DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 16
by Donny Mumford
I'm leaving early for Logan airport because I hate rushing, plus I need to get gas. The BP gas station on Route 114 has an attendant who pumps the gas for you, so that's where I usually go. Yeah, you don't even need to get out of your car. Maybe it's a new trend, one that hopefully catches on. When the attendant comes over and grunts at me, I tell him, "Fill it with regular, please." After I hand him my debit card, he does all the rest.
As the gas is pouring into the pickup's tank an oddball question flicks past my consciousness. It's this: why don't I have more of a sexual interest in that cute, athletic, redheaded kid, Carl Snowdon? He's likable, young, and gay but yet I don't find him sexily intriguing. Oh sure, I'd probably screw him if the right situation presented itself but it would need to be a stress-free one and Carl would need to initiate it... maybe he'd even need to nag for it a little. Haha, I don't see that happening.
I probably wouldn't even be thinking along these lines except I'm pretty sure the kid was flirting with me earlier tonight. Of course, I could be giving myself way too much credit in that regard. I mean, maybe it's not flirting so much as Carl simply doesn't know how to act with older guys. It's really too soon to tell much about him...
Okay, I just heard the gas nozzle make that 'click' sound indicating the tank is full. I'm squinting at the pump curious to see how much they're robbing me this time and it's $46.00. Fuck, somebody is making a few bucks off that. Yeah well, where's the guy with my credit card? Other cars are getting gassed-up by this guy so he's a busy fellow and a multitasker to boot. He has one of those gadgets in his ear that allows him to carry on a hands-free phone conversation and he's doing that in a foreign language. A bilingual, multi-tasking, gas station attendant running around pumping gas from eight pumps while talking on the phone and keeping track of each car's credit card or cash payment. Jeez, I hope this dude is getting well paid.
Like I said, I've got plenty of time so while I'm waiting for the guy to get around to returning my debit card I space-out a little thinking back to the hot and sexy kid who was pumping gas here my freshman year. Omigod, I was coming for gas every other day to 'top off the tank'... haha! One time this hot kid tells me... and then, startling the shit out of me, the attendant asks, "Do ya need a receipt?" I jump in my seat, going, "Huh? Um, ah, no thanks..." That fucking guy shouldn't sneak up on people like that!
He gives me my debit card while saying something in a foreign language to the person he's on the phone with and then, in perfect English again, he says to me, "Thanks, pal! Have a nice evening," and he's off to the next car talking in a foreign tongue again. Gee, I wish I was bilingual. That'd be cool except it would have required a lot more effort on my part during my two years of Spanish in high school; yeah, a great deal more effort than I was willing to put into it. I got a 'C' in Spanish class both years.
Driving away from the gas station I always feel good knowing I've got a full tank of gas. The gas gauge is the first thing I check when using Chub's and my car. Rob's good at keeping gas in the pickup but Chubby plays 'chicken' with the gas gauge in our cars. He never gets gas until the 'get gas' light is blinking like crazy. I get gas when the gauge is at a quarter tank just to be safe. Nothing seems to stress Chubby very much though.
It's only a mile up Route 114 before I need to bear left onto Route 125, which I'll stay on for ten miles. The traffic is light Sunday night so no problems so far. Another thing I'm thinking about is Danny's idea about our developing, um, I don't even know what to call it. He calls it 'our developing relationship' and I'd be fine with that if he was referring to our buddy sex relationship, but I'm pretty sure he means a budding 'romantic' relationship. He totally knows about Rob and me... maybe better than anyone because he's known Rob since childhood and watched Robby's and my love affair take root from the very beginning. So, ya know... what the hell is he thinking?
Misinterpreting one's feelings about a relationship isn't exactly unheard of though. I've found myself in similar situations earlier in life. Yeah, there have been times when I thought I was in a romantic situation, one in which the 'love' word was appropriate. None of those so-called situations ever led to anything. Like I think Danny's doing now, back then I mistook sexual heat for love. I don't want to be the bad guy hurting Danny's feelings by blowing him off though and I'm thinking that probably won't be necessary anyway because the passage of 'time' usually takes care of things like that.
Another possibility is that Danny's let his natural competitiveness cloud his thinking. I'm referring to him telling me something about Robby not considering him, meaning Danny, important enough to worry about as a rival. I assume he meant a rival for me and that is fucking awkward to think about. It puts me in some kind of a 'prize' category when I'm NOT! I do not want to be someone's prize. Hell, I consider myself extremely lucky that guys as hot as Rob and Danny are interested in me. I'd be hurt too if Danny's making it all about him and Rob with me the pawn in the game.
Bottom line... I'm hoping Danny's interest in our 'developing relationship', as he calls it, is no more than a 'crush' on me like the one I had on him all summer. We're actually the quintessential perfect buddy sex partners. Forget about the 'love' word, Daniel! Being really good buddy sex partners is the arrangement that works best for both of us! It's fun and sexy and doesn't hurt anyone's feelings.
Plus, let's face it, Danny's not naturally a romantic so what's with him and our so-called budding relationship? I've never noticed him acting romantic anyway and he told me he's never been in love. A romantic would have at least thought he was in love a couple of times even if it was only puppy love. Puppy love made famous by the young and stupid... like me a few years ago. Anyway, for the time being, I'm going to consider today's afternoon's sex with Danny as nothing more than his normal buddy sex which always includes random lover's sex to some degree. Today the random lover's sex was a larger portion of his normal buddy sex than normal... that's all it was. Danny mixes-up lover's sex with buddy sex without realizing one from the other and that's okay I guess.
Getting to know Danny better last summer has been interesting and a lot of fun 'cause he's a little goofy in some ways but he also has some really good qualities of likability too. Likability qualities I didn't realize before. Obviously, I already knew he was cute and sexy and then just recently I discovered his responsibility qualities too, like the preparations he's made for his chosen career after college. He has that set-up better than anyone I know of except for Rob, and Rob has the advantage of his Dad owning the company Rob's planning his career around.
Of course, a lot of guys wouldn't want to work for their father but it's the opposite with Rob. Well, it probably helps that Rob's in the company's name: he's the 'Son' part of Dickers and Son, Inc. I overanalyze everything anyway so I need to chill out a little on my concerns about Danny overusing lover's sex as part of his buddy sex 'topping' routine. It's been no real problem... yet.
