DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 1
by Donny Mumford
I find myself looking forward to returning to college more and more every day. Three months ago, I couldn't wait for the junior year to end, and summer break to begin, and now I'm anxious to get back to Merrimack. Actually, I wish I was going back this week.
It's really pretty simple, I'd rather be at college than in Hartford, Connecticut, on a business trip. I have trepidations about this trip although I've kept them to myself. It'd be uber embarrassing to admit I don't want to do this alone. Fuck, I've never done anything like a business trip where I need to be the authority figure expecting the managers and employees there to readjust their work schedules to accommodate me. Those people aren't working a summer job for some extra spending money at college. They're working real-life jobs supporting themselves and their families. What, for example, do I do if some fifty-year-old foreman on the job says they don't have time for me this week? Do I say, 'I'm gonna tell on you!'
Oh I don't know, I've conjured up all kinds of scenarios where I'm out there with my dick in my hands and some 'adult' type person tells me to come back tomorrow, for instance, or whatever. Rob and his Dad would think I'm a pussy if I mentioned any of this to them, and anyway it'd be wicked irresponsible of me to wimp-out on this trip. I accepted this job and Hartford was always part of it. On the other hand, perhaps I've been making a mountain out of a molehill for weeks worrying about this stuff.
Yes, this last week of summer vacation I'll be in Hartford and I've no one to blame but myself. I'm the one who kept putting this off. And I know... when you put something off it remains part of your future, but when you deal with it head on its then part of your past. Whatever, procrastinating is a habit of mine and I'm positively gonna work on improving that area, but not now...
Early in the summer I actually thought a week's business trip would be cool. You know, staying in a hotel with an expense account, a company car, and whatnot. In hindsight though, I obviously didn't think it was cool enough to actually do it, and consequently here I am dealing with it now. My perceived coolness-factor has been replaced by a more realistic one of nervousness and the sense that I don't really wanna fuckin' do this shit. Nevertheless, I'm doing it...
So I've said my goodbyes to everyone and I'm driving away from the house early Monday morning, the last full week of summer break. It should be a ninety-minute drive to Hartford so I'll be there by nine o'clock, which is when Dottie, Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant, set up a meeting for me with the office manager, whose name I've forgotten. Forgetting names isn't anything unusual for me though, so I wrote the woman's name in big letters on the cover sheet of the benefits presentations. I'll take a peek at her name before our meeting. I guess I'm as ready for this as I'll ever be, which isn't saying a helluva lot.
Complicating matters for me is the forecast for rain sometime today and around here people lose their minds driving in the rain. I'm hoping the rain holds off until I get to the office in Hartford, but of course it doesn't. As I'm getting on the Mass Pike it begins coming down with a vengeance. Plus, omigod, the traffic at this time of the morning is unbelievably horrendous and now it's gonna be worse with this heavy rain.
Why the hell didn't I do this earlier in the summer? Goddammit! Huh, my only consolation as I drive in this shit storm is that I personally need to make this trip only this one time in my life, while most of these crazy bastards driving around me need to deal with this five days a week, every week!
Anyway, before I left the house Rob insisted I take the portable GPS from his pickup so I've got that to fall back on. It's already programmed for the Hartford office's address. I won't really need it to find the city of Hartford though; I already know the simple directions to Hartford: stay on the Mass Pike until exit 9 for route 84 east, and then stay on that right into Hartford. Once I'm inside the city though, that's when I'll need the GPS to give me directions to the office.
I confess to being very tense driving on an extremely busy Mass Pike where it seems every tractor trailer in the world is towering over me in this little compact Chevy company car. Damn! Plus, this piece of shit's windshield wipers simply are not hacking it. The rain's too heavy and every swipe of the wiper blades leaves a smear of water on the windshield. I'm reduced to leaning over the steering wheel trying to see between the swipes of water. This goes on for thirty-nerve-racking-minutes and then I hear the female voice of the GPS providing a 'heads-up' to: 'Bare right onto exit 9 ahead.' Oh fuck, can ya give me a little more warning here. Jesus!
Dammit, I can't get over to the exit lane because one of the million tractor trailers driving around me just pulled up on my right going the same speed I am and now there's a long line of cars in front of it, plus an SUV is tailgating me and I mean right on my ass! And if that's not bad enough, the tractor trailer's huge tires are constantly spraying water over this toy car I'm driving!
Okay, so I miss that exit... and then I still can't get over for the next exit either... BALLS! It's like all these cars and trucks are conspiring to prevent me from getting off the Mass Pike! The GPS voice sounds annoyed now, as she again says, "Reprogramming," and then when it's reprogrammed it tells me to get off at the next exit... well, no shit!
Rob did mention that this is a very old model GPS so I can't leave every decision up to it. Anyway my more immediate problem is staying alive as I'm driving seventy-miles-an-hour in a car that's hydroplaning like a mother-fucker and I can't slow down for fear of getting rear-ended.
I finally take my life in my hands and pull just barely in front of the tractor trailer, um, some might say I cut him off. Well the driver thinks so anyway as he's blasting his air horn scaring the shit outta me for a couple of seconds as the little Chevy almost goes off the road. Screw that truck driver though, he's not supposed to be using the merging/exit right hand lane as a travel lane. Truck drivers are bullies! I fly past the transponder machine at the exit where toll booths used to be, and omigod I'm finally off the Mass Pike. Whew!
Yeah, I'm two exits further west than I should be, but I'm off that insane road! Taking a deep breath, I hear the woman's GPS voice reprograming and then telling me to get back on the Mass Pike, heading east this time. I'd like to throw that piece of shit out the window! Instead I do what I'm told and get back on the Pike, but this time I take a page from that truck drivers and stay in the right hand lane until I'm finally able to get off at exit 9. It's apparently everyone for themselves on the Mass Pike at this time of the morning... in a torrential downpour no less.
Now I'm on a congested route 84 west, which is no bargain either. It's another forty-five minutes of bare-knuckle-driving with rain continuing to pour down in Biblical amounts. My heart's in my throat by the time I finally see signs for Hartford, but now 84W become a six-lane highway with many directional signs overhead; tons of them. The signs indicate lanes for Hartford, lanes bypassing Hartford, one for New York, and a lane for the last exit before Hartford.
Lots of big green signs but they aren't all that helpful because it's difficult to look far enough ahead determining which sign goes with which lane. Plus, at this speed the signage above comes up too quickly to adjust lanes and this old piece-of-shit GPS is vague with its instructions, saying, "Bare right'. Bare right how many lanes, you bitch?
Well apparently more lanes than I'm able to negotiate because I panicked and guessed at an exit lane, which of course was the wrong one. It leaves me this side of Hartford in the town of Manchester, Connecticut. The GPS's female voice is of course saying, "Reprogramming," and this time it sounded like a reprimand, so I'm screaming at the device, `Go fuck yourself!' I know, that's not real mature of me, but....
Ya know, all this would seem simple if I ever, God forbid, needed to come to Hartford again. Everything is easier the second time you do it. I'd be prepared for these pitfalls that came up too quickly to deal with this time. I feel stupid though because this isn't rocket science. Anyway, what the hell is in Hartford that all these assholes can't wait to get there? Damn, do I ever wish I was back at college right now where everything is familiar and I know what I'm doing.
Anyway, after two-or-three additional heart attacks I finally make it to the office. And yes, the GPS was invaluable in this instance and therefore very much appreciated. I'm glad I didn't throw it out the window. Still, I've been involved in this hellish drive for well over two-hours now and I'm rattled like never before in my life. Looking at my hand in front of my face... it's shaking like I'm ninety years old! Well that drive was life threatening! Fuck it though, it's over now. I drive past the office and naturally there are no available parking spots in their little parking lot, so I'm forced to park in a strip mall across the street.
Christ, I'm sweaty and wrinkled and exasperated, and shaky. And it's still raining as hard as ever. Taking a couple of seconds to calm down, I think about having a cigarette but don't dare because I'm already over an hour late. Taking a deep breath and then, before venturing out of this tiny car, I remember to look in my case for the name of the office manager. The manager is a woman, I remember that much. Oh yeah... Susan Pulp.
Checking myself out in the rearview mirror I finger comb my fucked-up haircut, then take another deep breath and get out of the car into the pouring rain. Umbrellas are for pussies! While dodging cars running across the street I get soaked. While trying not to get run over I'm repeating the manager's name to myself, 'Susan Pulp', 'Susan Pulp' hoping to remember it when I meet her.
With a pathetic sigh of relief, feeling I'm in over my head already, I go in through the front door and stand at the receptionist's desk. The subtle sound of people tapping on computer keyboards stops abruptly. Huh, did everyone in here stop working just because I walked in?
Oh great, everyone is staring at me now. I concentrate on ignoring that, hearing instead the steady ringing of the phone on top of the receptionist's desk. There's a woman behind the desk whose back is to me, the receptionist I presume. She's bent over looking for something behind her in the bottom drawer of a file cabinet. Will nothing be easy for me during this entire fucking trip... ever?
After a few seconds I do a fake cough which has no effect on the receptionist so I glance over at a large woman standing in what I assume is the office's little cafe area. I mean there's a couple of vending machines, a coffee maker, and a few tables and chairs, so what else could it be?
Hmmm, I give the big woman one of my really good smiles hoping she'll ask if she can help me. Well now she's looking right at me while blowing on her steaming cup of coffee. I raise my eyebrows like, 'I'm here' and she finally casually asks, "Who might you be?" I start to tell her who I am, but she interrupts, saying, "This is a 'no solicitation' office, ya know that, right? Read the sign on the door, kiddo!" Kiddo? Now there's a name I hate! It somehow infers you're inferior or, well a kid...
Smiling again I tell her very politely I'm not a solicitor and say my name. She looks at me blankly, so I add, "I'm looking for the office manager, Susan Pulp." The big woman drinks some of her coffee, it's like she has all day. Giving me an odd 'look', she says, "Well you've found her, but it's 'Ms' Pulp to you, not Susan." Like I give a flying fuck! Oh man, really? Nodding, I'm like, "Oh okay, Ms. Pulp," and she says, "You've found me, whaddaya want?" What the fuck is this, she isn't expecting someone from home office?
This morning really, really blows! Glancing back at the still ringing phone on the receptionist's desk for a second, and then back at Ms. Pulp, I'm stalling to edit in my head what I was going to say to her because it includes the word 'cunt'. Instead I try smiling for the third time, saying nicely, "Well, g'morning, Ms. Pulp. As I said, I'm Dylan Newman. Um, from the HR department at Home' Office. Ah, you weren't expecting me? I was told you were inform..." but she cuts me off again by waving her free hand in my face, sarcastically saying, "You're kidding me, right?"
Okay, this isn't anything like I envisioned would happen, but maybe on business trips there's miscommunications or whatever, so I'm trying to be patient although I guess I'm frowning a little as I'm muttering, "Um, no... I'm not kidding! I'm here to..." and I fumble a memo from my case to hand to her, adding, "To see, you, Ms. Pulp, to review..." but she interrupts me for the third time by loudly yelling at me, "Stop!" and she actually looks seriously annoyed or stressed, saying, "I've had to deal with a fender-bender in this goddamn rain, and on a Monday morning no less, so I'm not in the mood for one of Janis's ideas of a joke. Be sure to tell her I'm not amused!" I mutter, "I don't understand. Who's Janis?"
After taking another slurping slurp of coffee, she tries calming down, asking, "You're from the Framingham office, you say?" I nod, "Yes, as I've tried a number of times to tell you, I'm here to..." and she goes, "Oh, Jesus Christ, that's just great! Yeah, well I am expecting a representative from Human Resources, but at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, not today, and not at, what time is it? Not at ten o'clock!"
Holy shit, I'm not sure what to say to that. She asks, "What's your normal job there at the home office, doll, mailroom boy? You're acting as delivery boy for HR. Um, an hour late and a day early! Tell me that isn't it." I go, "I'm the HR guy alright, but..." and she rolls her eyes, "Ya know what, kiddo. It's not your fault so I don't know why I'm giving you a hard time. It's like we always get second-rate treatment in this office. And I don't know why I'm surprised when it happens again and again."
Oh man, I'm exasperated, but I manage to say, "Sorry to hear that, but I am the HR guy," but she isn't paying attention. She looks over at the receptionist, saying, "Yo Carol, sonny boy here is late, but he's also a day early. What's that, one of those oxymoron things or something?" Carol, who must have found what she was looking for in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet has been staring at me with furrowed eyebrows, like she can't believe any of this. Well, neither can I. Still frowning, Carol mutters, "I don't know, Susan," and then she finally answers her phone that's been ringing off the hook since I walked in here. It seems to me I've been in here for half an hour, but it hasn't even been two minutes...
Slurping more of her coffee, Ms. Pulp smugly looks back at me asking, in a more conversational tone of voice this time, "Is that it, you're late but a day early, sonny?" Holy fuck, what a bitch! And did she say I was from the mailroom? Oh God help me, but I'm going to blow my fucking brains out!
Okay, I'm now recalling the 'talk' Mr. Dickers' had with me about not letting employees or management staff push me around when I'm doing these benefit presentations. And anyway I'm still pissed-off from that ride-from-hell, so I lose my cool a little and raise my voice telling her again who I am and why I'm here, and then add, "And I'm not a day early. Today is the day I'm scheduled to be here, so what I need from you, Ms. Pulp, is your up-to-date employee listing, especially the outside construction personnel... and then I'll get started with the interviews."
She hesitates for just a second, like maybe she's thinking perhaps she's wrong, but only momentarily. She goes right back on the offensive getting seriously angry now. Before she was snarky, and acting like a bully actually, but now she's starting to get seriously aggressive. She loses it a little and goes all ghetto on me, bobbing her head while sarcastically yelling, "Say what? You need what from me, sonny?" And then to a woman sitting at the closest computer station, a woman who's wearing what appears to be skiing apparel. "Can you believe him, Connie? Damn, I'm not paid enough money to deal with this unbelievable shit!" and then to me, she goes, "Get you a list, you say? Listen here, sonny-boy, you do not tell me what to do, or when to do it, not in my office you don't!"
This is beyond surreal, but it's almost exactly one of the situations I was worried about! See, I knew something like this could happen. What did I do that was so wrong though? I'm so frustrated I could scream. Barely able to keep the F-bombs from flying I refuse to back down and emphatically say, "I've told you my name a number of times, so you know it's not, 'doll', 'sonny-boy', or 'buster' and certainly not 'kiddo'! And I still need to see your employee list!" Again there's that look in her eyes, that same look of doubt like maybe she's making a mistake... but only for another fleeting second and then, no...not her, she couldn't be mistaken.
