DYLAN!
Donny Mumford
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mom's Framingham boyfriend, the obnoxious Jake Rollins, has my head crushed against his shoulder on the steps to my condo. Even with my face against his shoulder, I could smell alcohol on his breath. "You are one good-looking kid, alright. Anyone ever tell you that, Dylan?" I talked into his shoulder, "Oh, thank you, Jake. I believe you mentioned that very thing to me before."
Jake let loose of the hug but got an arm around my neck in a semi-headlock, put his face down to almost touch mine, and said, "You can't help yourself, can you? You've always got to be a smartass, a wiseass punk. I'm trying to be nice to you, kid, and what do I get from you, huh?"
He tightened his hold on my neck until it hurt; I murmured, "I'm sorry, Jake; I swear to God I wasn't trying to be a smartass. I was answering your question." Jake licked my forehead, then, with his free hand, pinched my nostrils together so hard tears ran out of my eyes. Keeping the pressure on my nose, he muttered, "So, you weren't being a smartass. Well, that's good because I wouldn't want to have to smack you around a little bit and then tell your Mommy about you being queer."
Mucus was filling up my nose, and the tears wouldn't stop. I wasn't crying, it hurt, but I wasn't crying. It's just that tears run out of my eyes whenever they feel like it. I have no control over that. I talked in that nasal way you talk when your nose is stopped up or when it's being brutally pinched, "Please, Jake, please! That hurts, and I didn't mean to disrespect you."
He liked that and let go of my nose; mucus ran down my lip, then around my lip to both sides of my mouth. My face was wet with mucus and tears. Jake got a tight hold on the back of my neck and shook me a little, "You're kind of a pussy, ain't ya? Listen, the reason I'm here, um, I'll cut to the chase, er..." He badly slurred his words as he took a wrinkled handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped my face. It scratched because of the dried matter on it. I stood perfectly still and used my willpower to keep from gagging. He mumbles, "Reason I'm here, I need that fucking suitcase I lent your mom 'cause I got to go to Vermont this afternoon for business. It's a fucking overnight trip."
I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh," and he mumbles some more, "I worked all night last night, and I got to go to fucking Vermont today. That's what the boss lady says, the cunt. So, I had a few quick pops of VO and ginger over the all-night "Tidermans Club," and when I figured you people were up, I came for my suitcase because the cunt says I got a business trip to Vermont."
Still holding onto me, he swayed a little, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket, but kept a tight grip on the back of my neck. We were maybe two yards from the bottom of the steps leading up to the condo. One would have to think Jake had more than a "few pops" at that club, as he appears very drunk. I said, "I'll go get it right now, Mr., ah, Jake. Still holding my neck, he started walking toward my front steps as if he were coming inside with me to get the suitcase, but he stumbled and dragged me a few paces away from the steps, near the side of the building.
"Oh, I must have stepped on something," Jake muttered, and then straightened up, looked around like he was lost, looked at me with a stern expression on his face, and said, "You know what I want to do, well, one of the things I want to do every fucking time I see you?" I was afraid to find out, but I said, "No, what?" and he got hold of my face with both hands, twisted my face toward his, and kissed my mouth with a big, wet kiss. His tongue worked its way inside my mouth as I squirmed, trying to get free. Pushing against his chest, the kiss didn't last long, but it was intense. When I got my head away, and our mouths separated, and I thought it was all over, he darted his head back for another kiss but missed my mouth and kissed my nose instead, leaving it wet with a boozy spit. GROSS!
Jake stepped back, looking dazed as if he couldn't believe what happened. His pants poked out in front. It was probably only a semi-boner because he was too drunk for a total boner. I stared at him, but he had no fight left. I said, "I'll get that suitcase for you." He waved his hand like I should run along as he fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. My heart was pounding because I'd feared him, but now I could see how pathetic he was.