Damn! I almost missed the cut off from Route 125 onto Route 93. Pay attention to your driving, numbnuts!
Okay, I'm good, no problem. Route 93 goes right to the airport and it looks like I'm going be there way early. I'll have over an hour to kill before Pony's flight even gets in and then it'll be a tedious forty-five minutes or so for the deplaning process and then waiting for his luggage and whatnot. But, so what if I'm early? Passing time at Logan isn't bad because there are thousands of people milling around which means boy-watching is almost as good as it is on the Wildwood Boardwalk. Well, that's a gross exaggeration; there are many more young guys to check-out on the boardwalk than any other place I can think of.
Anyway, less than forty minutes after leaving the apartment I'm on the exit ramp for Logan Airport. The traffic is much heavier now because, no matter what time of the day or night it is, people are flying someplace for whatever reasons so any major airport is a very busy place. Driving to this airport you better know what the hell you're doing too. I say that because it's tricky switching lanes to be sure you're in the correct one after leaving the Callahan tunnel that goes under Boston Harbor. No one has any mercy if you're in the wrong lane and you can easily end up in Dorchester... or worse. The signage isn't much help either because it's vague and comes up too quickly to give you time to switch lanes. There are always horns blowing and, naturally, the taxi drivers are bullies as they know very well where they're going and they're happy to fuck you over whenever they can! That's their attitude, but maybe I'd have the same nasty attitude if I had to be a taxi driver. I suppose they also have the concern of being put out of work by Uber.
I make it to the 'Central Parking Garage' after only getting the middle finger from one driver, who I may have cut off. She was a well-dressed woman driving a pickup truck. Why do woman like driving pickup trucks? I don't even like driving a pickup truck.
Well, I could have used the Kia for this trip to Logan. Chubby texted me insisting I use our car. That was considerate of him but it would have meant him driving to the apartment to get me, and then me driving him back to campus, and then after getting Pony at the airport and dropping him off at his dormitory I'd either need to get someone to drive me to my apartment or I guess I'd drive the Kia to the apartment and in the morning follow Rob who would be driving the pickup to return the Kia to Chub's dorm, and then... Omigod, way too complicated!
Okay, so I'm idling in front of parking garage 'C' but the sign says it's full. Central Parking Garage 'C' has access to all terminals so it's the most popular of the four airport garages and the only one I'm familiar with. It's considered 'short-term parking' and therefore expensive, but like I said it's convenient. Yeah, except nothing is actually convenient at Logan International Airport, not really. The best I can say for it is that this garage is closer to 'convenient' than the others. And I've learned that just because the sign says 'FULL' doesn't mean you can't find a parking spot.
Driving around the 'FULL' sign, I take a ticket from the machine and begin driving up and down the aisles going from one level to the next looking for a parking spot. There aren't any, plus all the illegal spots are already taken as well. Huh! This is beginning to look like a ballsy move on my part that ain't gonna pan out. Then, on the fourth level, I see a person pulling his luggage on wheels out of the tunnel from the airport proper. Ah ha! He's going to be driving his car out of a parking spot and that spot is going to be mine!
Watching this man pulling his luggage behind him makes me smile thinking about the comment some comedian had. He pointed out the bizarreness of human beings figuring out how to put men on the moon way before they thought up the idea to put little wheels on luggage.
As I'm waiting for this slow-moving nitwit to get to his car I'm looking around for other drivers doing what I'm doing. Obviously, I'm not the only person who ignores the 'FULL' sign at Central Parking. Oh fuck, and here comes another car emerged from the ramp. Goddammit! There's no way he can see this guy on the other side of this huge parking level pulling his luggage though... not yet anyway. Omigod, the luggage guy just stopped at his car and it's in a primo parking spot too. It's almost right next to the door he came out of. Hot shit!
I do not want to alert that other driver about this fortuitous situation. In that regard, I don't drive over to the soon-to-be-available parking spot like a madman. No-no, that'll give it away. Instead, I cruise over as though I'm still looking. Cruising slowly past the man with the luggage I check if there's a 'handicap' sign for that premiere parking spot... and there isn't one. No, there isn't, but this dumb-ass man with his luggage is so fucking slow the other car will be coming up this aisle in short order.
Fuck this! Now I drive up and I'm idling two parked cars away from the luggage guy ready to pull into the spot when this moron figures out how to pull out of it! Sitting here in my idling pickup is a dead giveaway that I'm waiting to move into a soon to be vacated spot. The other driver can easily see this pickup just idling here. And this annoying middle-aged man is doing every-fucking-thing in slow motion. He's putting his luggage into the trunk of his BMW like there's a time bomb in it. Come on, dummy, get moving!
This is torture! What is this asshole's problem? Oh Christ, now he's reading something as he stands at the door of his car. Get in your freakin' car! I strain my neck looking for the other car. Hmmm, did it go on up to the fifth level? No, here comes the fucker now. Dammit!
Fuck, my nerves are starting to fray as this slow-moving nitwit is just now getting in his car... but now he's just sitting there! What's he doing, looking for the parking ticket? You pay inside and then use the ticket to activate the gate getting out of the garage. How could he lose the ticket when he just got it punched before coming out of the terminal? This retard is going to screw me up! The other car is at the end of this aisle now probably surmising exactly why my pickup is just sitting here.
The BMW engine finally starts up but now the other car is coming this way. Oh great, I can see what's happening now; it's fifty/fifty which of us will get this spot. If the BMW backs out in my direction it'll block me from the parking spot and the other car coming the other way can slip right into it... and thank you very much! There's no sense of fair play when parking at the airport. The guy will smile, saying an insincere, 'Sorry' to me as he locks his car. If that happens I'll 'key' that motherfucker's car something awful! Oh yeah, a big scrape, a wide key-scrape down the side and... Oh, the BMW is backing out blocking the other guy... yes!
The slowest motherfucker who ever drove a BMW finally backs out and then sits there facing away from me before putting it in 'drive'... moron! Okay, there he goes... um, go on a little further you numbskull! And, yes, I can now slide the pickup into the parking spot as the other car drives past me without giving me a glance. HAHAHA! Oh, the look on that guy's face. Tough shit! Haha!
