Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 20

by Donny Mumford

In retrospect, the slipcover exchange incident will probably be one of those stories Rob and I remember from our college days more than most of our academic memories. The dismissive way the lady at Target huffed at us indignantly when Rob plopped the plastic sleeve with the slipcover stuffed inside it on the counter. She looked at it like Rob just dropped a dog turd in front of her. Then she huffily told us she wouldn't accept the exchange because the 'product' was unacceptably stuffed into the zippered plastic container. Her 'final' word on the matter was our return didn't meet minimal 'exchange/refund' requirements as the merchandise was wrinkled beyond redemption and unsuitable for resale. She thought she was done with us, and said, "Next." Haha... Rob wasn't done. He was like, "Um, excuse me, but...."

I had to turn away to hide my snickering when I saw the bright red smudges on Rob's cheeks. Oh boy, I knew those red smudges meant he was royally pissed off at the way she dismissed us. She thought she'd blow off a couple of college kids... she obviously had no idea what she was dealing with. Yeah, Rob has a dangerously short fuse at times. The best thing for me to do was exactly what I did... I stayed the fuck out of the transaction entirely.

Yeah, like I said, Rob has this awesomely nasty streak in him that comes out on rare occasions. One of those occasions is when dealing with officious morons, and I was pretty sure the exchange lady was gonna qualify. Anyway, before we left the apartment we tried to refold that fucking slipcover neatly; we spent ten minutes doing the best we could without any chance of duplicating the compressed condition it was originally in... forget about that! Plus, it was wrinkled when we initially took it out and discovered it didn't fit!

Anyway, Rob started by giving the lady some shit about us not being Target employees and therefore not all that proficient at repackaging slipcovers and then there followed some snarky comments from both of them. The lady at first held her own but eventually, she had to call for her supervisor, Ms. Dangerfield, who then joined the fun. I was looking around at nothing in particular until, oh... what have we here? Yeah, I'd spotted a stockroom boy who looked about eighteen. He had nothing to do with exchanges although he was behind the counter near the back. The lad was using a box cutter in what I considered a reckless manner, but then what do I know?

The boy's long curly blond hair flopped in his eyes as he whacked away at the box. Yeah, he had that stupid undercut hairdo with a huge pile of curly blond hair on the very top of his head while the sides and back had been completely shaved. Reminded me of a clown at the circus, not that I've ever been to the circus but I've seen advertisements about the circus and the stockroom boy's hair looked like the wig the clown was wearing in the ad I saw.

Then I heard raised voices and glanced back at the counter seeing the 'supervisor's' face was now scarlet. She'd lost her cool, and she'd started off so well too. She had that big phony smile and sounded confident when she said to the counter clerk...'Let me take care of this nice young man, Meg'. Five minutes later she's looking uber mad saying something like... 'Oh, you'll need to speak with our manager about that, sonny-boy.' Rob yelled, "No I won't! I'll continue speaking with you about it!' Heh heh, oh man...

The other thing I noticed about the stockroom boy is he forgot to zipper up his fly after his last piss. I assumed it was after his last piss although I suppose there could be other reasons for his fly being down. He finally kicked the big cardboard box and then took all his blond curls with him and disappeared through the door in the back. Huh, too bad...

When I looked back at the counter Rob was still going at it, but with a middle age man now. I had my hands in my pocket sort of rocking back and forth on my heels, la-dee-da, waiting for Robby to get the man to knuckle under. The manager didn't have a fucking prayer of getting Rob to leave until they reversed the charge on his credit card... which was what eventually happened. Ya don't want to try outlasting a bulldog like Robby when he's set his mind on something. Fuck, and it was only like thirty-some dollars they were arguing about, but the principal of the matter is what got everyone fighting like it actually mattered. Fucking egos, ya know?