Mom was sleeping inside, so I was quiet. The suitcase was in the living room. I grabbed it, thinking, "Guess I don't have to worry about Jake Rollins anymore. That grope and kiss he laid on me has turned the tables, and now I have more on him than he's got on me. Fuck you, Jake! Down the steps, I lugged that suitcase; the wheels didn't do much good on the steps. Dropping it in front of Jake, he says, "How about putting that in the car for me, Dylan." He'd lost all his bluster by now. I rolled it down to his Saab, which Jake had parked with the front right wheel on the sidewalk. When I stuffed the suitcase in the back seat, Jake was right behind me.
He grabbed my shoulder, and I shrugged his hands off me and said, "That's enough shit, Mr. Rollins!" He backed up and held his hands away to show he meant no harm. He goes, "Okay, you win this time, stud. Now, I can't tell on your mommy you're queer because you could tell on me, right?" I started to turn, and he went, "Wait a minute, Dylan. I apologize. Look, here, get yourself something, and don't be too hard on old Jake," and he fumbled out a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it in the front of my Tee shirt.
I stared at him and maybe felt slightly sorry for him, but I didn't say anything. I stood there as he bumbled into his car, backed up, missing a telephone pole by an inch, and then took off with a tiny tire squeal. He never looked back. Scratch the Jake-worry off my list. Jake Rollins is no longer a problem, thanks to him. These bullies are sad cases. This incident gave me some resolve in dealing with Joel, who might be a problem for me tomorrow at work. The new thing is, though, I won't back down anymore. If I take a beating, so be it.
I walked down to get our breakfast at Dunkin' while rubbing the back of my wrist against my mouth and nose to scrub away Jake's saliva. The Dunkin' bill for four breakfast sandwiches, four home fries, and four regular coffees was more than the twenty dollars Jake had given me, but it covered much of it. I'd added the home fries to our breakfast menu in honor of Jake's donation.
Back at the condo, everyone was moving around by now. Orange juice was out, 92.5 was on the FM dial, and I was the hero for buying breakfast. I told Mom about Mr. Rollins picking up his suitcase earlier. "He didn't want to wake you, Mom. Some unexpected business trip." She was disappointed; she had wanted to call him later this morning, and maybe the two of them could go into Boston for a late lunch. I looked interested, with a friendly expression, as I thought, "That would be some lunch date. Jake would probably be barfing up his clam chowder."
I kept silent, though. A guy who gets drunk in the morning, like Jake did, is a problem drinker. Mom will notice that trait sooner or later, and he'll be history. After breakfast, I called Willie and was shocked. His voice was so hoarse I could hardly understand him. He told me he had been feeling sick yesterday when we talked, but he didn't want to say anything about it, hoping it would pass. Then, this morning, he woke up with a killer sore throat and a fever. He'd already been to an emergency doctor who took a throat culture, which indicated Willie had strep throat. Our Tuesday date is off, but according to Willie, we're going out Saturday even if he's still sick because he'll be in Maine the following weekend.
He couldn't talk much because it hurt his throat and his head to speak. Willie sounded so weak, not like he usually is. He asked me not to call until Friday when he hoped he'd feel better. I said, "I'm so sorry you're sick, Willie. I love you so much. I just wanted you to know that I love you and can't wait till Friday when I can talk to you again." He was quiet, coughed, and whispered, "That's the best medicine I could have, Dylan. Thank you for saying that. You know how much I love you. Bye."
After he hung up, I lay back on the bed and let it sink in that I was in love. It hurt some because I wanted to be with him. Wait, he said he'd be in Maine; not we'll be in Maine. Hmm? That is awesome; I just hope he didn't misspeak.
Jumping off the bed, I went to my computer and, without mentioning Maine, typed him a long email. It was a mushy love letter telling him how important he is in my life, how much I love him, how grateful I am that he picked me to be his boyfriend, how I look up to him, and how I want to follow his lead because I admire him so much. After I hit "send," I had second thoughts that I overdid it, but I had all these emotions going around in my head, and it just seemed Willie was the best thing I had going for me. I felt like a teenage girl with a wicked crush on the captain of the football team. I love him, but he is so much more sophisticated than me, has done so many more things, and is comfortable in either the gay or the straight world. I guess he's also kind of like my idol.