After the slight hesitation she goes, "No, no, no... this is bull-crap! I'm making a phone call to Framingham right now and we'll get to the bottom of this. And no matter what, whoever you are... you still do not walk in here and tell ME what to do in my office!" My face is red and hot, but by now I've lost my mind anyway and I don't give a shit anymore, so I say way too loudly, "Yes, I suggest you call that 'someone' in Framingham, Ms. Pulp, because if you don't, I will."
Oh man, I can't ever remember being this legitimately pissed-off in all my life. This is all so unfair! I'm trying hard not to go completely off the rails, assuming I already haven't done that. I mean, the last things I was yelling at her I was leaning in close and yelling up in her face, which was not cool of me at all. I'd rather not bring myself down to her level of discord, except I think I did.
Oh hell, it wasn't just her unacceptable rudeness, or that fucking two-hour terror drive I just went through, it's also the fact I'm standing here with my head and heart pounding like mad, rain water dripping on the floor from my clothes and hair, plus it's fucking humiliating that everyone in this office is listening and watching us. Ms. Pulp probably was acting that way to show her staff how tough she is. Putting on a show for the worker-bees to buzz about.
Ms. Pulp struts back to her office stopping once to say something to an Ichabod Crane look-alike. She's obviously as pissed off as I am. The big difference being... she doesn't have any real reason to be pissed-off. She fucked everything up right from the start when she didn't know I was coming. I know damn well she was informed because Dottie copied me on the email. Meanwhile Ichabod looks confused about what she apparently told him to do. Maybe he's supposed to kick me in the nuts, but like I said he's confused and just sits there at the back of the office looking at me.
Ms. Pulp meanwhile glares at me through her open office door as she snatches up the phone and calls 'someone'. Maybe she's calling that Janis-person she thought was playing a joke on her... meaning I'm the joke. Well I do hope she's calling the Framingham office and not the police. I shouldn't have shouted at her like that. My body language could be misconstrued, I suppose, as threatening. Yeah, except she's a lot bigger than me.
I don't find out until I talk with Robby much later today that Ms. Pulp called a friend of hers in Human Resources and told her what was going on, and how she put me in my place and blab, blab, blab. Unbeknownst to me, or Ms. Pulp, the boss's administrative assistant, Dottie, had orders from Mr. D. that any calls from Hartford about the benefit program should be directed to her, and then to him if necessary. Maybe they've had some, um, issues with Ms. Pulp in the past.
I'm watching Ms. Pulp making her call as I'm sort of thinking maybe I'm the one who will get screwed here. She's a manager and we were yelling at each other like kids on a playground. So I'm trying not to seem all pissed off as I'm standing here trying to be professional like. I trying to appear like... we all make mistakes, no problem...
I'm hoping we can get on with this like, um, adults. She's a large woman, as in three-or-four-inches taller than me, wide and thick. Maybe fifty-pounds heavier than me so I felt small yelling up at her. She's wearing a white blouse and a woman's dark red business suit, or maybe it's that maroon shade of red, with a white silky fluffy-thingie hanging around her neck where a tie would be. If she had been nicer to me I may have offered her some styling tips. Ya know, like next time she goes shopping for a suit she needs to be looking for one that's any color other than the one she has on, plus it'd be better if she were to shop in the plus-size section for, I'd guesstimate, outfits three or four sizes larger than the one she's wearing, and her shoes simply don't go with that outfit at all, or any outfit that I can think of!
No style tips for her though because she humiliated me, and now I'm sorta angry at myself for being this nervous as I'm waiting for the outcome of her call to Framingham. Nervous that somehow this is my fault. I didn't do anything wrong! Yeah except it was unprofessional the way I yelled at her. Mostly though I feel like shit standing here in my suit that got soaked during my forty-yards dash in the rain from across the street. At least my suit, wet as it is, fits me perfectly. But damn, am I a day early... and late? No I'm not, well yeah, I'm late, but I'm not a day early.
Huh, I suppose I do look foolish in my soggy suit, especially when no one else in the office, except that bitch Ms. Pulp, is wearing anything resembling business attire. These people are dressed in khakis, jeans, sneakers, and pullovers... plus the skiing outfit on that one woman. Under my arm is the wet, borrowed fake-leather case containing the interview sheets and other paperwork for my job and by now I'm feeling very uncomfortable about everything. All these people are probably thinking... there he is, the nerd from home office who Ms. Pulp put in his place.
It seems to me her phone call took forever but a glance my wristwatch tells me it's only been like ninety seconds since she stormed into her office. It actually wasn't a very long conversation as I see her now slam the phone down and then do an exaggerated silent scream. Oh fuck, what's that mean? Hmmmm, it could be that things are finally going my way! She's pacing back and forth in her office, maybe collecting herself?
I'm feeling a little bit cocky now, staring back defiantly at some of these dorks who are staring at me No one says a word while we all wait for Ms. Pulp as she comes striding back up the aisle, this time though she has a huge fake-smile on her large face. She's holding out her right hand for me to shake as she's saying, barely loud enough for me to hear, "I am sorry, Dylan. Please accept my apologies for being short with you, but this has been a very trying Monday morning for all of us. This darn heavy rain made some of us late and that fool rear-ended me in the parking lot, and... um, well I'm sure you understand." No, I don't!
I'm staring at her, so she glances around and mutters in an even lower voice, "It was my mistake too, I mean you are due here today." Then, turning her head to give a nice-looking older woman a dirty glance, she adds, "I can't imagine why Marge here told me it was Tuesday you were coming. You're late of course, but..." and then her words sort of peter-out at the end. Maybe because I continue giving her a blank stare, ignoring her offered hand. Fuck her, I knew I was right all along!
After Ms. Pulp threw that poor Marge-person under the bus, blaming her for not knowing I was due here today, there's an awkward few seconds of silence before Ms. Pulp turns to her right, saying officiously, "Marge, please get Dylan a coffee. We'll be my office," and then back to me, she's sweetly asking, "Cream and sugar, Dylan?" I nod because a coffee sounds really good about now. She repeats, "With cream and sugar," to Marge, and then to me, "We'll talk in my office if that's okay with you." This is more like it! That's what I was thinking, but what I said was, "Yes, that'll do fine." Oh man though, I feel like shit...
Ms. Susan Pulp is thankfully almost helpful now. Actually I have no more trouble with her but we never do warm-up to one another. Drinking our coffees in her office we compare employee lists, which doesn't take long. I need to correct my list for construction personnel who tend to turn-over more than regular office staff. Then, in spite of her protests, I insist she sit there and listen to every single word of my benefits' presentation, and then have her sign for it.
Okay, to her credit she maintains her phony cooperative attitude, as do I, but I can feel this woman seething with loathing for me underneath it all. I feel the hate coming off her, but hell, I didn't cause the problem! Fuck it, her hatred doesn't bother me now, and obviously this woman has issues.
As she's signing the card acknowledging the presentation she tells me some very negative things about how her office is ignored by the Framingham office. She goes, "We're treated as the orphan children of Dickers & Son, which is why I thought Janis was playing... well, never mind that. The problem is we're way out here in Hartford so no one at the home office cares about our problems and we consistently receive slipshod treatment. I hate to say it but they're lacking the management expertise, the experience necessary in maintaining communication within their expanding business, like this satellite office, for example." She goes on to say she's worked for companies that know what they're doing, and blah, blah, blah.
All through her bitching I do my best to nod my head and look like I give a shit while at the same time I'm writing down every bit of her negativity in the comments section of her presentation sheet. What do I know, maybe she's right about everything she's saying. In any case, like I said, we didn't have what you'd call a friendly forty-minutes together but she held her shit together and managed not to bitch-slap the shit outta me, like I'm sure she wanted to. I'm kinda thinking that after I submit my report, or no, even before I submit my report Ms. Pulp might want to get her resume updated.
During the rest of the morning I do four more interviews here at the office. I use the little coffee-break-cafe for that, which probably upset those who I assume are used to goofing-off in here. I say that because there's almost no organized discipline going on here at all. It's like a social club. I have no more contact with Ms. Pulp but feel similar animosity from the other employees; well most of them, not all.
Three of the people I interview have lots of 'attitude', but I take it because I'm worn down by these people. The other interview I do in the morning is with the office flunky, Georgie Ball, who was super friendly and very appreciative of the benefits upgrade. He's a goofy-looking kid who told me he's going to college at night and he's grateful for the job. The other three, all women, reflected their boss's arrogance. All their negativity was recorded word for word because that's my job. I don't personally care to get them in trouble but I need to accurately fill in the 'comments' section on the presentation sheet. Bottom line though, alas I fear there are moral problems in Hartford. It's a rather slovenly crew here too; the sloppiness of the office would have Mr. D. throwing up if he were to make a surprise visit here. Yep, a management type from H.R. needs to check this joint out.
In the afternoon, after eating a very late lunch alone at a Subway Shop, I do the last two interviews of the in-office personnel. One being the aforementioned Ichabod Crane lookalike, and the other was the receptionist, Carol. Both of them acted somewhere in the range of, um, normal behavior except Carol is obviously no Mensa candidate. My 'notes' accurately reflect the positive comments from a couple of these people, as well as the contentious attitudes from Ms. Pulp and most of her employees. What else could I do?
When I'm done with the office personnel it's not even four o'clock. My clothes are still wet though and it's still raining so I make the management decision to put-off until tomorrow interviewing employees at the construction site. For one thing I'm pretty sure the construction guys begin work early and they may even be done working by now. I could ask Ms. Pulp about that but I don't. Like I said, I made a management decision... plus she scares me. Packing up my stuff, I'm thinking...Oh fuck, I should say goodbye to the manager, but I don't. Hey, it's my first time doing this shit!
So I'm ready to go to the hotel and check in. Instead of doing the smart thing and programming the address of the hotel in the GPS, I take a shortcut and ask a woman getting a cup of tea for directions to the hotel, which I was told isn't too far from this office. I'm not claiming the tea-lady did it on purpose, but her directions weren't worth shit and, long story short, following the tea-drinkers' directions I found myself on a ramp that led me back onto route 84 going east. I'm heading out of town on the way back to Framingham which very well could be where they wanted me heading.
In the car I'm again screaming curses like a wild man and pounding my fist on the dashboard. My blood pressure is probably reaching unhealthy levels. The traffic is wicked heavy again and to say I feel stupid and frustrated is to simply understate the situation. My eyes burn like I want to fucking cry! Finally I see a semi-safe spot to pull over onto a wider breakdown lane. I simply cannot fucking believe I'm on route 84 again!
Parking as far over in the breakdown lanes I can get, I sit here for a few moments trying to calm myself. It's my own damn fault again! And this Goddamn rain keeps coming down in waves with cars and trucks flying by a mere three-feet away from me at what seems like a hundred-miles-an-hour making the little Chevy shake like crazy. Omigod, I gotta get my act together! I hate this business trip like nothing I've ever hatred before in my life! Errrrr!
When I've got myself under control I do what I should have done in the first place. Looking in my pro-folio I find and then program the GPS with the address for the Holiday Inn, and after some hair-raising near accidents I just manage to get to the hotel alive. Parking as close to the main entrance as I can get, I sit in the car feeling sick to my stomach. Then, giving myself a good talking to, with renewed determination I grab my suitcase and the clothes Rob insisted should be on hangers, work up my resolve and then make a mad dash for the hotel as the rain continues pouring down on me.
Waiting to register, I check my watch and shake my head. Can I believe this? It's taken me almost an hour to get to this hotel that's a mere six-miles from the office. Thank God the registration goes smoothly. Going into my room I'm still enormously frustrated and basically exhausted from the drive and then dealing with very hostile people every step of the way. Getting out of my soggy clothes I take a long hot shower, feeling sorry for myself.
The shower felt good but afterward I'm still in a funk thinking about all the crap that went wrong today and then realize I haven't checked my cellphone since leaving home this morning. Taking it out of the side pocket of my wet and wrinkled suit jacket I see a few texts and emails. Good!
Sitting in the desk chair I read Robby's email and get my first information about why Ms. Pulp slammed the phone down. I'm grinning like mad at Rob's description of how his Dad was bat-shit-outraged at Ms. Pulp. Rob thinks he's Dad was uber embarrassed that a manager in his company would act like that to anyone. Breaking-out with a full smile I'm imagining how shocked and furious she must have been listening to Mr. D.'s one-minute rant and then I remember her silent scream of frustration after she slammed the phone down. Oh man, I feel better! After what she put me through I have no sympathy for her, and then I do have some. I don't know what her life is like, so she could have all kinds of problems outside of work and... oh, I don't know...
And the other email I care about is from Chubby. He says I'm gonna love our new car. New to us anyway. We bought a previously owned 2014 Kia Soul when neither of us ever thought in a million years we'd ever be driving a Kia! That odd car was never remotely on our radar screens, but the low mileage, good price, and all the extras it has, plus the funky green color with that funky boxy shape... well it is kinda cool in a weird way. Anyway, I'm thrilled Chubby's so 'high' on the car after driving it home this afternoon. While I was having a shit-storm afternoon he was having a good time, so I'm happy for him. Jeez, I can hardly wait to drive the car myself.
For right now though, I put off reading the other texts I see, except the one from my Mom's wishing me good luck ...with love. Pulling back the bedspread I get in bed; yeah I'm in bed at a little after five o'clock in the afternoon. I was feeling depressed in the shower and depression makes me tired. Thankfully those three messages on my cellphone brightened my outlook a little. I think about Chubby and Rob and how wonderful my Mom always is to me and I feel the love from those guys. Thinking those warm thoughts, and feeling homesick, I drift off for a nap.
Only for a half-hour though and when I wake-up I find that now I'm pissed-off someone in HR hadn't warn me about that Hartford office being full of miscreants. Is it possible no one is aware of them? Maybe Ms. Pulp has a point about her office being ignored and consequently they're left to operate mostly off-the-rails with limited direction from Framingham. Jesus, what I'll find tomorrow in the 'field' with the gruff construction workers I dread thinking about right now.
It's way past five o'clock so Rob's surely done his day at work and I really want to talk with him. I wanna hear his voice and hear about every tiny detail of the blow-up Mr. Dickers had in support of me. So I call and we're both kind of excited at first, talking over each other for a bit before settling down. I love hearing Rob talk, especially after the shitty day I just had. Robby has a young person's voice, it's almost boyish and very pleasant and sexy to hear. He tells me he texted me about his Dad's outburst on Ms. Pulp as soon as he heard about it from Dottie. She's quite the gossip, Dottie is, but mostly she knows we're boyfriends, Rob and me, so she wanted to tell Rob about it knowing he'd tell me. Dottie likes me I think, or at least she likes teasing me about shit. Anyway I never got around to checking my phone to learn about all those going ons until just a little while ago. I tell Rob I was too engaged in a tug-of-war with the hefty office manager to think about my phone.