Oh man, I'm sweating but what a relief to be finally parked, and in this primo parking spot too! Right next to the door of the tunnel leading to the terminals. Oh man! Hee hee, that other stiff must be cursing his bad luck!
Well, okay then! The walkway from terminal 'C' to the airport proper is uncovered going over the roads below and it's getting very chilly at this time of night. I hustle across that and then inside its temperature controlled. The tunnel I'm in leads to the terminal where there will be a huge electronic sign displaying all the flights' information like if the flights are on time, what gate they're coming in at, etc. That's what I'll look at as soon as I get out of this half-mile tunnel. Yeah, as I expected, there are a lot of people hustling around annoyingly. They're mostly businessmen I assume getting to wherever for Monday morning.
Stepping onto the moving sidewalk with others, I'm content to just stand here. The sidewalk is moving plenty fast enough for me but apparently not fast enough for anyone else. People keep hustling along pulling their luggage behind them and brushing by me as though I'm the annoyance. See, all these assholes are late. That's why they need to hustle and look panicked. If they planned a little better and got here with time to spare like I did, they wouldn't need to run through the airport and their lives would be less stressful and therefore much happier. It takes a little forethought, of course, and better time management than most people are capable of, so... this is what you get.
Finally reaching the main terminal, I check the aforementioned big electronic board and see Pony's flight is on time. I take note of the 'Gate' his flight will arrive at, not that I'm allowed at the 'gate' without a ticket but I'll meet him where he emerges from that gate's walkway. I also could simply meet up with Pony at baggage claim except that's kind of a lazily rude thing to do. It's something you might do for an incoming business associate who you don't know. It's certainly not something you'd do when you're meeting a friend. You know, for an unknown business guy you'd write the guy's name on a sign you'd hold up like a jerk-off at baggage claim. When meeting a friend, you meet him as he enters the airport terminal so he knows you're there. I'll probably need to include this airport 'tip' in my book on how to enjoy buddy sex best. I haven't started the book yet, but someday...
I've only flown a couple of times in my life and don't care for it at all! Not because I'm not afraid the plane will crash, it's more the feeling I get of being some sort of an animal being held in a pen waiting to be abused by some underpaid airport employee checking to see if I'm carrying a machine gun. The use of cattle prods, in my mind, is sort of in play. Plus I fear even opening my mouth or making eye contact with anyone wearing an airport uniform. You could get shot or wrestled to the floor breaking a wrist or get pepper-sprayed, or at the very least get yelled at like you're a naughty middle school student. Airport security ya know... much needed in this world of radical extremists, obviously... but it still sucks.
There's no smoking in here of course, and that makes me want a cigarette even more. Instead, I get a decaf Dunkin' Donuts coffee and sit in the unoccupied 'Gate 24' area where I can watch the people go by. After a half hour of that, without seeing anyone interesting, I get up and drop my empty coffee cup in a trash receptacle and then wander down the wide corridor along with hundreds of other people.
I soon need to get away from all these people so I go into one of the shops selling books, magazines, snacks, shirts, and hats with 'BOSTON' on them. I have to chuckle to myself seeing what everything costs and imagining the dopes who buy this way-overpriced stuff. Stupid prices like $2.29 for a roll of LifeSavers and $35 for a baseball cap you can get for $20 almost anywhere else. It's not long though before I get the feeling I'm being watched as a potential shoplifter so I leave without being stupid enough to buy anything.
Fuck, this is boring! I've seen like maybe three interesting looking guys under the age of thirty out of about a thousand people. Oh sure, there were a few cute teenagers but kids don't interest me anymore. Where did all the cute young men get to? I used to spot cute guys regularly and again I think perhaps my evaluation process has changed without me being aware of it. Guys who I used to think are sexy and/or cute, um, don't seem to me to be sexy and/or cute anymore. And that blows!
I could kill some time getting an outrageously overpriced beer but then I'd have beer breath. Wait a fucking second here; I've got coffee breath now. Oh balls, what if Pony wants a quick gay kiss 'hello'? Damn, I go back to the store and buy a pack of Juicy Fruit gum for $2.29. That's criminal, but whaddya gonna do! Chewing a stick of gum, I go to the area where Pony's flight will exit and decide I may as well wait here. And why the fuck I got to the airport so early I can't imagine!
Oh boy, I'm not the only one with this idea of waiting here for the flight from Philly. Leaning against the wall furthest from most of these people, I take out my cell phone to look busy. I don't want some nut-job starting a conversation with me. For something to pass the time, I look at albums of pictures for a few of Pony. Oh yeah, here's a couple. Heh heh, he's a cute fucker alright.
Last year I first noticed him because he always had a hoodie sweatshirt on with the hood up. Sexy look for a cute baby-faced kid like Pony! The hood outlined his cute face. Yeah, and I was thinking to myself...how the hell, with all my boy-watching, did I miss this hoodie boy during my freshman and sophomore years. When I finally met him I discovered he was a transfer student. His freshman year was at Drexel University in Philadelphia. So last year was his first one at Merrimack. Yeah, Pony hated that Philadelphia college because it was too close to where he lived and his parents were always showing up... haha! I don't blame him for transferring.
Like Danny, Pony's a bit of a kooky kid. For example, when we met I thought he had brown eyes but he was wearing brown contact lenses. He has blue eyes and the reason anyone would want to cover blue eyes with brown contact lenses alludes me. And even weirder, he doesn't even need glasses. He wore corrective lenses for six years to correct something as a kid. Whatever it was, it got corrected but he continued wearing either the contacts or horn-rimmed glasses anyway... neither of which he needed. And then at other times, he'd go without either contacts or glasses. Like I said, he's kooky. Unique too.
Looking at my cell phone I'm like, oh, here's another good picture of him. Yeah, Pony's got a great body; a swimmer's body. Heh heh, I must have taken this picture after we screwed 'cause he's mostly naked. Yeah, he was on his high school swim team for four years. Made the team as a freshman. Damn, but he's a cute fellow. I'm looking at a selfie of him and me and I'll be damned, he's almost the same size as me. Well, I suppose we're a boringly common-size for guys. Yeah, I think it's the average size actually. Fuck that, I hate being average. I'm five foot, ten inches tall and I think that actually is taller than the average male.
