesn't make me jealous. I again have a thought I've thought before: I'd love to be a fly on the wall watching those two have sex, Rob and Danny. Robby wouldn't want that I'm sure because I'll bet he's a docile 'bottom' for Danny the way I am. Danny's so nice and unassuming you somehow want to go along with him. Plus, he's a hot and sexy, nice-looking guy too!

He quietly says, "Please don't think I'm a freak, but I've got another quirky thing to ask you and I think I know the answer." I'm like, "Oh, what's that?" He grins and chuckles, saying, "This is kooky but would you just stand there and let me rub my hands all over you. You've got such a perfect body. The kind Leonardo da Vinci would sculpt. You know, if you lived a-couple-hundred-years-ago. I know he'd have somehow found you and ask you to model naked for him. I'd like to see the statue, let me tell you!" Huh? I go, "Um, first of all it'd be more like six-hundred-and-fifty-years ago." He frowns, "Whaddaya mean?" Shaking my head, "Nothing, I didn't mean to interrupt and, sure, I'll stand here while you rub your hands all over me. I mean, who wouldn't?"

He snickers, "You're very funny, ya know that?" I go, "No, seriously, the palms of your hands feel good. You don't do a lot of heavy lifting though do you?" I'm joking with him because his hands are soft, without calluses or rough spots, so he's not working construction or lumber-jacking, not with those hands. Or mine either! He says, "Yeah, I do heavy lifting at the dry cleaners for my part-time job. The suits get heavy when I'm bringing six or seven of them on hangers off the truck at the cleaners." Oh boy, that 'heavy-lifting-comment went right over his head. I mumble, "I was just kidding anyway. Truth is the feel of your hands give me chills up my spine; good ones though, and I've always kinda liked being naked." Big smile, as he excitedly asks, "Really?" I'm hoping that was a rhetorical'Really?' because, even for me, this is a little creepy.

He slides his hands across my shoulders, saying, "Your body's just about the perfect male form, Dylan. Da Vinci would think so too." I go, "Well look at you, and Leonardo! You with a body hotter than the hubs of hell." He goes, "What are they, the hubs of hell?" I shrug, "It's just something to say." He nods, "Yeah? Well my body filled out a lot in junior and senior year at high school, that's a fact. Also I put on some pounds of muscle since then by pumping iron. You, on the other hand, have a perfect boyish frame with proportional muscle definition." I'm like, "Boyish?" but that's what Rob said too. Danny's like, "Babe, that's not an insult! You just never had that last spurt where the shoulders widen and the frame firms up at a slightly larger size. Hell, I'm half the size of some of the guys on campus and I don't care. So what if you're slighter than I am? There are lots of guys taller, wider, and thicker than me, not that I'd want their bodies... no fucking way. The big oafs are totally unattractive if you ask me. You should be glad and proud of this body you have. Gays, a lot of them, appreciate a slim taut body like yours." You don't say?

He slides his hands off my shoulders, staring at my body, and for once not staring into my eyes. He goes, "Really hot biceps, but you've done only a little lifting? Is that right?" And without me answering, he mutters, "That's impressive," as if I had answered. I'm grinning to myself as his hands slide to my chest, "Perfectly-hot pecs too and your abs are tight and flat. You probably don't know this, but you've got what's called a rectangle shaped body, the best of all body shapes. It's straight up and down with good shoulder posture. Your torso is basically flat except for your great pectorals with really hot nipples, heh heh, and one nipple even has a sexy ring through it," and he laughs, "Omigod, you're so cool-looking, Dylan!"

He looks at me like I'm supposed to respond to that somehow. I shrug, having nothing to add to his commentary as his hand rub lightly down to my belly button and around my waist to rest on my buttocks. He's grinning again, asking, "Do I even need to say anything about your ass?" No, not really but he does anyway. "The ass that a statue should be made out of." He goes, "Oh fuck," and he squeezes my butt cheeks, muttering, "Not hard like a gymnast buttocks but perfectly firm, and talk about a bubble-butt, holy shit!" Patting my bare ass he again makes eye contact, saying, "If you look bubble-butt up in the dictionary, there's a picture of your ass." Ha ha... I've never heard that 'look something up in the dictionary' thing before. Well since yesterday. Danny's pretty much an expert on hot male bodies though. He learned stuff like 'rectangular shaped bodies' from reading body-building magazines. Reading those publications I feel is sort of a flaw in his character by the way, a minor one though.

Chuckling, Danny's studying me closely and rubbing my ass, muttering, "What a body, and you complained because I said you've retained your boyish frame! C'mon, it's awesome!" He looks up from my body and goes, "I love that you're okay with this touch/feely stuff, Dylan. Thank you. I've studied Hayden's body from head to toe and... oops, I slipped again. You and me just talk about you and me, right?" I'm like, "Um, not as far as I'm concerned. Feel free to talk about others as much as you want." He laughs out loud, "Christ, you're funny! You know very well neither of us talks about others," and he goes right back to looking at my body. Like he said, some or maybe most guys would get majorly creeped-out being examined like this by a friend, but me... I need to picture in my head that we're under a cold waterfall to keep me from springing a boner.

Bending down a little, both his hands sliding around from my ass to cup my cock and balls which makes me shudder. He nods his head like he's weighing my nuts and then he just slightly squeezes them as he says in a conversational speaking voice, "And these beauties are like twins of mine, wouldn't you say?" Thinking this is another rhetorical question I say nothing. Danny looks up at me again, still holding my junk in his two hands, my dick twitching, "Don't ya think so, babe? Our dicks are like twins." I nod, afraid to try talking because it might come out as a whining moan of arousal. Letting go my package, my cock and balls flop down in position as Danny straightens up and puts an arm behind my waist pulling me tight against him. I stare at the light freckles across the bridge of his nose while he looks down. Our private parts are hanging together with Danny getting a hand around both our dicks and dragging his hand down to the heads of our penises, and then he feels around down there with a finger, and goes, "Oh fuck!" He looks up at me grinning, our eyes almost crossing because our faces are so close, as he exclaims, "I've got you by a quarter inch!" I go, "Huh!"

He lets go of our cocks and leans down, almost kneeling as he circles my right leg with both hands and then, dragging his hands down to my knee and onto my calf, he says, "Perfectly shaped legs too, and with basically no hair except these almost invisible tiny blond hairs that I can't even feel." Grinning, I go, "How about my feet?" He chuckles pushing a finger at my toes, muttering, "Size, um, eight, I'm guessing, and such cute feet I feel like sucking on your toes." I think about Chubby's foot fetish wondering if it's faded with time. I go, "You didn't say a fucking think about my ankles, and my feet are size eight-and-a-half." He stands up laughing again, muttering," I stand corrected and I'm sorry to say you've got average, run-of-the-mill ankles." I go, "Boo!" and he holds my head between his hands and covers my mouth with his. I try kissing back so he lifts his head away and murmurs, "Let me continue to be in charge of everything. Is that okay, Dylan?" I nod my head feeling funny in my tummy, but it's a good 'funny' feeling.

I don't know another way to describe Danny's kissing-foreplay other than to call it lover's foreplay. It's deep kissing but gently and caring and sweet and very sexy too, except we're not in love... so what the fuck? I just don't know what to make of it except it's irresistible because Danny's doing it. If Hayden or Marty West or Pony or any other side-sex buddy tried it the way Danny does it, well I don't think there's any way it would work for me. Danny's the one doing it though and for some reason it seems just fine. He has a very good tongue in his pink and white mouth. His teeth obviously being the white part and everything else being pink or clear, meaning his bright saliva. I've noticed before that he has fresh breath and clear, sort-of-bubbly, cool saliva. It can't be cool because it's the same temperature as his and my bodies, but it still seems cool some-fucking-way just the same. His elaborate mouth cleaning in the bathroom earlier is appreciated by me now as there isn't a trace of the clam strips.

Our naked bodies are kept together by Danny's arms and hands while one of his hands is constantly caressing different parts of my body. And then both his hands are on my buttocks pulling my package against his as Danny licks my tongue and sucks on my lips. Our dicks are boning up with mine more of a fifty-yard-dash boning-up penis while Danny's is more the long-distant-runner boning-up kind of dick. His will probably stayed boned-up for the entire race if the racing metaphor holds true. I'm hoping so anyway.

When he pulls his mouth away from mine we both do gasping inhales and then he drags his tongue across my cheeks to my ear and licks there leaving behind a glob of spit that makes me hear muffled sounds in that ear. Like last time we did it Danny slowly backs me up until the backs of my legs hit the bed and then he lowers me down until I'm lying on my back, my feet still on the floor between his legs with Danny's partially lying on top of me, his mouth still on mine kissing and licking until I'm dizzy with sexual arousal. Just the feel of his body on me is enough to give me nice shivers all over.

When I went over backwards onto the bed Danny's body for a second or two wasn't flat against mine and my stone-hard boner had a chance to go where it wanted to go, which is tight against my belly. On the way there it lifted Danny's balls for half-a-second, broke free, and is now hard against me; it's one eye staring up at the two of mine. Danny lifts his head smiling, and murmuring, "You taste and smell so good I might shoot off before I get to fuck you." I go, "Don't do that, Danny." He grins, "I'm kidding, don't worry, babe, I'll take care of you." Again Danny comes up with an inappropriate response. This one by insinuating he's solely doing this for my benefit when he clearly said earlier he was horny for me. It's just a 'word' fuck-up thing that Danny's known for, and not indicative of an arrogant attitude. I'm positive of that because I've spent enough time with him by now to know.