We talk for half-an-hour without me complaining too much. It's soothed my mind somewhat finding out the support I got from Rob's Dad. I mention to Robby the drive here in the rain, getting lost and all, but I don't make a big deal out of it. I merely say the drive sucked. I don't want to come off as a whiner or, um, incompetent. Anyway I'm not feeling all that stressed now because talking with Rob gets me mostly over all that crap. It's in the past and can't be changed, and I'm fine now.
I tell him, "Rob, if your Dad asks how I'm doing, tell him I'm good. I've completed the office personal and they all signed-off on the new benefits. There's some notes he'll probably be interested in but, um, it was like no problem basically. That's mostly what I'm trying to say... no major problems at all." We obviously talk some about Ms. Pulp because the people there in Framingham were talking about the incident. Office gossip, ya know. I down-play her obnoxiousness because, like I said, by now I'm feeling a little bit bad for her. Anyway Mr. Dickers can come to his own conclusions from Ms. Pulp's own words that I diligently transcribed without any comments of my own.
When we're off the phone I'm proud of myself for not throwing-up on Rob with elaborate descriptions of all the nasty aspects of this terrible day. That'd be unprofessional and, um, kinda embarrassing too. After we're done our conversation I walk around my hotel room, like: okay, what's next on the agenda for a professional businessman on a business trip? Oh yeah, dinner, dummy!
Looking out the window I see the rain hasn't let-up at all and I don't want to do any more driving in that tonight. I get dressed in jeans and a pullover shirt, resigned to eating alone at the Holiday Inn restaurant. First, of course, I tried for an easy dinner solution by looking at the room-service menu but it's wildly overpriced with a limited selection and nothing on it appealed to me.
At the restaurant, waiting to be seated, I'm slowly shaking my head because I've always hated eating alone in restaurants, and I'm definitely not looking forward to doing it now. I've got a book with me as a 'prop' that will hopefully project that I'm occupied. Ya know, implying that being alone at the table is my preference and doesn't mean I have no friends.
The book I've been reading for two weeks now is David McCullough's, 'John Adams', and it's an interesting non-fiction book that at times reads like fiction. The world has changed in so many ways in the past hundred-and-sixty-years-or-so, but in many ways people haven't. Tough to wrap my head around some of it. And, omigod, the modern conveniences we take for granted weren't even imagined in those folks' wildest dreams. But they were a much hardier people than we are now... much hardier!
The lady at the desk finally gets around to escorting me to a table-for-four. Huh, I'm looking at tables-for-two that are out of the way against the wall there, and I'd be less obvious at one of those tables. If there's a next time I'll speak-up and insist on one of those tables. I was caught off guard this time. Sitting here I pretend I'm reading my book while trying inconspicuously to glance around to see if anyone's looking at me. As far as I can tell no one is.
Most of the people here appear to be on business. At least I don't see any families. Mostly there's two people at a table, although there are some tables with three-or-four people, and then there's one loud group of eight men at a big round table who all appear to be drunk. Anyway men outnumber women three to one but I assume women are as likely to be on a business trip as men. And then there are the three tables with one person at each table, all against the wall where I should be. They must have thought to speak up and insist on those tables while I didn't, and consequently I'm situated exactly in the middle of this room... alone at this table for four. Balls!
As I continue to 'pretend' reading my book a middle-age waitress comes over and is very nice asking me if she can get me something to drink. I say, "Yes, please. I'll have a Manhattan straight-up made with VO, and a Maraschino Cherry and, um, a splash of the cherry juice." She sighs and then apologizes for needed to verify my ID. We go through a quick 'carding' ritual and then 'Bee', that's what it says on her name tag, goes off to get my cocktail. Hmmmm, I'm seriously considering getting drunk tonight.
The Manhattan is very cold and sweet, giving me a little buzz. Huh, I order another one while placing my dinner order for grilled pork chops, scalloped potatoes, and the 'seasonal' vegetables that apparently go with whatever else you order. Yes, the second Manhattan is just like the first but the dinner disappoints from the start. I strongly suspect, and hope for the sake of this Holiday Inn that I'm correct in assuming the regular chef has Mondays off because the fill-in chef needs a lot more training. My valiant effort at eating the salad is waylaid by the mysterious orange dressing on the limp lettuce; the dressing being even sweeter than my Manhattan. Hmmm.
Oh well, here comes my main course; maybe it will save the meal. A few bites of the scalloped potatoes, however, brings to mind Stop & Shop. Yeah, I've seen boxes on the shelves there, although I've never bought one, claiming, 'Betty Crocker Scalloped Potatoes... made with 'real' potato slices... as opposed to slices of what, I wonder? Like I said, I've never tried those dehydrated potatoes in boxes, that is until now at this Holiday Inn restaurant, and I don't recommend them. The 'seasonal' vegetables I strongly suspect came in a can with a picture of a giant on the front. Try as I might my knife simply isn't up to the task of cutting the double-thick pork chop so I concentrate on the two rolls that came with the salad. Damn though, I wish Bee had remembered to bring the butter that the menu claims comes with the rolls. Yeah, 'Complimentary rolls and creamery butter' is what the menu claimed. Odd that they feel the need to brag about that though.
The food is not Bee's fault so I'll leave a regular tip for her. Then I try making it look like I casually tossed my napkin on the plate when I finished eating. Actually I did the napkin toss carefully, hiding the fact I'm sending back ninety-nine-percent of what they sent out from the kitchen. I'd rather not hear questions from Bee about my uneaten dinner. Too awkward!
After dinner, fuck it, I go to the cocktail lounge which is thankfully fairly dark. Sitting at the bar as far from everyone as I can get, I order a draft of Bud beer while holding my driver's license out to the bartender. He takes it and reads it below the bar where there's a light. After reading it for longer than seems necessary he drops it in front of me and draws me a draft of Bud. Setting it on a coaster, he asks, "Shall I run a tab, pal?" These people in Hartford are all as name-challenged as I am. My name isn't 'kiddo' or 'pal' or 'buster' or 'doll' or 'sonny'. The bartender had to have noticed my name after reading my license for the better part of a minute. No matter though, I'm getting used to being called those names and I simply mutter, "Sure, thanks."
After the bartender rings-up the ridiculous price of the beer on my 'tab' he puts it on the bar in front of me, then plops a bowl of beer nuts near me and goes down the bar to continue doing his job. Hmmm... food! I take more than a few nuts and after chewing the nuts take a sip of beer. This is better!
I've still got my book with me but it's too dark to pretend reading it. Instead, feeling oddly self-conscious, I pretend I'm interested in looking at all the bottles of liquor behind the bar on a wall of glass shelves. Lots and lots of bottles of booze, ones I never even knew existed. More beer nuts get chewed before each sip of beer. I'm consciously trying not to overdo the nuts though. I do not want to come off as some unsophisticated hungry businessman, or hobo off the street for that matter, but somehow the bowl is empty before I even finish my beer. Hmmm, how'd that happen?
As the bartended is setting a second draft beer in front of me, he goes, "Ya like those beer nuts, huh?" I look at the empty bowl and try smiling as he's refilling the bowl with fresh nuts. Then a band starts playing a song called 'Proud Mary'... playing it very poorly. The woman lead singer has a shrill voice that's like fingernails down a chalk board. After my third beer and second bowl of beer nuts I decide, prompted partially by the awful band, to call it a night. I can't listen to one more song from that group. Anyway, after two Manhattans and three beers I should be able to fall asleep in this strange place, in a strange bed... alone. Being able to quickly fall asleep was my main reason for drinking tonight in the first place. I'm hoping by tomorrow night maybe I'll be settled-in enough to eliminate the drinking-alone part of my business trip.
And then I'm no longer drinking alone. A guy brings his drink and places it next to mine. Balls! I'd purposely picked this seat because it was the furthest available seat away from everyone. Yeah, for all the good it did me. As the guy sits down, he says, "It blows being in a strange town on business alone, doesn't it?" I glance over and see a tall slim guy who may still be in his twenties, but probably just barely. I cleverly mutter, "Huh?" No, I'm not like Chubby who would immediately have had some funny and clever retort for this stranger. Chub's clever comment would probably have informed this guy that he was sitting alone by choice, but he'd have a cool way of getting that message across without the guy taking offense. I can't do that... not even close.
The guy holds out his hand, mumbling, "Tony Blair," and I sort of half-turn and do half-a-handshake, muttering, "How ya doing?" Damn, I should have said my name and then probably added something like, 'Nice to meet you," and then I should have added, "But I've got an early day tomorrow and I'm gonna settle-up my tab now and hit the sack'. Something like that...
Meanwhile Tony's motioning at the bartender, saying, "Two more here, Artie," and then to me, he says, "You look like you could use another beer. No offense but you look, um, forlorn. Is this your first business trip?" I go, "Um, ah, yeah I guess it is." What I should have said was something like, 'No, I'm not on a business trip and I'm just about to join my wife in our room. We're here in Hartford for a Bar Mitzvah.' Often I think what I should have said maybe ten-seconds too late. Not always though, sometimes I can come up with stuff immediately. Unfortunately not when I'm caught completely off guard like this. And anyway who the fuck expects a complete stranger to come over acting like we're buddies, and then buy me a fucking drink? Is that normal?
He pats my shoulder, asking, "What company are you working with, and what'd you say your name was?" I'm making a 'no beer for me' motion to the bartender holding my hands up with the palms out, waving them a little. Artie sees me doing that, he's looking right at me, but he ignores me and pours two beers in fresh glasses anyway. Gawd!
Glancing back at the stranger, who's name I've already forgotten, I say, "Dylan Newman, um, that's my name." Then I do a goofy chuckle, muttering, "What was the other question?" He laughs out loud and pats my shoulder again, saying, "Hey, I'm not intruding, am I?" He actually appears sincerely concerned about that, so I shrug, "Nah, not really... ah, I'm new at that, and..." and then I can't think of anything else to add to that so I do a fake cough like a beer nut is caught in my throat. Plus, what did I even mean by: 'I'm new at that...' Jesus! He asked if he was intruding... so, I'm new at what, people intruding?
Chuckling, he reaches over and pulls the refilled bowl of beer nuts between us and tosses some nuts in his mouth, saying, "Business travel takes some getting used to, Dylan. Yeah, I've been on the road for five, no... almost six years now. I'm from New Jersey, by the way. I was recruited for this job as a pharmaceutical salesman right out of college. What company are you with?" Ha, he's the first person in Connecticut to get my name right, but then he's not from here so it probably doesn't count. I go, "Dickers & Son." Raising his eyebrows like he's surprised, or more likely he never heard of the company. He goes, "Well then, obviously you're not in pharmaceuticals so we're not in competition. What's the product you're pushing for Dickers & Son?" Questions, questions, questions... Yeah, but that's what strangers do, they ask questions. It's fucking annoying!
Swallowing some of my beer and reaching for more beer nuts, I mutter, "Um, benefits. No, I'm not pushing benefits, not really, or I am sort of, I guess. Um, I mean the company's product, or whatever, is landscape architecture and, um, design... yeah, and other things, but I'm not here for that." Shit, I don't know what I'm saying, or what I'm supposed to say. Whatever, he laughs again, mumbling, "That clears it up for me."
Fuck! I'm gulping more beer as he's saying, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you're the youngest traveling salesman I've ever seen in all my years of doing this." I respond to the least important part of what he just said, mumbling, "No, I don't mind you saying that," and he hardily laughs again which turns into a coughing fit. Wiping his eyes, he goes, "Jesus, that's funny." What's funny?
Taking more beer nuts, still chuckling, he must see I'm not 'getting' any of this, so he explains, "Um, by me saying 'I hope you don't mind', that was sort of an opening comment that I hoped would act as a conversation starter... or maybe get you to explain what your business trip entails. Just making conversation, ya know?" Frowning, I mutter, "What?" and he smiles a really good smile, saying, "I mean, I didn't expect you'd respond to the part, 'If you don't mind me saying'. I thought you might explain what a young guy like yourself is doing on a business trip for Dickers & Son. Or maybe you'd to tell me, um, something... or hell, anything would do." Was that a question?
Taking some more beer nuts, I go, "Oh, I see what you mean, yeah." He waits a few seconds as if he expects me to say something more and then he laughs again patting me on the back, going, "Omigod, you're a classic, Dylan! Awesome equivocating, and with that innocent baby face of yours too. Awesome!" I have no fucking idea what he's talking about, but I notice I've finished the beer he bought for me, so I say, "Um, thanks for the beer, um..." and I'm trying to remember his name. He grins, saying, "I'm Tony. Tony Blair, remember?" I go, "Damn, I'm bad with names. Sorry," and he's already ordered us two more beers, saying, "No problem. I was terrible at remembering names when I first hit the road too. There's a few things I've learned along the way though that helps with that, like; have you ever used mnemonic devises. For example, 'Dale works in sales'. See? Or alliteration like, 'John's from Jersey'. Like that." What in the fuck is he talking about now? I go, "Oh, uh huh."
Still nodding my head and gulping my latest beer I realize I've already forgotten his name again. He goes, "Anyway, my name should be easy. Tony Blair was the Prime Minister of England for years. He was in the news here all the time during the Bush administration... the Iraq war. Remember? Ring a bell?" I must have a very blank expression on my face because he mumbles, "Yeah, I guess that's before your time." I go, "What was that about the Iraq war?" and he laughs out loud again, and then says, "Okay, you hot-shit, I know when I'm being 'put-on'. Good show! I have a feeling I can't teach you anything." Have you ever been in a conversation when you have no idea what it's about?
I'm definitely feeling the booze by now so I need to get the hell out of here. The Prime Minister is quiet for a minute and then he mumbles, "This band needs some work, huh, Dylan?" Well I understood that! The band is playing, 'Sargent Peppers' Lonely Hearts Club Band' very poorly, and so for something to say, I mutter, "The Beatles are the most overrated band in recorded history. I'm not saying they suck, but that they're simply way overrated." He goes, "Holy shit! I totally agree with you, but you're the first person I've ever met with the balls to make that definitive statement. The Beatles are like the band that can do no wrong... band royalty. Did you ever here their song where then just keep repeating, 'Number 9' over and over." No, I don't know about that, but we start talking about rock groups. The groups' drummers, guitarists, and lead singers, whatever. We don't agree on much, not after our initial agreement about the Beatles, but this dude is very well informed about rock music.