That was fun to see... for me I mean. Anyway, then we bought another slipcover and when we got back to the apartment it took both of us wrestling with the new slipcover for fifteen minutes before we got it onto the sofa. Yeah, we'd finally solved the brain-numbing puzzle of how to get the slipcover to fit on the sofa and then a minute later Rob had the Astroglide in his hand and we christened that new slipcovered-sofa properly. Yep, we had sex on it... really good sex too! That's the good part; the bad part is there's now a cum stain on one of the new slipcovered cushions that Robby and I are gawking at like we have no idea where it came from. Plus, the stain looks suspiciously like the prior stain, the one we felt we needed a slipcover to hide.

So, what to do? Rob finally mumbles, "Well, let's try cleaning it while it's still fresh, babe... no problem." He sprays the stain with Clorox Kitchen cleaner; the one with a floral scent. Now we're both standing next to the sofa watching the cum stain just sit there under the spray. I'm like, "Maybe if I rub it, um..." It's my cum so I feel responsible and I get a Bounty paper towel and rub the cum stain and then step back. Hmmm, after a few seconds I shake my head, muttering, "That just made it worse, um, spreading it more." Rob snickers and shrugs. Walking away, he mumbles, "At least we know what that stain is." Nodding my head, I'm like, "Maybe we should have used a different cleaner." That sort of implies some of the blame is his, ya know for using the wrong cleaner.

Rob puts the spray cleaner away and says, "Fuck it! Forget about it, Dylan... I'm gonna take a shower." I'm still frowning at the stain so he pats my shoulder and grins, saying, "Never mind that little mishap." I feel bad though and Rob tries getting my mind off it by asking, "Hey, what was the name you have for the hot sex like we just had?" I know he's trying to make me feel better so I mug at him, saying, "Oh, that was 'extemporaneous' sex," and he's grinning, nodding his head, "Yeah, extemporaneous... I knew you had a name for it. Wow, it was hotter than the hubs of hell though, huh? And you know what, you looked extra cute doing your squeal with that flattop haircut."

As I'm picking at my pants in back pulling the material away from Rob's sticky cum, I'm like, "Get outta here, you're full of it," and he goes, "No, seriously. That haircut is, um, I don't know, unique or something. Oh, and you've got the most awesome hair anyway, right? That goes without saying obviously." I go, "Oh well yeah, my hair is awesome."

He's yanking my chain, of course, but not totally. Rob puts a hand on my shoulder as he lightly touches the top of my head with just the fingers of his other hand, saying, "It's so fucking flat! And your hair is wicked thick." Now I'm touching my head too, going, "Seriously, you really think it turned out okay, huh?" He nods his head, "Oh fuck, are you kidding me? It's better than just okay. Like I said, your hair is special to start with, um, as you've mentioned to me about a thousand times." I go, "I hardly ever mention my fabulous hair, um, I mean... not a thousand times anyway." We're both chuckling now as I feel my hair again.

He's on his way to the bathroom but stops and turns around, saying, "Plus, that flattop makes you look like you're seventeen-years-old." Grinning back at him, I mumble, "Well yeah, it looks pretty good... and can you believe the barber's not even a professional?" Rob acts shocked, "He's not? Ya gotta be shitting me!"

We're kidding and chuckling about it but, of course, I'm glad Rob's giving a thumbs-up to my temporary new 'look'. And I much prefer him joking around about it rather than making some sort of artificially sincere compliment that would, ya know, sound phony. The truth is, I never expected Robby would say anything negative about my haircut in the first place. I mean, he doesn't want to be our barber anymore so he'd probably give a thumbs-up to almost any haircut I got from Danny.

And why the hell Danny wants to be the barber, I haven't a clue. He's never said why he's so psyched about being our latest 'home-haircut' barber. Whatever the reason, he's jumped into it with both feet. The last I heard he had seven guys getting haircuts from him this Saturday, including Rob and Pony. And yeah, I'm just a tiny bit jealous about that although I didn't think I would be. I am a little bit though if I'm honest with myself, but it's not a major jealousy because I'm expecting Danny to lose interest in haircutting like Robby did. Then I'll be the king barber again! Danny can have his 'turn' and then it'll be back to normalcy.

