Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR

Chapter 31

by Donny Mumford

After sleeping late on this holiday Wednesday morning, I wake-up in my own bed for a change. The thing that first occurs to me as my mind begins functioning is the least important aspect of last night with Marty West. It's that he insisted we were on our second 'date' while I'm more inclined to think of it as merely going someplace with a potential side-sex partner. A 'date' should entail more than that somehow, shouldn't it? I mean, sex was by far the primary reason for the two of us, who barely know each other, to meet and have a quick bite of food before getting down to the main reason we're together. Well, like I said, that's the least important aspect of last night.

More noteworthy was the attempt at some 'real' sub/dom sex; the aspect of that I should be thinking about is the fact that this morning I feel zero submissiveness to Marty. Absolute zero! Not that I expected anything else so I'm not surprised, but it's just that I have had leftover submissive feelings for dominant guys in the past. I mean after an intense dominant sex night, or a submissive night depending on one's perspective.

Yeah, I can think of a few occasions in the past where a submissive-sense was carried-over to the next morning. Its happened with both Willie and Ryan, for example. I've also, embarrassingly, felt lingering traces of that with Ray too although that summer I was on sort of a rebound from missing Ryan's dominant sex. No need to get into Ray's many drawbacks because this isn't about him, although weirdly he was the last person I thought about before going to sleep last night.

In the shower, I'm shampooing my hair a second time because in certain light I swear I can still see a purple tint to my bangs. I could be imagining that. Anyway, Marty's dominant sex last night was a convoluted hit or miss affair at best. He at least called it what it was: sub/dom sex. If I'm remembering correctly Hayden's buddy-sex is sort of dominant although he doesn't think of it like that, or call it that. He 'tops' so infrequently, like almost never, I'm assuming he's basically winging-it, sort of freelance. Still I preferred Hayden's winging-it to Marty's attempt at sub/dom sex. Neither experience for me is close to qualifying as being really dominate though.

I guess my earlier dominant sex partners have spoiled me. Guess I took them for granted. It's been almost a year since my last truly dominant sub/dom sexual experience and that was with Ryan Wilcox obviously. Anyway, lately I've been thinking about those old times. Not as an obsession or anything but rather as something that used to be nuclear-hot sexually and consequently something I wouldn't mind experiencing again on a, let's say, one-and-done, or twice-and-done basis. That's about it... more a curiosity to see if true sub/dom sex still lights my fire like it used to.

Marty pulled-out all the stops he knew, and there were brief periods of decent submissive trances but mostly the night was a borderline pain-in-the-ass; not figuratively but literately at times. It was far from great but it's not all Marty's fault necessarily, he simply isn't one of those naturally dominant guys. Last night I discovered that the dominant person needs to be, first and foremost, a naturally dominant 'top' and then secondarily he needs to know how to do sub/dom sex. In other word, the 'how he goes about the sub/dom sex' is secondary to him first being a 'naturally dominant individual. A so-called 'dom' can't fake it like I felt Marty was doing.

This topic of sub/dom sex I freely acknowledge isn't for the majority of gay or straight sex partners, although it is for probably more than the average person thinks it is, but still not for the majority by any stretch of the imagination. Some people unfortunately feel they know what's best for others. For instance, I've heard guys claim they can't abide when any aspect of sex causes pain. How nice for you them, while obviously that's their opinion and others have a different one.

There's apparently a human need in some of the 'know-it-all' people to be significant. They want to 'matter' and for them that means they need to be 'right' about everything. For them it's important that their opinion matters more than 'your' opinion. This is a way for them to feel 'significant'. There's a component of self-importance in a person being convinced their opinion, and morale standards, are not only correct but those who disagree with them must be either stupid or immoral. Yeah, there are people like that, too many of them actually...

It's a fact, not opinion that inconsequential pain adds to the erotic nature of sex for some individuals. Of course, there are also other people who get sexually aroused from being confined in a very small space, others like being wrapped in leather or whipped or burned by hot wax... or whatever the fuck you can think of. There're a million fetishes and many erotic stimuli, some that might blow most of our minds, but it's an individual's choice. Judging others is not a good character trait; especially where something as personal as sex is concerned.

Yes, there are hot-button topics like sex, religion and politics, or abortion, and I suppose a few other subjects that it's best allowing others to differ from your opinion. Oh sure, sub/dom sex, or any form of sexual stimuli should never do real harm to either party, or to others. That goes without saying and obviously whatever turns a couple 'on' needs to be by mutual consent. I'm sorry to disappoint those who think their way is the only correct way because the world's population has reached seven-billion and every individual is unique in some way, or in many ways, and they have a lot of different ideas as to what gets them 'off' sexually. I say let the individual decide for themselves... that's a radical concept for some.

I feel confident I'm not alone in my attitude regarding dominant sex even as my interest in it may be fading. For me sub/dom sex is only one of a number of sexual experiences I enjoy. I've been more prolific in my sex-life than most so I know a little something about the different ways to have and enjoy sex. I'm also aware there are others who are even more experienced than me, so I'm not claiming to be anything special or some kind of expert.

Hell, I'm in the minority among humans to start with. I mean by being homosexual. Within the homosexual community I don't consider myself a freak either. I was a fairly late-bloomer to my sexuality so perhaps my fascination with sex is my attempt to catch up with guys who acknowledged their sexuality at a much younger age and had opportunities to become sexually active early on. Oh man though, I admit to being a little jealous about those early bloomer guys; there's nothing as sweet as young sex. The innocent exploration and naivety of it all can't be duplicated. Same is true of young love, first love. Whatever...

Missing out on having sex through most of my teen years is a shame because we never again have a sex-drive, a libido, like the one enjoyed as teenagers. That's when we had the hardest, fastest erections ever! We were also best equipped for encore performances and our semen ran like tap water. Yeah, we were filled-up with sex-revving testosterone during those fleeting, squirmy teen-years that we thought would last forever. Most of the semen running like water unfortunately was a result of jerking off, but then youth is totally wasted on the very young. That's what old people say anyway. I say to that, 'Bullshit', it's not wasted on the young! Saying it is, well that's the most obvious case of sour grapes I've ever heard.

As I'm turning off the flow of water in the shower I wonder why I think about stuff like this so much? Is it a defensive form of overanalyzing or rationalizing my own behavior? I don't know the answer obviously or I wouldn't need to ask myself the question in the first place. After my shower, while drying myself my mind wanders again to last night with Marty. It was ultimately unsatisfying although, like I said, it did have its brief moments. Jesus, that urine-play, um, or whatever it's called. That was totally unexpected.

Of course, there is a segment of humans who find urine sexually stimulating. I'm not being critical or judgmental when I say I'm not one of them... I'm open-minded. I mean, is a urine fetish any weirder than my haircut fetish? Let him without a fetish or weird fantasy throw the first stone... or something like that.

What do I think about Marty pulling that urine routine on me though? That's my question. Was it so unexpected it seemed erotic, or was I was so open to experiencing a really dominant sexual act I was up for anything? Well hell, it must have registered as erotic someplace in my brain because I didn't freak-out or even push Marty away. In fact when he took his hands away from my head I continued swallowing his piss. Huh, ninety-five-percent sterile water or not, there's the other five-percent to consider. Marty didn't mention anything about the other five-percent! Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm not doing that again. Hell, I might never do anything sexual with Marty West again in my life. I haven't completely decided about that yet.

Dried off I go back into my bedroom and think about get dressed. Hmmm, what I really need to start thinking about is today's Fourth of July cookout. Mom stayed with Tom last night allegedly so she'd be there this morning to help prepare the food. Whatever, best not to think about that too closely. Jeez, I don't know anything about this cookout. I have no idea who else will even be there, or what time it starts. Two o'clock maybe? Well, I know Robby's coming with me and Chubby will eventually show up so I'll dress a tiny bit better than normal in honor of the Fourth. Ironing my newest cargo shorts and then I choose a Polo golf shirt to go with my ironed shorts and boat shoes. That's my idea of dressing-up.

When dressed I venture into the quiet living room smelling the back of my hand and thinking how different my 'family life' has been compared to Rob's. I should say, my lack of family life; traditional family life I mean. Mine hasn't been that at all, but it's been full of love from the Moms and my brother and I've never felt consciously handicapped by the unusual childhood Chubby and I experienced. I liked it very much as a matter of fact.

I've no complaints about that, but staying with Rob and experiencing things like his Mom fixing our breakfast every morning and then we just leave our dirty dishes and whatnot on the table; that's a very different experience for me. I like it, but at the same time I can't imagine how Chub's and my Mom could have done things differently. I mean considering neither of them has the education necessary to break away from waitressing. There aren't a lot of women who have worked harder or longer than our Moms, I know that for sure. Through their hard work they were eventually able to buy these nice condos as a roof over our heads, plus consistently provide the funds Chubby and I needed for food and clothing. Obviously there was a lot of sacrificing by them over the years, and with never a single complaint I can remember from either of them. It was a smiling, upbeat, and encouraging environment to grow-up in, albeit a different one from a traditional family life.