Hmmm, I have plenty of time and nothing to do so I'll Google that to put my mind at ease about a vital fact like this one. Yeah, here we go... the National Center for Health Statistics claims the average height for males is 69.3 inches What's that? Um, it's five foot, nine inches! I knew it! I'm above average height for a male in the twenty-first century. For the fuck of it, let me see how tall the average Pilgrim was back in the days of Pilgrims, whenever that was... 1600's or something. And who was measuring Pilgrims back then I wonder? Huh, the medium height for males back then was five feet, six inches. Jesus, that means half the Pilgrims were shorter than that. Good grief!
Yeah but, now that I'm looking around at all these men and women near me, they're mostly taller than me with wider shoulders and a lot of them are overweight... some severely overweight. Omigod, look at the size of that lady's ass! These people are fucking-up the averages! This must be a very unrepresentative cross section of people! An anomaly group at the higher end of the chart. What's the average weight I wonder? Googling again... I'm just killing time, okay? Plus, by me doing this it appears to others that I'm texting back and forth with my many friends.
Here we go: the average weight of American's is currently 81.344 kilograms. Well, what the fuck is that? These goofy Europeans insist on that ridiculous weights and measure system! Then it gets even more complicated because average weights for males is broken down depending on how tall a person is. Yeah well, that makes sense but I'm not gonna try deciphering all those kilograms. I'll just see what 81.344 kilograms actually means. Hmmm, it's 179 pounds! Jesus! I weigh 135 pounds... at the most! No wonder everyone seems so fucking large to me!
Putting my cell phone away, bored with that by now too, I'm like, oh man, where is that fucking plane? Sighing and looking around again, and still not seeing any cute guys, I feel like screaming from boredom. Can I believe how many generally annoying overweight people there are on their cell phones talking too loudly? Are they hard of hearing or do you suppose they're under the impression any of us are the slightest bit interested or give the slightest shit what they're saying? Fucking idiots! I simply am not a fan of most of mankind; I'm just not!
After what seems like hours of being tortured by these annoying people I hear Pony's flight announced as: "At the gate". It's about fucking time! Then it's like ten minutes before a dribble of people, one being pushed in a wheelchair and the others with whining toddlers, begin emerging from the ramp.
Gee, now that I think about it, Pony's appearance has probably changed some during the past four months. He certainly hasn't grown any; not taller anyway. At age twenty-one, he's as tall as he's going to get but he probably looks a little different. Do I look different? Well, my haircut obviously! That's about all that's change in me, I think.
People are pouring out the door now and there's lots of yelling like, "There she is!" from people standing around me and pointing at someone. Do they think the rest of us give a shit that, 'There she is?" Jesus! Isn't anyone cool anymore? Blase maybe, like they've 'been there and done that' before in their freakin' lives. Omigod, now there's a great deal of overdone hugging and squealing! What is this, prisoners of war being reunited with their loved ones after twenty years? What an odd group these people are...
Moving back and away from this overly dramatic mob, I wait patiently. I'm much more reserved than this bunch of drama queens. No, I don't mean anyone here is gay, although there may be some gay people... oh never mind. Okay, I see Pony now. Huh, if I weren't specifically looking for him though I might not have immediately recognized him. He's got a big backpack on and he's pulling a suitcase on wheels that looks way too big to have fit in the overhead compartment. He's frowning grumpily and looking around like he's not sure he's in the right place. Haha, what a goof!
And, oh fuck, he's wearing glasses again. On the plus side, he's still got the baby face. They're different glasses than the ones he had last year and with that grumpy frown on his face... well, that's something I never saw last year. That grumpy 'look' sort of backs up a feeling I had from his phone call. I had a sense that something was 'up' with him. Something's interfering with his normal basically sweet, smart-ass, good-natured self. That's the Pony I remember from last year.
And... why would a person who doesn't need corrective lenses buy a new pair of glasses? Now he's just standing in the middle of the ramp making people walk around him. The reason I might not have immediately recognized him is, for one, his new glasses but also Pony only occasionally would have a sparse unkept beard. Well, it's not really a 'beard'... more like scraggly whiskers along his jaw and neck. Anyway, it appears Pony's decided that shaving during the summer doesn't work for him because he's rocking what appears to be a three-month scraggly sparse beard that he can't possibly think looks cool, so it must be he just doesn't give a shit about his appearance anymore.
But the worst part of this new 'look' by far is his 'Jesus' hairdo. Parted in the middle his brown straight hair hangs down covering his ears almost to his neck. It looks like it needs washing too. His clothes need washing as well and I'm sure an iron hasn't been near his khakis or shirt for like, well maybe ever. He's a mess... I wonder what his story is? Poor kid. I always think of him as a 'kid' although he's only ten months younger than me.
Well, I suppose I should get his attention. Like I said, he just stopped there in the middle of the ramp blocking people's although the group is thinning out now drifting off to luggage pickup on the lower level. I go, "Daryl, over here!" He looks over but doesn't see me so I start walking towards him and then he sees me and lifts his hand. I guess that was a wave. I think he's trying for 'cool'. Perhaps the little hand movement and head-nod are all the acknowledgment I'm going to get, but then he grins too... and then there's his really cute smile; the one with the dimples. Jeez.
I smirk at him as he's trying to get his smile under control, working at getting that frown back on his face, calling out, "Why were you hiding, Dylan? I thought you forgot to come." Walking up to him, I go, "Don't yell. Obviously I didn't forget you, and why the hell you'd think I would I can't imagine." I get another frown from him as I try for a hug. After the partial hug, he says, "Are ya gonna help me, or not? I got lectured by the lady on the plane about my luggage and everything has sucked since... well since I left college last May actually." The hug was awkward because of his backpack and he wouldn't let go of the handle on the luggage behind him so he had only the one arm free.
Taking the handle of that large suitcase on wheels from him, I ask, "Do you have any check-in luggage?" He nods, "Yeah, one big-ass suitcase. Mom and Dad wouldn't drive me this year because..." I go, "Yes, I know. You're Grandfather's passing. I'm sorry. Let's get your bag downstairs." We start walking while he's adjusting his backpack, plus I just noticed a satchel on a strap over his shoulder. The satchel bumps against the side of his knee with every step he takes because the strap is too long. I don't say anything though. I mean, that strap could easily be adjusted shorter.