For about the tenth time since I got this haircut, I check myself out in the mirror. This time I'm using the mirror over the sofa while lightly rubbing my fingers over the top hairs. I'll be damned, I think Rob's right when he said this haircut makes me look younger. And I gotta admit Danny cut it even on top, plus my hair is so dense... Hmmm, leaning over the sofa for a closer look and fuck, it's hard to believe there are like 50,000 individual hairs on top of my head. The human head has on average 100,000 hairs so I'm guessing at least half are on top of the head. I mean before guys begin going bald.

Running my fingers across the top hairs again and, wow, it's wicked soft now that I've washed out the hairspray. Well, I inherited a super hair-gene so I'm pretty sure my head has an above average number of hair follicles to start with, and they're all tightly packed together so it looks like one solid mass, almost. And then there's that little wave to the front bangs. Oh fuck, or is that a small cowlick? Whatever, it adds something cool to the 'look' of this haircut.

The saving grace for me is that Danny left it longer on top. Longer than a normal flattop and I could probably comb it down if I wanted too. Hmmm... I walk right into the steam-filled bathroom where Rob's singing in the shower. He's got a damn good singing voice too. I stand there for a second trying to recognize the 'tune'. He's singing, 'Waiting on a sunny day...' Isn't that a Springsteen song?

Anyway, I grab a jar of hair gel from the medicine chest over the sink and bring it out from the high humidity of the bathroom. Closing the door behind me I go a few steps down the hall to our bedroom and look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. With a grin, I murmur to myself, "What a cool-looking motherfucker you are... heh heh." Getting some gel on my fingertips I rub back through my hair, doing it all over the top.

Okay now, is there's a brush anywhere in here? I'm looking around for a brush like Danny used. I know I don't have one, but maybe Rob does. One I've never seen before, but no, we don't have a brush. Fuck! So, I use my comb to comb my hair down but it's a tiny bit too short for that right now. Okay, I comb it up, and then run the comb back through my hair again and yeah that looks better. It was sort of wilting on top because I washed out the hairspray and because, like I said, it is longer on top than it probably should be. I like it this way though. Huh, maybe I won't comb it down even when it grows a little longer... although I could if I wanted to.

Yeah, I probably spend too much time thinking and fucking around with my hair but I care about my appearance. That makes me think of Pony and how he was rebellious about not taking care of his appearance last summer. That attitude is not a healthy one! It's not good for the psyche letting yourself go until you look like a bum. Everyone feels better about themselves if they're satisfied with how they look. Of course, that concept breaks down if someone has a fucked-up idea about style; about what 'looking good' even means.

And, oh sure, I suppose some misguided individuals could throw shade at me by saying 'style' and 'looking good' is strictly a matter of opinion, implying my opinion isn't the last word on the subject. Ya know, some old guy who's bald on top with hideous white hair that he wears in a ponytail with a beard down to here and a nose ring plus a big neck tattoo... he might think he's styling and 'looking good'. Are we still gonna claim it's a matter of opinion? My ass!

Heh heh, well actually he'd be right though. Yeah, it is a matter of opinion and there goes my argument. Back in the living room, my eyes spot the sofa and I can't help but replay in my head the sex Rob and I had there ten minutes ago. That was great sex we just had on that new slipcover and, oh man, did I ever get 'off'! What I should have done though, I should have cupped my hand in front of my boner to catch my cum shots. Damn though, Rob's been an excellent lover for months now, plus holy shit my buddy sex lately has absolutely been off the charts! This ain't last summer, we ain't in Nebraska anymore Toto, or... um, I never got what that Toto shit is all about. What's it mean anyway?