Okay, so I'm not saying one family experience is better than another; it depends on those involved more than anything else. I will say however that after the hard years the Moms have endured I'm totally invested and truly thrilled they fell in love with the Rider twins. Those guys seem perfect for them, and the Moms seem perfect for the guys. A perfect 'anything' is really rare though!! To me those four meeting-and-falling-in-love is the most wonderful happening in my life so far. It gives me chills of appreciation for the happenstance that brought them together! It makes me tear-up sometimes thinking about how wonderful it is for all of us.

Damn, I need to get a grip! Fixing myself a coffee and a bowl of Froot Loops I sit at the kitchen bar trying to envision growing-up with a Mom and Dad the way Rob and Dodger did. It hasn't worked out really well for Dodger while Rob's apparently thriving within that family environment. I can't figure out why it worked for one but not the other. And I'm not sure how I feel about Dodger lately either. Oh fuck yeah, I need to get over to his condo to take his mail inside for him. The last I heard Dodger was staying in California training for the business he plans starting here in Framingham. I can't believe it's in construction though. I don't snoop in other people's business, other people's lives, but I really would like to know what Dodger's up to. Please dear God make it be something legal!

With Dodger though almost anything goes. I'm wicked curious about his three-hundred-thousand-dollars and his plans for that too. And ya know, him winning that jackpot in Vegas is one too many secrets for me to keep! I wish he hadn't told me about it. I feel disloyal to Rob for not sharing it with him. Or maybe Rob already knows and he thinks it's a secret from me. There I go overanalyzing things again! Why in the hell would Dodger tell both of us and make us both keep it a secret? It makes no sense and it's not what he did!

Finished my nutritious breakfast, I take my second mug of coffee to the balcony for a smoke. Damn! It's hot out here today but thankfully there's no chance of rain. Rain can totally fuck-up a cook-out. Before I can light a cigarette, Robby calls me and I'm like, "Hi, Rob! G'morning!" He goes, "Hi, Dylan. Damn you sound cheerful today." Yeah, I do and I'm not sure why. Well for one thing I don't have a hangover this morning. It's not as if not-having-a-hangover is something unique because it's not.

Rob asks, "What's the story on the cookout?" I go, "Ya know, I still need to find out what's up with that. I'll get back to you in a couple of minutes. How was your night at the basketball courts?" He chuckles, "Well, we found out our high school baseball teammates suck at basketball. Ha ha, they got run off the court. Danny and I felt bad for them so we didn't even meet-up with them after the game. We felt they'd be embarrassed if we were like, 'Hey guys, whassup?'"

Rob gives me some of the gruesome details from the game and when I get a chance I innocently ask, "What'd Hayden think of the game?" Okay, that's a sneaky way of finding out if Hayden was with them. Rob goes, "Hayden? He wasn't with us. He and those goofy girls he calls 'fag-hags' had a sleep-over or something." Yeah well, Rob's still not fully embracing Hayden even though they bonded a little bit in the pool house last week. I go, "So, what'd you guys do after the game?" I hate myself for asking that but it just came out of my mouth. Rob goes, "DYLAN!" meaning we don't pry into each other'sextra-curricular activities. I mutter, "What? I was wondering if you stopped at the Dairy Queen or something." He laughs and then asks, "So, what time do you want me to pick you up?"

Nicely done, Rob! He ignored my inquiry as if it never even happened. I go, "How about now. Oh, and do you think Dick's Sports Goods store is open today, it being the Fourth and all? I need to buy cleats for baseball." He says, "Yeah, they'll be open. I want to buy a new bat too. Okay, I'll see you in twenty minutes." I go, "Oh, one last thing. Um, can we stop at your brother's condo for a minute? I promised I'd take his mail inside for him?" Rob hesitates a second and then goes, "Sure, why not. I'll see you soon."

Huh, I know Rob has seen Dodger's rented condo so it's not like he refuses to go there but I suppose there are any number of legitimate reasons he might hesitate. Hell, I hesitate too because I don't know what Dodger's up to either. He's very closed-mouth about it; a very secretive guy and he always has been if we're honest about it. It's not like he all of a sudden changed his, um, MO, as in the Latin, Modus Operandi. Yeah, I speak a little Latin.

Huh, thinking again about Rob and Danny last night I gotta say Rob played the side-sex game fairly by never asking what I did last night. He doesn't care what I did last night because he knows whatever it was doesn't mean shit. It's Rob and me, that's what matters. Everything else is play time... the toy store of life!

Whatever we both did last night is temporary and not important when compared to how important we are together. We're what matter to each other and I fully get that but curiosity isn't easily turned-off. It's weird of me perhaps, but I hope Danny and Rob fucked up a storm up last night. That'll negate my activity with Marty. Hee hee, like I've thought a couple of times before, I'd actually like to be a fly on the wall sometime when Danny and Rob are having sex. Just once. Oh fuck though, I just remember the time in freshman year when I came upon Ryan and Rob having sex. It was totally unplanned on my part; an accidental encounter. Due to my immaturity back then I was devastated, but even so Rob and I had our arrangement back then too so I got over it. How different is it now when I can say truthfully, I'm not jealous that Danny and Rob do buddy-sex? Good for them because I know what counts and that doesn't count for much.

Okay, Rob will be here soon so I'm fixing my hair when, holy shit, I need to shave. This is an additional concern these past six-weeks-or-so. Yeah, a scraggily, sparse beard-growth on my upper lip and chin needs to be dealt with. Beginning beards look sloppy if ignored so I take two-minutes to shave and then put on some awesome-smelling, although subtle, after-shave lotion. Then I'm back to patting my hair in front trying to get it to look like it did when Hayden fixed it, minus the hair dye.

Jesus, it's so fucking odd that now I think this latest hair style is cool when I used to think it looked like the worst kind of home haircut possible; the kind a mother would give her humiliated son when the Mother had never been in a barbershop in her life and therefore had no idea how to cut hair. Isn't it odd how our perception of 'cool' changes over time? Sports and local TV guys pay a hundred-dollars or more for this basically absurd haircut and Robby does it better than the hundred-dollar-barbers if you ask me. Yeah, well I'm slightly prejudice.

Satisfied with my hair, I think, 'Brush your teeth'! What the fuck, how could I forget that? So I do that and then I'm ready to go. I'm wearing the same leather bracelet and David Yurman necklace I always have on, plus the small hoop earrings I wore last night. For some reason, I've mostly stopped wearing rings even though those rings mean a lot to me. It's the sentimentality of them both; one from Chubby and the other from Robby. Oh yeah, and the engagement ring in my sock drawer. That was monumentally silly although at the time Rob gave it to me I thought it was the sweetest thing ever. Never wore it for as much as ten-seconds but it's the thought that counts, ya know? Dumb as a box of rocks, but still kinda sweet too.

On the balcony, not smoking, just looking down the alley watching for Rob's pickup I get a call from my Mom. Oh shit, I should have called her! We talk small-talk for a minute with me avoiding a question like, 'What'd you do last night?' because I'm pretty sure I know what she did last night and I'm pretty sure she had a good time doing it. She finally tells me about the cookout: Tris has already called Chubby who's working again this morning. He'll go over to Tom's directly from work with a 'date'. Mom says, "You can come over now, sweetheart, and I wish you would. I'd love to see you. Tommy told everyone to show up around one o'clock and we've prepared some very nice food."

Tommy is Tom Rider of course, Mom's fiancé. I tell Mom that Rob and I have a few errands to run and then we'll be over and we're looking forward to it. We say 'goodbye' without me asking who else is invited because I wouldn't know them anyway. Well, now I've got some information about the cookout to share with Rob although I should have followed through and found out the details yesterday. Procrastinating is still something I have on my 'to do list'; something I need to STOP! I'll get around to that later though.

I see Rob driving into the alley a minute after Mom's call. He doesn't see me here on the balcony and blows the horn. Two little toot-toots as he's idling under the balcony. I scurry on down through the basement and out through the garage. Damn, I feel excited about seeing Rob even though I was just with him yesterday. Getting in the pickup and wow, he looks hot! What an awesome boyfriend! And to think I used to take Robby for granted. No more though.