Danny looks into my eyes confidently as he licks across my lips. Then he's nodding his head, I assume encouraging me to continue letting him take charge of the foreplay and continue doing what I'm doing, which is nothing except enjoying him and myself. My guess is that Danny is always the one 'leading' during sex with everyone he has sex with, not just me. He's too comfortable, too familiar with what he's doing for it not to be his normal foreplay. Although I know he doesn't see it like this, but what he does is dominant of him. The way he lies on me turning my head to the side so he can lick and kiss on my neck right under my jaw and around and up to my other ear leaving saliva there too and then brazenly licking my face here and there like he's 'marking' me. Dogs do that whenever they're in a new place. They go around leaving a little of their pee here and there outlining their territory. Thank God, Danny, as the alpha dog, uses spit instead. Once again, not surprising myself or apparently him, I have absolutely no problem with him licking his saliva all over me if he wants to. And actually that would be super awesome of him to lick my whole body. It's all quite sexually hypnotizing to me.

He does little licks under my chin, gently moving my head before doing it. I keep my head where he moves it as my boner throbs achingly against my belly. Danny licks along my jawbone again giving me shivers of arousal. I couldn't be more docile for him as his hips begin doing little dominant humps against my crotch. He moves my head facing forward again and then with a soft look in his eyes and a small contented smile on his face, he murmurs, "You're perfect, Dylan.". Like I said I'm a little hypnotized and I've slid into a very nice trance so I'm sure the expression on my face reassures him I'm pleased with everything he doing.

Gently, with a finger under my chin he guides my head back and up again so he can do more little kisses and licks under my jaw and around my neck from one side to the other with me squirming some now and stifling a moan of arousal. His constant little kisses and licks are so tantalizing my stomach muscles clench and a spurt of pre-cum hits my belly. All of his licks and kisses under my chin and on my neck remind me of Robby doing this the morning of the second night I slept with him at his house. The question I have is: did Rob learn those tender, and yes lover's kisses and licks from Danny doing it to him? That's not what I want to be thinking about right now though, and I'm not sure it matters anyway. We all learn things from others, right?

Danny feels my pre-cum on his stomach and lifts his head to look into my eyes. My mouth is slightly open, the feel of his saliva around my face and under my jaw, some high on my neck too is all drying now forming a sort of Danny-saliva-mask on my face. It's a surprisingly effective way of establishing who's the alpha dog. Something like that is 'gold' to the submissive sexual part of my brain. Winding down his foreplay after fortifying his top-dog status during sex, Danny purposely lets a crystal-clear sparkling drool of his saliva drop down into my mouth. He's grinning and then finishes-up his foreplay by doing two quick licks up the front of my nose to seal the deal. Now my mouth, both ears, and my nose are all filled with his saliva to one degree or another.

One last alpha-dog gesture though, his hand deliberately rubs the short hair on top of my head backwards, leaving it standing up instead of lying flat like his. With a pat on my cheek, he lifts off me and reaches for the lubricant in the drawer of the bedside table, as he murmurs, "Pull your legs back for me now, babe." I'm incredibly aroused feeling deliciously submissive being sweetly dominated, and consequently this delicious trance I'm in. It's not the deep kind of trances a truly dominant sex partner like Ryan induced in me, but this is a very pleasant one and my whole body's limp, except for my aching boner. In short... I'm more than ready to be fucked. I pull my legs up and Danny delicately pushes lubricant up my asshole, taking his time and quietly saying, "I could go on licking and kissing you all afternoon and finally getting both of us climaxing so hard we'd probably faint but that wouldn't be fair to you. You want to feel me fuck an orgasm out of you, right?" Squinting my eyes I'm not sure the other option might not be something to explore, but I say nothing fearing I'll break the tentative spell Danny's created here.

More lube goes up and around my ass and then, with a gob of lubricant on his hand he begins stroking his boner tightly, long tight strokes: stroke, stroke, stroke while looking me in the eyes, a small smile on his lips. He murmurs, "This is so excellent I can't begin to tell you, Dylan." With each stroke on his boner the head gets more swollen and the foreskin is now stretched back almost off the head. His penis might be a quarter-inch longer than mine when it's flaccid, but boned-up like it is now it's probably almost an inch longer than my still-throbbing boner that's lying tight against my belly, the head now lying in a pre-cum puddle.

Stroke, stroke, stroke on his wickedly hard and swollen boner as I stare at it and continue holding my legs back with an arm around each one. I squirm on the bed as my asshole's puckering and relaxing, puckering and relaxing. He puts the lubricant back in the drawer and steps closer to me with a pleasant expression on his face, saying, "You may think I look calm, babe, but I'm way past calm," and he gets his hands on top of my thighs pulling me towards him until my ass is completely off the side of the mattress. He makes a, "Swwwwooooze," sound exhaling a long breath as he pushes my legs far apart until I'm like, "Ooow, Danny that hurts," which fucks-up my trance and it goes 'Puff' and disappears. He seriously says, "I'm sorry but you need to be doing those exercises I told you about," and he keeps the pressure on my legs that are both bent at the knees and spread to far apart.

I make a 'face' but Danny ignores my discomfort and goes, "The exercises will help you move smoother around second base too. You're a little clunky sometimes, no offense intended." He casually takes a hand off my left leg relieving the pressure for that leg. Pulling his extremely hard boner away from its uptight position against his stomach, Danny makes a 'face' of expectation and plugs the head of his hard swollen cock in past my sphincter muscle and I go, "Oofth," and try squirming but he's got my other legs pressed apart again, hurting both sides of my crotch. "I go, 'You're stretching my legs too far apart, Danny. They're almost touching the mattress."

My complaint has no impact on Danny as he's sucking on his bottom lip staring at his headless boner, going, "Mmmm, feels good," and then a thrust and more of his boner disappears up my ass. "Mmmmm," he goes again, and makes a sucking sound on his lip as sensations begin revving-up in my rectum and I moan, "Oooh, fuuuuuck." I notice no pain from his boner being pushed up my ass because the pain from my legs being spread too far apart is what I'm thinking about. Now that his cock's a good three-inches up my ass he lets up on the pressure of spreading my legs apart and I go, "Ooooh, aaaah, yeaaaah, that's good, Danny," and I'm now able to concentrate entirely on his cock inside me. I squirm as Danny does a final hump pushing an additional three-inches up inside me and now he's flush against my ass. Letting go of my legs completely, he murmurs, "Keep them up and apart on your own, okay, babe?" and then he goes, "Ooooh!" and makes a scrunched 'face' expression as sensations are obviously pouring off his super-sensitive boner that's tightly encased in my rectum. There's activity inside my rectum too as it's adjusting to accommodate Danny's awesome boner.

I feel an ache from my stretched anus but mostly I'm feeling that wonderfully packed-full sensation inside me. I try tightening the muscles around my ass to squeeze his hot cock just as he pulls it back making my shoulders do they're shuddering against the mattress. Danny moans, "Mmmm, oooh feels good, Dylan." Pulling his boner all the way back until the head is distending the tight lips of my asshole, he does tantalizing little pulls as if he's going to pull it completely out, but it stays tightly in the grasp of my anus muscles. He's breathing noisily and then exhaling while mumbling, "Here we go," and he begins hard fast thrusting creating the sounds I expect to hear, "SLAPSLAPSLAP!" My body's rocking on the bed with sensations screaming awesomely from my rectum and traveling up to my belly and circling back all around my groin. Sensational feelings that are familiar and yet brand new too. Danny does a lover's form of foreplay but he's fucking in a familiar buddy-sex manner, hard and fast.

I'm rocking on the bed moaning and staring intently at him as he continues looking at his fast moving cock powered by his fast, smooth moving hips. In my head I can see what Danny's seeing: his long boner going up my ass and disappearing from view completely and then reappearing immediately inch by inch, only to disappear up my ass again just as quickly as it reappeared... over and over and over.

Danny has his hands on the back of my thighs again, down near my ass, pushing back and raising my ass a little as he hammers his great boner up my ass and it feels wonderful! My prostate is in a state of emergency pulsating like crazy and feeling too good to be believed while the nerve endings around my anus, stretched perfectly, not too wide but just enough to send out their delicious type of sexual pleasure. It's like I often compare it to a bad case of poison ivy between your fingers that you know you shouldn't scratch because it'll spread but you can't help it, the itching is driving you mad so you scratch it and scratch it and scratch it and its ecstasy while you're doing it, and fuck the later consequences. That's the kind of ecstasy I feel vibrating around my anus, but in this situation there are no negative consequences because Danny's cock was naturally selected over millions of years of evolution for the purpose of fucking and creating pleasure so that the fuck-ee will want to do it again as soon as possible. Natural selection didn't have in mind this kind of fucking of course, but screw the small print. It feels so good I could scream.