Oh man, flopping on the dry part of the sofa my mind drifts to the buddy sex I've been having with my barber, Danny. Holy shit, having sex with him has been almost as sexually hot as my best days with Ryan but without the need to deal with the annoying and stressful 'down' periods that Ryan frequently went through. Yeah, but I need to drop negative thought like that one because everything is rockin' in my world and I should be thinking positively about things. Everything would be almost perfect except for my concerns about Pony... and my concerns about Connor too with that jackass boyfriend of his... and Danny using the 'love' word might be a concern too. So there are a few concerns, and I'm really angry about that new slipcover stain as well! So no, everything is not perfect but then perfection is an elusive concept. Nothing's absolutely perfect!

Getting off the sofa, I go into the kitchen thinking about preparing Rob's and my dinner. Then I get sidetracked thinking about this afternoon with Pony. Ya know, this is a little crazy but I think he's one of the reasons sex on the sofa with Robby was so good. I got a tad on the horny side from hanging around with Pony. Ya know, from looking at his hot body and cute face and remembering our sex last year when I was doing the 'topping'. And what an absolutely great ass on that kid too... Omigod, wow! Oh man, and last year I was rocking that bad-ass dominant 'top' routine to my bottom boy, Pony. 'Topping' him was very hot.

So, even though neither Pony nor I have so much as said the word' sex', I couldn't help getting a little bit aroused this afternoon thinking about fucking him in the past. Yeah, and that carried over to join forces with my always aroused state with Robby, and that combo had me extra hot. It's like my pump was primed before Rob and I even started... um, you know, whatever 'pump being primed' even means.

Funny that I didn't notice I was aroused by Pony at Rolf's Bar. Well, I did notice it a little and adjusted my junk a few times but mostly I was being attentive to Pony's misery. I really became aware of my arousal when Pony was walking away after I dropped him off at his dorm and I got a good look at his ass. Yeah, we had one little kiss! That was the extent of our intimacy. Oh man though, last year Pony and I had some primo buddy sex together! That must have been in my subconscious mind, deeply suppressed while listening to his horrible experiences of last summer. Obviously, me having the 'hots' for Pony was not the important aspect of the afternoon with him.

The time with Pony at Rolf's was well spent though. Daryl needed to vent and then we were able to come up with an effective first step toward satisfying his parent's concerns about him going off the rails. They had to be encouraged by the positive steps he's already taken with his appearance, which should go a long way toward Daryl being a good boy again, in their eyes anyway... a parents' version of a good boy.

This Saturday, after Danny gives Pony the flattop, he said he'll send another selfie. I think that's a bad idea but I don't want to create any negative vibes for him because he's still too fragile. As an example of his fragile state of mind, Pony's reason for getting the flattop haircut is an absurd one. The reason being his father has had that hairdo since he was six years old and still has it at age forty-six. Why do men keep the same fucked-up hairdo all through their lives? It was maybe fine for them at a much earlier age, but it looks silly on them now at age forty-six... or seventy-six! Christ, that makes me think of the older manager of the Toronto Blue Jays who wears his white hair in a mullet, like it's the nineteen-eighties and... oh never mind! That kind of thing drives me crazy while nobody else in the world seems to give a shit about it.

Hey, I just thought of a good thing. Yeah, after sending his selfie Pony's mother quickly texted him back saying she was proud of him for, um, whatever... and she loves him. Omigod, I could tell Pony was sincerely touched that his mom texted so quickly. Like I said, we've made a damn good start toward him patching things up with his parental unit. I could tell Pony was in a much better frame of mind when I dropped him off this afternoon; a hundred times better frame of mind than when I picked him up at the airport! Yeah, and I feel good about that.

Well, I gotta start dinner. Hmmm, I'm feeling like something easy. Yeah, cheeseburgers on the grill with French fries. Sure, they're frozen French fries that a lazy person could merely put in the oven but I fry them in Canola oil and they come out as good as any restaurant's fries I've ever had. Plus, of course, we'll have a healthy salad too. Okay, that's what I'll do for dinner.