He says, "Um, thanks for meeting me," and manages to be grumpy about that too. I go, "I wouldn't miss it. This is so much fun." He mutters, "I'm sorry, it's just...." and he doesn't finish his thought so I leave it at that. Going down the escalator with Pony in front of me I get an unpleasant whiff of mild BO coming from, well it's either coming from him or the nun in front of him; take your pick. Jesus!
At the bottom of the escalator, he asks, "Where do we go now, Dylan?" His helpless act and grumpy attitude are annoying! At the bottom of the escalator, I take his arm and pull him into a little alcove so other people can get off the escalator. The BO wasn't coming from the nun. I go, "Listen, Daryl, I'm sorry about your Grandfather's passing and I'm sorry your parents couldn't drive you to college this year but stop acting," and, pulling on his arm, I say, "Look at me!" He makes a 'face' and looks into my eyes, so I continue, "Stop the 'poor me' act and begin acting your age. I wanna help you and I will, but I need you to help too. Okay?" He asks, "Don't you like me anymore?" I go, "I already told you to act your age so I'll ignore that childish response and say again... I'm helping you but you need to help too, okay?" He makes another 'face' and says, "Okay, for chrissakes! Whaddaya want me to do?"
I say, "First, lose that attitude. It's not you, Pony. We've all got problems and we'll help one another with them." He shrugs and I mutter, "For starters take off your backpack and adjust your satchel's strap." He has a quizzical expression on his face, still just standing here looking at me, so I say, " Now, Daryl, do it now!" I'm frustrated but I think I have a right to be. I'm a little tired and pissed-off but it's late and I've been in this airport too long. That's my fault but the rest of my irritation is Pony's fault.
He sort of tries not to smile without quite making it and then, blushing, he mutters, 'Yes, Daddy," and drops the backpack. I say, "And the satchel's strap." He lets that slide off his shoulder to the floor and I go, "Don't drop it! Adjust the strap shorter." Another 'face' but he picks up his satchel and shortens the strap, mumbling, "This fucking thing almost tripped me about a hundred times tonight."
He takes his time but finally holds up the satchel so I can see the strap is adjusted to half the previous length, I make a 'face' at him this time and he drops the satchel on his backpack, and then mutters, "I'm sorry for being an asshole. I'm not mad at you, Dylan." I go, "It's okay. Now you need to go over to that big machine that's going round and round and get your fucking big-ass suitcase and bring it here. We'll be going right back up this escalator." He murmurs, "Be nice, okay?" I nod, "I am being nice, especially considering everything..."
He nods, mumbling, "Okay, I know," and then, shoulders slumping and off he goes. He looks like shit and he's acting like a dick and yet I can't help but like him. We bonded last year and you don't just turn that off. He must have had a shitty summer and I mean even more than just his Grandfather passing, so I'm going to help him. We talked on the phone early in the summer when his brother got sick and then Daryl contracted whatever his brother had and then his family was going on vacation. After that, I heard nothing from him about the visit we tentatively had planned or anything else. Whatever happened after the phone conversation couldn't have been good. He didn't sound like himself on the phone the last two days either, but I could tell he was trying at least.
Here he comes pulling a big red suitcase. It must be his mother's because who else but a woman would have a red suitcase? I ask, "Got everything?" He nods his head, so I'm like, "Okay, put your backpack on and you pull that red suitcase. I'll bring the suitcase you had on the plane and this satchel." We do that and get on the escalator going up, both of us standing at the side letting those in a rush go by us. Retracing my steps back to the door I came in almost two hours ago I stop and stick the parking ticket in a meter which indicates I owe $19.00. If we took ten minutes longer getting here it would have been $24.00. That's the charge for over two hours but less than three hours. All day is $35.00. I'm pretty sure they're not losing money with this legalized robbery.
Crossing the overpass in the cold we go through the door to the parking garage, walk past two cars, and there's the pickup. Smiling, I go, "How about this parking spot, Pony?" He goes, "I've walked about two miles since getting off the fucking plane so I'm glad you got a good parking spot." Uh huh.
The big-ass red suitcase goes in the bed of the pickup and we fit everything else in the smallish backseat and then get in and I drive slowly down narrow winding exit ramps, seemingly for more than four levels before we're at the exit. Stretching my arm out the window to the max I barely reach the machine that I stick the prepaid ticket in and then, amazingly, the gate opens and we roll out of the garage onto an access road. Escape from Alcatraz wouldn't be a bigger relief!
There's no talking as Pony looks out his side window and I concentrate on solving the puzzle of getting in the right lanes so I don't end up circling back into the airport maze of roads again. Okay, there's the sign for Route 93 North! I feel good when we're on it and then after a few miles, we're in another tunnel, this one under the city. This is all part of what was called 'The Big Dig' which was conceived in the 1980's and completed in 2007. The original cost estimate for the project was 2.8 billion but this is Boston where politicians get their hands in things so the final cost was 24.3 billion dollars. Over budget by a mere 22 billion. It's the most expensive highway project in U.S. history.
Coming out of the mile and a half tunnel we enter the cable-stayed Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge, called by most people, the Zakim Bridge. It's also part of the 'Big Dig' that includes the Ted Williams tunnel and a number of other highway improvements but I can't remember what they are now. Once over the bridge and back on Route 93 North I relax because it's easy driving this time of night heading North away from the city. During rush hours, however, I'd be in stop-and-go traffic just like it was before the 24.3 billion dollar project. On the plus side of the 23 billion, Boston looks better without all the above street MBTA train tracks that are now underground.
Feeling a sense of relief, I say, "So, Pony, why are you grumpy? Not happy about coming back to college?" He says, "Actually I'm thrilled to be here. Anywhere is better than being home and, um, you're here too so that makes me happy." I go, "And I'm happy to see you!" After ten seconds, he mumbles, "I'm already feeling a little better about things. Getting that horrible flying experience behind me, and then with all my luggage and stuff accounted for, I'm starting to unwind." I ask, "You're first airplane experience?" He shrugs, "No, but my first time flying by myself. I've flown a few times with the whole family when I didn't need to do anything except follow them around awhile me and my brother bitched about stuff. Heh heh, that was cool."