A hard fast fucking as it usually does is bringing on a hard fast orgasm and mine is building at an alarming rate and so must Danny's because he's tight against me humping against my buttocks getting ready to blow. My cock does it's final tightening-up, lifting in the air and, with my eyes bulging out, my climax is on me way past the point of no return. My back arches and I squeal with a gusher of cum shooting straight up followed immediately by a second shot even as the first one splatters on the bed with spray hitting me. All of the second cum-shot lands on my chest as little spurts of cum drool down my softening cock... and I'm already spent. That marvelous build-up to an incredible outburst of pleasure is over in ten seconds of intense bliss. Not Danny's though, he does a whining sound and his body spasms as I feel a moment of extra wetness and warmth inside me from his cum stream. And I'm guessing more cum is now shooting up inside me; that's if I can go by the look of ecstasy on Danny's face... and then it's some sloppy thrusting before he's pulling out his sex organ and bending over grabbing his knees gasping in much-needed oxygen.

I'm my usual limp, pleased, and contended self, laying here with the last remnants of my climax fizzling-out and leaving me in a totally contented state of mind. Why can't, or won't, Danny do this more often? Damn but that was good buddy-sex! And I mean from his lover's foreplay all the way through to climax. No complaints here! When Danny straightens-up again I see he still has a hard-looking boner. He takes a deep breath, twirling a finger, saying, "Turn over for me, Dylan."

I'm kinda shocked as I slowly turn over with Danny moving my legs apart and without any hesitation he pushes his boner back up my ass as I go, "Ahhh, ooh, aaah," He fucks me not slow and not fast, but steadily with him breathing through his nose a bit noisily. It's hard thrusting, just not real fast, "Slap...slap...slap," sounds almost lazily echo in my ears." I'm on my stomach with the side of my face looking to my left, my toes on the floor and my spread legs straight out. Oh man, I'm moaning quietly enjoying immensely the steady stimulation in my rectum. My asshole has already been stretched the necessary amount so it's a wonderful feeling with zero pain. The pleasure's coming mostly off my prostate, but it's also encouraging that Danny's taken our buddy-sex up a level or two today. Really feels good too!

I'm off the mattress so far, my cock's hanging straight down with the top side of my boner against the fitted sheet on the side of the mattress. It feels so good just hanging there being jostled by Danny's hard steady thrusting. With sexual pleasure, aplenty I make a low moaning sounds occasionally and glance at my wristwatch on my left wrist hoping this can go on for a very long time. It's been an awesome seven-minutes of sheer sexual pleasure so far, and without a pain or hurt of any kind anywhere. Then I begin feeling my body getting the message and my cock begins firming up again and the 'game's afoot', as Sherlock Holmes says, or was it Dr. Watson?

I start moaning as orgasm signal begin reappearing, not that I wasn't expecting them, and my body begins getting tight all over again. Danny's gotta be feeling the same thing as he starts thrusting faster and it's another ninety-seconds of awesome anal stimulation before I'm going, "Ooh oooh oooh, Danny, oooooh!" With the same climax vibrations shaking my world and it's deja vu all over again. I begin squirming on the bed moving my legs as he's thrusting harder and faster making his squeaky sounds until I lift my ass up, go "Ooooh!" and liquid of some sort shoots straight down from my now hard cock. It was so pleasant for so long and then, BANG! it's climax time again. It came on me too quickly to fully enjoy it, but it still leaves me shaking a little. Danny's against my buttocks now humping so hard against me he's pushing me back onto the bed dragging my cock under me until he goes "Aaaah! Umpth, OOOH!" and humps against me again apparently firing some liquid up my ass, and then he goes slack. No movement for ten-seconds as he moans quietly and then, seemingly from nowhere his whole body shakes as a delayed and final reaction to his second climax. For the second time in twenty-minutes he steps back pulling his cock out of my ass leaving it wide open with the cool air invading my bowels pleasantly.

Looking back at him I'm half on and half off the bed so I kick my feet off the floor and scramble completely onto the bed smearing the cum from my first climax all the way from my dick to my chest. Danny goes, "Dylan, that was fantastic... beyond words. I don't know what to say except I simply don't have orgasm like this with anyone else." Oh really? That's good to know! Looking at me on top of the bed rustling around getting myself lengthwise, he asks, "Can I get on the bed too?" I go, "Of course," and he climbs up on the bed and we both get under the cover. He turns on his side, grinning, "I feel your cum on me." I shrug, and he puts his arm over me, adding, "That was so good, babe. Didn't you think so?" Ha, the 'top' fishing for compliments again! I pump him full of so many compliments he probably has already forgotten some of them, and I meant most of them too. It was awesome buddy-sex and I feel great. We talk about the sex for a couple of minutes complimenting each other and then it's over. True buddy-sex actually should have been over two-minutes ago, but this is close enough.

Danny's talking about the Red Sox now and then about our summer league team, then about a team he was on in middle school. He's a good taker and I'm happy to listen because I don't feel like talking myself. I thought we'd take a nap, but my cum's smeared on both of us plus there's Danny's cum leaking out of my ass and generally speaking it uncomfortable, especially now that the cum has become cold and sticky. I ask, "Ya wanna take a shower together?" He's like, "Together? I've never taken a shower with anyone, but let's do it." During the shower we bathe ourselves but it's nice bumping into his slippery body now and then. This close together in the shower stall that was intended for one person, I can really notice the difference in our builds. I'm happy with mine even if it is a boyish build the way Danny and Rob said. What the fuck's that mean anyway... boyish build?

Clean and dry we're back in my bedroom where Danny borrows socks, underpants and a T-shirt. Some of my clothes are in a different guy's homes and some of Rob's are here mixed in with my clothes in my overflowing hamper, and now some of Danny's clothes too. I'm pretty sure we'll never get everything sorted out completely. Danny and I go out on the balcony drinking peach Snapple and smoking, not saying much other than commenting on the weather and the non-view from my balcony. Danny looks shiny-clean and nice, his short hair is as combed as it can be. like mine, and his three-day beard, while there's not a lot off it, still looks cool on him and it's kinda sexy too.

As we're finishing our smokes Hayden calls Danny and there's a grin on Danny's face as he banters with Hayden before asking me, "Do you wanna come with me to Hayden's. Him and his two friends from next door, Terrence and his kid brother, are shooting baskets in their driveway?" I shake my head, "No thanks, Danny. I've got to do my laundry and I can't put off cleaning my bathroom and bedroom. It's been like ten-days since I last did it." He looks like I just said I needed to commit suicide. He's holding his cellphone loosely against his chest, asking, "Are you joking again?" There's a frown on his face like he's never heard anything like this before in his entire life. I'm a little pissed he thinks it's so odd. I go, "Hey, my Mom works sixty hours over six-days a week so I guess I can help out by taking care of my own shit without some Mommy-spoiled-friend looking at me like I'm from Pluto." Omigod, Danny's so apologetic and finally says, "You're always kidding, Dylan, I'm sorry... I thought..." I'm holding up my hand, "No, no. It's okay, I'm a little tired. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sure you help your Mom too."

He nods his head unconvincingly, so I guess he doesn't help his Mom, and then he says into the phone, "Dylan's got stuff he needs to do but I'll be over. We can play some two-on-two basketball, babe." After exchanging some terms of endearment with his boyfriend he ends the call. Now he's all over me hugging and saying he's sorry again and telling me of course he does things helping his Mom just like me. I'm pretty sure he doesn't help his Mom a lot, but he has this unbelievable sincerity about him so it's impossible for me not to forgive and forget, not that's there's much to forgive. It was just a moment there when I guess I felt embarrassed doing laundry and cleaning my bathroom. At the college apartment Rob and I clean conscientiously, Rob being the driving force about keeping the apartment in such good shape guys that come over marvel at it, accusing us of hiring weekly maid services. I've always cleaned-up after myself without giving it a second's thought. Still, I can see other guy's viewpoint, especially after seeing how Rob's Mom waits on him hand and foot, as the saying goes for some unknown reason.

I make sure Danny and I are 'good' before he leaves, telling him again what a great side-sex buddy I think he is. And who can resist compliments? Danny goes on his way and now I've actually gotta do what I pontificated about... my share of the housework. After changing the sheets on my bed, which I change from necessity more often than most, I've got an overloaded-two-washer-load endeavor ahead of me. While the washing machine is doing its thing I'm doing the nasty pain-in-the-ass job of cleaning my bathroom. The sink, tub, shower stall and, left for last the toilet needs to be scrubbed with a vengeance. I wear disposable rubber gloves while doing all that, my hands sweating like mad in the gloves but the alternative is unthinkable. I'm only a germ-a-phobe about selected unpleasant cleaning jobs. Not about sharing toiletry articles with guys or drinking from the same can or bottle or sucking dick or rimming a cute guy's ass. I'm a selective, rationalizing germ-a-phobe of convenience. What might be unthinkable to many doesn't bother me at all, and what others may do routinely I need surgeon's gloves to even think about doing.

The bathroom floor is last and once the bathroom is cleaned with me using the latest germ-killing detergents and bathroom cleaning sprays, all grossly over-priced but mandatory for peace of mind, I vacuum my bedroom. Then, using a clean but very old and ripped T-shirt, I use lemon Pledge to wipe all surfaces leaving the bedroom at least smelling clean. And then almost every blue moon, although not today, I'll use Windex on the one window I have in my bedroom. The glass sparkles until the first rainstorm and then it's dotted and smeared again. Few things are perfect in this world of ours.