"Hi Rob," and we do a quick-as-a-wink-kiss 'hello'. I go, "You smell good, "and he says, "We smell the same, babe. Remember, you bought the same after shave lotion I use." I'm like, "Oh yeah. Why'd you shave though? You know I think your beginner's beard is sexy." He shrugs, "I don't know, Dylan. I kinda like the clean-shaved 'look' myself." I mutter, "Go ahead then, please yourself, " and he grins, "Okay, I will. Are we going to Dick's Sporting Goods now?" I say, "Yes, before that though please stop at Dodger's place." Rob says nothing to that, and off we go with me saying, "My Mom just called to say we can go over any time we want. I told her we have some things to do first though." Rob nods and mumbles, "I suppose at your Mom's boyfriend's cookout there'll be a crowd similar to the one that's at my neighbor's cookout. A bunch of older people." I go, "Well the twins are only thirty, or maybe thirty-one, so they must know some younger guys. Anyway we don't need to stay real long."

Dodger's condo is out of the way for Dick's Sporting Goods store but I can tell Rob's driving to Dodger's when he makes a left onto route 9. He never said we were going there, just grunted when I asked, so I'm like, "You don't mind stopping at Dodger's, do you, Rob?" He says, "Nah, but ya know, he's doing his normal narcissistic thing. Doing what he wants and expecting others, you and me in this case, to take care of whatever he needs taking care of." I go, "That's too harsh, Rob! Friends, and brothers do favors for each other." He asks, "What favor has he done for you lately?" I shrug, "I don't keep count of favors. Ya know what though?" He glances over, "No, what?" and I tell him, "Dodger's forgetting he has monthly bills. He's paid the rent a year in advance but there's still monthly utility bills. Last time I was at his place I noticed a bill from Mass Gas. It couldn't be much of a charge but he should pay it." Rob nods, "Yeah, we'll forward the bills to him. I have the address where he's staying." Huh, I don't.

At Dodger's we both get out and grab the mail from his mailbox and then some off his front stoop. Inside Rob looks around and goes, "It's a nice place alright. Good for Dodger." I'm sorting through the mail, putting the electric bill and the Gas bill aside. Folding them in-half I put them in my pocket, saying, "I'll just put the rest of the mail on the kitchen table." Rob mumbles, "Let me see what it is," and he looks at the four little packages that were on the front stoop, saying, "These are from California distributors of paraphernalia sold in marijuana retail stores. Aside from junk mail the rest are letters or whatever, pamphlets maybe, on the marijuana trade. He's going to open a marijuana retail store here!" I go, "Really? I never looked at his mail. I assume he was working construction." Rob mumbles, "Yeah, he was working construction at first but now it looks like he's preparing for Massachusetts' new law legalizing marijuana." I'm like, "Oh yeah, us voters passed legalization last November but it's still not enacted or whatever that's called." Rob nods as he's still looking at some of the mail, saying, "Yeah, the legislature is diddling around with the law figuring how much they can tax it." I go, "So now we know what Dodger's up to."

Rob shakes his head, mumbling, "Yeah, Mom and Dad will be so proud," and then he drops the mail on the kitchen table, "Let's go, babe." We leave as I ask, "Will you give me Dodger's address? I'll mail him the two bills he needs to pay." Standing next to the pickup Rob types in a few things on his cellphone and passes it to me, muttering, "There's his address. He's staying with a friend of his. Send it care/of, Josh Price." I put the information in my phone and hand Rob his cellphone back." He says, "Um, thanks for keeping on top of Dodger with things like those bills, babe. Somebody needs to." We're getting into the truck with me mumbling, "It's no trouble."

Rob drives to Dick's Sporting Goods store in the Natick Mall. It's part of the Mall but in its own separate building. We were mostly silent during the drive and I suppose Rob was thinking about Dodger. I was thinking about Dodger too, not sure what I think about him planning to open one of the first marijuana retail stores in the state. That's probably a smart move, especially since he's apparently working at a California retail store and learning what the business entails first hand. But yeah, I guess I can see where Rob and his parents might frown on it as being a less than a prestigious endeavor. Initially I might be leaning towards Rob and his parents' way of thinking. Oh hell, I don't know what to think actually. Dodger is so different from anyone I know it's hard to know what to think. It'll be a legal endeavor at least! Hopefully...

Inside Dick's Sporting Goods we head for the section featuring all things 'baseball'. As Rob did when we were buying clothes for me to wear to work, he looks everything over very carefully before making a decision. I saw a pair of baseball cleats within three-minutes that I was fine with, but Rob goes, "No, don't choose the first pair you see, babe. Let's look for bargains and make sure there isn't a better pair. Hey, this pair right here is cooler-looking, don't ya think?" Shrugging, I go, "Yeah, they're cool." Rob picks up another pair, mumbling, "Jesus, they certainly have a huge selection here!" I mutter, "Huh."

After like, a half-hour we both agree on a pair of size-eight Nike Force 3 Trout Pro cleats for $64.99, reduced from $69.99. Big-deal, $5.00 reduction! The cleats are a Mike Trout model and I'm very pleased with them! Robby tried talking me into getting the current year's model but I refused, "No, I'm getting these." He gave me a 'look' but had nothing else to say about it. This year's model, that he wanted me to buy, cost $50.00 more but then Rob has more spendable income than I do. I'm satisfied with last year's model... on-sale.

Next Rob wants another aluminum bat for himself. He already has a half-dozen bats but they aren't the newest models. Colleges are transitioning to wooden bats but our league is 100% aluminum bats. We start looking at them and I'm blown away how much they cost! Sure, there are a few under $40.00 but not many and the word 'Junior' is included in those bats' description. Not for Rob obviously!

He swings about fifty bats before settling on a $149.99 Louisville Slugger Omaga 517 model priced down from $199.99. Rob gets a 33 inch one in red and gray colors, and then talks me into getting my own bat too. Well yeah, I guess I can't use Danny's bat forever. Damn though, I never envisioned spending this much money just because I made the team. Mostly I made the team from the bogus reputation Danny made-up about me, but whatever, I want to have my own bat.

Rob takes longer choosing a bat for me then he did choosing his own bat. I feel I should be patient though because he knows much more about bats than I do. I was initially content with about forty of the bats I swung before settling on a yellow and black 31-inch Easton 500 aluminum bat for $79.99 reduced from $99.99. Then Rob wanted me to look at batting gloves which cost between $30.00 and $50.00. To me none of them were appreciably better than the barely-used batting gloves Danny gave me, so I'm like, "Uh uh, I'm using Danny's." Rob makes another 'face' muttering, "Fine," and buys a pair for himself at $45.00, and they are cool-looking but I'm not tempted.

We need to pay for these things and there's always a line at the registers in Dick's Sporting Goods. To their credit they have three register clerks working so the lines move quickly. Dick's is doing okay I'd say, business-wise. Three shoppers in front of us are two teenage boys about fifteen who I think might be gay. One especially is acting gay and the other doesn't seem put-out by it. There's lots of touching with the gay kid touching the other's earring and then pulling at the hair that's grown over the boy's ear. Yeah, that kid definitely missed his appointment at Supercuts about six-weeks ago. Now they're trying on each other's hats; the new ones they're buying and doing that along with some annoying giggling. Whatever, they look like they're having fun together even though neither one qualifies as 'cute' on my cute-o-meter in my brain.

Rob interrupts my ogling, saying, "Jeez, did you read the description for your baseball cleats, babe?" I go, "Huh? Read what?" and he goes into this thing about the difference between baseball shoes which leads into a discussion by him about the difference between his bat and the one I'm buying. I nod, but he can tell I couldn't care less and he goes, "You don't read directions either; do you?" I go, "What kind of directions?" He says, "Your last cellphone directions, for example. I had to show you how to set-up your voice mail and..." but now it's mercifully our turn at the register so Rob drops the lecture. After putting my stuff on the counter, I look at the door but the gay boys have left the building.

Rob's right of course, I don't read directions. The sports watch Willie bought me a few years ago can perform ten-times as many functions as it's doing for me because I didn't read how to program it up to do those other things. Basically the watch just tells me the time, which is really all I care about. The watch could also tell me the time in Japan, for example, but I don't care what time it is there. Why would I? And I think it's waterproof too but I'm not sure because I lost the directions long ago. I mean, the printed instructions for the watch was like a book. It also was in three-or-four languages and everything printed in a very tiny font. Who the fuck is going to read that?

I hear, "Dylan, the man says it'll be $153.00 including tax." I look up and go, "Right," and pass my debit card to the register guy who looks college-age with, of course, the latest fad haircut. Ha ha, it's like mine. He grins at me, mumbling, "Cool haircut," which makes my hand touch my hair without me thinking I was going to do that as I mumble, "You too." For some reason, the goof laughs at that and I half expect Rob to tell the guy he was my barber but he doesn't say anything. I can tell Rob's anxious to get out of here. He shops for hours, but then he's impatient to leave once the shopping's done.