A couple of beers later he helps me remember his name. We're laughing as he makes me repeat, 'Tony' out loud a few times, and I do remember it after that. He goes, "See, that's another way to remember names. Saying the name a number of times in your head or even better saying the name out loud a few times. Obviously, depending where you are at the time, that can be slightly weird." I go, "No shit, like in a bar with people gawking at you." Tony goes, "Pay these people no mind, Dylan."
I must be drunk to have agreed to repeat his name out loud like that, but then I did a version of that same thing this morning running across the street memorizing what's-her-name's name; the arrogant office manager, um... well, I can't think of her name right now.
Anyway, Tony's easy to talk with and when we finish talking about our likes and dislikes music-wise, and I've memorized Tony's name, we move on to talk about our favorite sports teams and before I know it, it's Tony who says he's got appointments starting at eight o'clock in the morning and he needs to get some sleep. It's me who says, "One more for the road, Prime Minister," but he won't have another beer and then insists on paying the tab. He tosses a credit card on the bar, saying, "I'll stick this on my expense account, Dylan. You're Doctor Newman tonight... ha ha." We agree to meet here at the bar around six o'clock tomorrow evening to have dinner together someplace, any place other than here will do fine as far as I'm concerned.
He leaves and I finish my beer and then pay the tab for the first three beers I had, leaving too-generous of a tip. In my room I'm thinking this business trip thing isn't so bad after all. Then the next morning I don't wake-up until almost nine o'clock and of course I've got a pisser of a hangover. I'm also pissed-off that I agreed to meet that guy tonight for dinner. Why in the hell did I say I'd do that? Goddammit! That's my first thought this morning when my first thought should have been: I'm late for work! I can't even remember everything I said last night... I know I was babbling there for a while.
I quickly do everything in the bathroom I need to and then get dressed in a suit that is just back from the cleaners. Okay then, yeah I'm late again this morning but at least I'm looking good! Carefully placing a 'Stick em tag' with the name of the manager I'm meeting at the construction site on my pro-folio satchel, I take the elevator down to the hotel's breakfast cafe and buy a coffee to go.
This is brand new day and somehow I'm feeling optimistic about it. After weathering all the shit that went wrong yesterday I figure everything bad that could happen has already happened. Plus, having the name of the foreman I'm meeting staring me in the face from the Stick 'em tag on the front of this fake leather case gives me a sense of confidence. And I've got another thing going for me too: my email correspondence with this guy never included an exact time I'd meet with him this morning, so there's no way I can be late. Getting this late of a start means I'll be missing the rush hour traffic too, so things are looking up for me.
Outside I see the rain has finally stopped so, yes indeed things are starting to go my way finally. Sure, it is an ugly overcast day with rain water still dripping off the trees and everything else, but it's not fucking raining! Ha ha, and there's that piece of shit car they lent me for this business trip, right where I left it. Nobody stole it and no there's flat tires. Nope, nothing bad happened to my 'ride', so that's another good omen right there.
Getting in the car I turn the engine over and it starts right up. Punching the address for the construction site's sales office into the GPS I'm like... huh, what's wrong? After trying the address twice without any luck, I'm like: what the fuck? This old model GPS won't accept the address? Damn, I'll bet the address is too new for this worthless piece of shit GPS! I hold my breath for ten seconds and then scream as loud as I can for as long as I can. Holy shit, I feel like I'm gonna pass out. A man emptying a trash barrel from the hotel just stops and watches me screaming. Oh gawd, I'm frustrated beyond words! After a few seconds I yell at the man, "What the fuck are you looking at?" The car's windows are up though so he probably didn't know exactly what, or who I was screaming at. Oh man....
So much for my positive outlook today and goodbye to that temporary sense of confidence. I had the good vibes for ten whole minutes there. Balls! How the hell am I going to find the construction site? Ya know what? I never knew something as bull-shit and sucky as this business trip could even exist in this world. No fucking idea anything could suck this bad!
Reluctantly, but roughly, like I'm trying to break it, I'm stabbing my finger on the GPS getting the 'Last Ten Addresses' to appear and forcefully poke on the address for the Hartford office. Without any other choice I take off for the office getting a little squeal from the back tires as I fishtail away from the parking spot. I'm so pissed I can't even scream now, I mean this is going to be embarrassing beyond anything I can think of, but there's no way around it, I'll need to get directions to the site from Ms. Pulp.
The trip to the office doesn't take long, making me think again about the fucked-up way I took getting to the hotel from the office last night. Parking at the strip mall again I jerk the car door open and stalk across the street to the office. Ironically I'm going through the front door at a little after ten o'clock, almost exactly twenty-four hours after I came through this exact same door yesterday. Gawd!
The receptionist looks up giving me one of her furrowed eyebrow 'looks' as if she's never laid eyes on me before in her life. I'm trying to calm the fuck down and not take my anguish out on her. I force a smile and after standing here, both of us looking at each other for an awkward ten seconds, she says, "G'morning, um, can I help you?" I keep as much of the smile on my face as I can while reminding this moron who I am and that I was here the whole day yesterday. I can almost hear the gears grinding in her head and, Bingo! she remembers. Yeah, she remembers and gets a startled expression on her face as she glances back at Ms. Pulp's office. She's probably afraid I'll start yelling at her.
We both see the door to Ms. Pulp's office is closed, so I say, "Um, I'm not here to see Ms. Pulp necessarily, um," and I glance at her name tag, adding, "Carol. Actually I'm sure you can help me." Her furrowed eyebrows deepen as I continue, "Ah, yeah... there's no need to bother her, heh heh." It's easy calling a person by their name when they have a name plate on their desk. Everyone should have a name plate, or better yet wear a name tag around their neck.
Carol isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer however, so I go slow, "Here's the situation, Carol. Um, the construction site's address is a relatively recent one. It's too 'new' to register on my old GPS." She looks back at Ms. Pulp's closed office door again and, resisting the urge to slap her, I continue, "And there's no need to bother Ms. Pulp if you could give me directions? Tell me how to get there from here, ya know... um, do ya think you can do that?" Gawd, it's like I'm talking to a six year old. While Carol's thinking about that I glance over at a woman who's staring at me from her work station. Omigod, it's the tea-drinking lady who gave me the bogus directions to the Holiday Inn yesterday... is she smirking?
Looking back at the receptionist I see she's now going through her top desk drawer, mumbling, "I think I have something. We printed some, oh, where are those darn...?" and then she brings out a brochure, mumbling, "Oh good." Handing me the brochure, she proudly says, "That's a promotional brochure for the new condos and retail space for the Derry Hill project. I mean, if that's the one you want." Brilliant deduction on her part since it's the only project Dickers & Son has in Connecticut, as well as the only reason this office is here.
But yes, the brochure has directions on it. Okay, awesome! I smile and say, "Thank you very much! You've been a big help, Carol!" and she goes, "Yeah well, um, yesterday, um, I said something during that interview with you about needing a raise." Oh man, I am so late but, trying to encourage her to go on, I nod my head, "Uh uh, and..." She shrugs and mumbles, "Well, um, I think I thought you wrote it down." Jesus... she thinks she thought. I'm still nodding encouragingly, assuming she wants me to cross-out her statement, but she goes, "Could you underline that part on your report?" Oh man, ha ha! Suppressing a grin, I nod, "Of course, and I'm sure you deserve a raise too. Thanks for the brochure," and I get the hell out of there without needing to say anything to Ms. Pulp.
And, oh boy, the directions are succinct and easy to follow. I should have no problem finding the construction site. Yeah but it is a construction site and, I don't know, but all the rain we've had probably left the entire area a muddy mess. I look down at my loafers that never completely dried after yesterday, and my socks feel damp now. Hmmm, I probably should be wearing boots of some kind. An experienced professional businessman would have thought of that.
Following the directions for ten minutes and I'm turning onto a secondary road that's obviously been just recently finished. Hmmm must be right? After a mile though I'm beginning to doubt I'm going the right way. How the hell could I screw up these simple directions? And then I see a big sign indicating, 'Derry Hill Townhouses', so that's good! I turn onto an obvious temporary road and begin slowly driving up a hill looking for the house-trailer that's supposedly the site's temporary office. This roughed-out road of crushed stones is just barely drivable. It's a very hilly area that was probably a hilly forest before the construction began.
I'm driving slowly because, considering my lack of luck, I'll probably get stuck in this fucking mud. Being careful not to get off the crushed stones I'm creeping around a curve and then see lots of activity, and then there's the big trailer. There are a number of pickup trucks and a couple of cars parked along the front of the trailer. Way up the hill past the trailer I see many big machines digging up the place and it reminds me of the activity around Dodger's condo that first day I was there.
But dammit, there's no place to park on the crushed stones along the front of the trailer. Huh, why does that surprise me? Of course there's no place to park, that would be too easy. I drive past the trailer and pull up a slight incline, actually it's a mud-patch fifteen feet past the trailer. Turning off the engine and then I'm like... wait, this was a bad idea. Is the car sinking?
It felt like it for a second there, but the car is steady now. Okay! Jeezusss, what could go wrong next? Grabbing my fake leather case I do a quick check inside it to see all the presentation paperwork is there. Nice time to check, huh? I glance at the stick 'em note with the guy's name on it and then, grinning a little, nodding my head about having the good sense to remember to write his name down, I step out of the car in my suit and tie and hear a disturbing, "Squish," sound as my foot goes into mud almost to the top of my fucking loafer. Goddammit, I knew it!
Huffing out an exasperated breath, rolling my eyes, I step out with my other foot as my first foot almost disappears in the mud and I'm stuck. When I try taking another step my first foot comes out of the loafer and to keep from falling I need to take another step real fast and my stocking foot goes right into the mud ankle deep. No, nothing unusual about this fucking business trip, nothing to see here folks...
I'm screaming, "Can I believe this shit!" and see a grizzly looking man wearing boots comes out of the trailer with a cigarette between his lips. He goes, "Oh Christ!" when he sees me, and then he does a smokers' phlegmy laugh. I can only imagine the look of anger on my face. Still chuckling, the man mutters, "Hold it right there for a second, kid," and he trudges through the mud to grab a dirty piece of plywood that he lines up to the trailers entrance and then drops the plywood sheet. Grabbing another piece of scrap wood he trudges through the mud toward me dragging the wood plank behind him. I'm of course watching him and then I watch the slip of paper with the foreman's name on it drift off my fake leather case in the wind to land upside-down in the mud. Oh, good...
Standing on one foot, holding my muddy stocking foot in the air, I'm almost numb by now and feeling like the world's biggest dork. The grizzly man pushes the dirty wood plank right up to me, and then kicks it to adjust it so it's a foot or so away from the plywood he dropped behind him. He kicks the wood board again and then says, "Careful now, step onto that," which I do with my muddy stocking-foot and almost slip backwards into the mud. The man reaches out getting hold of my wrist, his hand is hard with callouses. There's so much mud on my foot I can't tell if the sock is still there. My other foot is in my shoe, still stuck in the mud. While holding my wrist, squinting one eye at the smoke from his cigarette that's drifting up from between his lips, the man mutters, "Shit, guess I'll need to get Sal to tow your little car outta there for you." Turning my head I see the wheels have sunk halfway into this quicksand, or whatever it is.
With him pulling my arm, I step onto the plywood yanking my other foot out of the mud and somehow with loafer stays on my foot. The man chuckles again, and then with a big grin, he mumbles, "Ain't this a bitch." I say, "Thank you for your help or I would have ended up on my ass..." and he goes, "No problem. Um, I'll get your other shoe for you." So I'm standing on the plywood, one foot in the air again while this nice guy bends over and drags my first loafer from the mud. It makes a 'sucking' sound coming free.
He holds it out to me and I take it to hold away from my clothes, as he's saying, "Guess ya can't put that on, huh?" meaning the loafer that's encased in mud. I mutter, "No, I guess not." Taking his cigarette from hip lips, he's like, "Whaddaya doing here anyway?" Before I can answer that another man, a big guy with a bright red face, comes out of the trailer calling over to me, "Are you, Newman?" I nod, yelling back, "Yeah, unfortunately." He laughs at my predicament before saying, "Jesus Christ! Um, ah, just stay where you are," and he disappears into the trailer as the first guy and I look at each other. It's awkward, so for something to say, I mumble, "I'm from Human Resources here to tell you about the new benefits package." The man flicks his cigarette butt in the mud and goes, "Oh."
Out comes the second guy carrying an old pair of L.L. Bean boots. He drops them in front of me, muttering, "Hope they fit. I don't know who they belong to," and then he says to the first guy, "Hold onto him, Bill," and Bill grabs my arm again to steady me as the second guy bends down and pulls the muddy sock off my foot. Yeah, this is way-the-fuck beyond awkward! I don't even know the word for what this is...
He drops the sock on the plywood, wipes his hand on his work pants, and then guides my foot into one of the boots. Looking up at me, he mumbles, "Small feet." Well yeah, for size twelve boots! He's shaking his head slowly, chuckling again before saying, "Hold your other foot up," I do that and he takes off my loafer but leaves my mostly clean, damp sock on, and guides that foot into the other boot. Standing, he mutters, "Sorry about the mud. C'mon in the trailer and I'll get you a coffee."
Can I believe this? I drop the loafer I'm holding and it bounces on the plywood as, with a sigh, I leave both loafers and the muddy sock on the plywood and follow the man into the trailer. He's saying, over his shoulder, "Hey Bill, get Sal to tow the kid's car out of the mud and park it just off the road." Then to me, "Are the keys in it?" I shake my head 'no' and go in my pocket for the keys, giving them to Bill.
It's a challenge walking in boots this big, especially with one bare foot and then we need to jump a couple of feet from the board to the plywood. I get inside though, and the guy says, "I'm Tyler Mack, the project manager. We expected you at eight-thirty." I never fuckin' said I'd be here at eight-thirty! The hell with it though. I mumble, "Hi, Mr. Mack, nice to meet you. Um, yeah, I've been running late since I left the house Monday morning." He laughs and says, "Since then, huh? Um, call me, Mac."
The coffee he gives me is barely warm... and that's the best I have to say about it. Mac asks me, "So how do you want to work this?" We discuss it briefly and decide I'll use the table at the back of the trailer. The table is presently covered with what Mac calls engineer-drawings and blueprints.
Standing in this hot, humid trailer holding my bad coffee in a paper cup I watch Mac very slowly and neatly fold or roll-up each item on the table. He's in no hurry, and then he calls on his cellphone for someone named, Riggins, which I assume is a last name. After the call, Mac tells me, "Troy Riggins is the foreman and he'll coordinate everything with you. You give him the names and times you want the guys here and within a reasonable amount of time they'll be here. Be flexible though, okay?" I say, "Sure, and thanks."