I felt like crying because I needed to wait until Saturday before seeing him again and feeling him inside me. It's already been a week since I saw him during that great weekend in Sea Isle City, and I'm wiping that one ten-minute period from my brain. Willie apologized..
Chubby came down from his place, calling for me. He was in running shorts, and he wanted to run. I thought that would be a good way to get my mind off Willie, so I put on some shorts and sneakers, and we ran without talking, giving me a chance to get a grip on my emotions about Willie. Chubby was contemplating something, too. Then, I tried to bring up the discussion from last night. Chubby, with a grin, said, "Oh God! Dylan, you're like a fucking nag. We covered every possible angle of that topic last night."
Okay, be like that. I just nodded, but last night, he said we could talk about it today, which is all I wanted. I knew he wouldn't want to, though. Sometime in the future, I'll find out the whole story, but for now, Chubby is in a good mood, so I'll enjoy it. Just before the cut-off for the rest area, I saw a stocky kid jogging oddly in the opposite direction. He was running as if his ass hurt, and I thought, the Marine! The kid was late teens and okay-looking, although not really what you would call cute.
Something about the way he moved made me think he was gay. I'd already thought of the Marine, and now I'm thinking of gay teen, which might add up to the Marine having himself another boy. I ask Chubby, "Do you need to pee or anything? We can hit the rest area."
Chubby's winded and just mumbled, "Yeah, okay." We make the turn-off and, halfway up the path, here comes the Marine. I tell Chubby, "Go ahead, I want to ask this guy something." Chubby nods and keeps going. The Marine, Tom, sees me and slows down. He stops before me to say, "So, here is my ex, best, most favorite gay boy, Dylan. Is your computer broken?"
He means, why haven't I texted him? I say, "No, it's not broken. I've been on vacation in New Jersey for the last two weeks, but that's not why I didn't email or text you. Was that a friend of yours I saw down the trail? Stocky, ponytailed kid." The Marine says, "Yeah, he's your replacement. See why I valued you so much?" I said, "I was new to sex when you first met me, and now, I'm not. You took advantage of me then, but no more. I've grown up sexually. No hard feelings; I learned things from you, but now I know you're too dominant for my liking. Good luck to you."
I jogged to the rest area without looking back. He never said another word, but his tense expression didn't look promising. He looked barely under control, as in pissed-off! I was disrespecting him in his eyes, but how about people disrespecting me? Doesn't that count, too? Huh? I know I'm getting cocky, but it's the mood I'm in. I got my boyfriend, who I don't mind taking a back seat to, but I'm done being a second-class citizen in life. To answer my own question: Yes, it's possible to disrespect me too.
Perhaps I'm full of fake macho self-indulgence or something. There are things going on that have me all shaken up. For example, I'm so disappointed Chubby and I are headed in the wrong direction with intimacy. Then there is the Jake situation. It worked out for me this time, but he's unpredictable. And just now, blowing off the Marine felt good, but can I back it up if he gets rough? Nope! Same with Joel.
There is just a bunch of odd stuff going on in my life now. It's making me act uncharacteristically like a tough guy, which I am most certainly not! Oh fuck! It's probably mostly the thing with Chubby that has me acting like a tiger. It had all been just a tease in Wildwood. Our intimacy and my hopes started building up. Now, it's all lost, and that hurts. But, like I said, I got my boyfriend Willie, who I love and can depend on. I'll lean on Willie for support.