Done the cleaning and with clean sheets on the bed I have a tremendous feeling of accomplishment and give myself pats on the back. The washer loads and especially the dryer cycle takes quite a bit of times. In between emptying and moving washed clothes to the dryer and then much later folding the dried clothes while the second load is tumbling around in the dryer, I have quite a bit of free time. I utilize that time to nap on the sofa. Maybe not intentionally as I put some tunes on the CD player and fall asleep. Eventually everything is cleaned, dried, folded and put away and thank God for that.

Okay, I've done my entire ten-day wash as well as cleaned the bathroom and did what needs to be done in my bedroom, plus managed to get an hour-and-a-half nap per Danny's suggestion. He says we'll be out late tonight. It's five-thirty now so I should think about dinner, but after all that cleaning I'm thinking I need another shower. I take a five-minute shower in my super-clean shower stall and put on clean clothes; shorts and another T-shirt while beginning to fill up the hamper again with the clothes I had on before my second shower. It's a vicious circle, life is.

And now the next order of business is food. No breakfast today and I had no lunch to speak of, so dinner seems like a logical necessity. Doubting I'll get an answer, I call Chub's cellphone anyway and get no response which is the same no-response I've gotten the last few days I called him. Chubby probably doesn't know where his cellphone is again. Me, I'd be frantic... where the fuck's my cellphone? Chubby's like... it'll turn-up sooner or later. The Jeep's parked at the curb so I know he's around. I go up to Chub's condo and ring the bell and can hear the music he's playing from out here, so he's obviously in there.

Chubby answers the door holding a can of beer and giving me his special 'happy to see me' smile. As we hug, over Chub's shoulder I see some guys on the balcony. He goes, "Yo bro! How ya doing?" Yesterday we had an excellent 'talk' but I haven't seen him since then. I go, "Good, Chub, howyou doing?" He says, "I'm good too, Dylan. I got some of my boys over for a few brews, c'mon out and say 'hi'." I go, "Sure, okay," and then go, "Oh, Chub, I told Robby you wanted a haircut like mine and he's so fucking flattered you wouldn't believe it." Chub's like, "That's wicked cool! I'll get you a beer" At the refrigerator, he asks, "So, when's he giving haircuts again?" I shrug, "Soon. I'll set it up for you." He hands me a beer and I follow him out to the balcony where I see a cooler of beer out there too. Also one guy, a tall guy, is sitting on the railing drinking out of a half-pint of Old Grand Dad. That's bourbon.

I pop the top of the beer can as Chub introduces me quickly. "There's Jay James, sitting on the railing. Dallas Brown, the brother of a hot chick I dated a few times, and you know Joe Berks, my good buddy from high school days, and the cute kid is Joe's younger brother, Bobby." I'm nodding at each one, remembering most of their names because I've met them before, that is except for Jay who works with Chubby and actually trained him to do his part time job. I've heard Chub speak of him a number of times.

I go, "Ya know, Jay, that's a two story drop off that railing onto my driveway below. You'd make a terrible mess for me to clean up." Chub goes, "Not to worry, bro! Jay was a star on his college gymnastic team, especially the pummel horse, right Jay?" Jay takes a swig of Old Grand- Dad, and then says, "Yeah, Jeff, I can still hear the cheers." Somebody mutters, "How's about you do a double salto with a full twist off the railing and nail the fucking landing. We'll do the cheering up here and I'm giving you a score of 9.2 for just attempting it." Joe's brother imitates a gymnast TV announcer, "Yes! He really stuck that landing, although both his fucking legs appear to be broken!"

There's some chuckling and then Jay goes, "Maybe I will do it for a 9.2 score." Chub says, "Yo, that'd probably be your best score ever." Joe mutters, "Bite me, Romero." I go, "Well I'm sober so I'll take the responsibility of calling 911." Jay says, "I'm leaning towards, Dylan, on this," and he slides off the railing to stand against it. Dallas, an awesome looking black kid who's only nineteen, says, "Why don't ya come with us tonight, Dylan." I ask, "Where ya going, and isn't it kinda early for front loading?" Chub goes, "No, we're not front loading, bro. We'll do that later. We're having a few sociable brews and enjoying the weather this afternoon, that's what we're doing." I mutter, "This afternoon? What time did you guys start? It almost six o'clock." Dallas answers my 'where ya going question', telling me, "Joe Berks' friend, Smithy, just got discharged after three years in the Marines and there's a big welcome home party for him at the country club tonight." Joe says, "Yeah, and Smithy told me to bring as many guys as I want. There'll be a shit load of his family and relatives and he wants some boys to hang with so he can avoid the friends of his parents and his relatives."

I'm drinking a few swallows of beer so I don't get to respond to the invitation before Joe's brother says, "Yeah, and there's a wedding next week too! Open reception at the VFW. Spider Reagan's getting married." Dallas asks, "Is he marrying my sister's friend, that sausage-jockey with the potty mouth. What's-her-name. Is it Terry-something?" Bobby goes, "Nah, he dumped her almost a year ago. And it's not that woofer, Sandy Womax, either. He's marrying the beaver he knocked-up, and nobody even knows her name." Chubby goes, "Knocking some hoochie up is no fucking reason to get married! And at what age? Spider's twenty-two now, right?" It amazes me how Chubby knows so many guys and girls I've never heard of?

Chub goes on, saying, "Fuck marriage anyway. Okay, maybe it's something you do in your forties or fifties when you can't get laid anymore. Plus chicks start letting themselves go when you say 'I do' and that's the end of all your options too. Plus as soon as you pay off the houses you need to give it to her in the divorce settlement. Lots of divorces happening every day. Here's an example; you guys know who Nelson Mandela is, right? That dude had his ass unfairly locked up in prison for twenty-six-fucking-years which he stoically endured, along with being tortured and whatever the fuck else. He gets out of prison finally and after six months of marriage with his wife, he's like, 'I can't put up with this shit anymore!'" Everybody laughs because it's outrageous in the first place and really funny the way Chubby said, "I can't put up with this shit anymore.' We're laughing and feeding off each other's laughter. Chub mutter, "He got divorced. That should tell you all you need to know about marriage."

The laughing winds-down to snickering and Joe wipes his eyes, asking, "Is that true, Jeff?" Chub goes, "I don't know for sure. Chris Rock said it somewhere. And that funny mother-fucker just got divorced himself! Chris did." Oh man, that was funny! Twenty-six years kept in prison being tortured, which dealt with somehow, and then after only six-months of marriage, Mandela goes, "I can't put up with this shit anymore!" Awesome!

I have two beers and then get a text message 'beep' on my cellphone. It's from Hayden so I use it as my exit excuse, "I gotta go, Chub. You guys have fun tonight, nice seeing all of you." Jay says, "Ya got some chick texting you, Dylan? A little pussy in your future maybe?" Chubby says, "Don't be messing' with my brother's head. He's gay and he don't need no pussy." They chuckle until they realize Chub's serious. There's a second of silence until the black dude, Dallas, says, "Some of my best friends are gay," and Jay says, "Yeah, and some of my best friend are black." I mutter, "Fuck ya all," and they chuckle saying overly-enthusiastic, 'See ya later, Dylan," "Nice meeting you," and stuff like that to prove they don't care that I'm gay.

I'm smiling going down the steps to my condo. One day after our 'talk' and the first chance Chub gets he announces I'm gay to prove he doesn't give a shit that I am. Truth be told not too many guys around my age, in this part of America, give a shit about that anymore. Those guys were fun but there's no electricity sparking between them because they're all straight. With a bunch of gay guys, you always feel some sparks 'cause we're all interested in guys, and we're with guys. Just something I've noticed.

Okay, now it's six-thirty and I still haven't eaten anything. My hangover is a distant memory but my stomach is growling so I use my keys to the Jeep to drive to the center of Framingham to buy a large cheesesteak with sautéed onions at R & R's Sub Shop on main street. I need to negotiate my way through the traffic circle with cars butting in front of me but it's worth the extra trouble to get an excellent cheesesteak. R & R's Italian sub, sometimes called hoagies, are good too so I almost order both before remembering what Tris always used to say about Chubby. This is way back when Chub and I were both like four-or-five years old. Chub would put a huge slice of apple pie on his plate for dessert and Tris would say to my Mom, 'Jeffy's eyes are bigger than his stomach,' and the Moms would chuckle. How cute. I thought she was being literal so it had me wondering, 'Jesus, I hope to hell my stomach's bigger that Chub's'. Kids are so fucking stupid!

I only get the cheesesteak because I'm not that stupid anymore and I know I couldn't eat both. Bringing it home I gulp it down with a Coke as my beverage. The pizza joints around our neighborhood don't do subs anywhere near as good as R & R's subs. I feel 'full' now, but not especially satisfied because I don't like eating alone so there's this like 'sense' I just completed a chore instead of an enjoyable experience. Ahh, poor me! Anyway, there always seems to be bathroom stuff to do, so I do it: piss, wash my hands and face, brush my teeth and re-comb my hair. No matter how short your hair, ya gotta keep an eye on it or it'll go goofy on you. I'm still good time-wise; it's twenty-minutes before Danny's due to pick me up at eight o'clock so I'm in the bedroom now wondering, 'Hmmm, what's appropriate to wear to a gay club? That Green-something club.'