Whatever, at least he seems a little better. Today is finally catching up with me and I'm very tired. Being tired is primarily the reason I don't follow up Pony's mysterious and provocative comment about being happy to be anywhere away from home. All I say is, "I'm glad your outlook is improving," and then we don't talk the rest of the drive to Merrimack.
It's midnight when I turn off Route 114 onto the Merrimack campus and drive down to dormitory row where I park. Daryl just sits there as I look at him, asking, "Well, which of these dormitories are you in this year?" He tells me and I nod, mumbling, "Okay then, this is as close to it as I can get without one of the security patrols giving me a lot of shit about driving on dormitory row. I'll help you carry your stuff there. Um, your roommate knows you're coming in late, right?" He nods, "Yeah," and we get out together.
The campus is lit up very well with all the new lamp posts, so that's good. We lug all his stuff to his dormitory which is one of the older ones; it's called Adkinson Dormitory. Lugging everything up to the third floor and then at the door to his room, he mutters, "I don't have a key yet." I'm closest to the door so I knock and the door is opened right away by a smiling tall black guy. He goes, "Let me guess," and he looks at us before holding his hand out to me, saying, "I'm Donald Johnson, and you're Daryl Ponti I assume." Smiling back at him, I shake his hand, saying, "Wishful thinking on your part, Donald, haha. No, just kidding... I'm his friend, Dylan Newman, nice to meet you." Donald's eyes travel past me to look at Pony, who says, "Hi, I'm Daryl Ponti. Please call me Pony 'cause that's my nickname."
Obviously, the college assigned these guys as roommates since they're just meeting now. Merrimack is trying to move away from students requesting certain roommates because it gets cumbersome accommodating everyone's request, especially because the college has increased enrollment the past few years. I say tough titty to that because roommates are too important a part of college life to be assigned arbitrarily. Although they probably don't care what I think...
Anyway, I step aside a little so the roommates can bump fists as Donald's saying, "Oops, bad guess. I went by age and thought Dylan here looked the youngest." I mutter, "No problem, can we come in a drop off this stuff?" He's like, "Oh yeah," and steps back, mumbling, "Let me help," and he takes the satchel I'm holding. I follow Pony in behind Donald, who's saying, "I took the bed on the right for no special reason so if you have some reason, we can switch beds." Pony mutters, "Nah, I don't care."
Inside Donald grins, saying, "You didn't, by any chance come by raft, did you, Pony?" Pony frowns, "Whaddaya mean?" and I chuckle, saying, "You look a little rough around the edges, Pony." To Donald, I add, "He cleans up really well, don't you, Pony?" Donald looks at Pony, saying, "Yeah, I can see that," as Pony mumbles, "I'm really tired and I can't keep up with the clever repartee of you two, so..." I say, "Repartee? Have you been reading Dictionary.com online again?" He shakes his head and takes off his backpack as Donald chuckles. He seems like a very nice person.
When Donald said he could see how Pony would clean up really well, that could be interpreted as a gay innuendo of some kind, but I'll bet my ass Donald is not gay. There isn't anything remotely gay about him although it's a shame that he's not on our team. He's probably six feet one or two inches tall and nice looking in a very, I don't know, it's like he comes from money. Well groomed and wearing nice preppy clothes, plus the twenty-four-inch Sony flat screen TV that's propped up against the wall has something to do with me thinking there's money in Donald's household. He's very clean cut and in every way imaginable he's the opposite of how Pony looks tonight. Still, I don't see any judgment or criticism in Donald's eyes. He seems like a regular, really good guy.
Pony's throwing all his stuff on the other side of his bed, muttering, "Thanks a million, Dylan. I'll call you tomorrow," and he looks at Donald saying, "Please forgive me if I seem rude but I need to get to sleep now. I've got a nine o'clock class tomorrow." I say, "I'll leave you guys to, um, whatever. Nice meeting you, Donald, and I'll talk to you tomorrow, Daryl." He says, "It's Pony," and as I go out the door I hear Donald asking, "What time would you like me to set the alarm?" The door closes behind me so I don't know what Pony said about that. It looks like he lucked out with a good roommate anyway.
Wow, I feel depressed about Pony's appearance and his attitude but now isn't the time to dwell on that 'cause Rob and I have a nine o'clock class tomorrow morning too. It's a two-hour lecture class. Oh man, beginning this semester with that is simply too cruel for words. We couldn't avoid it when scheduling our classes though, not if we wanted Friday's off.
It's a short drive to the apartment and as I approach the parking lot I just know I'm gonna get fucked with the parking spot, but I'm wrong about that. There's an empty parking spot one row down from the front door. Inside the apartment, it's very still so I try being as quiet as I can when taking a Snapple from the refrigerator. After drinking a third of it standing here in the kitchen, I bring the bottle with me into the bathroom. This bathroom isn't off our bedroom like at my condo, but I still need to try being quiet because it's in the hall right next to the bedroom.
Striping naked, I drink more Snapple trying not to think of anything, and then take a piss before turning on the shower. I had a shower before leaving the apartment but I like getting into bed after a shower, plus I don't want to need to shower in the morning. I take another five-minute shower and it helps my outlook a little. After drying off I finish the bottle of Snapple and then brush my teeth. All the events of today, starting with Robby waking up with his massive hangover and then me dealing with Danny's massive hangover to the four times Danny fucked me and driving back and forth to Framingham and finally the arduous trip to Logan, plus dealing with Pony... all those things are rattling around in my head but I'm trying not to think too much about any of them specifically.
Right now I'm mostly thinking about getting some sleep. It's a good feeling knowing my conscientious boyfriend has set an alarm for us so I don't need to worry about that. Instead, I get in bed as gently as I can and... sigh. Yeah, sigh, 'cause it's nice being in bed next to Robby and because this new mattress we bought is awesome! The pillows too. I lightly touch Rob's head in case, in his sleep, he can tell I'm here... and then it's lights-out for me.
In my dreams, I hear Robby's voice saying something and then he says it again. Oh, it's not in my dreams, he's actually saying something. Opening my eyes I see his smiling face as he says, "Oh, you're awake." I grin, murmuring, "Yes, I woke up because you kept saying something." He goes, "I wasn't saying anything. Well, I was, but it was a question. I was asking if you were awake and after asking it four times you opened your eyes." I go, "That's called waking someone up." He goes, "Oh, is that right? I couldn't wait to tell you something." I go, "What is it?" and he says, "Ta-da, my hangover is totally cured after only forty-eight hours!" I nod, "Congratulations. Is it time to get up yet?" Rob goes, "Um, no, not yet."