I was sitting on the bench thinking these mixed-up thoughts when Chubby came out of the lavatory wanting to know what I'd said to that hard-looking guy. I gave him a short lie about me doing our run alone after he, Chubby, had gotten his window washing job, and this guy was always there when I ran. I hadn't seen him for a while, and I just wanted to say, "Hi." Chubby stared at me with a smirk, then blurted out a laugh and said, "You're lying again, bro. Jeez, you're funny."
That was it. We jogged on, and he didn't press for the truth, as usual. That afternoon, we watched a baseball game in the recliner together, but Chubby wasn't pressed up against my side, and he did not hump my leg or want to massage my feet. I assume he's getting that stuff satisfied elsewhere. This turn of events sucks!
Monday morning, and I'm back at work. I missed seeing Chubby this morning because he's turning over a new leaf starting today. Yeah, he's sucking up to that turd Rickie by being the first one on the job. Good for him.
My usual bus had the usual suspects on it; we nodded to one another, I hit fists with my hospital worker friend, and then I sat in my usual seat in the back. Nice boner from the bus ride, and then it was the same familiar short walk to the Dickers' building. Everything looked the same, but I still felt jumpy and apprehensive. Maybe it was concern about how I'd be handling the inevitable Joel confrontation, or maybe it was just a case of nerves on my first day back to work, almost like the way I felt on my very first day of work weeks ago.
I spotted the Dickers' pick-up truck and hustled through the door, suddenly anxious to see Robby. First thing in the door, though, I got a big hug and an ass grope from Toby, who lisped he had missed me. "You naughty boy! Never take another vacation; I couldn't bear it. Oh, I love that earring on you, Dylan. It's outstanding!" He's a good guy and an easy-going crew chief, so I hugged back a little. "Hi" to the other guys and then "Hi" to the college guys in the locker room who yelled at me, actually yelled at me, "From now on, you're not allowed near a fucking barber shop without a note from home!"
They ragged on my hair. Joel walked right by me without giving me a glance, my heart pounding as I watched him disappear around a corner. A big bear hug from behind followed that, and I knew it was Robby because he smelled like Robby. I could be blindfolded and still pick certain boys out of a crowd by their smell. "Dylan!" he yelled as I wrestled around to return his hug, face to face. It made me feel so good that Robby was excited to see me. "I've got your coffee at my locker."
As we headed to his locker he said, over his shoulder, "That haircut is way too short, Dylan. Do you like it?" I told him it was an unexpected and unwanted happening, and then we dropped that topic to tell each other how great it was to see one another again; acting a little nervous, and it made us do a lot of quick touching and hesitant interrupting of each other in midsentence's. Realizing just how much I missed him took me by surprise. He acted shy when asking, "Do you think we should do the massage, Dylan?" I said, "Sure, if you want to." I started to sit down while he was sitting down, and then we both jumped up and bumped into one another. We both said, "You can go first," simultaneously.
It was awkward and silly, but at the same time, a little bit sweet too. I felt that nice closeness to Robby again as if we actually had a special thing going on between us. We always did special massages, but I think I sensed an even deeper connection than that. Absence makes the heart grow fonder; that kind of thing, maybe. The depth of that feeling was another thing that surprised me, although it was also very pleasant.
Robbie looked extra cute this morning. His beautiful complexion with the rosy blotches in his cheeks and the bright blue eyes that were so bright they seemed to be spot-lighted from behind. I'd forgotten how hot he was. He's got the same light blond hair I have, at the moment, a lot more of it than me. He caught me gazing at him and smiled that cute, shy smile with dimples coming out. He has those bow-shaped lips and those white teeth, and he looked so clean, so new, I wanted to kiss his mouth or lick him or something.
We're both five feet ten inches and slim, about one hundred thirty-five pounds, which is mostly why the college guys call us the Bobbsey twins, although we don't look alike. Chubby and I look more alike than Robby and me. Yeah, the same general body shape, but take the T-shirts off, and Robby has all the muscle definition I don't have, except for my good biceps.