Riggins doesn't show up for twenty-minutes and when he does he stomps into the trailer, saying in a deep gravelly voice, "Mac, some damn fool left his shoes out there on a piece of plywood," and my second day is off and running, not all that different than yesterday....
As it turns-out though, these are mostly good, hard-working men who listen to my presentation without interrupting or acting as though it's a nuisance, and when I'm done talking they go, "Um, what do you want me to do now?" I ask if they have any questions and when they don't, which none of them do, I ask them to sign the acknowledgment section indicating that they've heard the presentation and understand it fully. They all sign and say, "Thanks."
So the interviews go very well, the interview part is no problem, but there is some real lag time between each guy showing up. They all say. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," and then explain why they were held up, like they were right in the middle of this or that. They could tell me anything... how would I know the difference?
So I got a late this morning and it's slow going because of the aforementioned lag time and consequently I only get seven interviews done all day. For lunch I bought a surprisingly tasty, big sandwich and a Coke from a food truck that stopped in front of the trailer at eleven o'clock. Kinda early for lunch but when in Rome do like the... Is that the right location for that idiom? I'm not sure.
These guys start work at seven-thirty so they're done work at three-thirty, and consequently so am I. There are still nineteen guys to interview but I've got three-days to do it so I'm not concerned. During lunch Mac had someone named, Boo, rinse off my loafers and dry them in front of a portable heater which effectively ruined them, but at least I can wear them while driving to the hotel. When Mac asked Boo about my sock that was left on the plywood, Boo muttered, "What sock? I saw a little pile of mud that I kicked off the plywood before taking the kid's shoes to wash off." Mac laughed. He laughed often all day; it didn't take much to make him laugh. Nice guy though. Done his latest laugh, he goes, "We owe you a sock, Dylan."
So I'm on my way back to the Holiday Inn before four o'clock and the good news is I don't get lost. I'm in my room by twenty-after-four and my first order of business is another long, hot shower. After that I dress in jeans and a short-sleeve pullover, plus sneakers, of course. Sneakers being my only other footwear at the moment. After taking the elevator down to the lobby I ask at the front desk about a mall. I need to buy a pair of shoes.
The mall's only a mile down the same road the hotel is on, so even I don't get lost driving there. Parking in a spot close to an entrance, I go in a random door and it leads right into Nordstrom Department Store... the Men's Department no less. Ha! Something has finally worked out well for me. A sign indicates Men's shoes are to my left.
In the shoe department I pick-up and look at six loafers and settle pretty quickly on a pair of Cole Haam Harrison, Penny Loafers regularly priced at $220.00 on sale for $131.98. Yeah, I know penny loafers aren't real cool but I like them anyway. Plus, since Rob isn't with me to talk me into buying something else, which would only have happened after he'd examined every fucking pair of shoes in the store, I'm done my 'shopping' in ten-minutes. Shopping for clothes, which I'm not a fan of, is much simpler when doing it alone.
Speaking of Robby, he calls as I'm driving back to the hotel. We talk as I'm driving and then continue talking for twenty-minutes more when I'm back in my room. He wants to hear about everything. I save the more gruesome stuff, like my lost muddy-loafers, for when I get home. Perhaps it'll seem funny to me by then. After ending the call I flop on the bed feeling homesick again. I miss Rob and Chubby mostly, and I want to get in our new Kia and drive around familiar places and just be with familiar people who like me.
Yeah, I'm not cut-out for business trips. It's not in my DNA or something, and the other thing is I haven't once during this trip thought to check-out guys for cuteness and/or sexiness, not even once since I got here. I'm not even sure if the guy last night qualifies as either cute or sexy, not really. I haven't looked at him that closely. Christ, at the mall I didn't even think about looking at guys. Not too long ago I'd have at least taking a stroll up and down the mall and looked around. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm kinda pissed-off I didn't do that.
Lying on the bed thinking those thoughts, all of a sudden I think, 'Oh fuck... I've got to have dinner with that guy tonight. Dammit!' I try talking myself into blowing-off dinner but I can't make myself do that because I said I'd meet him at the bar and I'm not big about going back on my word. Also, what if I didn't show up and then see him later in the elevator or lobby? Jesus, that would suck!
Okay, I'm still dressed in jeans, a Polo pull-over, and sneakers. I don't feel like changing out of these clothes so I leave the room at ten-of-six wearing what I have on. Waiting for the elevator though, I start wondering if I should have put my suit back on. Yeah, as a businessman I probably should have. Or maybe... oh, I don't fucking know!
As soon as I walk into the bar I and see the back of his head and remember his name, it's Tony-something. He's sitting there still wearing his suit and tie. I go over and sit next to him getting a big smile from him as he says, "I just got here from my last appointment, Dylan. Get this bro, the administrator at this big hospital told me he didn't care for my attitude and then I got stood-up for a luncheon appointment and the rest of my day wasn't much better. It goes like that some days. I hope your day was better than mine." Shrugging, I mumble, "It was kinda weird actually." We get beers and because he's not saying anything and seems a little 'down' I tell him about the mud and loafers fiasco. He laughs hysterically at that. I mean, in between him apologizing, "I'm sorry for laughing, Dylan, I know it wasn't funny when you were going through it," and then he laughs some more with me chuckling along by now.
After a couple of beers he suggests a few restaurant options and I motion at my clothes, asking, "Is what I have on gonna be a problem for any of the restaurants?" He goes, "You're kidding, right? Nowadays anything goes. Hell, I would have changed too if I got back in time." We finish our third beers and walk out with me saying, "I'll drive if you give me directions." He shrugs, "Sure, okay." I'm actually embarrassed about the compact car, but I'm willing to put up with being embarrassed in order to feel more in control of, um, whatever. Ya know, by having my own 'ride'. Naturally I don't tell Tony that.
We go to a restaurant that's a twenty-minute drive from the hotel, passing a number of closer restaurants, but Tony highly recommends this one place so I just drive. The place is called, 'Dan's and Jan's Angus Beef Palace'. After parking, we're walking to the front door as I mumble, "I'm feeling like 'fish' for dinner tonight. How 'bout you?" Tony does his laugh and then says, "How do you handle disappointment, Dylan?"
Tony seems like a good guy but then he is a salesman. Salesmen usually need to be upbeat and they tell jokes and they can carry-on a conversation about almost anything, and so forth. One thing I've learned from this time with Tony is I would not make a good salesman. I can't constantly carry on small talk, or be constantly 'up' all the time, or be as accommodating as he is about everything. It's exhausting just thinking about doing all that.
He orders a Manhattan before dinner and I wonder if he somehow knew that's what I had last night before dinner? Did I tell him? Anyway I order a Manhattan too, saying, "This is what I had last night before dinner. Did I tell you that?" He nods, "Yeah, you mentioned it and it sounded good. I usually get a vodka martini... two or three actually," and he chuckles. Yeah, that's another thing he does, he chuckles and laughs a lot about almost everything. Tony and Mac could have a chuckling contest.
As we're drinking our Manhattans, he goes, "Did I tell you I have an identical twin brother?" I shake my head, "No, I don't think so," and he tells me his brother is in medical school on his way to being a surgeon, like their Father. He says, "I'm the black-sheep, lazy twin. I took this pharmaceutical gig as a compromise between medical school and what I really wanted to do." I go, "And what's that?" He laughs, "I've always wanted to join the Air Force, even as a little kid. Obviously being gay put a crimp on those aspirations although not as big a crimp as my Father put on them." I hope I didn't look startled hearing that, as he goes on, "What the hell though, it's probably for the best. It would have complicated matters being a closeted gay in the Air Force."
I do a fake cough into my napkin. Holy shit, he said that part about him being gay as if I already knew he was. He says, "Oh fuck. Didn't I tell you that last night?" I don't remember him saying anything about it. He looks at me and goes, "Oh shit, the look on your face tells me I didn't." I shrug, "If you mean about you being gay, I don't remember, but it's no problem one way or the other. I mean if that's what you're thinking." He shakes his head, "No, I wasn't thinking it's a problem. Not in today's world, um, on the east coast of America anyway, ha ha."
Christ, what the hell are the chances he'd be gay? He finishes his cocktail, and says, "Well hell, you know from your own experience it's not a big problem being gay nowadays. It's just that, I don't know, I should have mentioned I was gay before suggesting we have dinner tonight," and he does one of his natural-sounding laughs as he adds in a humorous manner, "And we're going 'Dutch' with dinner tonight, by the way." I say, "Sure, I assumed we'd split the bill." He grins, adding, "Just so ya don't thing we're on a date, ha ha." I frown, and he says, in a serious manner, "I'm not coming on to you. Please believe me, Dylan. We're two businessmen having dinner. It happens a million times a night." I go, "Yeah, I know that!"
Yeah, but I'm thinking he said, 'as you know,' meaning what? That I told him I'm gay? I wasn't that drunk last night, was I? He's looking around for the waitress, probably to order another Manhattan. Looking back at me, he asks, "Do you mind if I have another drink before dinner?" I nod, "No, I'll have one too! Ah, um, did I mention last night that I'm gay?" He goes, "No, not right-out, but you obviously weren't hiding the fact." I go, "Whaddaya mean?" and he chuckles, "You mentioned your horrible haircut, remember? I don't see what's so bad about it myself, but you said your boyfriend usually cuts it, except not this time."
Oh yeah, I remember that thirty-second conversation last night. I felt self-conscious about Danny's attempt at giving me a haircut. That's right, and I must have said 'boyfriend', meaning Rob, without giving it a thought. Well, it's not as if I'm in the closet. Not for the last three years anyway. This development does put a different slant on the evening though.
We both order another cocktail and then have steaks for dinner. Mostly I talk about what I'm doing in Hartford. Tony goes, "Oh, Human Resources. Wow, that's kind of a big responsibility, huh? Sounds like it is to me anyway. Um, do you mind telling me how old you are? You look awfully young for an important job like that." I tell him my age and explain it's a summer job and blah, blah, blah. He finally chuckles and goes, "Ah ha, your boyfriend's Father owns the company! Now I understand. Still, you look so fucking young." I'm like, "Do you think so?" and he goes, "Are you serious? Now me, holy shit, I've been getting 'served' at bars since I was nineteen. I've always looked older than I am. Obviously it was great back then being the hot shit who could buy booze for my buddies, but not so cool now." I ask, "How old are you?" He goes, "Twenty-eight. How old do I look?" I go, "Twenty-thirteen," and he laughs, but he looks about twenty-eight, or maybe thirty-something. Once you get a certain 'look', you normally stay like that for twenty years or so before starting to look older again.
He tells me some funny stories about growing up as an identical twin, but he never says if his twin brother is gay. If he's 'identical' does that necessarily mean they're both gay? Somehow that seems too personal a question to ask, so I don't. The meals are served and my steak is perfectly grilled and its super tender, juicy, and delicious. Aged beef, ya know? And the rest of the meal is very good too. Way different than last night's meal.
After dinner Tony gives me half the cost of the bill, plus tip, in cash and I put the charge on my debit card. We have a few beers at the bar and then Tony says he needs to turn-in early tonight. As he pays for our beers, he goes, "This will be another expense account item. Well, ha ha, so was half the dinner tonight except I'll probably put the whole cost of the dinner on my expense account claiming I lost the receipt. Fuck 'em." An experienced business traveler's deceit, I guess.
As I'm driving us back to the hotel, he says, "Sorry for cutting the night short, Dylan, but I'm a little bummed-out about what I didn't accomplish today. In the past, in my younger days, after days like I had today it was too easy for me to fall back on getting smashed, drunk as a skunk and feeling sorry for myself. I've been working on growing-up lately though, so I don't wanna use the over-drinking thing as a crutch anymore."
Huh, he's still growing-up at age twenty-eight. I mumble, "No problem, I get it," and he nods, "Yeah, as much as I hate the thought, I need to kiss-up to that hospital administrator tomorrow to get back on his good side, and then do some serious cold-calling in between my scheduled appointments. So it'll be an early start in the morning for me. I hate it, but I gotta do it." Fuck, I am not gonna be a salesman!
At the hotel he gives me a pat on the back and takes the elevator up to his room. I go in the bar for one more beer wondering if I'm even interested in Tony as a side-sex partner. Of course he hasn't given me any indication he's interested in me, but just as an exercise I think about us doing it. Huh, ya know what? I just figured something out and it's that Tony's 'looks' remind me a little of Willie. Yeah, if Willie were ten-years-older-looking. I mean they both have that longish face and the little wrinkle in the bridge of their nose when then grin or laugh. Holy shit, I knew he reminded me of someone! Same dark hair and dark blue eyes. Dark hair and dark blue eyes with that pale complexion they both have... that's kind of a stunning 'look'. Ya don't expect the dark blue eyes with dark hair, not normally anyway.
Finishing my beer I debate with myself about having another one but then drop ten-bucks on the bar and head up to my room. Waiting for the elevator I realize Tony and I never arranged for dinner tomorrow night and neither of us ever mentioned exchanging cellphone numbers. Huh, maybe I've seen the last of the Prime Minister.
When I get in bed I don't go right to sleep because I'm thinking about Rob and me. It's like, even though this is just my second night here, because our sex lives have been so stellar lately, I feel a real need to share sex with him right now. Right this second I'm missing sex with him more than is probably reasonable after only two days. No, there's no 'probably' about it... it is definitely unreasonable. What, I can't go a couple of night without Robby and me having sex? That's sick! Yeah, well I miss being in bed with him too. Being with Rob makes me feel, um, safe. Yeah, that's how I always felt being with Chubby when we were growing up... safe. Wonder why I need to feel safe? Safe from what?
Next morning I'm at the construction site before eight o'clock and the interviews go smoothly all day. Even smoother than yesterday because there's less dead-time in between the interviews. Even though there was an unfortunate, from my perspective anyway, hour and a half safety meeting when I got no interviews done, I still got twelve interviews completed including the one for Tyler Mack, the project manager, as well as Boo's interview, the handy man who ruined my loafers. His name is actually Paul Goast. The last name sounds like, 'ghost' which equals his nickname 'Boo'... I suppose. So that leaves only seven guys to interview Thursday, and it hits me that, fuck... I can go home a day early! Yeah, things have turned around for me for sure!
Wow, Okay! Yeah, then Friday I'll go into the Framingham office to write-up all the final reports and summaries and I won't need to go to the office on Monday. Holy shit, my summer job will be over the day after tomorrow and I can finally concentrate on getting ready for my last year at college!