Oh boy, I'm pretty sure I know where this is going. I'm on my stomach with my head turned to Rob. He's next to me up on his elbow looking down at me, saying, "First, I wanted to tell you something else." I nod, "Un huh, what is it?" He says, "You look especially sexy and cute when you're sleeping." I go, "So do you," and he shakes his head, "Not like you, babe. No one is like you." I mutter, "Well, that's true," and he grins, adding, "And you smell nice too so we'll never need to waste money buying air fresheners. You can just walk around the place naked." I nod again, "Okay. Do you want me to do that now?" He goes, "No, not now 'cause I want to tell you how nice you feel too," and he squeezes the back of my neck and then he rubs his finger down my spine giving me chills.
As I shudder his hand goes under the waistband of my jockey shorts and he grabs my butt cheek. He holds onto my butt, saying, "And you have the hottest, cutest bubble butt ass I've ever seen. And I mean, in real life or magazines or TV or the movies... and, as you know, I notice things like guys' asses." I mutter, "Gee, and you're saying mine is best... thanks," and he nods his head saying, "You're welcome, and something else too. You taste good," and he lowers his head to kiss my lips. An awkward smacking kiss with my head turned sideways like it is. His lips make a 'wet kissing sound' when he pulls them away.
As I suck on my bottom lip Robby says, "I like your voice too. I know you can't sing but your speaking voice is cool-sounding. You have very nice hair too and I kinda think your whole body is special. Maybe it's just me, but when I see you my dick gets hard which is the condition it's in right now as a matter of fact," and his finger pokes my asshole. I ask, "You wouldn't have any, um, slippery lubricant that could be used for sex, would you?" Using what he thinks is his funny voice, he says, "Yes, I do. It's called Astroglide and it's right here in my other hand," and he holds it up. I raise my eyebrows, muttering, "Handy to always have something like that with you."
He goes, "We gotta get out of bed soon so for our early class but what I was thinking of doing before that is spreading some of this Astroglide on my hard cock and then seeing if you thought it feels okay in your, um, rectum area for a quick hard, um, fucking." I nod my head again, mumbling, "Okay," and he mutters, "Good. What's your name, by the way?" He takes his hand off my ass and pulls it out of the covers to unscrew the cap of the Astroglide. I say, "I'm Dylan and I'm old enough. I'll be fifteen soon." He goes, "That's so sweet, little fellow. Um, this might sting a little. I mean, when I put my pecker in your asshole but it's like the doctor says before sticking a big-ass needle in your ass... just a little sting. And then, after a little while, it'll feel good." I nod, "Okay, mister."
He bursts out snickering and then mumbles, "Jesus... 'I'll be fifteen soon, mister'... really? Haha," and his hand is under the covers spreading lube on his cock." I ask, "Mister, do you have Xbox? Can we play 'Fortnite' afterward?" He goes, "Sure! Let me put some of this slippery stuff on your bum first though. Can you stick your bum up for me?" I exaggerate sticking my ass up and Rob throws the covers off, mumbling, "That's a good little fellow," and sticks lube in my ass and then straddles me and his hard cock's head bumps my asshole.
Dropping the funny voice, Rob says, "Dylan, I think I need professional help because I find myself getting hornier for you every day. What's up with that?" I mumble, "Don't fight it, Robby... you could injure yourself." He chuckles, murmuring, "Oh fuck, I love doing this," and his cock head pushes in past my sphincter. All joking stops for me as my anus protests the stretched condition it finds itself in. This ain't Danny's dick! That's for sure!
No talking now as Robby's doing his aroused breathing sounds while I'm waiting for relief from the hurt caused by that very fat boner moving into familiar territory; familiar to it. I've no way of knowing this, but I'd bet anything my ass adjusts to Rob's fat boner faster than anyone else's ass ever could. It still hurts but not for long and not enough that I'd detract from Rob's pleasure by groaning or yelling about the pain. He'll soon repay my consideration in that regard with a world of sexual pleasure for me. This is my favorite sex, which is to say any kind of sex that Rob and I decide to do... that's my favorite at the time. Well, Rob mostly decides what that'll be but that's my preference and it makes it that much hotter and sexier for me... that Rob's in charge, I mean. That's just how my brain works, and I'm obviously more than fine with it.
Subconsciously I lower my ass because it hurts but Rob grips my hips to pull my ass back up as he pushes his boner all the way in and then humps against my buttocks, moaning, "Ooooh, oooh fuck, mmmmm." I like hearing that and everything I said about the initial hurt Rob's aware of too, and so he knows from experience that it's okay to do what he's doing. We've had sex together, um, let's see... going on five years at about an average of ten or twelve-time a week when taking into account our lesser frequency when we were young. Hmmm, that's, um, a lot of times, so we're pretty fucking familiar with what works for us when fucking. This works for us spectacularly. I call it fun-extemporaneous-fucking.
Rob waits for a minute, content to have his cock very tightly impaling my ass. I know his hard cock is feeling very good for him which is why he can't help doing little humps against my buttocks which slightly moves his boner inside me. I have a good idea of how awesome his boner feels because I've had mine up a guy's ass a few times too. And Robby knows how good my ass feels now being filled up to the maximum because he's taken it up his ass many times as well. I know Danny 'tops' Rob and as I've thought any number of times, Robby would probably prefer being the 'bottom' for us but he accommodates me. And, not only in that way but many other ways as well. He and I know, even if nobody else does, that I get my way about any and everything I really care about. Other than that, Rob gets his way. If you can follow that, and even if you can't... it is what it is.
Rob can feel my rectum adjusting as it relaxes and so he now feels free to begins fucking with a purpose. The purpose, blatantly speaking in this case, is that Rob's extremely horny and needs to get his rocks off... that's his main objective this morning. He gets 'off' better with me than anyone else on the planet and while I'll get 'off' too, Rob is mostly thinking about himself in this particular extemporaneous fun fuck. During lover's sex, he's mostly thinking about me and then for the other types of sex we have together it's mutual concern on both our parts. We both know all these things because we've been doing 'it' for so long and, amazingly, neither of us has noticed it getting even remotely old.