Neither one of us has ever had or even seen a professional massage; we fake it and grope different parts of each other's bodies as we go along. I needed to lean over him from behind to reach his belly button, and the sides of our faces would rub together occasionally. His body was hot. As I've said before, he and his brother have natural athletic bodies, very toned and fun to grab and rub, pretending to massage. Moving up to his shoulders again, Robby's head was back against my belly; his eyes closed. Wow, he really enjoys massages.
I put my face close to his like we do when we want to talk low for privacy and say, "It's so great to be back doing this. I missed you." I was so close that I could feel the heat from that pale skin turning red. He blushed easily. I couldn't help myself, so I touched the side of my face to his. Immediately, his hand pressed against the other side of my head, keeping our faces together. So low I could hardly hear it, he said, "I missed you too, Dylan." For the first time, I noticed his pants poking up in his lap. I thought, "Oh my God, what should I do now?"
Robby got a hardon from me massaging him, and I'm thinking: Oh my god, what should I do now? No need for me to do anything, though, because he jumped up like someone had stuck a pin in his ass and said, "Whew, that felt good, Dylan. It loosened up my muscles; I've been so tense lately." He's keeping his back to me, pretending to do something with his sneakers. I was taken aback for a second by the abrupt end to the massage, but he must have felt panic that he sprung a boner.
This is a very encouraging development, though. Then, the horn indicated the work day had begun. We wandered out to our pickup truck and then it was a sweaty day with temperatures in the mid-nineties. It was so hot and humid that we ate lunch in the cab of the air-conditioned pick-up truck in three shifts. I feared Joel would be in the cab with me when it was my turn, but Toby ensured it was him and me. He ate a big lunch without closing his mouth, making wet mouth sounds, and asking me probing questions about the girls in my life.
He told me he was sure I had a hot sex life. Of course, he was fishing, but my answers were vague and probably frustrating to the poor man. I answered sincerely, though, and soon, it became a fun game of avoiding a direct answer to his questions. He finally said, lisping, "You are such an enigma, Dylan, but I'll bet you're making someone happy." I got the impression his gaydar had sensed I could be gay, although he wasn't positive. Toby is a nice guy, so I made sure not to mock him, but I also didn't want to come out to him. I'm only out to a couple of guys.
We were hot, sweaty, and beaten up from the heat that day, so much so that Robby and I skipped the massages after work. Monday night, Chubby was smiling and joking as we made our dinner. He said, "Rickie told this joke at lunch. And, heh, heh, it's pretty good." His joke: Arthur's doctor tells him the severe headaches he's experienced for years can be cured, but it requires castration. The doctor discovered that Arthur had a rare condition; his testicles pressed against his spine, causing terrible headaches. After searching for months for an alternative cure, Arthur very reluctantly agreed to have his testicles removed.
He left the hospital without a headache for the first time in twenty years, saw a men's clothing store, and decided to buy a new suit with his newfound freedom from pain. The tailor eyed Arthur briefly and said, "Size 44 long." Then he said, "Sleeve 34, neck 16 1/2." Arthur's amazed that a quick glance is all the tailor needs to determine accurate sizes. The tailor says, "I've been in the business sixty years and know my sizes." Arthur also wanted underwear, so the tailor said, "Size 36." Arthur mumbled, "Ah ha... gotcha there. I've worn size 34 since I was 18 years old." The tailor shakes his head and says, "No, you can't wear size 34. That size would press your testicles up against the base of your spine and give you one hell of a headache!"
I wasn't expecting the punch line, so I got a good burst of laughter. Chubby, unlike Willie, doesn't laugh at his own joke; he tells jokes with a deadpan expression, which struck me as funny, too. Chubby goes, "Hey, it's not that great of a joke. I could tell you anything, and you'd laugh just because I told it." I said, "Well, sure, but that was funny."