Outside he says, "That was fun, Dylan," and he swings his new bat, exclaiming, "Damn, I can't wait to use this bat!" Our next stop is Rob's house where he parks on the street and asks me to stay in the car. Taking our bats, his new batting gloves, and my cleats into the pool house he comes right back out and without stopping in to say 'Hi' to his parents gets in the pickup with a sheepish grin, saying, "If Mom or Dad sees me they'll nag us to stop in at the neighbor's cookout." I shrug, thinking, 'What would be so bad about that?'

As we pull away from his house I tell Rob what I was thinking, "What would be so bad about that? I mean just to stop in and show ourselves for a few minutes. Have a beer or something." He's shaking his head, "Nah, I'd get stuck with the Martin's son, Richard, who is a major asshole. He graduated college last year or the year before. He's a braggart and a bore and believe me you don't want to meet him." Actually, I did meet him a couple of years ago at one of the Dickers' cookout and Rob's right; the guy is not someone I want to spend any time with. I mumble, "We should stop in later though, for a few minutes anyway. Just for your parents' sake, if nothing else." Rob mumbles, "Yeah, okay, maybe."

I ask, "Where we going now?" and he grins at me, "To your house. Where else, babe?" Oh boy! Pretending astonishment, I'm like, "Don't tell me you're already horny again!" He chuckles, "Yes, but it's your fault. You're so sexy and cute. Plus it was fun shopping for that baseball stuff with you and I love that we're on the baseball team together... everything like that gets me turned-on. Don't you sense it?" I go, "Well hell yeah, I'm a little horny myself now that you mention it." We smirk at each other feeling a little smug being us.

He parks at the Center Street curb below the condos and on the way up the steps, he goes, "Okay, since you don't wanna stay with me tonight I think some hot and fast recreational sex, as you call it, needs to be the next order of business. Whaddaya think about that?" I go, "I think it's a very good idea, but don't lay a guilt trip on me because I'm not staying at house tonight. Jesus, I'm gonna stay Thursday and I already was there Monday and Tuesday nights." He pats my shoulder, "Don't make it sound like it's a chore, Dylan." I go, "No, I'm not saying that. I really think it's cool staying at your place. Really! But not every night..." He smiles and goes, "Every night would be perfect though!"

At the door as I'm getting my key out, Rob goes, "That reminds me. Can you stay Friday night too? Seriously! We have our first game on Saturday and there's a practice Friday night so it only makes sense you stay with me. Save me the trouble of driving you back and forth, ya know?" I go, "Well, in that case how about our dinner date Saturday night?" He nods, "Yep, you're right; you should stay Saturday night too," and we both sort of snicker as we go inside. I mumble, "Maybe I can move into Dodger's room permanently," and we snicker some more.

Inside Rob's like, "Hey, let's have a beer first. I need to relax a little after driving all over town for the last two-hours." I get two cans of Bud from the refrigerator, "It hasn't been two-hours of driving, has it?" He takes a swallow of beer and says, "I left my house to come pick you up at five-after-eleven and now it almost one o'clock. That's two-hours." I go, "You said you liked driving me around!" He grins, "Touchy, are we?" I go, "We're a fucking team, dude. You drive and I do the back-seat driving." He laughs and then drinks some more beer. Lately Rob's super-easy to get along with...

We take our beers to the balcony and smoke a cigarette while drinking and talking about the baseball team. Rob's complaining that neither of us will get in very many games. He goes, "I was the last pitcher to make the team so for the first three-games the other pitchers will start. It's two-games a week starting Saturday, or occasionally it'll be a Sunday game." I go, "So next week you'll pitch in a game. I need to wait until someone gets hurt before I get in a game and I sincerely hope they're all very careful and no one gets a boo-boo." Rob laughs, saying, "A player gets hurt or can't make a game due to a family commitment or something. That always happens. You'll be in a game sooner than me probably." I mutter, "God help me."

Sitting at the kitchen bar a little later Rob's goofing around coming up with preposterous scenarios for me being in the line-up almost every game. We're laughing and finally I ask, "Since when did you become the comedian, Robby. I thought that was my job." He hugs my shoulders and murmurs, "I'm learning lots of things from you, Dylan," and then he looks at the clock on the wall and mutters, "Ah, look at the time. Whaddaya say we wander down the hall to your bedroom now?" I grin, nodding, and then that's what we do.

We get undressed and lay our clothes neatly on the desk chair with me being ridiculously neat about it. I'm making fun of Rob's neatness obsession, exaggerating the folding of my Polo golf shirt trying to get a laugh outta him but he doesn't get the joke. Instead he assumes I'm being serious, and because it's the way he folds his clothes. Well, it is a good idea to not wrinkle my clothes since we are going to the cookout later and I want to look nice for my Mom. Still, does Rob think I'd seriously fold a pull-over shirt this carefully?

Oh well, we get naked and into each other's arms still standing, leaning against one another. There's something so fantastic about the male-form, especially when it's as well put together as Rob's. What a great body! So sexy and hard in places yet with smooth, soft, and totally unblemished taut skin over everything. Rubbing my hands on his body is very arousing and I bury my face against his shoulder inhaling his scent. It's so natural, boyishly-manly, and very familiar. A scent I've swooned over for some years now. His is my favorite scent by far, but there are others who have a sexy scent to them as well. From comments I've heard from guys, I may be more attuned to other male's scent than most, but then I feel lucky in that regard.

We kiss a more serious kiss than normally expected for extemporaneous-sex which is what I expected we'd be doing this afternoon. That's what Rob said but sometimes we find we're more sexually aroused by each other than we thought we were. Like now as I'm realizing being intimate with Robby is so much more real and meaningful than being with anyone else. It just hits me sometimes and impresses me greatly. Robby means the world to me for so many reasons I can't count them all. With him I get a much deeper more intense feeling that something important is happening. No side-sex ever makes me feel this way. There's simply no comparison and I think Rob feels something similar; basically realizing how special we are together. Everything about the way he shows me his affection, and love, and lust tells me he feels the way I do.

Our kissing and gently licks create a deeply amorous loving-sense and without saying anything we slip into a more serious sexual relation; deeper than merely extraneous fun afternoon sex. Rob gently lowers our naked bodies to my bed, me lying on my back and lifting my head to keep our mouths together as our kissing seems impossibly intimate and arousing... not desperate or rushed at all like happens with fun sex in the afternoon. No words, just quiet moans of sexual arousal and the wet sounds our mouths make together; that's all we hear. Rob licks my lips and rubs his face against mine, my arms are around the back of his neck keeping our faces together as our noses rub and it's like there's nothing but the two of us left on earth, and we're definitely the only thing that matters.

His lips go to my ears for a murmured, "I love you," and he licks my ears whispering, "I love everything that makes you, you," and I get shivers all over my naked body and then goosebumps, but I can't even murmur back because I'm so aroused. Our cocks are stone-hard and bumping against one another. I lift my legs with my feet hanging down on either side of Rob and feel the wet head of his boner pressing against my asshole and then, "Ooooh, ummm, Robby," as he enters me lifting his head to moan, "Mmmmm." His face, a few inches above mine, scrunches up a little at the sensations that must be throbbing off the sensitive head of his very hard, fat cock. After the first wave of sensations off his fat boner Rob drops his head to mine again and our mouths meets greedily as we make-out for maybe three-minutes with pre-cum running onto my belly from my hard cock that's partially lifted away from my stomach.

More licks as Rob turns his head to lick and suck my neck here and there bringing more shivers and then my body shakes as I lift my knees back towards me and feel his hard, fat cock go in another inch with me moaning, "Ooooh, ooooh, Rob." The moans come out on their own; it's not something I plan or have much control over." A small thrust of Rob's hips pushes another inch of fat, hard boner inside with my back arching off the bed, "Ooooh," but it feels so good I don't even know if there's pain hidden under the incredible sensations throbbing off my prostate. It's ecstasy with me pulling my legs back as far as I can and spreading them being totally docile, openly giving my body to Rob. He does a last thrust and his balls bounce off my ass as his groin gets tightly again my body. There's gentle humping against by buttocks now while Rob's tongue is sliding on mine, our teeth scraping together.

Another two-minute make-out with my arms around the back of his neck pulling not only our faces but our bodies tightly together. Rob's knees are spread wide, his elbows against the outside of my shoulders as his hands hold my head and his tongue licks inside my mouth. Our noses are pressed against each other's cheeks and, with his boner up my ass we're as close to one living organism as it's possible to be and then he withdraws his boner slowly, my body shaking with pleasure. Staying tightly together like this Rob begins slow withdrawal and slow pushing that fat boner of his back and forth in my rectum with me moaning into his mouth that continues covering mine. We continue to kiss for two, three, four-minutes; long minutes of exquisite pleasure, sweat forming between us with a flowing of constantly beautiful pleasure sensations swarming all over me and I hope over him too. It's lover's sex and its obvious love is first and the sex is second the longer we do it, and that's really saying something!