Due to Rob's energetic thrusting this morning there are sounds of males fucking, the "Slapslapslap" sounds plus the sounds I begin making as the pain disappears and that fat moving boner turning on every nerve ending in my ass, and there are thousands and thousands of them, all in a roaringly sexual pleasure-mode and that feels spectacular. I'm trying to be quiet with my moans, "Um, um, um, oooh, um oh Rob, ummmm," of sexual pleasure bombarding my brain as Rob's thrusting is hard and fast and it lasts a good three minutes or maybe four which is a good long time for this kind of horny hard and fast fucking. Our impending climaxes dominate everything and then build to crescendos almost simultaneously before exploding.
Nothing matches the thrill of a building orgasm except the climatic and brilliant finale that for me is like the biggest fireworks display in the world... every fucking time too!! Omigod, it's all I can think about as it totally takes over mind and body with the intensity of it reaching almost torturous proportions before the exhilarating and otherworldly climax which are still indescribable by mankind and cause me to go, "Eeeeeiii," with cum streaking from my hard cock to splash under me on the sheet and then again even as Robby does his gasping, noisy breathing while blowing his climax up my ass. Shaking and shuddering I hold my breath for a second to be sure I'm still here and then my body relaxes completely, almost to a limp condition as I sigh, "Oh fuck, that felt good."
Robby pulls his dick from my ass and then flops over on his back making a similar sighing sound. He pulls on his pecker a few times and then turns his head to look at me, grinning and saying, "I always feel I should thank you 'cause, Omigod, that felt fabulous! So, thank you, Dylan, who I love with a passion." I mumble, "Yeah, you're right. You should thank me." And he goes, "Hey, how'd I do?" and I go, "All you 'tops' are the same. Looking for accolades about how great you screw." He goes, "All you 'tops'? How many tops are you talking about, boyfriend?" I go, "I misspoke. I meant to say, the other 'top' I knew years ago before I met you..."
We do a kiss on the lips and then Rob says, "That was just what I needed, babe! Now I gotta take a quick shower. How about you?" I shake my head, saying, "I did that last night." Getting out of bed, Rob says, "That's good because we need to hustle this morning." And we do hustle, getting to class early enough to drink our take-out cups of coffee while having a smoke outside the lecture hall among about a hundred others who are taking the same course, which is: Gender & Society. A two-hour class from nine to eleven with a break in the middle. Then this afternoon we have Professor hyena-head whose name I've forgotten. That's our Managerial Finance class that goes from two to two-fifty.
Rob and I already decided that on Mondays we'll go back to the apartment after this first ball-busting two-hour class to have our lunch. We have free time from eleven until two o'clock on Mondays. And then after our two o'clock class, Robby will give me his backpack and the keys to the pickup and then he'll go to baseball practice. I don't know what I'll do; that's yet to be determined.
This is the first year Rob and I have all four courses the same; consequently, there will be no sneaking off by me to have lunch and a hot quick side fuck with John Smith like I did last year. Not on a regular basis anyway, but I'll somehow get over to that bar/restaurant once in a while to see if John still has lunch there. Oh man, he is a great no-nonsense 'top'!
The class drags on unmercifully but that's mostly because we're not in the rhythm of classes yet. I'll get acclimated to sitting in class taking notes after a few weeks, but these early classes test my will to live. Omigod, finally the fifteen-minute break and when we're outside inhaling our cigarettes we look at one another shaking our heads slowly, like 'Can we believe this shit'. Rob mutters, "It's a good thing this is my last year because I've had sitting through these classes up to my eyeballs by now. How many years have we been going to a school of one sort or another?" I shrug, "Fifteen or sixteen years depending on if you count kindergarten or not." Rob, says, "Seriously, I can hardly fucking wait to graduate." I go, "Ditto!"
After the second hour, we happily leave the lecture hall with Rob mumbling, "Well, that's one down and a gazillion to go, babe," and his cell phone pings. It's in the pocket of his backpack so I get it for him seeing it's a text from Carl Snowdon. Rob looks at it and mutters to me, "I gotta call that kid, Carl." We walk away from the building as Rob talks to Carl, ending with, "Yeah, okay. No, I'm glad to do it." He hangs up, saying, "Dammit! I need to have lunch with Coach Davis, Carl, and the other guys mentoring freshman baseball players. Oh man, I don't need this the first friggin' day!" I go, "That sucks, Rob."
We're almost to the pickup when Rob stops and make a rude sound before saying, "Fuck it. I may as well head down there now, babe. I've got to meet them at quarter to twelve." I go, "Well, I'll take your backpack and bring it to our two o'clock class." He goes, "Sorry about this, Dylan. Are you going to eat lunch alone?" I shrug, "I haven't given it any thought. Don't worry about me." He takes his backpack off and hands it to me along with the pickup's keys, saying, 'Thanks, Dylan. This blows... but I'll see you at two o'clock." I nod, mumbling, 'No problem. See you then, Rob."
He waves and then walks slowly back the way we came as he's lighting another cigarette. Rob's pissed and I don't blame him but there wasn't any way he could have said, 'No'. Not when Coach Davis is the one who asked him to mentor Carl. But Rob likes being Carl's big brother. It's obvious they like each other. It's just that Rob doesn't like this lunch bullshit because it'll be awkward with his coaches there. He does like being one of the captains on the team though... and being a mentor is part of it even if it is two years in a row now that he's been assigned a freshman to mentor.
Okay, whatever. The question for myself is... what am I gonna do? Well, hell, I was just thinking about John Smith a little while ago. I think I'll have lunch with him today. It's great having options! Man, wouldn't it be awesome if I turned my side-sex situation from last summer completely around during this semester! Ha, wait though... it's more likely I'll get to Butch's Sports Bar in Haverhill and nobody there will ever have heard of John Smith. Totally new ownership or something. That'll be my luck.
I tell myself: dude, that's pathetic negative thinking! I mean, John's sister waitresses there so one of them should be there. Hmmm, this is definitely too early to go over there now though. John's pretty prompt about getting there at noon for his lunch. Guess I'll kill some time at the apartment and figure on being there at five-of-twelve. I'll probably need to have a beer which I don't especially feel like, but it is a bar. Gee, I'm kinda excited about seeing John Smith again...
to be continued...
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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