It was wonderful to see Chubby in a good mood again. He and Rickie worked out all their differences. I may find out what the differences were someday. We watched the Red Sox after dinner on the recliner together, but there wasn't much bodily contact. I rubbed Chubby's buzzed head and tried to pull him over next to me, but he said, "We're outgrowing that stuff, Dylan. Remember?" I said, "I don't want to outgrow it!" Chubby jokes about that by saying, "Wah, wah, wah, my best bro misses his cuddles." Chubby hugged me tightly, hopped off the recliner, and got us a Coke to share. At least we're still sharing stuff.
Tuesday morning at work, as I headed for the locker room, Joel called me over. He looked serious as always, but for the first time, I also realized how young he looked. He was a couple of years older than me, and while he looked older than that, he was pretty young. He has a freaky muscular body, though, especially his arms. I mumbled, "Morning, Joel," and he wiggled his finger for me to come over to the alcove he was standing in. Oh, fuck, he'd been waiting for me. I took the four steps over to him as he stared at me with this tough-guy look. He says, "Okay, I like that haircut." He ran his fingers through my hair with one hand and held my shoulder with the other. I stood straight, my hands behind me, as I do for the Marine.
I admit that he scares me. Joel made some weird face that may have been his idea of a concerned expression and said, "You won't be able to spend this weekend with me. I've other plans, but I can take you on for the weekend after this one." With my nuts shriveling to pea size, I said respectfully, "Joel, I appreciate you taking an interest in me, but I need to be honest and tell you that the interest is not reciprocal. I'm sorry. No disrespect intended."
He changed his expression to a pissed-off frown and, quick as a snake, his hand dropped off my shoulder to get a hold on my left arm and yanked me against his iron-hard body so hard the gum I was chewing flew out of my mouth. I thought the wind was knocked out of me, too, but a huge air intake got me breathing again. He snarled, "What the fuck does reciprocal have to do with it?"
For a second, I didn't understand. I frowned and then mumbled, "Huh? What do you mean?" His lip curled; a vein throbbed in his forehead. He is unhinged and dangerous. >From some faint nod, I decided he didn't know what the word meant, but I wouldn't embarrass him, or he might break my neck. With my heart pounding out of my chest, I said, as calmly as I could, "Please let go of my arm, Joel. I must have given you the wrong impression, but not on purpose. I'm sorry. It's just that I can't return your interest in me. I can't return your feelings because I have no feelings for you. As I said, I'm sorry if I unintentionally misled you into thinking I was interested in a relationship with you. As I've repeatedly said, I mean no disrespect at all. I'd like to be your friend at work, but that's all."
His mouth was open, and a saliva strand connected his top front tooth with a bottom tooth; it arched out as his exhale blew past it. Nice teeth, by the way. I was returning his stare but not in a challenging manner. I'm not as nuts as he is. He closed his mouth, wiped his hand across his lips, and mumbled. "You have been waving your twat at me, giving me those bedroom eyes, always looking for me on the job, and you're saying I'm imagining all that? Is that it, punk? Is that what you're saying?" I whispered, "I didn't do any of those things. You've misinterpreted my behavior. I wasn't intentionally doing any of it."
He let go of my arm and said, "I don't know what you're babbling about, and neither do you. You're fucked up in the head. But, whatever, you still need somebody to straighten you out and teach you how to act. You're subconsciously begging for help, and I'm going to be that person to teach you right from wrong. It ain't going to be this weekend, though. It'll be the weekend after, as I already said, and you fucking better have yourself prepared for a rough start."
He looked at me hard for a few seconds, me at a loss as to how I could make it any plainer for him, then his other hand flew up and smacked the back of my head, "WHACK!" Stars swarmed around my eyes; I blinked rapidly as he walked away. My knees were shaky, and I wanted to pee my pants. He actually believes I'm coming on to him. Talk about delusional. I leaned against the wall, thinking he was still dangerous, but the supposed weekend for his re-education program planned for me was put off for another week. That's a relief! It's also another week closer to the end of my involvement with that madman. Only a month until school starts, and then I'll be safely working in Stop and Shop, bagging groceries and saying, have a nice day to everyone.