Back at the hotel there's a message-light flashing on the telephone in my room. It's from Tony and he says, "Hey, stud, are you okay with having dinner together again tonight? Hope so. Leave me a text on my cellphone," and he gives his cellphone number. Huh! So what do I want to do? Just dinner, or dinner and side-sex, or no dinner and no side sex. Hmmm, I'll be checking-out of the hotel before going to the construction site tomorrow morning, so there'd be little chance of running into Tony should I decline dinner tonight. Let me think about this...
During another long shower I try to think of the pros and cons of having dinner with Tony and decide I'm turning into a wimp for even needing to think about it. I never get to have side-sex anymore and this is like an open invitation for that and yet here I am trying to decide whether to do it or not. Get with it, Dylan... Christ!
I mean, Tony's a good guy and he's, um, slim and not bad looking. Yeah, and Robby's having his dalliances with Danny for buddy-sex, although not frequently. Off topic, but omigod I wish I was having dalliances with Danny too! Heh heh, but that's an entirely different matter. Yeah it is, but I fantasize about Danny for a little bit just the same. His awesome brand of buddy-sex in many ways is similar to lover's sex and then later it's slightly similar to sub/dom sex as well. We do it the way he wants, that's for sure. It's not until afterward that Danny acts like we had buddy sex. Ha, it's so infrequent though I'm surprised I even remember how we do it.
Oh fuck, that has very little to do with tonight though. As I'm rinsing off under this very good water flow in the shower I tell myself... yes, have dinner and side-sex. That's assuming he suggests it. I owe it to myself, plus it's probably unhealthy to have a drastic and abrupt change in my life's routine. I mean that's what giving up sex for five days would be like. I may still be young but I need to think of my health just the same. Plus, like I was thinking last night, Tony' appearance reminds me a little bit of Willie and... um, ya know... Yeah dammit, I'm calling Willie when I get home too. I miss him.
Getting out of the shower, I'm like, 'Gee, it's good to be able to make a decision'. And it's actually kind of exciting too. I mean thinking about side-sex with someone I like okay, and it'll be a totally new sexual experience for me with Tony. Variety, ya know! Everyone has their little different techniques performing sex acts. Wait a second; what if he's a committed 'bottom'? Well, so what if he is? Topping is good to, although what I'd really like is a good hard fucking on my ass.
Damn though, this is kinda fun to think about after all the time since, um, since the last time I had side-sex. This summer has been as barren as the Sahara Desert as far as side-sex goes, and buddy-sex hasn't been much better, or any better. Oh boy, but I gotta be cool about this with Tony. Act like it's no big deal, and it shouldn't be a big deal either, except it kind of is a big deal considering how long it's been since the last time for me.
With a towel around my waist I text Tony, 'Yeah, dinner tonight sounds good. Six o'clock at the bar, if that works for you'. Now he has my cellphone number so if six o'clock doesn't work for him he can let me know. Looking at myself in the mirror that's on the back of the closet door I wonder if I should shave. Hmmm, Tony said I look young, so I won't shave. Ha, not that it's all that noticeable whether I do or not. Nothing I can do with my hair except comb it over in the front and purposely not look too closely at the rest of it.
I don't hear back from Tony so at six o'clock, wearing jeans and a button-up-the-front-shirt, I go to the bar. He's not there yet so I order a beer from the bartender, Artie, who remembers me which means no 'ID' hassle this time. Tony shows-up in khakis and a light-weight sweatshirt ten-minutes later. We smack hands and then he does his usual pat on my shoulder giving me his big smile, and now I'm thinking he really does look like Willie. Yeah, now that it's in my head I see more similarities. Or at least I see the possibility that this is sort of what Willie will look like when he's older, like ten years from now.
Tony gets a beer and asks, "How'd your day go?" I'm like, "Good, really good," and he's all smiles saying he had some very positive responses from his cold-calling. He's 'pumped and jacked' because he had success today, plus he still has a day-and-a-half to make his trip even more successful. He also made some significant inroads with that asshole hospital administrator, so yeah, Tony's in a very good mood. I'm in a good mood too, especially because my business trip will end tomorrow!
Tony tells me that today he was working an area thirty-miles from Hartford in the city of 'Waterbury'. I never heard of the city before in my life, but mutter, "Oh, Waterbury, huh? What type of city is that?" He tells me its not much of a city but he has good customers there and goes on to tell me about specific experiences he encountered today. They all sound dreadful to me but he apparently sees things differently.
We have a couple of beers that I pay for because he got the beers we had after dinner last night, and then we go to a cool restaurant that's only five minutes from the hotel. Actually it's more a huge 'bar' than a restaurant. I wondered if it was a gay bar at first, but quickly realize it's not.
The restaurant is called, 'Frank's Roast Beef and Beer Joint', which doesn't sound anything like a gay bar, now that I think about it. This place is similar to the Beef & Ale houses I frequent back home except this is much larger. We both get roast beef sandwiches, fries, and cole slaw for dinner. The sandwiches aren't as good as the ones at the Beef & Ale House, but they're okay.
We stick with beers tonight as Tony tells me about the new car he's buying this weekend, a BMW. He must make a good salary because he already told me about the exclusive condo he bought last year, although he wasn't bragging about that. He was very self-deprecating actually, saying he never thought he'd ever be living in a place like that. And now this luxury car. There's probably a 'bonus' aspect to his job as well but it's not polite to ask about a person's income. Huh, I wonder if Dickers & Son will be passing out summer bonuses like they've done in the past? I hope so.
Mostly I'm not listening to Tony too closely because I'm trying to figure if I should wait for him to suggest some side-sex or if for once I should say something myself. Man, I'm not good at that and frankly in my younger days I never had to be. I'm not sure what to do, but then what's new about that? This week I haven't been 'sure' about anything.
We eat dinner in the restaurant section of this joint and then after that we walk through the restaurant to the bar that's in another big room where there's a country band playing. I'm not a big fan of country music but this band is rocking' pretty good considering they're rocking country tunes. Tony rolls his eyes and shouts in my ear because this place is loud, "I don't remember the country music last time I was here. It's been a couple of years though." When compared to the band at the Holiday Inn this group doesn't sound too bad. Anyway we drink some beers and then Tony wants to check-out the game room where there's electronic pinball games, an authentic shuffleboard, plus an electronic shuffleboard game, and pool tables. An adult game room, in other words.
Tony start a conversation with a couple of guys and we end-up shooting pool as partners against these two local guys, one of whom is chewing tobacco and spitting into a paper cup, if I can even believe that. They're brothers not much older than me. It's just a friendly game but Tony shoots pool like a pool shark. He's really good, making shots I haven't seen anyone make in person before in my life. The brothers finally say, "Fuck this," and won't challenge us to another game so Tony and I shoot a game. I'm no competition for him though and when he 'runs' the table our second game I'm sliding my cue stick onto the table in mock frustration as I mimic the brothers, mumbling, "Fuck this," and Tony laughs as usual.
While drinking another beer we watch a game of really good pool shooters and I'm thinking maybe Tony needs to be drunk before he suggests sex to anyone. I casually ask, "Ya wanna have a couple of shots of bourbon, or whatever?" He makes a face, "No thanks, Dylan. It's embarrassing to admit but I could never do shots even in my college days. I don't see the attraction to straight alcohol actually." Hmmm.
A little later I'm back in the other room standing at the bar. The band is on a 'break' so people who were dancing are now getting drinks and consequently the bar is extra crowded. As I'm trying to get one of the busy bartenders' attention Tony taps me on the shoulder, and says, "Ya know what, rather than another beer I'm kinda getting anxious. Heh heh, yeah, what the hell, we're gonna do it, right? You and me, so, um, your room or mine?"
He finally gave in and asked first but strangely now I'm having second thoughts if I want to actually do 'it'. Damn though, I've never had a problem with side-sex before this summer, so it's crazy that I'd be nervous about it now. No, I'm not nervous... but I don't know, I guess I'm feeling out-of-practice. Tony's treated this like we're both adults, um, young adults but now I'm acting like a novice, or like I'm playing hard to 'get', or something...
When I don't say anything right away, he goes, "Oh man, I'm sorry. I thought we were working towards a little something there... my bad, Dylan." I go, "No, no! It's just that I'm out of practice... or something. My boyfriend and I have an, um, arrangement, I guess you'd call it where we give each other leeway in this regard. Oh fuck, what I'm trying to say is, um... my room." He goes, "Oh thank you! Shit, I thought I just made a fool of myself for a second there."
We leave the bar and as I drive back to the hotel Tony tells me that during his frequent week-long business trips he usually only runs into maybe six or seven guys a year where it ends up in a sexual encounter, and that includes when he's extra horny and frequents local gay clubs. He mumbles, "And I don't think I'm all that choosy but I guess I am... that must be my problem." I don't know what to say to that because maybe that's my problem too. I hadn't thought of it that way though.
He's very relaxed telling me about the only two serious 'boyfriend situations' he's ever been involved in, neither of the affairs lasting six-months. He goes, "This guy, Albert DeAngelo, two years ago. A cool-looking Italian guy who, omigod, I fell so in love with. He never returned the 'love' through, claiming he was merely infatuated with me and, oh shit, did he ever stray off the reservation... and I mean constantly. We had an arrangement too, a one-way arrangement as it turned-out where he'd fuck around and flirt with guys even when I was with him, but then he'd get roaringly jealous if I so much as accidentally looked at another guy." Tony chuckles and then, in a self-deprecating manner, mutters, "And it was Albert who dumped me saying I was too much trouble. Can you believe that shit? I was the one who was faithful, but too much trouble!" I mumble, "Sorry for your, um, heartache, Tony. Love can hurt like a bitch, um, I've heard." He goes, "I got over it though. Yeah I stopped mooning over him, ha ha, after a mere three-months of depression."
As I'm parking at the Holiday Inn, he goes, "Hey, I hope you realize you're sooooo lucky to have found someone like your boyfriend, and you've been together for how long?" I tell him and he goes, "Wow! In the gay world that's extremely rare at any age, but especially at the young age you guys are!" I don't know what to say to that.
Walking to the hotel's front entrance he goes on to tell me about two close gay friends of his back home and how they hit gay clubs together three-or-four times a month and how once in a while Tony will get drunk and screw with one of his two friends, and then both will be embarrassed about it the next day. I don't ask if they ever do a three-way, although I'd like to hear about that.
Waiting for the elevator, just the two of us, Tony says, "Yeah, the three of us are good friends although neither Dwight nor Scott have good jobs so I end up mostly financing our nights out. Oh, and then there's this other guy, Dick Smart. He and I have been doing 'it' with one another since college, but only like a couple of times a year. Everything has to be just right for us to get it 'on'." I nod, muttering, "Uh huh," and he goes, "Ha ha, we're still kinda like high school kids in that regard." For something to say, I ask, "How'd you guys meet?" He says, "As freshmen at Rutgers University, which is an hour's drive from where I grew up. The few gay friends I know, it's like we're all rooting for each other to find a guy to fall in love with. That's why I say you're fucking incredibly lucky."
Still in the elevator going up to my room, he goes, "Um, you don't talk much, do you?" I go, "No, I never have," and for some reason he laughs out loud at that and then mumbles, "You're a funny guy, Dylan." I mutter, "I'm not trying to be," and he hugs my shoulders. As the elevator doors open, he says, "By the way, I'm flexible, so whatever..." I go, "Me too, sort of, but I like to bottom... although either way is fine." He snorts out a laugh, "Jesus, it's like we're working out a business deal here." Yeah I guess it's a little more awkward than it should be, or needs to be, and I think I know why. Neither of us is taking charge and Tony's running off at the mouth.... so, is he nervous?
Tony's a good guy though, and having a recreational fuck with him will make this trip almost worthwhile. It'll be my first side-sex since the gay nightclub incident with what's-his-name from the Islands. Can that be right? No, there was Marty West too, but other than those two guys... who else? Omigod, those two have been totally it for me this entire summer... the kid from the Islands and Marty-fucking-West. Well, as I've said fifty times, this summer has been very different from the last five for me, and I don't know why I let that happen.
As soon as we're in my room Tony's taking his shirt off, saying, "After this ya wanna grab a beer at the bar and then maybe we can go again. Ya know, a little later if you want to. I know I'll want to, ha ha." He chuckles for a bit after saying that, and then says, "Yeah, I'm horny but mostly it's you, Dylan Newman from Dickers & Son. You represent the pinnacle of my 'pick-up' sex, um for like... ever in my life." Ha, I call it 'side-sex' and he calls it 'pick-up' sex. I don't know how to respond to that last part though, the part about me being a pinnacle, so I respond to the first part, and say, "Yeah, sure. We can have a beer or two and go for 'it' again. Tomorrow is my last day here, ya know."
He goes, "Oh fuck, I wish you hadn't told me that. You're by far the hottest, best-looking, sexiest, um," and he laughs, "Oh fuck, I'm such a dink. I was planning on gearing-up to do the best sex of my life so you'd want to meet me again tomorrow night." He laughs at himself and actually blushes a little." I go, "Ah ha, a sweet talker, eh?" and then I add, "Seriously though, seconds tonight sounds good, Tony. And, by the way, you're not an ass." He laughs his balls off as I'm wondering why in the fuck I said something like that?
He's sitting on the edge of the bed with his shirt off still chuckling as he's taking his shoes and socks off. I'm glancing at his slim torso surprised to see lots of chest hair on him. I don't know why exactly, but I thought he'd also be like Willie in that regard. Willie's like me... almost no body hair. Tony's kicking off his shoes and pulling his socks off, so obviously he likes being completely naked during sex. He could have just dropped his pants and got on with it as far as I'm concerned.
Taking his khakis off now, he's saying, 'Yeah, but I guess my suggestion for 'seconds' would have been more appropriate AFTER we had sex, assuming you liked it." I go, "I'll like it, Tony." Gee, now he's acting more like a novice than me. Okay, he's pulling his boxer shorts down now so I try not to be too obvious glancing over, saying, "And you can get a little rough with your 'topping' if you feel like it. That's fine with me." Oooh, there's a significant deviation from Willie. Tony's penis is average size, while Willie's is extraordinary. Not the most extraordinary of all the penises I've seen, but in the top ten-percentile for sure... Willie's penis, not Tony's. His is in the percentile along with mine and Danny's, and probably a shit-load of other guys too.
I'm dropping my shorts as Tony stands up, completely naked, and not the least bit shy about it. He says, "I'm glad you said that, Dylan. The rough-sex comment I mean. I've been told I can get, ah, overly energetic during sex. Fact is I hardly ever get a chance to be on top, but still I probably have a little more sex than the average single guy so I do at least know what I'm doing in either situation. Of course I don't have nearly as much sex as I'd like to have... heh heh." Well, from what he's told me it doesn't sound to me like he's getting all that much, never mind 'more than the average guy'.