Huh, feeling like a dork doing this, but I call Danny for his advice on what to wear. I hit his name on my cellphone and he answers, "Dylan, babe, whassup, dude?" Huh, he referred to me three different ways in that short interrogative sentence. I go, "Help me out here, Danny. Um, what's appropriate clothing for this Green Briar gay club?" He chuckles, "You and names! It's the Green Door Club and you can wear pajamas if you want, or a hula skirt. There's zero dress code as in 'absolutely no dress code'. Some guys show up in drag, there's some assholes wearing sport coats and bow ties, and some with jeans or shorts and others will surprise us wearing a cardboard box or some aluminum wrap. Anything goes, babe." Jesus people are so fucked up!! I'm like, "Hmmm, let me put it a different way. What areyou wearing?"

He hesitates, "You're being serious now, right?" I go, "Yeah, Danny, what are you wearing tonight?" He says, "Damn, this is so much fun. We're talking about our outfits for tonight. Hayden would say 'Us girls are comparing our outfits so we don't clash." Instead of screaming, which I'd like to do, I keep annoyance out of my tone of voice, and go, "So what are you wearing tonight, girlfriend?" He laughs, "Omigod, Hayden would be so proud of you. Okay, I've just been getting my shit together. I've decided on a two-sizes-too-large Tommy Bahama flowered shirt unbuttoned to my balls. Ha ha, just kidding! Unbuttoned halfway down and then some cargo shorts; tan ones I guess. And then high-top sneakers without socks." Taking a deep breath, I go, "And you say anything goes, so if I wear a T-shirt and shorts I'm good?" He says, "Sure, but this is your chance to be flamboyant, babe. A walk on the wild side." I mutter, "I don't have a flamboyant bone in my body. Um, well maybe one and it's not even a bone. Okay, thanks, Danny. Eight o'clock?" He says, "Yep, I'll text when I get there behind your condo." I go, "Thanks, buddy."

I'm gonna wear what I told him and fuck flamboyant. The reality of it is, frankly I don't even want to go to this damn gay club. If Rob were going too it'd be different. They'd be two of us who didn't know what was happening. Looking through the pile of T-shirts I own, I settle on a dark blue one with writing on the front: 'SO FAR THIS IS THE OLDEST I'VE EVER BEEN!' I don't want anything the slightest bit provocative. And, being unfamiliar with gay clubs, I'm gonna stick with Danny like gum on his high-top sneakers tonight.

All my clothes are washed so, what the fuck, I have my choice of anything. Oh hell, I'll wear this pair of tan cargo shorts even though Danny's wearing the same thing. On my feet are Nike low-cut dirty-white sneakers with baggy white socks. So sue me if I'm too preppy for a gay club! There must be preppy gay guys; hell, I've met some myself. Okay, normally I always wear Willie's gift of the gold David Yurman cross necklace, but not tonight. Someone might steal it. Why I think that, I have no idea but maybe it's a rough crowd. Instead I put on the cool thin-leather-necklace I bought for myself last summer when I was drunk on the boardwalk in Wildwood. It has a round Greek Compass Pendant hanging from it, although I didn't know that's when I bought the necklace. I thought it was some kind of Zodiac sign. I discovered what it was from a smart-ass, know-it-all sexy teenager I just happened to strike up a conversation with on the boardwalk. He was high on a banned substance, but wouldn't tell me which one. Anyway he commented on my Greek Compass Pendent and I recall asking him, 'Is that some kind of ethnic slur?' Like I said, I was drunk.

I don't recall how we struck up a conversation. It was a casual conversation with him constantly bumping against me, although I don't believe he was aware of doing that. He intrigued me as a tough cutie with a potty mouth and a recent blond buzz cut and, frankly, I wanted to suck his cock in the worst way. I could tell he was gay and I was trying to convince myself to take a walk on the beach with him until I came to my senses when one of those asshole boardwalk cops rode by on his bicycle. Anyway we parted without anything happening. Another missed opportunity I suppose. Let's see, hmmm, my necklace sort of matches the awesome leather bracelet I'm wearing, another gift from Willie. No rings on my fingers tonight, just my earrings; the little hoop ones.

Looking at myself in the mirror I burst out laughing remembering Robby saying I spend more time in front of a mirror than anyone he knows. That's bull crap of course, but funny just the same. Wait, I want to show off my tattoo! I take off the T-shirt and put on a cool tight-fitting green sleeveless T-shirt. Well, it is the green-something Club after all. Looking at myself again and, Holy shit, I never noticed before that I look skinny in this shirt. Fuck it, this is the opposite of baggy. Go one way or the other, but don't wear the correct size shirt. You need a correct size suit, of course, but casual wear needs to be fucked-up a little as too big or too small for you.

Looking at myself in the mirror again, I'm like: 'Oh screw it, this is what I'm wearing'. I put my cigarettes in my pocket, take my driver's license from my wallet along with my money and stick both in my cargo shorts' pocket, one with a zipper to make it more challenging for pickpockets, and then stick my secret handkerchief in a back pocket for emergencies. What else do I need? A pocket comb, even though I haven't much hair to comb. Oh yeah, Chiclets for my breath as if I even need to worry about my breath. Well, maybe Hayden will get me in an alcove and kiss an orgasm outta me. Oh shit, I'm wearing tan shorts that will show a tiny pre-cum wet-spot like there's a spotlight on it. While I'm looking for a pair of dark-colored shorts I hear Danny blow the horn in the alley. Fuck!

Well, I just won't cum in my pants tonight. Big boys don't pee or cum in their pants or shorts, right? This gay club has me rattled a little because I'm very inexperienced. There was a Key West gay club that Willie and I ended up in hammocks without our pants waiting for someone to use the glory hole in the hammock. We waited all of three-seconds before Willie got us out of there. Yeah, but all gay clubs aren't like that. I've been to, um, three in my life. Rob and I should probably get out more, generally speaking. On my way downstairs to the basement I'm patting my pockets, sure I've forgotten something.

Getting in the car I see Danny's perpetual smile, which takes some of the shine off of it. Rob and Chubby have special smiles just for me, so they're special. Danny will give his same awesome smile, admittedly a cute one, to a zombie collecting money at a parking garage so it's not totally special when he smiles at me. Well who am I to talk? My first inclination in almost any situation is to smile. It's usually a good strategy so I smile back at Danny who leans over to give me a 'hello' kiss on the lips; one of his quick-as-a-wink kisses. Hey, but this one seemed a step-up from the normal quick-as-a-wink-kiss. Danny says, "Sweet kiss, babe. Thank you!" What? He's supposed to do the fast kiss. Did I kiss him? Ignoring that, I go, "Whoa! I think your shirt's on fire there, Danny!" He laughs, "It is a little loud isn't it?" I go, "No, it's cool actually. You look marvelous." He grins, "Tell me more." I go, "Oh okay, um, I'm uber impressed with your buddy-sex this afternoon. That's all I'll say about that for now though." He goes, "You say the coolest, nicest shit ever!" Quite the compliment!

The kiss though... Danny needs to make up a pamphlet describing when the quick-as-a-wink kiss is appropriate. I mean, do you do it if you're separated for five-hours or do you need to be separated longer. And does the other party kiss back or do they just act as the recipient? Information like that would be good to know so we're all on the same page. Damn though, I think I did kiss him just a minute ago. It wasn't him putting a little something extra into it, it was me! Yeah, well I'm still 'crushing' on him and that awesome double-buddy-sex this afternoon didn't do anything to diminish my 'crush'.

His shirt, a Tommy Bahama style shirt, isn't ever meant to be tucked in, not that Danny's is tucked-in, it isn't. Those shirts don't have 'tails'. They're the same length all around the bottom, about half-way-down-the-hips length. Danny's is a size or two bigger than he'd normally wear and even with his broad shoulders the short-sleeves hang below his elbows. Like he told me earlier he's wearing tan cargo shorts, like me, and high-top sneakers without socks. Sneakers without socks, huh? All I can think of is sweaty feet. Danny asks, "How ya feeling, Dylan?" I go, "I got an hour-and-a-half nap like you suggested and consequently I'm feeling good. Um, I'm not sure about this Green Palace though." He goes, "It's the Green Door Club and it'll be fun. Holy Christ though, you're gonna attract a crowd with that tight sleeveless shirt you're wearing... sexy boy!" I'm like, "Really? and he goes, "Fuck yeah, I kinda feel like jumping your bones again right now myself." I go, "Huh?" and look down at my shirt. I guess it is a bit sexy with my Greek Compass Pendent on the leather necklace lying outside the tight T-shirt.

Backing his Volkswagen up and then turning the car around he drives us back up the alley the way he came, saying, "Babe, that sleeveless T-shit is hot! That's all I'm saying. Great choice." Oh balls! It's a fifteen-minute drive to Hayden from my house. Pretty much the same to Rob's or Danny's too since they live in the same neighborhood development.