Robbie was disappointed I got to the locker room so late, but after that fun play time with Joel, I had to go into a stall in the lavatory and sit on the toilet seat until my breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. Joel is one scary mother-fucker. Robby and I did quick massages, and when he was doing mine, he leaned down so the sides of our faces touched like we do sometimes. He said, "I have something wicked important to tell you after work, Dylan. Please try to return to my locker as soon as we leave the job sight. I'm depending on you, Dylan."
I told him, "Sure. What's it all about? Dodger screwing up again?" He said, "Later, I got to work up the courage first." He was very uptight, and I was worried there might be some problem with his home life or something. What could it be? Naturally, it would be my dream come true if he was going to tell me he's gay and has a crush on me, and could he suck my dick or something like that, but I'm more realistic. That's a fantasy, and Robby and I need to deal with some real-life problems. I'll help in any way he wants me to, of course, but I don't think I'm good at solving problems. My best strategy is to put the problem off as long as possible and hope it works itself out or, better yet, it just goes away somehow as the Jake Rollins thing worked itself out.
It wasn't as hot today on the job, so the lawn work was easier than yesterday. We ate in the shade of a big old oak tree, and the nice breeze helped. Joel sat beside me, and even though he never said a word or touched me, it wasn't the most relaxed lunch I'd ever had. Toby was bitching about IRS deductions from his pay. After a two-minute sermon about the evils of income tax, he lisped, "You put those two words together: "the" and "IRS" and it spells theirs. That says it all."
Robby said, "Raffie Devers hit another walk-off home run last night. Did you see it?" Toby mumbles, "Who did what?" And I saw Robby biting his lip not to laugh. Toby isn't into sports too much. I told everyone Chubby's joke about the guy who got castrated unnecessarily, and all the guys got a good laugh except Joel, who muttered, "I'd have castrated that fucking doctor if it happened to me." Toby lisped, "It's a joke, Joel; no one would ever get castrated because they had a headache," he laughed and pushed Joel's shoulder. Joel smiled self-consciously and said, "I knew that, Toby. I was joking." For once, Joel seemed normal.
By the time we were unloading the pick-up at the end of the day, the skies opened up, and it rained hard, as it does in the summer. I thought about the block party Willie and I were supposed to be at tonight and how they'll need to postpone it because of this rain. Then I remembered that Willie was sick so we couldn't go anyway. I was more than a little disappointed. I already missed Saturday's date night and now Tuesday's date night, and that sucks! Willie was taking up more and more of my contemplating time of late.
Gee, yeah. I thought about him a lot, and it always came back to the special way he treats me and the way he fucks me. I love the make-outs, too, but it's the way he fucks me that's nuclear hot! I've been getting boners just thinking about him, and I love the tight ball he gets us into after sex. He wraps me up so tightly I can hardly move. I guess it's his control thing to a certain degree, showing me he's stronger than me and, therefore, dominant. That's true, although the word, dominant, is such a small part of everything about Willie and me. Anyway, I love him.
Thinking about all that, I'm dumping grass clipping into the large bin from the barrels on the truck; Robby says, "I'll see you at my locker, Dylan." I nod, "Yeah, sure, Robby." but I'd forgotten about that problem he wanted to tell me. Curious, I hurried up, finished with the grass clippings, said goodnight to Toby and the boys, and then hurried into the locker room. I saw how red his face was and how nervous he was, rubbing his fingers together and tapping his foot. What the hell is going on? Now I was anxious that maybe Dodger had confessed some of his and my sexy play together, but to who?