Arousal continues growing until my cock is so hard it's sticking up poking against Rob's belly button as our climaxes take hold and begin controlling everything. There's no way to prolong it and Rob lifts his head, his face flushed with his lips parted as he begins thrusting steadily and now it's the familiar, "Slapslapslap," sounds that get faster and louder as desperation for climax grows in both of us with throbbing orgasms making their way toward a full climax. We both begin making the whiny sounds of impending climaxes and the thrusting becomes more frantic, my body bouncing on the bed as our arms only loosely holding onto each other now.

"Slapslapslep," Rob's eyes closed now as climax soars into being and I go first, 'Eeeeew," as cum spurts up hitting Rob's chest and then again as he groans and humps against my ass shooting a long warm gooey load of cum up my ass and then a second stream joins the first as my own weak third-spurt-of-cum drools down my quivering hard cock. Sensations soar all over me with my shoulders shuddering and Rob becoming motionless for a few seconds breathing noisily and then thrusting again in my cum saturated ass for a final minute before falling forward onto me.

My legs drop as I push them back and hug Rob with the sides of our faces sliding together and we finally cease all movement. Lying motionless we're breathing deeply, our hearts pounding as the lasts remnants of our orgasms fizzle out and now I'm weak lying here under Rob. We lie like this for a few minutes before Robby lifts his head, kisses my lips with a smile, and then rolls off me pulling the head of his cock from my wide-opened asshole. He lies next to me on my twin bed as I mumble, "Don't roll off, Rob." His arm flops across my chest as he mutters, "I'll hold onto you," and we lie like this silently, thinking our own thoughts for a while. My thoughts are all about Rob's and our sex and how special it is every single time... and of course our love of a lifetime!

When our vital signs have returned to normal and our climaxes are just one more pleasant memory then the uncomfortable aspects of reality become noticeable. Rob has rapidly cooling sticky cum on his body and his cock and I have it on my cock plus his cum is rapidly drooling out of my ass. We're sweaty too because of our bodies have been tightly together the past ten-to-fifteen-minutes. There's cum on the bedspread but then there was some there from the other day as well and I never got around to washing my bedspread... this addition mess is no big deal. If we could put our arousal on hold, or plan ahead before we got aroused, we could put a big beach towel on the bed before having sex. Being that organized however is inconceivable to me, so it's never been done. Nah, I'd rather just throw the sticky bedspread in the washing machine.

Rob sighs and rolls up on an elbow looking down at me grinning and saying, "That wasn't extemporaneous-afternoon-sex, was it, Dylan?" I go, "No, it wasn't. You still owe me an afternoon-er sometime." He shakes his head grinning again, "Guess I fucked-up again, huh?" I go, "It was okay sex I guess, but it wasn't casual sex for the fun of it. I believe you slipped into lover's sex." He goes, "I think you're right and you came right along with me." Nodding my head, I can't stop grinning as Rob gets a 'look' on his face, mumbling, "Jesus, I'm sort of covered in your precious spunk and now it's getting cold and sticky. How about you take a shower with me?" That's what we do and we somehow manage to do it without further sex.

Getting dressed after our shower, Rob asks, 'What time is it, babe?" I tell him it's one-forty and he goes, "Good, we'll get to the cookout after everyone else." I say, "Agreed, I don't ever want to be the first one at any party! We'll have another beer here to be sure we're late-comers, no pun intended." Pulling up my shorts, I add, "Um, I also need a smoke after that unexpected sex you laid on my ass." He chuckles, "Okay, boss," and I go, "Hey! That's what I say to you!" He steps into sneakers, saying, "Yeah, Dylan, you do say that to me, but we both know who the real boss is, right?" Ignoring that, I take the bedspread off the bed and we both go down cellar to get the washing machine going. Rob puts in a Tide 'pod' that includes detergent and fabric softener, or so they claim, and we turn on the machine.

We have another beer and a smoke on the balcony, both of us obviously in very good spirits and why wouldn't we be? Rob goes, "Oh, by the way, Happy Fourth of July," and we tap beer cans as I mutter, "Right back at you." I don't know if Rob was serious about his comment about both of us knowing who's actually the boss; he's inferring it's me of course. He's said it before in different ways so maybe he actually believes it. I don't care if he wants to think that; what I actually believe though is we're both the boss of us, but at different times. It's worked for four-years thus far, so if it ain't broke...

We don't leave for the cookout until almost ten-after-two, talking about a lot of different things. None of what we talked about is real important but we do care what each other thinks about stuff. It's good that we agree on most things, although not everything. Things we disagree on we sometimes leave for another discussion. Neither of us feels we need to be right about everything although I believe there was a time Rob felt he did need to always be right, or the best, or whatever. Lately though, Rob's easier to talk to. He's lightened-up on some ideas he'd previously been too serious about. Oh hell, I can't think of anything specifically at the moment. but he has loosened-up and doesn't need everything to be perfect or, oh fuck I don't know exactly what it is. It's something like that and whatever it is I like the change. I liked him just fine before too, but I like him more now. There's a difference, by the way, between 'like' and love. Yeah, well I already loved him before too, so it's all good.

As Rob's driving, us to the cookout I realize I'm not exactly sure how to get there. I've been there twice but Chub drove and I direct Rob to make some wrong turns before I eventually recognize the entrance to the condo complex although we almost past it for the second time. Rob's a lot calmer about driving with my shitty directions than I think I'd have been. Now that we're in the correct complex we drive around looking for the twins' condos. The twins each have their own condo in the same building. I only discovered that fact this summer. I just assumed they lived together which was kinda dumb of me.

Naturally it'd be a big help if I knew their address but I don't, and I refused to call for directions. Then I spot my Mom's Volvo. Oh yeah, Tris had to drive herself here in the Volvo. I tell Rob, as if I knew all along, "Right here, Rob. Park wherever you can." He nods his head giving me a 'look', I mutter, "See, I knew how to get here!" He chuckles, mumbling, "Knucklehead."

He needs to park in front of the next building because there are many cars parked in from of the twins' building. As we're getting out of the pickup, Rob goes, "Jeez, there's a lot of cars here. How many people are supposed to be at this cookout?" I shrug, "I don't know. I thought it was just us. Maybe other people from this building are having cookouts too. It's not unheard of to have a cookout on the Fourth of July."

I at least remember Tom's condo is an end one so we walk around the building to the back and I see Chubby right away. I could spot him in a crowd of millions. He's on the edge of the crowded backyard. He has his arm around the back of a girl's waist talking with another couple who don't look a lot older than us. Rob goes, "Jesus, there's like thirty-or-forty people here." I mutter, "Yeah and when we join them we'll bring down the average age quite a bit." Then I see a few guys who could be in their early twenties and mention it to Rob. He's glancing around, "Well, I say this much: most of these people look about ten-years younger than my parent's neighborhood crowd."

We walk on grass to the edge of the backyard without being noticed as I check my watch: it's two-thirty-five. These people have been here for a while, some since one o'clock. Nobody looks drunk though. If we arrived an-hour-and-a half-late for a frat party they'd be some drunks for sure. Hell, some guys and girls get drunk before going to frat parties!

I spot Tom Rider and my Mom at a large gas grill talking with another couple who walk away as I'm mumbling to Rob, "C'mon, we'll start by saying 'Hi' to my Mom and her fiancé." My Mom spots us walking towards them and touches Tom's arm as she smiles at me. Tom looks over and smiles too. The twins could easily pass for twenty-five. Not that their age of thirty-or-thirty-one is a helluva lot older.

As we walk up to them Rob and I are all smiles and I'm like, "Hi, you guys!" I hug my Mom and them Tom and I do a quick one-arm hug as he's saying, "Glad you could make our little Fourth of July celebration, Dylan. And this must be Rob." He holds his hand out and they shake. Mom says, "You've met Rob before, Tommy," and then Mom says, "Hi, Robby, nice to see you, sweetheart," and she hugs him, kissing his cheek.

Tom insists on getting us drinks. He asks, "How about strawberry daiquiris, boys?" We don't jump at the offer so he quickly adds, "Or beers?" We settle for beers and he goes to get them as I ask Mom, "Who are all these people?" She looks around and says, "Well, some of them are people who work for Tom's and Tim's company and the rest are mostly his relatives. Oh, and two couples I met live in Tom's building." I mutter, "Neighbors, huh?" She says, "Yes, their neighbors although they're older. But oh my, you two look so nice! Both of you," and then to Rob, "Jeff told me you did that fantastic haircut for him, and for Dylan too! They're very, um, distinctive-looking, Rob. You're very talented." He says, "I learned everything I know about barbering from Dylan." Tom's back with the beers and, looking around at all these older people I don't know I'm thinking maybe I'll need a shot of liquor as well."