He's stroking his dick as he watches me drop my jeans and then my underwear, both settling around my feet. As I sit on a chair to take off my sneakers, he goes, "Jesus! You're the first guy I've ever been with who shaves down there." I shrug, "Ya know, I forget when or why I started doing that, but I like the look and feel of it. It's become sort of second nature, a habit of mine now to shave there." He steps over and rubs his fingers around my groin, mumbling, "Nice... but basically it's like the rest of your hot body, pretty much hairless... but that's cool." I sort of smile, muttering, "Thanks," and he goes, "Um, this is a compliment by the way: I think you have the awesome hot, body of a teenager," and, taking his hand away from my groin, he adds, "The shaved pubes though, um, that'd be too much trouble for me to do every couple of days." He grins at me, "Looks sexy on you though, Dylan. Really hot, actually!"
Getting my sneakers off and then my pants, I get up from the chair, mumbling, "Oh, it's no trouble." Tony doesn't appear interested in hearing anymore about that, as he says, "Whatever. Um, I don't suppose you'd be up for doing a little oral sex to get us started," and before I can say anything, he quickly adds, "Or I'll be happy to, um, accommodate you if you don't feel comfortable doing it." I'm like, "Sure, Tony, you go right ahead, dude." I surprised myself saying that because I usually like sucking a guy's cock. He offered though, so...
He goes, "Okay then, um, how about if you lie on the bed," and when I do that he stands next to the bed and takes my limp dick in his fingers, muttering, "Nice cock." He bends over then and goes down on it. Just like that... bang, it's fully in his mouth with the head pressed against the inside of his cheek. Whoa, and he has good technique too and that gets me squirming on the bed right off the bat. His smooth, wet, warm tongue travels up and down my cock and then around the head and then he sucks hard on it as I grunt, "Umm," and put my hands lightly on his head with my fingers in his SuperCut's SuperCut 'regular' hairdo. Willie would never have a haircut like Tony's.
Holding the base of my dick, Tony's mostly concentrating on licking and sucking the top half of my cock while rubbing his left hand lightly up and down my leg, my right leg. His hand travels up and down it and inside my thigh and up to my scrotum where he takes both balls in his fist and does a series of light squeezes before a hard squeeze gets my back arching off the bed and me moaning, "Aaaah, mmmm,' in almost a whine of sexual arousal. Meanwhile his other hand lets go of my dick and slides over my chest and down my stomach and then lower where he uses two fingers and his thumb stroking the foreskin to and fro on my quickly hardening cock. He sucks on the head with lots of tongue action and, Jesus, I've got shivers and then I shake a little. My cock is hard as a steel rod after ninety-seconds with the foreskin now stretched tightly off the head. Feels awesome too!
With a quiet moan, my arm slides over the side of the bed and I run my fingers through the fine hairs on his hairy legs. He has nice, well shaped legs although they're not especially athletic looking. Glancing at his cock I'm kinda surprised to see it's still completely flaccid. As my hand rubs though the hair on his leg his hand goes back to rubbing my chest and stomach, playing with my nip ring a little and then his hand slides down to again take hold of my boner. He pulls it from his mouth, dripping with saliva, and does long strokes up and down it with his fist, like he's jerking me off.
Stroke, stroke, stroke with Tony looking pleased with the boner he's created on my penis. Long tight strokes, his hand sliding a little in his saliva as I groan and my body gets taut like I'm about to climax. It's one of those deals though where I'm stuck right on the verge, but never reach the tipping point, and that feels really awesome! Tony says, "Jesus, you smell good and, um, I don't know.... you just smell really good," and then my hard-as-stone cock goes back in his mouth.
He's leaning over me but I can't detect anything like a special scent coming off him. Actually, now that I concentrate there's is a faint scent but it's of Brut, which could be his underarm deodorant... ha ha. He seems very clean along with being very hairy. Of course I'm paying attention to his hairy legs mostly because a guy's hairy legs have become kind of a turn-on for me recently and it's weird too because hairy legs used to turn me off. I'm still not enamored by extra hairy chests like Tony's though, and hairy backs, which he doesn't have, are a huge turn-off.
Male bodies obviously have all the same parts but can be so very different from one guy to the next. Tony's isn't an athletic body, but it's not flabby. Nice pale skin, skin that looks even paler contrasting with the dark body hair. Not a great body I guess, more like an average one, but hairier...
He's got my cock so hard by now it's aching slightly. I've been quietly grunting and now I can't help but do some noisy deep breathing because this feels awesome and, like I said, it feels like I'm right on the verge of climaxing. Excellent oral sex from Tony and then it gets better as he unexpectedly takes the head of my boner into his throat and I squeak out, 'Aaaah," as my back arches off the mattress again. Bobbing his head on my cock, taking only about an inch of it into his throat at a time, he does that a half-dozen times until now I'm pushing his head away because I am gonna cum for real, and it's too soon for that. He goes, "Ha," smiling at me and adding, "I got a really nice spurt of pre-cum from you. Yum," and he grins.
Letting out a big exhale, I go, "Wow, that was really good," and he cups the side of my head pulling it off the pillow and over to the edge of the mattress, saying, "Your turn?" Huh, that would have been a dominant move on his part, except when he said, "Your turn?' he said it with a question in his voice.
I nod, mumbling, "Sure," and pick up his dick which, as I said, is still flaccid. Tony doesn't get aroused sucking dick like I do. Licking his almost six-inch cock from root to head I get it wet all around and up and down and then I even do some licking on his nuts. That always gives me a cool submissive sense, licking a guy's balls. Tony starts shuffling his feet a little before I even put his dick in my mouth. I'm still not detecting a personal scent from Tony, not even smelling the Brut down here. I stroke his cock and suck on the rather bulbous head, and he goes, "Oooooh." He keeps his hands on my head, in my hair, which is what a lot of us guys do when getting our dick sucked.
After a minute of me sucking his cock Tony gets into some hip thrusting so I let him do the work. His cock slides back and forth on my tongue as he goes, "Mmmm," with his eyes closed. It takes a while before I feel his cock getting hard, but he's apparently enjoying himself as he keeps up the, "Mmmm," moans while continuing to run his fingers through my hair. It's maybe a five minutes mixture of me sucking and licking his cock and then him sliding his hardening cock on my tongue before he gets a really hard boner... yes, five minutes! That's way longer than normal and just when I'm about ready to take his cock out, he tightens his hold on my head and begins thrusting his boner into my throat as he moans, "Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh..." I'm gagging because I'm in this odd position of lying on the bed with my head turned at an angle, but he's only interested in feeling the sensations coming off his cock. My gagging and struggling is completely ignored by Tony. He merely tightens the hold he has on my head and moves his hips harder and faster. Of course I could uncover my bottom teeth and put an end to this real quick, but that's not what a good side sex partner does...
Tony keeps up the deep throating long after I'd have climaxed if it that was my cock going in and out of some guy's throat. When I feel a long drool of pre-cum coating my tongue, I hear a long sigh from Tony and then he stops. He goes, "Ooooh man, that felt so fucking good." His eyes were closed the whole time and now he opens them and smiles at me while stepping back pulling his cock out of my mouth. He murmurs, "Thanks, that was primo oral sex. You're really good." Well hell, he did most of it himself.
He's stroking his cock now, long tight strokes as if he's jerking himself off and he does it for almost a minute, mumbling, 'It feels so fucking good doing this." Watching him as aroused like he obviously is keeps my dick hard, but he's stroking his hard boner right next to me. I'm still lying on the bed watching his pre-cum drooling from his gaping pee slit. Jesus, I half expect him to climax all over me any second now.
And then he takes his hand off his boner and says, very business-like, "I'll get a condom now." Tony grabs his pants off the floor and goes in one of the pockets and out comes three or four condoms, two of which slip out of his hands and land on the floor. I don't recognize the brand: 'LifeStyles Skyn' Standard Size. A handful of condoms huh, Mr. Optimist was planning on this apparently? Or maybe he always has a bunch of condoms in his pocket. No problem either way.
Tony rips open a packet looking at me and smiling, saying, "These babies are as close to doing it without a condom as I've found," he holds an unopened packet up as if I wouldn't know what he was referring to. He adds "A dollar each, but worth it." I just nod. A buck each isn't unheard of although definitely a pricier condom. Of course there's nothing like doing it without a condom. Yeah, and there are some really slim ones but there is a lot to be said for 'safe' sex. Yeah, safe.... hmmm.
I hope that condom is up for a durability test because this could be long fuck. I mean, Tony appears to be one of those guys who doesn't get 'off' until he's got his money's worth out of a condom. I think I'm safe in assuming that, I mean considering that five minutes of oral sex, including deep throating, and then jerking himself off for over a minute didn't get him 'off', he's not gonna shoot off quickly during a fuck I wouldn't think. And that's especially odd since he's not having sex on any kind of a regular basis. I'd have thought a quick first climax would be in order. But hey, maybe he jerks-off three times a day.
Tony's rolling the condom on his boner that's gained some girth, as he goes, "Feels good and tight." Yeah, it looks snug. Frankly it looks like a damn good boner for fucking and I'm ready for it. I'm a little anxious for it actually. The oral sex foreplay was quite stimulating and arousing. He motions with a hand, saying, "Slide off the bed if you don't mind, Dylan." I slide off, not sure what he wants but I'm willing to oblige. I'm on my knees with my chest on the bed, looking back at him, like... is this what you mean? He goes, "Okay yeah, that's fine." Fine? Well what the hell did he want? Screw it, I'll keep things as uncomplicated as possible and stay like this.
He steps in close, his encased boner sticking straight out and barely moving as he gets a hand under each of my hips pulling my ass up and then pushing me further onto the bed as I'm trying to keep my face off the bedspread. Tony pats my ass, mumbling, "Good, this will do but keep your ass up." Oh, maybe he's finally taking charge a little bit here.
I'm looking back at his boner, impressed how hard and straight out it is. Mine is very hard too, but sticking straight up against my belly. Yeah, I need to be more aroused than this to get it sticking straight out, although it happens for me fairly often. My problem is, I'm not especially feeling any sexual heat for Tony so I'm not sure that I'll get aroused sufficiently for a straight-out-boner, heh heh, not that it's a necessity at all. A boner that hard though does feel the best, but mine feels really good right now too. Let's go Tony!
With his boner in that condition Tony doesn't need to take his hands away from gripping my hips in order to guide the head of his cock to my asshole. It hits my asshole with the first hump of his hips as he murmurs, "Hmmmmm," and then he leans right in hard, moaning out, "Ummm, yeah...," as he forces his boner all the way up my ass with me lifting my chest totally off the bed trying not to make too much out of the pain. Tony leans forward to put a hand on the back of my head pushing my face down, squishing it flat onto the bedspread... ugh! I can't worry too much about that though because there are cannons going off in my ass... the pain rolls in as Tony humps against my buttocks, rotating his hips and grunting, "Umm, nice...."
His cock gained some girth like I said, although it's not Robby's or even Hayden's size. Nevertheless, because he forced the entire thing up there all at once, it hurt like hell. The condom is super lubricated which helped immensely. As usual I'm holding my breath against the initial pain, waiting for my rectum to stretch so the pain will fade. Tony's not waiting though, he gets right into smoothly moving his hips with full long thrusts, hard and fast as he goes, "Aaaah, oh fuck, ooooh......" and then begins grunting, "Umm," with each full thrust, "Umm, umm, umm," his crotch smacking against my butt cheeks and each hump knocking me against the side of the mattress. It's kinda rough, especially starting right off like this. Yeah it hurts at first, but I like it's okay as my cock tightens-up some more.
It's the familiar, "SLAP, SLAP, SLAP,SLAP!" sounds as he smacks against my buttocks and continues pulling up on my hips, digging his fingers into my skin. Nice long thrusts, hard and fast for a minute or so before he stops and presses against me grinding against my butt checks barely moving his boner and moaning quietly, 'Ooooh yeah, mmm, ooh, yeah," and then he goes back to his long thrusts and more, "SLAP,SLAP, SLAP,' sounds in my hotel room as the cannon fire has reduced to occasional gun shots of pain and then silence and I'm ready for the pleasure train. Oh yeah, the pain has left the building and things begin to get magical in my ass.
Another minute of hard sex with Tony's boner feeling fatter than it looked, feels fabulous. And, yes, he is very aggressive with his fucking as he mentioned earlier. Hot fucking from this guy and then it's more grinding as he's tight against my buttocks again, but this time he's reaches over to again push on the back of my head rather roughly this time. I was lifting my face off this shitty bedspread. Sounding out of breath, he gasps, "Please keep your head down so your ass stays up, Dylan," and then he's right back into his next series of fast hard thrusts knocking me up against the side of the mattress again.
I'm no stranger to rough sex though and I concentrate on that instead of Tony keeping pressure on the back of my head, not trusting me apparently. He's into fast thrusting that soon has sensations in my ass building to ridiculous levels, my prostate in a frenzied pleasure state and I'm not even thinking about the bedspread now. The itchy, stretched, spiky sensations around my asshole make me shudder at the intensity of that strange kind of sexual pleasure that's almost painful, but isn't. With each new thrust there's a burst of color in my head, getting fucked up the ass sets-off a million nerve endings in my rectum mere seconds apart and they're all pleasure providers now. I find myself moaning along with Tony and, I gotta admit, this is a pretty damn good fuck.
As I suspected it's gonna take some time before Tony blows his load but the awesome feeling of his stone hard boner sliding tightly back and forth in my ass has me in super pleasure mode that, of course, has my climax coming on me fast, really fast like it often does. It's another runaway freight rain of a climax. Continuous, "SLAP, SLAP, SLAP," sounds ringing in my ears as my mind plays a video of Tony's hard cock, covered in that shiny stretched condom, emerges from and then disappears up my ass. Oh fuck, it feels so good sliding over my prostate. As a side benefit the stupid pressure from his hand on the back of my head has begun giving me a dominated sense too, which is good although it's not a strong enough one to get me slipping into a trance.
Tony slams his boner back and forth in my ass for and additional third or fourth long minute, "SLAP, SLAP, SLAP," and I'm trying hard to hold off my climax to enjoy as much of this as I can before blasting off. Now though I'm seeing lights like little stars blinking behind my eyes as my orgasm gets ready to blow. With his hand continuing to push my face against the bedspread I can just barely turn my head enough to look back at him for a second. He's leaning forward, of course, his eyes are closed and his head's back as he groans and moans through lips that are pressed together. He's a 'moaner and groaner' which I like because it's sexy knowing how aroused he is too. "SLAPSLAPSLAP," as he groans, "Umm, ooh yeah, ohh yeah, mmmm."