During the ride Danny says, "Don't forget your promise to support Hayden," and he looks at me, adding, "Think of it as doing me a favor too. You wanna do me a favor don'cha?" I'm like, "Sure, I'm the favor king," and he goes, "Hayden will put make-up on both of our faces, but probably not as much as he'll have on himself. I know you'll be magnanimous about cooperating with him in that regard because you gave me your word, right?" I go, "Hey, don't fucking lecture me, alright? If he wants to put some make-up on me I told you it's okay, it's fucking stupid, but okay. Hell, he did it once already and I already told you about that." He's quiet for a couple-of-seconds and then goes. "I'm sorry if I made you mad, but don't show you're angry about the make-up to Hayden. Be mad at me if you want, but Hayden doesn't ask for much and he's our friend so let's make this a good night for him. You're with me on this, right?" I do an exasperated exhale, muttering, "You're lecturing me again." He drives in silence for a minute and I finally ask, "Hey, do you mind if I smoke in your car?" Danny says, "Yes, I mind. Please don't." What's he care about this piece of shit car? A cigarette isn't going to do this junker any harm. Guess I'm a little uptight about this entire night.

Another minute of silence and then he says, "We're friends and we accept each other's quirks. You need to be good tonight though, Dylan, especially at Hayden's or you'll really disappoint me." I go, "Be good? What am I... your child? Be good! Jesus, Danny!" He reaches over and grabs my arm, "Yes, you be good!" and we both snort out a laugh, me chuckling while I'm still frowning, but I mutter, "Okay, Daddy, I'll be good." He goes, "That's a good son." I go, "I thought we were brothers. Didn't that over-endowed hefty cheerleader say we were?" Danny goes, "I was hoping she thought we were fraternal twins myself." I go, "We're identical twins, never mind fraternal." So we got past my disgruntled attitude about this dopey making-up our faces routine. Danny made a joke out of insisting I be 'good'... ha ha. What the hell, whose gonna see me with the make-up on anyway?

As Danny's parking at the curb in front of Hayden's house, he goes, "Oh, another thing. Hayden has some washable, very temporary hair coloring for both of us, so be cool with that too. Like I said it washes out. I promised Hayden I'd cover all this shit with you before we got to his place because he's doesn't want a scene." Taking his seatbelt off he leans over rubbing my shoulder, talking baby talk to me, "So we're not gonna make a naughty scene and throw a tantrum at Hayden's house, are we?" I look at him, rolling my eyes, mumbling, "Okay, I won't make a fucking scent, Papa." He goes, "Underneath all your bad behavior you're basically a good boy," and he chuckles messing up my hair, saying, "Don't worry, Hayden, will comb it for you. C'mon. This is supposed to be fun."

Walking up to the house, Danny asks, "Didn't you ever paint your face going to a Pats game or a high school football game?" I go, "No," and he's like, "How about Halloween? Did you ever make-up your face like Frankenstein or a zombie or anything?" I go, "No, I wore a little black eye-mask and said, 'Give me free candy!'" He laughs, muttering, "I believe it."

Ringing the doorbell, he asks, "Are you sure you're even gay?" I go, "Don't be stupid, Danny. I admit I don't go shopping with my Mom, or have long girlie secret conversations with her exchanging sex tales, and I don't like dressing-up or walking in gay parades or wearing make-up or having fag hags or any of that stuff. And I don't find any of it the least bit troubling either; go for it if you want to! I don't judge, but it's not me. I basically like almost everything straight guys like with the exception that I also like the straight guys' bodies and I like sucking their dicks and having them stick it up my ass and when I get a chance I like rimming their cute asses too. Some of them anyway, the ones I find attractive and around my own age and who I find-out are actually secretly gay. So, you want me to accept Hayden's, um, extra gayness but you won't accept my, um, under-gayness, is that it?" He snorts out a laugh, saying, "Don't fucking lecture me, Dylan, okay?" I mutter, "Oh balls, touché I guess."

Hayden answers the doorbell done-up in gothic black: lipstick, eyebrows, eye shadow, black stud earrings, black beauty mark on his cheek, and a black steak of hair coloring in his red hair. His hair is moussed to stick up on top like he just saw something extremely scary. Oh, his toenails also have black nail polish sticking out from his sandals. Other than that, he's dressed much less flamboyantly than I expected, wearing black cutoff jeans, cut off to just below his significant junk, and a silky-black sort of dress-shirt with the tails tied in front, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, and the shirt unbuttoned to his innie-belly-button showing off his skinny hairless chest. He's also showing off his hairy calves. There's a silver-colored chain necklace that hangs between his pecs with dog tags at the end engraved with: 'GAY' on one and 'PRIDE' on the other. Nice touch, Hayden!

For a second he just looks at us while he's doing some kind of gay pose and then he smiles and tries hugging both of us at the same time, saying, "I love you both, you gorgeous young men." After closing the front door he looks at me, and says, "Danny already knows this but you don't. I'm wearing Rimmel London liquid lipstick that won't come off when I do this," and he reaches up getting both hands behind my head giving me an abbreviated version of his magical kiss on my lips. It makes a sucking mouth sound when he pulls his lips off mine. My dick does a cartwheel in my jockey shorts because I didn't expect that kiss, but I liked it. Danny's got a wry grin on his face waiting for his kiss which he gets, and for about ten-seconds longer than mine. Danny grins, joking with Hayden, "You still got it kid!" and they do a fast follow-up kiss, grinning at one another and then Hayden yells, "Mom, they're here!"

His Mom comes out of the kitchen with a platter of Buffalo Wings that she hands to Danny, who goes, "Wow, my favorite." She laughs, "They're not all for you, bright eyes." There's a couple-dozen chicken wings cut-up properly into easier-eating sections. Mrs. Parks has taken the trouble to cut the three-jointed chicken wing into three parts. The useless wing-tip is discarded, or she could actually freeze them to be included in homemade chicken stock sometime later. The middle section, called the wingette, is separated from the meatiest part called the drumette, and those two sections were apparently deep fat fried and then covered in butter and red hot-sauce, maybe Frank's Red Hot Sauce. Frank's is the hot sauce with a commercial on TV where a very old lady says. 'I put that shit on everything' only the word 'shit' is bleeped-out in the commercial. There's a bowl of Ranch dressing for dipping on the tray Danny's holding plus celery sticks to eat, allegedly to cool off your mouth from the heat of the hot sauce. The whole platter is nicely arranged and so my hats off to Mrs. Parks for taking the time to do it right. She timed it right too because the wing sections are still sizzling.

Pointing at me with a wave of her hand, she does a grin that's exactly like Hayden's, asking him, "Darling, and just who is this incredibly attractive boy?" Hayden goes, "He's not a boy, Mom! Jesus! Let me introduce you to the famous Dylan Newman." Famous? His Mom's a very petite woman, shorter than Hayden, and thinner too, as hard as that is to believe. Her hair is shorter than Hayden's as well and she's wearing a kind of 'campy' outfit with a Gypsy look to it. Glancing at her hands I half expect to see castanets. Big puffed sleeves on her multi-colored blouse that comes only below her petite tits, exposing most of her torso that's still very tight no matter her age. She has a black shirt on that reaches halfway down her calves where it meets high-heeled leather black boots.

She holds her hand out and I go to shake it but she makes a fist so I bump it, mumbling, "Nice to meet you," and she goes, "Same here." As if reading my mind about the outfit she wearing, she says, "Excuse my appearance, boys, but I just got home from work and Hayden insisted I prepare Buffalo wings for you hot gay boys. Hayden requested hot wings because you two are so fucking hot!?" and she laughs. Hayden blushes, saying, "Mother! For Christ sake! Cool it..." She reaches over to him and rubs his back doing her Hayden-grin, and saying, "So what I'm saying, boys, I haven't had a chance to change yet after work." Well what the fuck kind of job does she have that her current outfit would be appropriate? I'm guessing it's not an office job or working for the mayor's office, nothing like that. Her make-up is surprisingly subdued though, and I'm guessing, age-wise, she's still in her forties, but barely. She goes, "Oh, and I bought a twelve-pack of Rolling Rock beer in bottles home with me from the package store because my darling Hayden says his boyfriend prefers Rolling Rock in bottles," and she pinches Danny's cheek. He's seemingly totally comfortable with this whole scene as he smiles at Mrs. Parks, saying, "Thanks, Tinker." Tinker?

I must haves raised my eyebrows or opened my eyes wide or something because Hayden giggles and squeezes my bicep, saying, "That's Mom's nickname, Dylan, and you can feel free to call her that, or call her 'Mom' like my fag hags do if you prefer." Tinker says, "They're lovely girls, darling, don't refer to them in that crude manner." He goes, "That's how they refer to themselves, Mom! Jesus!" He's sounding very 'gay' tonight with his speech.

Hayden says to Danny, "Take that trey up to my bedroom, please. Dylan and I will bring up some beers." His Mom does a quirky pirouette of some kind, saying, "I'll stay out of your way, boys. Have a wonderful time tonight and, Daniel, you're responsible for seeing that Hayden doesn't get hit-on too often by the wrong type." He goes, "Sure, Tinker," and he goes up the stairs with the tray of Buffalo Wings as Tinker disappears into the family room, or living room... whatever they call it here.