There are Italian sausages on the grill next to Tom and a frying pan with lightly fried onions and green peppers. I'm hungry so when Tom offers us Italian sausages on rolls with fried onions and peppers Rob and I both go, "Sure," and that's what we start with. Mom tells me that Tim's got a grill going with barbecues chicken and someone named Uncle Sol has a grill going for burgers and hot dogs. So we glance around and yeah, we see the other grilles smoking away at the outside of the yard making me wonder how thrilled the other people living in this building are about this cookout.

There are a half-a-dozen-or-so kids running around squealing about something. They're ages are like seven and under; that's my best guess. I can't guess what they're squealing about but it's obviously not what I squeal about. As we're finishing our sausage sandwiches Chubby waves with a knowing a 'look', like, 'It is what it is.' Meaning I think, we're greatly outnumbered by people older here and so out of our element, but we'll deal with it because of our Moms and future step-dads. Or Chub's 'look' might have meant something entirely different. I'll ask him when I get the chance.

Then I'm pretty sure I know what Chub's 'look' meant when Rob and I, with fixed smiles on our faces, endure a half-hour of Tom and my Mom taking us around introducing us to men and women who are in their thirties for the most part, and then some who are much older. This was probably what Mom and Tom did with Chubby earlier.

We meet one of the twins' sisters and her husband who tell us three of the squealing children belong to them, and then we're introduced to a neighbor, a husband and wives couple, who own the other squealers. We don't get introduced to them; the squealers I mean, which is good because I never know what to do or say to young children. Then we meet two guys in their middle twenties and their female dates. Both guys are employees of the twins' company and then we say 'Hi' to an older couple, the woman being, as Tom put it, "Tim's and my most valued employee. We nod our heads like we care and Tom goes, "Jane meet Dee's son, Dylan, and his boyfriend, Rob Dickers." Wow, 'boyfriend' huh, and Tom remembered Rob's last name!

While the age of the two employee guys we met a few minutes ago are only a few years older than Rob and me neither is especially interesting or 'hot', and they're with dates, so aren't likely gay anyway. Then we're introduced to people going up in age. An Aunt Rose and Uncle-somebody and then another Aunt and Uncle whose names I didn't catch because they talked right over the introductions; it's a very talkative crowd and there's also loud 'nineties' music playing. Both the Uncles we met were overly enthusiastic greeters and hard-handshakes, but that's preferable to, for example, them saying, 'Oh, the two fags we've heard about, huh?' Then we're introduced to the twins' parents and their grandparents who are initially less than charming, but then they're very old, so ya know?

Surprisingly the twins' parents are very quiet. They're nothing like their gregarious sons. Tom and Tim's sister, Karen, was very lively though and her husband seemed friendly. I think I heard someone say he was a doctor of some kind. We don't meet the other sister which has Tom frowning and asking my Mom, "Where'd Carol and Bob get to?" As we follow Tom and Mom to the next couple of people Rob glances at me, like... 'Haven't we met enough people yet?' That's what I imagine his glance meant anyhow.

Tom's looking around, saying, "We also missed Barbara and her husband, and Roger from work too, plus I don't see Randy." My Mom goes, "Tommy, um, I think the boys have met enough of the guests, don't you?" He laughs, "Well, they've probably met way too many of them actually, but I thought..." and Mom pats his arm, "The sausages need to be turned, Hon." I say, "It was great meeting everyone, really! Your parents are very nice and your grandparents, um..." Tom laughs, "Grandpa and Grandma are eighty-years-old but still quite opinionated." I go, "Oh, huh," and he pats my back, adding, "We try to see then two or three times a year and, ah...." I nod, interrupting, "Yeah, everyone seems nice but I think Rob and I should probably go over and say 'Hi' to Chubby. Thanks for introducing us around, Tom and Mom!" Tom grins, "Yeah, you guys should have brought a few friends along to hang-out with. We're all a little old, in some cases way too old for you guys, I guess." I go, "Nooo, not at all, no problem," and Rob and I sort of drift away. I go, "Holy shit, I'm sorry about that Rob." He makes a 'face', "It's okay..."

As we separate from Tom and Mom I hear, "Dylan!" I look over and it's Tom's Grandmother calling me and waving like she wants me to go over to her. Jesus! Under my breath I go, "Oh balls," and Rob says, "C'mon, maybe they want us to get something for them to drink. Be nice."

There's rented chairs all over the place. Canvas-back director-type chairs mostly that Tom obviously rented. Grandma and Grandpa Rider are sitting on two of the chairs. In between their chairs is a small table with half-filled Strawberry daiquiri glasses and an ashtray with two smoldering cigarettes along with a half-dozen cigarette butts. The chairs on either side of them are empty but they were previously occupied by Aunt and Uncle-somebody. That gives me pause thinking the Grandparents probably scared the previous occupants away. Neither Grandpa nor Grandma were especially cordial to Rob and me during our round of introductions, but what can we do except go over and find out what Grandma wants? Will she be my Step-Grandma? No, she'd be my Great-Step-Grandma, right? Oh, who the fuck knows?

As we make our way across the yard toward the Grandparents, with a half-smile fixed on my face, Granddad is pulling the two empty chairs over so they're together in front of them. When we're a few feet from them when Grandpa says in an unnecessarily loud voice, 'Have a seat boys. You're gonna be family in a year or so and we need to get to know you." Carrying our cans of beer, I go, "Okay." Pointing at Rob, Granddad says, "Here, Bobby, have a seat in front of me. You sit in front of Shirley, Dylan." Oh fuck!

The chairs are no more than two-feet in front of them so Rob and I casually pull the chairs back a little bit before sitting. Grandma says, "Let me tell you something right off the bat that should put you boys at ease. Arnold's sister," nodding over at her husband, "Is a lesbian so we know a little something about that. Of course, we're talking about forty-or-fifty-years ago when she made her grand announcement." Arnold makes a huffy sound as Grandma adds, "Back then people were far less accepting, you know." My eyes blink spastically as Arnold says, "That was back when people still believed the Bible covered that topic quite adequately. But far be it from Shirley and me to judge what a person chooses to do behind closed doors."

Rob glances at me as I say to the Grandparents, "I don't believe Tom or Tim ever mentioned where your family is originally from. Are all you guys Massachusetts residence?" Arnold says, "God, no! This liberal state! I told my son years ago not to move away, and back then kids listened to their parents. Georgie, our son, and his wife, Daisy, a good old gal from church, got married and stayed in town to have their family. My boy, Georgie, wasn't as forceful with parenting though. Not as insistent as I was with him. Not when dealing with his children, that's primarily I'm talking about, ya understand?" Rob goes, "Um," and Grandpa says, "Georgie wasn't even close to instilling the values in his children that I instilled in him growing up." Touching his wife's arm, he asks, "Was he, Shirley?" She frowns, asking, "What was that?" but Grandpa goes on, "Well, Georgie sees where that got him. All four of his kids insisted on attending an out-of-state college in, of all states, Massachusetts. Why they chose Massachusetts out of all the states in this great country of ours I'll never know. The twins, your future Step-Dad, Dylan, followed their older sisters to Massachusetts Universities and of course to be defiant all three of then stayed here after college. So no, we're not all Massachusetts residents." Grandma nods her head and says, "This great country is going to the dogs under the liberals who are stealing the greatness of this country for themselves." Whatever that means. Okay, so they're unhappy their Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren don't live nearby. That's understandable although some of their other inferences are less so.

Shirley finishes most of her daiquiri and adds, "No, they didn't listen to my husband and I was there so I know he gave them every reason for not getting caught up in the 'anything goes' attitude of the east and west coasts of this country. Our son, Georgie, never had the backbone my Arnold has and he never backed-up his Father after his talk with the grand-kids and this is what the results; a separated family," and she pats her husband's arm. Arnold sits up straighter making that huffy sound again.

It's silent for a few seconds. Noticing that neither Rob nor I have anything to say to that, she adds, "We love that Georgie, fifty-four-years-old he is as of last April... um, is that right, Arnold?" Gramps goes, "What was that?" and she goes on with, "Um, what was it I saying, Arnold." He looks at her and I get the impression from his expression he wasn't listening. Then she goes, "Oh, I remember. Georgie stayed in town with us his entire life... and let me tell ya, he's built a wonderful business there too. Very successful but can he leave that thriving hardware store to his twin sons? No, they never came back from college." Then, throwing me off for second she changes the topic, saying, "Karen married a dentist." I'm like, "Huh?" and Grandpa says, "Yes, she met him in a bar, yes a bar, when she was twenty-two and guess what?" Not realizing she expects us to say anything, there's another silence until Rob goes, "What?" and she says, "Karen's husband is from South Dakota, if you can believe that coincidence, so that's been lovely. They've given us three wonderful Great-grandchildren too, although we hardly ever see them."