Later, I'm outside on the balcony standing in front of the grill watching big fat hamburgers sizzling away as I'm thinking this day has been a long one, but a successful one. That 'talk' with Daryl was exhausting but then Rob perked me right up with our sex on the sofa... yeah, sex will do it for me every time!

Flipping the burgers and slapping a square piece of Kraft's 100% cheese on each burger I realize it's been almost eight hours since I've had anything substantial to eat. Rob made us a hot dog lunch, or late breakfast, take your pick. Having hot dogs for breakfast is obviously bizarre but I have to smile remembering how conscientious he was preparing that simple meal. I talked him through making coleslaw too, which was kinda funny to start with, and then he forgot to bring it out of the refrigerator for our late breakfast... or early lunch. So, that was a shame.

Oh man, I'm friggin' hungry! I only had a few pretzel sticks at the bar so at the table with our dinner in front of us I basically inhale the cheeseburger and then eat more than my share of the French fries. Rob just chuckled and muttered, "Go for it, babe," as I snatched fries off his plate. He doesn't mind.

After dinner, we work together on college studies including making a much more elaborate outline than necessary for the History of Rock and Roll class. I gotta pick my academic battles with Robby though, and this one isn't worth arguing about. As the printer chugs out the comprehensive year to year progress report that outlines how Rock and Roll got started I see Elvis' name and some black artist headlining a section for the first chapter which took place in the fifties. The nineteen-fifties! Holy shit...yeah, stone age music almost.

And then we moved onto our Managerial Finance course and spent almost an hour on it until I'm finally like, "We've beat this shit to death, Rob. Let's call it a night." He looks up and seriously asks, "Don't you want to at least glance at the next chapter? You know, to get ahead of the game?" I shake my head, muttering, "In a word, no!" He makes a 'face' but closes the textbook as I complain, "Who the fuck does more than two hours of homework the second night of classes?" Rob doesn't bother with that rhetorical question as we both get up and, as we're putting everything in our backpacks for tomorrow, he asks, "But you do want to stay on top of everything this year, right?" I go, "Sure, but spending over two hours of homework the second night! That's all I'm saying... it's too much, too soon."

We get sodas and put hoodies on to go out on the balcony for a smoke. I fill Rob in on the Pony situation but only take about four minutes to do that instead of the hour and a half Pony took to fill me in. Rob feels bad for Pony too, but then... what guy wouldn't?

Rob zeroed in on the same thing I did. The thing about Pony not wanting to use the money he made working part-time to help pay for miscellaneous college expenses. Rob goes, "Jesus, that's being self-centered." I nod my head without mentioning that Rob doesn't pay for one penny of his education. The money he's earned working for Dickers & Son, Inc. went for a down payment on a condo. How many twenty-two-year-old guys do that? Very few obviously, but the main point is Rob criticized Pony when he, Rob, hasn't pay for any of his college expenses either.

We watch the end of a Red Sox game on TV while sitting closely together on the sofa carefully avoiding the still-wet stain and then we get to bed early. So that was smart of us but then when we realize it's not even ten-thirty we start messing around in bed with some sexy touching. That eventually leads to my boxer shorts getting ripped and then a fantastic hard and fast fucking on my ass. Omigod!

The lube leftover in my rectum from the new slipcover fuck was still good. And like I inferred, Rob was really pounding his fat boner up my ass fast and hard and, oh man, it is a very different thing than when Danny's doing it. Not only the size differences but the technique and the scents and the different ways of touching and the moans and groans. It's all as different as night and day... wow, how do you like that original metaphor... different than night and day? Nobody's ever used that before, right? That's pathetic... but as different as those two awesome guys are when 'topping', there are still many similarities including the significant orgasmic climaxes I have.