Hayden takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen, saying, "Should we just bring three beers and come down for more, or take six up with us?" I shrug, "Let's take three. I like cold beer." He nods and says, "Okay, but you'll be our runner for the beers, rookie." Oh man, I'm getting weirdied-out a little and we haven't even left Hayden's house yet, never mind what's waiting for me at the Green House. As we're walking into the kitchen Hayden squeezes my hand, excitedly exclaiming, "You look unbelievably sexy tonight, Dylan! Seriously, dude, I could cream in my shorts at that shirt the way it shows off your body so perfectly." Letting go of my hand, he hugs me, mumbling, "I'm getting a boner just looking at you."

Yeah, well it's happening again to me too. Even looking as odd as he does with his Gothic get-up, Hayden is getting me aroused and giving me a boner. I'm remembering, barely, what it felt like when he fucked me with that ginormous cock of his. Sounding whining even to me, I'm like, "When are we going to get together again, Hayden?" He smiles his big smile, saying, "That makes me feel very special, Dylan. Finally it's you asking me instead of me nagging you." When did he nag me? I don't remember that. In any case he has no answer to my question.

All I know for sure is these two friends of Rob's have jumped into my top choices for side-sex. Both of them seem very hot to me and I can't help but wondering if the fact they were Robby's teenage sex-buddies might have more than a little to do with me being so enamored by the both of them. It's hard to imagine that's so, but then what else could be the explanation? Maybe they're simply sexy-hot and that's the whole story. Nah, that's true for Danny maybe, but normally Hayden wouldn't register as 'sexy-hot' in my brain; far from it. There's that mysterious something about him that punches all my buttons though and, dammit, it really sucks we all didn't get together years ago? Was it just because Rob wasn't crazy about Hayden? That the whole reason?

Hayden passes me three cold beers from the refrigerator, saying, "Daniel told me he'll have you go first getting made-up, so maybe you need a shot of liquor to help you relax?" What a stupid-ass idea! I ask, "What kind of liquor?" and he takes a bottle from an over-head cabinet and holds up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, saying, "This is a blended Scotch whisky, not single malt like snobs think is better when it definitely is not. This is expensive booze but very smooth and should only be drunk neat." He takes two shot glasses from the same cabinet, saying, "Danny can't do shots worth a shit but even he thinks this is the easiest whiskey to do a shot with. Ya know, when you simply must do a shot for some reason." Huh, Danny was doing shots last night! I wonder why he didn't ask for this Blue Label booze at that bar last night? Yeah, but I remember this whiskey being mentioned at the Beef and Ale house that time with Chubby. The whiskey salesman said it was his favorite whiskey except it was very expensive which is why the Beef & Ale House didn't carry it, so that neighborhood bar last night sure as shit wouldn't have it either.

Pouring two shots, Hayden goes, "You'll probably need more than one," without me objecting because being drunk is probably the best way for me to get through this night and maybe even have a little fun. Hayden goes, "This bottle cost Mom $87.00." I mutter, "Really?" thinking the whiskey salesman indicated it cost more than that, but he was probably referring to drinking it at a bar or restaurant. Hayden's lifting his shot glass so I pick up mine and we lightly tap shot glasses as Hayden's saying, "To us having sex tonight." I gulp, and then flash the shot down my throat. Huh! I'm not saying I liked it, but it was the least offensive shot of whiskey I've had yet. I don't care for the taste of regular Scotch at all but this Johnnie Walker Blue definitely didn't have that turpentine burn that most shots of liquor have.

Hayden grins, "Not bad, huh?" Ignoring that for the moment, I go, "Hayden, for the record, you're much more attractive without all that shit on your ace." He smirks at me, "Don't hurt my feeling, please, Dylan. What'd you think about the shot?" I go, "The best I've ever had, but I still can't say I liked it. Straight whiskey must be an acquired taste." He goes, "Ain't everything, my sexy friend?" He motions with his finger for me to lean over a little, perhaps for a whispered secret, but no, he gets his arm around the back of my neck and does the full-blow version of his magical sexy kiss that last maybe forty-seconds. In some ways it seemed longer and it other ways not nearly long enough. During those forty-seconds he used his free hand to rub my crotch. The kiss and the rubbing produced a startling hard boner that I grunted at, afraid I'd spurt pre-cum and wet a spot on my shorts. Goddammit, I knew I should have put on those darker shorts.

I do not spurt pre-cum in my shorts though and thank God for that. Instead I gasp as Hayden takes his arm away, saying, "That kiss was totally your fault for looking so irresistibly sexy tonight." He rubs my boner again, murmuring, "Knowing I can cause a boner on you so easily makes me feel special. You always make me feel special anyway, Dylan," and he rubs the head of my boner that's pushing out the lap of my shorts, while meanwhile I can't catch my fucking breath. Pushing his hand away before I do spurt out some pre-cum, Hayden pats my cheek, mumbling, "Nobody appreciates me like you do, Dylan. I'm so thrilled we finally met! Hey, didn't I tell you when we first met outside the movies that we had a lot in common. Huh, didn't I?" In a stupor, I nod, "Yeah, you said something like that." Man, springing that boner felt good! He asks, "Another shot of Blue Label?" I shake my head, still thinking about that kiss. He puts the booze away and says, "C'mon, Dylan, Daniel will be sending out a search party for us."

Not really feeling the effects of the shot yet, but still feeling the effects of Hayden's grope and kiss, I carry the three bottles of beer following Hayden upstairs. He's carrying a bowl of salsa and chips, neither of which I'll eat. I'm probably the only person in Framingham who doesn't like salsa and corn chips. Mostly it's the chips that gross me out. I don't share that with Hayden however because I'm trying to keep negativity to a minimum and I'm certainly not wasting some negativity on a bowl of fucking corn chips. Not when I'll need some negativity for other things tonight, of that I'm positive. Damn, no matter how I try moving my boner to the side with my thighs I can't do it. And with three bottles of beer in my hands there's nothing I can do except follow my boner up the steps and stay behind Hayden going into his bedroom.

In Hayden's bedroom, I put the beers down while glancing at the platter of Buffalo Wings. Omigod, it obvious Danny has been doing a 'number' on those wings. Hayden jokes about how many chicken wings Danny's devoured already while I take the opportunity to adjust my boner sideways so it isn't as noticeable. Happily, Hayden isn't the type to point my boner out to Danny just for shits and giggles... at my expense. A lot of pricks I know would do that. Now that my boner situation is more or less under control I'm thinking some Buffalo Wings is a damn good idea. Danny's fingers and mouth are smeared in red from the hot sauce as he does his usual smile, saying, "Tinker makes the best fucking wings ever. They're the bomb!"

Hayden and I take a wing and before we do anything else the three of us drink a bottle of beer each and finish-off all two dozen of the wings without once resorting to a celery stick. The bowl of salsa and corn chips sits untouched for now as the three of us go to the hall bath to wash this hot sauce off our fingers and mouths but the bathroom occupied by Hayden's Mom. Hayden looks at us with an annoyed expression on his face, like, 'How inconvenient!' and then calls to his Mom, "We need to wash up. Can we come in?" I whisper, "No! Don't be an ass! We don't want to go in the bathroom with your Mom doing God only knows what!" She calls out, "Sure, come on in, boys, I'm almost done shaving my legs." Danny goes, "Gag me with a can of shaving cream," and I mutter, "I'm going downstairs to use the kitchen sink." Hayden calls to his Mom, "Never mind, Mom, we'll go downstairs. Don't cut yourself. Ha ha." Can I believe this shit?

We're at the kitchen sink with Danny asking Hayden, "Have you ever thought about shaving those hairy legs of yours, baby?" Drying his hands and face with paper towels, Hayden goes, "Of course, and I did it in high school once. Don't you remember how prickly my legs were when the hairs were growing out? It was the summer after sophomore year." Danny mutters, "I don't remember the size of my dick that far back," and Hayden goes, "Anyway the hair grew back thicker than ever." Huh, I'd like those skinny hairy legs of his wrapped around me as he fucks me a new asshole.

It's already quarter-to-nine when we're going back upstairs with new bottles of Rolling Rock, and I'm asking, "What time do you think we'll leave for this gay club?" Danny says, "No earlier than ten o'clock and then after a forty-minute drive we'll still be earlier than most." I think, 'Oh man! No way do I don't want Danny driving us home. He gets drunk too fast." I go, "Um, how do you handle the driving-drunk situation, especially after front-loading and then having drinks at the club too and... it's a problem, no?" Hayden says, "I won't drink at the club. Think of me as the designated driver." Bull shit! It's gonna be me who needs to not drink and I've already had a shot and a beer almost two-hours before we even get to the damn club. That's problem number one... already!

But no, problem number one is Danny pointing at me and then the chair Hayden's standing next to, "You're first, Dylan. Get in that chair." I go, "Why am I always first? You sent me first for the haircut first and now this." He goes, "It's simple, you cute fucker you, I'm the leader and I say you're first." Hayden goes, "Sit right here, Dylan. I'll get this make-up lamp situated," which he now turns on. I sit in the chair, muttering, "What light bulb is that, three-hundred watts?" Oh fuck, there's some negativity sneaking out already, and wasted over a lamp! Not good.