Shirley was leaning forward in her seat telling us that and now she sits back looking put-out somehow and then she abruptly drains the rest of her Daiquiri. I can't think of anything to say so she goes on, "Nope, the Grandchildren couldn't abide growing up where their parents and Grandparents live. Isn't that right, Arnold?" He does the huffy sound again and goes for his cocktail. I guess being here with their Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren reminds Shirley and Arnold that they miss seeing them and that's got them worked-up and blowing off some steam to anyone who will listen. It's understandable they're disappointed about that, but it's an odd thing to be telling the two of us. I mean we're two twenty-one-year-old guys who they don't know and will probably never see again after Tom's and my Mom's wedding. Plus Grandpa said they wanted to get to know us and we haven't been able to get a word in edgewise yet.

Shirley's got her second wind now, and says, "Georgie never went to college but of course we wanted the Grandchildren, both the twins and their older sisters, to get an education." Grandpa says, "Hell, we paid for some of it too!" Grandma pats his arm again, and says, "Of course we assumed they'd go to North Dakota State University in Fargo or at least choose the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks. You understand, some college close to home where family values still mean something." Rob and I nod stupidly and then gulp down some beer taking advantage of a break in the Grandparent's bitching.

Ignoring the two smoldering cigarettes in the ashtray both Shirley and Arnold light new cigarettes from their own packs of Salem Lights. Shirley puts the cigarette in the middle of her lips and tries flicking a Bic lighter but can't get a flame going. For some reason, she keeps moving her head further forward with each unsuccessful flick of her Bic. Arnold ignores her as he gets his cigarette going, exhaling two streams of smoke out his nostrils like a bull. Robby finally lights Grandma's cigarette for her with his lighter. She says, "Thank you, Bobby. This G-D lighter never works when I want it to!" After inhaling a huge amount of smoke, she lets it out in a thin stream turning her head to the side, and says, "No, the kids wanted to get out of town. That was obvious, huh, Arnold?" He goes, "Yup, it's this younger generations that wants to be anyplace but where they are."

I wait for Arnold to finish a number of deep coughs and then nod my head like I'm agreeing with whatever, and then for something to say, I ask, "And where do you call home? I assume it's North Dakota?" Arnold says, "How the hell did you know that? Yup, we're from Cass County along the Red River; Fargo, North Dakota. Born and raised there, um, both Shirley and me. We raised our son Georgie there in the same house my parents raised me in and now he has a successful business there, um, like my wife mentioned. The biggest hardware store you've ever seen!" I go, "Hard to believe the twins would want to leave there, but I thought Fargo was in Minnesota." Shirley laughs a snorting laugh and says, "I guess we know what state we live in, Dylan. You Northerners!" I go, "Of course. I was just thinking of that old movie, Fargo." Arnold makes a face, "Disgusting film!"

Arnold's extremely bald with the slightest fringe of gray hair above his ears and Shirley has snow-white hair. She's had what I think is called a 'permanent' that formed small curls that have grown out to look like biggish Q-tips on the end of each one-inch-long white hair. I guess she's due for another 'permanent' although I'd have thought she'd want to get one before visiting. Also her hair is very thin so that a lot of pink scalp is showing. They're both way over-dressed for a cookout. Arnold is wearing a suit jacket and bow tie and Shirley has on a long frilly dress. Actually I feel kinda bad for them although maybe they feel bad for me too. In any case I don't want to hurt their feelings which is mostly why I'm still sitting here.

Sure, it's easy to be critical of older people but that's a very cruel and shallow endeavor. They're eighty-some-years-old and life nowadays must seem like a totally new world to them. Just the incredible increase in computer technology, the stuff us guys grew-up with and take for granted, must be overwhelming and bewildering to many super-senior citizens like Shirley and Arnold. Of course, learned bigotry often hangs-on even with changing times. I try not to hold their prejudices against them. Plus I wonder if older people aren't, some of them anyway, simply pissed-off about being old. Irrational thought I suppose, but maybe! That being said, I wouldn't object to someone else taking a turn at keeping Shirley and Arnold company.

Shirley says, "Of course we wholeheartedly support our Grandchildren and try to understand their thinking. The twins, plus the girls. Ya know, Karen and her husband, um, what's his name, Arnold?" He says, "It's Rudy but you always call him Randy." She goes, "I thought it was Randy. Why didn't you say something? All last night I'm calling him 'Randy'!" She's lost her train of thought for a second and then looks at Rob and me, saying, "The grandchildren do stay in touch though... and visit us once a year. Plus Tommy and Timmy are so successful, oh my! They always send first-class tickets when we visit here. I like your Logan airport too; it's very bright and they have moving sidewalks."

We all sip on our drinks except Shirley who sucks on some icy dregs. She hit's Arnold's arm, asking, "Don't they send us first class tickets, Arnold?" He goes, "For Christssakes, Shirley, don't brag about that! Dylan will think we're snobs, but the first-class seats are nice. They treat you much better in front of the plane. Its quieter too although I burn my hand every time they pass out those damn hot towels. The first time I thought it was something to eat wrapped in a hot something!" Rob and I nod muttering, "Huh," and I say, "I've never flown first-class. I've hardly flown at all actually. A couple of times is all." Arnold says, "Let me tell you. We visited Shirley's brother in Montana last spring and flew in coach. Omigod, my legs got so cramped." Shirley goes, 'I told that Negro steward person my husband has arthritis in his knees and the man said he was sorry to hear that. Can you imagine him being that fresh?" Rob looks at me again with what I interpret as a pleading expression on his face, and I asks the Grandparents, "Um, have you guys tried any of the food? It really looks good." Arnold goes, "We had some chicken that was too spicy. Ah ya, the barbecue sauce was very spicy but Shirley said the potato salad was wonderful."

I go, "I think I'll try some of that. Can I fix a plate for you guys?" Shirley shakes her head, "Not now, thank you. That's very nice of you to offer though, ah, are you Deborah's or Teresa's son?" I go, "I'm Dee's, um, Deborah's son. Jeffrey's Teresa's son." She nods her head and asks, Rob, "And what do you do, Bobby? Go to school in Boston, I suppose." He blushes, "Yes, I go to college but not in Boston. I attend Merrimack college in the suburbs with Dylan. I also work for my Father's company." Arnold says, "So you'll be the bread winner for the two of you, huh, son?" Grandpa looks at me, "And will you be the 'wife'. Is that right, Shirley? These modern, um, couplings are a mystery to me. Timmy was trying to explain it last night at dinner, but..." and, with what I think was supposed to be a grin, he holds his arms out, like: 'Who the hell can make head nor tail of it?'.

Rob says, "We aren't into titles or roles. Not Dylan and me." Shirley says, "Oh poo, Arnold! You've embarrassed the boys. Here! Let me tell you boys a joke. Right Arnold? We're no stick-in-the-mud. We know how to have fun. Let's have some laughs, shall we?" I go, "Sure, jokes are, um...," and she tells us, "A little boy runs up to his Mommy saying, 'Grandpa slapped me on my face' and Grandpa hurries over, saying, 'Stop lying you little brat or I'll do it again!" and both Grandma and Grandpa laugh their asses off. Rob and I exchange glances and force a chuckle.

Grandpa gets his laughter under control after coughing on his inhaled cigarette smoke, and then says, "The last thing my Grandfather said before kicking the bucket was, 'Watch how far I can kick this damn bucket!" More laughter from both Grandparents. Rob mutters, "Grandparent jokes, huh?" Shirley goes, "No, we know other jokes, don't we Arnold?" He says, "Sure. A blond walks in an appliance store and falls in love with a compact TV, but the salesclerk says he doesn't sell to dumb blonds." Shirley interrupts, "This isn't about you two blond boys by the way." Rob and I go, "Oh!" and Arnold, after giving Shirley a dirty-look, continues with his joke, "So the blond really wants the compact TV and goes back to the store wearing a black wig and yet the salesclerk tells her, 'Nope! We still don't sell to dumb blonds'. Well she's surprised he saw through her disguise but she's determined to get that TV and comes back dressed like a redheaded old man and gets the same 'No!' from this the salesmen. She asks how the salesman knew it was her and he says, 'Because only a dumb blond would think this microwave was a compact TV." Guffaws of laughter with Shirley choking on cigarette smoke this time as Rob and I force chuckles and exchange more desperation glances. Rob's now nodding his head, like, 'Let's go!'