Getting fucked feels better than anything but, as normal, it brings a climax on me probably quicker than the average guy and it's been 'on' me now for at least thirty seconds, and there's no turning back. My hot, heavy climax is right on the edge of exploding. I almost always want it to hold off a little longer but this climax has me in its vice-like grip and the thrilling sensations are too strong to put off, so I forget all about extending the sex act and all I want to do is climax now.
It's a short mental battle, continue feeling that awesome fast moving hard cock in my ass, or experience orgasm. A mental exercise that climaxing always wins, and now with incredible sensations vibrating from my ass, every muscle in my body tightens and I hold my breath letting it happen and WOW!... my hips hump on their own as my boner, still sticking straight up as hard as a steel spike and pulsating like mad, shoots a fast moving stream of creamy-hot cum from my nuts that flies out my piss slit creating incredible pleasure sensations that stops my heart for a split second. My eyes wide open, I watch that semen traveling quick as lighting out into the world to see the light of day for a second before it basically dies as a wet streak on the bedspread leaving behind a spectacular firework display of sexual pleasure in my consciousness.
With me bent over the bed and my body very taut and up off the bed a little the cum stream flew parallel to my chest, clipping my chin, before splattering on this bedspread in front of me and probably joining many other streaks of cum from unknown sources. Yuck! There's a follow-up stream of cum but that's just icing on the cake because I reached the heights of sexual pleasure with that initial explosion known as orgasmic climax. Nothing like it. I'm feeling wonderfully breathless and then my eyes close as I sigh at the spreading after-effects of climax... my shoulders do their shuddering as the magic fades away leaving me feeling temporarily sexually satisfied, but weak.
Afterward it's always seemed too quick, it never lasts long enough but the memory is there to savor for another minute or so. Tony's still ramming his boner up my ass as his arousal is apparently building and perhaps an orgasm is developing. He's pressing harder with the hand at the back of my head pushing my face against this disgusting bedspread and in my weakened condition I'm now flat on the bed, lying in streaks of my own cum... and yeah, I guess I'm feeling kinda dominated. Tony's wild thrusting still feels good but the glow of taking it up my ass has reduced significantly after my orgasm. Another few minutes with Tony breathing noisily and his thrusting gets even harder and faster and, jeez, this guy's got stamina but it's seriously not doing it for me nearly like it did prior to my climax.
It's not like I didn't expect Tony to take quite a while getting 'off'. I obliged by going limp to his dominant position but he keeps humping away with me bouncing on the bed for... well, I don't know how long now. If I thought Tony was hotter and sexier I'd probably be more engaged and maybe another climax would even be building for me. As it is I'm jostling here like a limp, um, limp something until he finally gasps out, "I'm gonna cum," and I feel his whole body shake. His hips stop trusting and there's one hump against my buttocks as he's making a high-pitched breathy sound, his cock barely moving inside me and I assume he's filling the condom with semen. Another hard hump and that's it, he just stops.
After Tony does another scary-sounding gasping intake of oxygen, like maybe he's having a heart attack, he pulls his cock right out, just like that. It took him quite a long time to climax, but when he did it was apparently one shot... BAM! It would have been interesting feeling that orgasm hit inside me if we were doing it bareback.
Weirdly, I'm glad it's over. I look back and see his chest expanding over and over as he keeps making those disturbing breathing sounds. And now he's grinning at me as I still lie on this bedspread waiting for him to take his hand off the back of my head. Tony looks kinda proud of himself again as if he did something extra special. He adds, conversationally, "Jesus, that was kinda fast, huh? Didn't ya think?" What the fuck? Fast? I'm rolling over to sit up, asking, "You mean my climax, or...?" He's going in the bathroom saying over his shoulder, "No, my orgasm came on me fast. Um, you got off too then, huh?" Yeah, I got 'off' about fifteen minutes ago. Nah, I don't say that and it was only like six or seven minutes after I shot my load that he did the same.
I gotta hand it to him though. Tony's all about side-sex technique, or as he calls it pick-up sex, and he's got it down pat. He didn't even know, or care if I climaxed or not, and now it's like he mumbling, "A couple of beers sound good, whaddaya think?" Ha ha, not bad!
Getting off the bed I follow Tony into the bathroom, noticing my ass is sore. Wow, I didn't expect that as I'm telling him, 'Yeah, I got 'off', as you put it and a beer or two is in order. Um, I thought though that you, um, took quite a while." Flushing the condom down the toilet, he goes, "Nah, that was quick for me and, by the way, that's a primo ass you got there," and he smacks my ass, "SMACK!"
Huh, I sort of expected he'd be apologizing for pushing my face into the fucking bedspread, or he'd say something about being too rough, or at least asking if I thought he was. I didn't feel he was too rough and I did tell him he could be rough, but most guys after the fact worry a little about things like that. Especially, ya know, since we don't know each other well at all. Tony doesn't appear concerned though... and, I guess, well good for him.
Washing his hands and face, he goes, "I really enjoyed that, Dylan, not bad at all... so I'm buying the beers." I mutter, "Woop-de-doo, that's big of you." And he chuckles before looking over at me, asking, "Um, you're still up for us going for round two, right? Later obviously." I'm like, "Yeah, probably..."
There's a double sink in here and I'm using one of them wiping lubricant off my ass with a damp washcloth. Then I continue washing up concentrating on wiping my own cum off my chest and stomach, as I mumble, "Yeah, so what'd..." but I stop because I was going to ask him what he thought about our fifteen minute marathon sex and, what the hell, he already told me I have a 'primo ass'. So what do I expect him to say. Guess I'm still looking for him to tell me what an awesome sex partner I am... God, get a clue, Dylan! See, I'm out of practice. Actually I at least expected him to ask how it was for me because that's what 'tops' always want to hear; compliments about how great they fuck. Not Tony, obviously.
Drying his hands, he asks, "Would you be okay with rimming my ass next time? Ya know, getting your tongue way up my asshole. That's my number one turn-on... rimming." Of all the fucking nerve! I go, "No, I'm not okay with that!" He shrugs and mumbles, "Deep throating is awesome too. Hey, I can tell you're experienced, Dylan." Yeah, really? Shit, I'm used to hearing a little more enthusiasm from my sex-partners about my special rectum and what a great 'bottom' I am. Tony thinks it's all about him so no wonder he's had problems with the amount of sex he's been having. There's protocol involved, and when you... oh, forget it.
As we're getting dressed Tony tells me a tale about something totally unrelated. He's very enthusiastic about his one time experience of going up in a fighter jet when he was a junior at college. It's a rambling story and I can't help but think he's the poster boy for side-sex. Once he's climaxed he's lost interest in it entirely, and he's off talking about, um, whatever. This fighter jet bull-shit is like the second or third topic he's mentioned since he blew his load in that one-dollar condom.
At the bar we're both bitching about the band again. It's the same one that's been here all week. And then, for the first time I can remember I order a shot of bourbon. It just happened! I don't know why exactly but I ordered the shot with my second beer. Tony declines the offer to join me. I'm still curious about his sex life and ask, in a confidential manner that only Tony can hear, "So, what'd you say the frequency of sex you've been experiencing lately has been?" He doesn't hesitate to tell me pretty much what he told me earlier tonight. He does clarify that he's mostly a bottom, although he definitely prefers 'topping'. Chuckling, he goes, "I'm willing to go either way and since most of the gay guys I know insist on being a 'top', I'm like... `" Well then, I'm the bottom you've been looking for, dude'," and he laughs, adding, "Like I said, I'm always up for it either way." Yeah well, if he knew how much sex I was getting before this summer he wouldn't think he was getting 'above average sex'. But why am I even thinking that? This isn't a competition.
In retrospect the sex was okay, oh hell... it was good. He had his way with me so it was even a tiny bit dominant of him, and his equipment's good. Not great, but good, and he fucked pretty good too. Huh, the fact is though, there were zero bells and whistles happened for me during our sex... that's my concern. Is it me? And that's the same thing I was missing with Marty too!
Huh... that's concerning, but even without bells and whistles I fully admit all climaxes are super special, or fairly special anyway and this one was too. Mostly I'm feeling good about finally having a side-sex experience, so I don't know why I'm over-analyzing it. Glancing at Tony I'm seeing less of Willie in him after our sex. And, by the way, Willie can fuck circles around this guy!
Tony is very effervescent and chatty though, obviously feeling good about himself. He's still likable but I'm noticing a subtle change in his demeanor. For lack of a better description I'll fall back on the 'confidence' word. He's more confident with our interaction, even here at the bar. As an example of that, after our second beer he pats my shoulder and says, "Hurry up and finish that beer, Dylan. It's time we get back to the room." Huh, really? Being the 'top', and then hearing no complaints from me, I guess Tony's adopting more of a 'take-charge' attitude.
Yeah well normally I'd like that, but tonight I don't care for his attitude all that much. Where's the bells and whistles, Tony? I don't ask because that's not fair. Ya know though, I'd bet anything if we had a week together for sex he'd get really 'bossy'. Sorry to burst his bubble but, like I mentioned, I'm not 'feeling it' with him, so I say, "Nah, after I finish this beer I'm gonna have another one... or maybe two."
That's all it took to put an end to Tony's temporary over-confidence. He hesitated and then mumbles, "Oh, um, sure. I'll have a couple more beers too then, no problem." I go, "Pass those nuts over here, if you don't mind," and I don't mean yours. Heh heh, I don't say that last part.
As he slides the bowl of nuts over to me, he goes, "Yeah sure, um, you still want to do it again later though, right?" Yeah, I do even though Tony isn't gonna make my top-ten list of side-sex buddies. Just to break his balls a little bit more though, and to get even with him for pushing my face into that disgusting bedspread, I insist he have a shot of bourbon with me before I'll do 'it' with him again. He does the shot and almost hurls. Ha, he's a bigger pussy doing shots than I am!
By now we're both feeling the booze we had earlier, and now these shots and beers. We go back to the room around eleven o'clock and fuck doggy style. Tony let himself go even wilder, and maybe he's even getting a little revenge for me making him do the shot of bourbon. I'm just drunk enough to enjoy his extra roughness though. Hell, I don't need to be drunk to enjoy rough sex. This time it's an even longer, harder fucking that eventually results in an even more intense climax than earlier, and it didn't happen as quick for me this time either.
Tony of course takes longer to climax and when he finally does he gives my ass a few hard smacks, and says, "How about we go one more time? You're leaving tomorrows so we should go for it, huh?" My ass is definitely sore now so, as I get up, I mutter, "No more tonight, Tarzan." He chuckles, mumbling, "I get carried away, sorry." We never kiss or do any foreplay at all except the earlier oral sex. Overall though it's been an okay, and even a good experience. As soon as I've rejected his suggestion for 'thirds' though, he's ready to leave. We bump fists with him saying, "If you're ever in Hartford again, blah, blah, blah..." yeh sure, and that's that.
After he leaves I'm thinking about how I'm gonna feel in the morning from over-drinking tonight so I find the bottle of Advil in my toiletry kit and take a couple with a half glass of water. It's late but I hop in the shower anyway. While drying off I throw the bedspread on the floor get in bed for a good night's sleep.
In the morning my ass is still a little sore and of course I have a hangover. There's good reason for both ailments though; I drank too much last night and Tony was humping his boner up my ass for about forty-minutes if we take into account both times, so it's no wonder I'm a little sore. I take another shower with lots of hot water pouring on my back and ass and then, showered and dressed I go down to the breakfast cafe for a coffee and English muffin. As I take a sip of coffee I find I'm wishing last night was a bit more special. This morning I discover I'm basically ambivalent about last night's activities. I guess it was better than sex with Marty. Yeah it was good, so what the hell am I complaining about? I mean it was good discovering it's still possible for me to have side-sex. I've wondered about that more than a few times this summer.
Huh, and I hate to think this, but maybe I haven't been missing all that much. Side-sex seemed a lot 'hotter' in my youth. Of course it could have something to do with my last couple of side-sex partners. That super intense albeit fleeting feeling of a thrilling super-Nova of a side-sex partner hasn't happened since... well, since I don't know when. I'd need to think more about that and I've got more pressing issues on my mind right now, like my last day of work here in Hartford.
Back in my room I get my stuff put together and then, carrying my satchel and some clothes on hangers, I'm going down in the elevator telling myself that Tony was a nice guy but the truth is if I never see him again that'd be alright too. And I don't mean that as a 'put-down' of him, but it's just that I never felt any 'sexual heat' between us. Tony probably can say the same thing about me, except from his reaction during sex he may have heard a bell or a whistle, or maybe thirty...
Checking out of the Holiday Inn makes me feel good!
At the construction site the first five of the last seven interviews go fine but the last two are a problem. Two guys aren't at work today. They called in sick but when Mac realizes they are the only two who haven't heard the presentation, he calls them at their homes and bribes them to come in for the interview saying they'll get paid for the whole day. I guess, what does Mac care... it's not his money. Damn though, what a good guy being super considerate of my situation like that! He knew I'd need to stay another day or come back here some other time to do those last two interviews. Actually what I would have done is forge their signatures and that's what I would have preferred doing rating than stand around all afternoon waiting for thesis two guys to show up.
Mac thought he was doing me a favor though so I don't say anything. Then the two guys show up after everyone else has left and neither of then looked very sick to me. They could at least have faked a cough or something. I do very fast interviews with them and that's that! Finally done with Hartford, I can't thank Mac enough. He just brushes it off saying he owed me a favor after my first day when Boo ruined my shoes. Mac is one of those rare really good guys even though his favor kept me around the job site an extra three hours.
So I don't get on the road home until almost five o'clock but I'm smiling like crazy anyway because I'm going in the right direction now. Damn, so that's what a business trip is like, huh? Yeah well, I'll do very nicely the rest of my life without going on another one.
I talked with Rob yesterday but didn't tell him I'm finishing the trip a day early. Heh heh, I'll surprise him by showing up way early. Maybe I should stop and eat something first though, ya know so I don't just walk in when they probably will still be eating dinner. Or no, I could call Mrs. D. to tell her I'll be home a little late for dinner, and ask her not to say anything to Rob so I can surprise him. Hmmm, that sounds a little too weird for me though; me and Rob's Mother having secrets. No, I'll see what time it is when I get near Framingham and maybe get something to eat at McDonalds or something.
Damn though, I'm really, really glad my business trip is over! I can start full-time thinking about my last year at college now! Ha hah though, I can't wait to see the look on Rob's face when I walk in totally unexpected...
to be continued...
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@comcast.net
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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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