Danny picks up a magazine, mumbling, "Please just sit there quietly, babe. Let Hayden do his magic." Hayden puts a CD in his player, saying, "This is the Three Tenors' 2010 album called 'Three Tenors... The Collection'. Do you know that their debut album in like 1990, or around then, was the biggest selling classical album of all time?" I go, "No, I didn't know that, plus I've never fuckin' heard of the three tenors," and then a big voice starts singing in a foreign language, loud! I look at Danny, who is totally nonplus about everything as he reads a body-builder magazine and he's starting-in on the salsa and corn chips too. Hayden sees that and eats some himself and then breathes corn-chip breath in my face. Jesus! He says, "Sit back, Dylan, and I'll see if I can do the impossible and make you even more beautiful than you already are." I mumble, "Cut that shit out, Hayden. It's annoying hearing a word like 'beautiful' in connection with me. I'm a fucking guy!" He mumbles to Danny, "Yeah, the beautiful ones are often temperamental."

Hayden's leaning close to me stretching the skin above and below my eyebrow with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while he's using the tweezers in his right to pluck some of my eyebrow hairs, which is totally unnecessary as he agreed the other time he messed around doing some make-up on me. Even if I do say so myself, my eyebrows are perfect as they are. By the way, eyebrows are an overlooked aspect of a good-looking face. Some are oddly shaped or too wide or too close together; any kind of fuck-up is possible with eyebrows which come compliments of the guy's genes. If they're fucked-up, he's fucked-up. A shame really.

To his credit Hayden doesn't do much plucking but he does use an eyebrow pencil as the three tenors hit a note at the end of their first number that the human voice box isn't supposed to be able to make. It gives me chills. This is the first classical album I've ever heard and at the volume Hayden's playing it... perhaps this is the first classical album his neighbors have ever heard as well.

The reason I knew he was using an eyebrow pencil is because Hayden murmurs the name of each step during his 'make-over', as he calls it. I'm much less irritated about all this than I should be because I like both these guys a lot and most of the time, hell, almost all the time we're not doing shit like this. So it's Hayden's night and what the hell, I guess I'll go along with the nonsense. I can glance, with my eyeballs way over to the left and see myself in Hayden's too-bright make-up lamp/mirror. My normal blondish/light-brown-eyebrows are now dark brown but not wider or more extended than they normally are. As he's doing it Hayden unnecessarily tells me he's now using eye liner, um, to outline around my eyes, like the word 'eyeliner' suggests. Okay, I admit that my eyes look bluer now against the dark outlined eyes and dark eyebrows, although I'm of the opinion they were plenty blue enough to start with. Do I complain about any of this and thereby showing negativity? Nope!

Hayden mumbles, "Now for some Mascara to lengthen just a little your already impressive eyelashes." As he's doing it, all I can think of is if that dust or whatever it is gets in my eyes I might lose my shit entirely. Hayden's very careful though, I'll give him that, as he says, "Oh man, Dylan, almost every woman on earth would like the features on your face." He pulls his hand away for a second to look at me, saying, "But you look one-hundred-percent male so maybe they'd only want your eyes, eyelashes, and nose and lips." He laughs as I let out an exaggerated exhale catching Danny giving me a 'look' and silently mouthing the words, 'You promised to go along with this' and for some reason I snort out a laugh that startles Hayden. This is so goofy it made me laugh. Danny looks over frowning and Hayden goes, 'What's funny?" Shaking my head slightly, I go, "Oh nothing. Something I just thought of," and I tell them Chubby's entire story about how Nelson Mandela, after handling stoically all those years being tortured in prison, but then after being married only six-months, yells, "I can't take this shit anymore!" They both laugh their asses off.

His Mom hears the laughter and comes into the bedroom directly from her shower, wrapped only in a flimsy silk robe, and as horrifying as it might be, I don't think there's anything underneath the robe that's barely big enough to cover even her petite body. Hayden tells her the full story: after twenty-six years in prison, blah, blah, blah and then, 'I can't put up with this shit anymore." She laughs a little, but then says, "Your Daddy and I had a wonderful marriage, Hayden." She gets a little choked-up as I recall Hayden saying his Dad died when Hayden was like eleven. Danny and I are solemn as Hayden pats his Mom's shoulder, murmuring, "I know you did, Mom."

Jesus, if that wasn't awkward enough, his Mom looks at me and goes, "Hayden, darling, too much, um... I'll do it." Hayden gets up and his mother leans over me with a tissue and removes something on my eyelashes and then get an apparatus that Hayden narrates, "She's using an eye-curler, Dylan." She's so close to me, her tiny robe coming apart and her small tits are showing. I close my eyes as she closes the eye-curlers on my eyelashes. Oh God save me! She's breathing in my face the strong smell of liquor. My eyes start watering as she brushes something off the bridge of my nose, and for some ungodly reason she won't back-up even a little. Finally she's pinching my bangs saying to Hayden, "My advice, honey, only dye his bangs and you'll definitely need to cut on both sides of them." She hands the eye-curler to Hayden, saying, "You don't want to overdo it, Hayden. His beauty is in him being a boy. Don't turn him into a girl." Hayden mutters, "God forbid!" She pats my head and says, "You look wonderful, Daniel." I say, 'Do you have a problem with names, Tinker? lI I mean, you obviously have a problem with keeping those tiny tits covered?' No! I don't say that! I say, "Thank you, that's very nice of you to say," and no one corrects her name mix up. She goes, "I'm so late! Sorry I need to run, boys, but have fun!"

The rest is a blur as I try getting over Tinker almost sitting on my lap with her tiny tits almost hitting my chin. I pulled my head back trying to get away from her booze breath with Hayden's saying, "Sit up straight for Mom, Dylan." That was a traumatic experience for sure, but I soldier on with Hayden finishing doing whatever with my eyes, and then he uses a brush to put some kind of what he calls 'blush' on my cheeks and then he's meticulous using his, as he calls it, Rimmel London Liquid lipstick 'that won't get on your kissing partner'. The lipstick is a shade of purple although he calls it something else. Then he takes fifteen minutes clipping, filing, and painting my fingernails a color that again looks like purple to me, but he calls it. '"Off-blue to play off your eye coloring." Uh huh.

Somewhere along the way I get a dreamy feeling, and again think: fuck it, let him have his fun. My semi-trance is broken when Hayden says, "This 'Splat' brand washable hair dye will come out usually in one or two shampoos. A lot of the coloring will anyway." He applies the dye with an applicator comb. The hair dye is approximately the same purple color as my lipstick and fingernail polish. Like Tinker told him, Hayden only uses the hair dye on my bangs. At least that was one good thing she did. No, two good things. She did the Buffalo Wings too. Way to go, Tinker Bell. Maybe Hayden would have dyed my whole head if she hadn't said just my bangs, but who knows?

As he's dyeing my bangs, he repeats himself, "This is only a temporary liquid hair coloring that will usually wash away in two shampoos; most of it anyway." Key words of concern are 'usually' and 'most of it', but I'm actually back into a pleasant trance now, one that I didn't anticipate. All the fussing and gentle touching, plus Hayden's voice and the fact of him being two inches from my face for fifteen-minutes at a time it's all become hypnotic to me, like so many things are.

He's combing my purple bangs down and then fluffing them up and looking frustrated. Combing then down a third time he mutters, "Mom was right again," and he takes scissors and cuts my bangs even shorter on the left side and then the right, leaving the middle the length Robby cut them. Now when Hayden fluffs then up and pats them to the side, he murmurs, "Perfect." He's finished and pats my chest, muttering, "You look awesome!" I don't even bother looking in the mirror, as he says, "And, there's conditioners in that hair coloring too," patting my bangs over a little more, he mutters, "So it won't dry out your pretty hair. You were a very good client, Dylan, and I thank you. All done."

I get up and actually say, "Thank you, Hayden, you're quite the artist." He says, "You're sweet as always. Ya know, this is what I hope to do for a living. I'll need specialty schooling after college and then try to get a job with a studio in Hollywood as a make-up artist." I'm still in a bit of a trance or maybe partially hypnotized so, to whatever he said, I go, "Good luck," and Danny gets up and hugs my shoulders, saying, also with corn-chip-breath, "You were better than good, Dylan." I mutter, 'Thanks, Daddy," and we both chuckle getting me out of my pleasant trance and back with the living. I look in the mirror now, and think... 'Oh fuck!'

Like the outfit Hayden's wearing though, the make-up, while fucked-up, isn't as bad as I expected. Not good by a lot, but not as bad as I expected. Now if only the hair dye company isn't bull shitting everyone, and it does shampoo out, I'll survive. But I'm definitely telling Robby about Hayden cutting my bangs because I'm not taking responsibility for that. They do look okay this way though, and maybe even better than before although Rob won't agree.

Sitting in the chair Danny was in I pick up and glance at the body builder magazine he was enthralled with and immediately decide I'd like to keep the Buffalo Wings down so I drop the magazine and watch Hayden fuck up Danny's face as I'm getting bored and we're not even at the gay Green House club yet! This could be one of those epic nights I'll be trying to forget for years afterwards...

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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