Shirley holds up her hand, "Wait boys. This guy goes in a bar and orders six double martinis with the bartender asking, 'Bad day?" The guy says he just found out his older brother's a queer, um, a gay, um, person. Next day he orders the same thing and the bartender asks, "What happened now?' The man says he just found out his younger brother's a queer too. The bartender asks if anybody but him in his family likes women and the guy says, 'Yeah, my Mom." Shirley leans over bumping Arnold's arm as they laugh their asses off. Rob goes, "I'm starving, Dylan. Let's get another sausage sandwich."

The Grandparents are still chuckling and lighting fresh cigarette as their Granddaughter, Karen, come up behind them and puts a hand on each of her Grandparents shoulders, smiling and asking, "How's everyone doing?" Rob and I stand-up mumbling, "Great," and she says, "Dylan, your Mom was wondering if you and your friend could help with getting more ice." Rob and I both go, "Sure!" and then I say, "It was very nice talking with you both, um, Grand, um, folks." They both wave with Shirley saying, "Oh, it was our pleasure, boys," and then to Karen, "Your Granddad and I could both use the facilities, darling, is the condo-house open?" Karen says, "Of course, Grandma..." but that's all we hear as we drift quickly over to the grille that's still being tended by my Mom and Tom.

Tom chuckles, saying, "I sent Karen over to rescue you two," and Rob goes, Oh, no, we..." and I go, "They're very nice." Tom and Mom exchange grins and then Mom says, "We got you boys a couple of fresh beers, honey, and your brother's looking for you." With fresh beer and another sausage sandwich Rob and I drift around the outside of the yard to get to Chubby and the people he's talking with. We both have our hands full so all we can do is smile and tap our beer cans with Chubby's daiquiri glass.

Chub's all smiles of course, he usually is. He goes, "Hi Dylan! Great to see you, bro. Whassup, Rob?" and then nods at the buxom girl next to him, saying, "Meet my hot date, Dolly Parton. Dolly meet my bro, Dylan, and his boyfriend, Rob Dickers." We nod at each other as she says, "My name isn't what Jeff said. It's Candice and it's nice meeting you two." Chub goes, "That's enough from you, Dolly!" and she laughs out loud hitting Chubby's arm as he introduces the guy and girl they're with. "This is Jacob and his wife, Ronny," and to them he points at me with his glass of strawberry daiquiri, saying, "That's my brother, Dylan, and... well what the fuck, you just heard me telling Dolly who the fuck they are." We all mutter a rhetorical, "How's it going?" as something in their eyes makes me think they're wondering: 'Did he say 'boyfriend'?

Jacob says, "I was just telling, Jeff, about this awesome system I put together." I'm almost positive Rob and I were introduced to this guy earlier as one of Tom and Tim's techies from work. He goes, "Anyway, as I was saying..." and he goes on this three-minute explanation of how he put together his home stereo system. He uses so much esoteric terminology I feel like I'd image Great-Grandparents Rider probably feel about cellphones. All of our eyes glaze over as Jacob finishes up with, "The fucking bass now, dude, it's killer!" His wife, Ronny, says, "Jake honey, you're boring everyone." He goes, "Well Jeff fucking asked me!" Chub goes, "Yeah, I have a system just like that. Um, who needs another cocktail?" The 'system' Chubby's referring to is a boombox.

Jacob and Ronny drift off as Chub, Dolly, Rob and I go over to the bar that's set-up on the back patio. Chub and Dolly get another daiquiri each and the four of us hangout talking and mostly laughing with Chubby at his funny stuff until Tris and Tim join us asking, "What's so funny?"

It's a beautiful day in the low eighties with a clear sky, so we talk about that and eat too much. Tim tells us some funny stuff about him and Tom planning this cookout and all the troubles they had with rental stuff, like the chairs and extra gas-grilles that were delivered to the wrong condos... twice. He says, "And meanwhile we're getting other people's stuff delivered to us. Our storage area is packed full of chairs and tables suitable for a child's sixth-birthday party. It's waiting to be picked up tomorrow." He tells these mishaps in a funny way but I'll bet it wasn't funny while they were dealing with the incompetent deliveries. There was probably some serious cursing involved then; but now it's funny.

At four o'clock Chub and Dolly take off to stop in at her parents' Fourth of July affair and ten-minutes later Rob and I say our 'thanks' and 'goodbyes' to the Moms and the twins. Rob's decided we should stop in at his neighborhood cookout for one beer at least. I strongly suggested that earlier but let Rob think it's his idea. During the drive back to Rob's house we chuckle about our conversation with the Great-Grandparents or rather their conversation since we didn't get in more than ten-words the whole time we were with them.

Parking in Rob's driveway we use the facilities in the pool house taking much needed pisses and then wash our face and hands. I follow Rob across two neighbors' lawns to the neighborhood cookout with Rob saying, "I'm hoping that bore, Richard, has left for another, um, whatever. As long as he's not here I'll be able to make it thru one beer without getting in an argument." Well, fortunately Richard isn't here. First we say 'Hi' to Mr. and Mrs. Dickers as well as Mr. and Mrs. Martin, who are throwing this party for the Fourth. I swear the Martins look a lot older than I remember them being when I met them a couple of years ago at Rob's house during a pool-party cookout. Rob tells them a little about the cookout we just left and Mr. Martin insist we try his chipotle cheeseburgers which we do to be polite even though we're already stuffed with all the food we had at Tom's cookout.

The smoked jalapeño pepper, which is what chipotle are, in this case are so spicy-hot it's all I taste and it's really unpleasant HOT! Rob and I are taking sparing bites telling Mr. Martin, "It's hot, huh? But really good." We're saved when Rob's name gets called by a neighborhood guy who looks like he's in his early twenties. Rob goes, "Excuse us, please," and we make our way to this lifesaver guy who Rob tells me is, "Tony DiPietro. He graduated college two years ago, and blah, blah, blah."

There are maybe twenty people here, mostly adults in their forties I'd guess. On the way to meet this guy who called Rob over, we stop at a plastic trash barrel, look back to see if Mr. Martin can see us, and then Rob says, "Give me that burger, babe." I happily hand it to him and he buries both our burgers under some paper plates in the trash.

Walking up to Tony empty-handed Rob does the one-arm hug with him and then does a quick introduction, "Dylan, this is Tony DiPietro, the smartest guy in the neighborhood. Tony, meet, Dylan Newman, my boyfriend." Tony and I bump fist as he says, "Rob's right you know. I am the smartest guy to come out of this dumb-ass neighborhood," and he introduces his girlfriend, "Carol Blake," who nods at us and asks, "You two are boyfriends, as in gay?" Tony says, "That's what Rob said, Carol. Why would he lie about that?" and then to Rob, "Still playing the gay-card, huh?" Rob goes, "Yeah, it's worked out pretty well for me so far." Tony goes, "If you mean your boyfriend is better looking than my girlfriend I'd have to agree with you," and he laughs as Carol mutters, "Fuck you too, Tony." The conversation goes downhill from there but not for long as Rob goes, "Nice seeing you again, Tony. Dylan and I need a beer, so we'll catch you later maybe."

We don't get a beer though because we see the Martins and Rob's parents are now at a picnic table playing cards. Rob says, "We did our duty, Dylan, let's bounce." I go, "Oh, a trip down memory lane with a 'bounce' reference." We leave there and Rob goes, "I promised Danny we'd stop in at Hayden's place. Their next-door neighbors are having a cookout too." I mutter, "What else?" and Rob continues, "Well Danny's gonna be there so let's see what's up with that."

It's going on five o'clock by now and I think we've had maybe four beers the entire afternoon. Oh, plus two at my house. Whatever, I don't feel the booze and that's probably because of all the food we've been eating. Actually I'm very full although my mouth is still burning from that jalapeño-pepper-dominated cheeseburger. Rob gets to laughing about the Martin cheeseburger and us throwing them out, saying, "Just imagine how many people there had to actually eat the whole burger!" Yeah, but now I feel kinda bad for Mr. Martin with him thinking his burgers are awesome and probably not many people agreeing with him. The trash barrel might be filled with cheeseburgers. Not everyone likes that hot shit, although it is popular more now than ever.

Rob needs to park a block away from Hayden's house because their next-door neighbors are having a large Fourth celebration. Like all three places we've been, there are already cars parked near the cookout. I wonder how they know so many people? Rob parks two blocks away and as we were walking back we have a cigarette with Rob saying, "Let's not hang around too long, Dylan. I wouldn't mind spending some more time in that awesome bedroom of yours." See, lately Rob's been getting horny more often than even me. I go, "You're the boss, Rob." He chuckles, muttering, "We covered that topic earlier, babe," as we enter the fracas of our third Fourth of July cookout...

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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