I walked up to Robby and asked, "Does this have anything to do with Dodger?" I was taking the offensive. He goes, "Dodger? No, nothing to do with Dodger. It has to do with us two, you and me. Well, mostly me, I guess." Too startled to react sensibly, I mutter, "Us?" He looked away and said, real fast, "Don't hate me, and please don't tell anybody, but I'm gay, and I have a wicked crush on you." His face got even redder, so I was sure this wasn't a joke. Although I did look around for the college kids, thinking it would be like them to put Robby up, I knew that wasn't it!
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I coughed a few times and then came up with this, "Why would I hate you? Huh?" Not too cool of me, and he wouldn't look at me, and then he said, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe," he sounded panicky, so I stepped to him and grabbed his shoulders to shake him. "It'll be okay, Robby. It's alright," and I hugged him as best I could; his body was like a thick steel wire. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around me and asked, "What will be okay?" I said as matter-of-factly as if I was telling him I'm five feet, ten inches tall, "I'm gay too. We're a couple of wickedly cute gay boys."
Robby muttered quietly, "Oh, thank God. I prayed it would work out, but I wouldn't even let myself hope you'd be gay, too. I just hoped you'd be my friend, sharing my secret and helping me discuss things. It's so lonely being gay all alone." Mrs. Dickers called over to Robby and said that they were ready to take off for home. He ignored that and asked me, "After dinner, can I come over and talk about this? I'm so relieved and excited, Dylan. I can't believe it!" I said, "Sure, Robby, but what about Dodger?" He asks, "What about him? Whaddaya mean?" I was half meaning, are you and Dodger gay together? Because of his response, though, I ask, "Did you tell him?"
He shakes his head, "No, but he'd want to come with me. He can play video games; we'll have some time to talk. Hey, you're coming over tomorrow night for the Wednesday barbecue, right?" Again, Mrs. Dickers calls for Robby. I mumble, "Right, I'll see you tonight. and we'll talk." We were both acting unsure of ourselves. Robby took my hand and kissed it, saying, "Thank you, Dylan, thank you!" and he was gone.
Holy shit! Sitting on the bench before Robby's locker, I forced my mind to blank. Too many loud thoughts roared in my head, all trying to get my attention simultaneously. I heard the janitorial staff bumbling around in the offices, but other than that, I just stared at Robby's locker. I'd already missed my bus, so I had a while before the next one. I let myself believe that Omigod, Robby Dickers, is gay and he has a wild crush on me! Then, it occurred to me that it was Tuesday night, my date night with Willie... except he was sick. Damn, if Willie was well, I wouldn't have been able to follow up on Robby's suggestion we get together tonight. Hmm, my life is going to be getting complicated. I mean, do I tell Robby I have a boyfriend who I love? Do I mention Robby to Willie? Yeah, well, I've got some things to think about, but right now, I need to call Chubby's cell to tell him I missed my bus.
This is really unexpected! Sure, I dreamed of Robby being gay, but I always put it in the fantasy category. In my mind, it was never a real possibility until recently. The massages should have been the giveaway. No two teenage boys would massage each other like that unless something was going on in their heads sexually. That's so obvious to me now. So, why didn't I see it sooner? Robby obviously saw it earlier, which gave him the courage to take a chance of being honest about his gayness.
Wow, jerking off the last year or two, I fantasized about maybe being gay and some mystery boy fucking me, but that is so far from actually doing something with another male. That's when you're 'out,' as the saying goes. Out to yourself, I mean... yourself and the other guy. Whatever! Walking from the bus stop to my condo, I was so elated about the possibilities in Robby's surprise announcement that I jumped in the air, pumped my fist, and yelled, "Yes!" Then I heard a girl's voice say, "What a geek." Glancing over my shoulder, I saw two girls giggling behind me about a half block away. One of them jumped three inches off the sidewall, "Yes..."
I turned at the next block and walked four blocks out of my way to escape them. That dampened my mood, but only momentarily, and going into Chubby's condo, I was in my usual after-work, positive frame of mind. Chubby was in his new after-work smiling and cheerful frame of mind. I've got to find out what he's doing for that dickhead Rickie.
To be continued...
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