Rob's fat boner causes pain, sure, but then the climax when it happens is a ginormous KABOOM! It's the contrast between pain and pleasure that creates the extra sensational climaxes and also because our love for one another permeates the very air around us... the air we breathe. Omigod, that was some really hot sex in bed! We both shot-off almost at exactly the same launch time too... POW! POW! Haha, awesome sex. Bottom line: Rob's the best 'top' of all time for me...

Yeah, and the odd position he had me in tonight was so cool. I was on the bed scrunched up on my knees, my face on Rob's pillow, my arms around my legs keeping them tucked under me. I was a ball of submissive 'bottom' for my favorite 'top' and Rob broke out a little dominance pounding away so hard that each thrust pushed my face into the pillow so hard I couldn't breathe. It was the wrestling-like make-out we used as foreplay that got us both wildly hot to trot; that plus the memory of our sofa fuck. The carryover effect was especially noteworthy because, like I said, I was already lubed-up from earlier and Rob didn't need to waste any time with that. He got right to the delicious task of fucking another orgasm out of both of us... bombs away!

Afterward, we're on the bed sprawled out breathing like we'd just run a marathon and then it takes a while for us to get to sleep. Rob is saying something about how his dick is wicked sore, which I don't want to get into right now but I have to wonder about that. How'd his dick get sore? Not from our six or seven minutes of going at it like wild animals a few minutes ago and certainly not from our even shorter fuck on the sofa earlier. Ya don't get a sore dick from like twelve or thirteen total minutes of fucking!

Anyway, he mentioned his dick being sore in an off-hand manner, almost like he was commenting on it to himself. Then, when he doesn't say anything for like three minutes, I'm thinking that maybe he's thinking... why'd I say my dick is sore? Whatever, I must have drifted off to sleep then 'cause that's the last thought I remember having. Isn't it weird how you drift off to sleep? One minute you're thinking about something and then the next thing you know you're waking up... it's the closest thing to being dead, ya know?

I'm probably over-analyzing his 'sore dick' comment, still thinking about it this morning. I mean, who would he be fucking... Carl? I don't think so because when would they have had the chance, plus they just met like five days ago. Well, that last part was stupid. I've fucked after knowing some guy only five minutes. That's been very rare though and happened in my distant past. Like I said, I fell asleep before I could sort out an explanation from Rob about his sore dick and, fuck it, I'm gonna leave it at that.

Today is Wednesday and Wednesday's are going be our worst day of the week. For one thing, we have four hours of classes; yes, four full hours! Plus the morning is always gonna be rushed because we have the Gender and Society class at nine o'clock. It's a lecture hall two-hour class so I do not want to forget the Maximum Strength NoDoz for that dozer of a class!

Sure, there's a fifteen-minute break in the middle but, ya know, it's a drag! Frankly, after all these years of hearing teachers and professors spouting out stuff they're interested in has me sick to death for needing to pay attention to that gobbledygook. Gobbledygook I will never find a use for in my life and that's assuming I even remember one-tenth of it after the final exams.

I may as well admit to myself right now that there is no way in hell I can take the twins up on their generous offer to pay for me going to graduate school. What subject would I even want a Master's Degree in? Chubby's almost certainly going to go for it, but then he's not as bothered by the crap the professors spout off in classes. Well, mostly that's because he seldom, if ever, listens to it. Yeah, I know, that sounds improbable but it's basically true. Chub's either daydreaming, texting, resting, or actually sleeping after a late night of partying during most of his classes.

Yeah, and then he somehow has a way of synopsizing what he needs to know for the exams. Plus college life suits him better than it does me because he likes, he loves, all the available girls and partying that goes on. I'm more settled down with Rob. We don't go out nearly as much to frat parties or college events for sports or whatever as Chub and that clown John Beverly do. Fuck, they're out drinking every night. Also, Chub's ten times more gregarious than I am and he actually likes bullshitting with complete strangers whereas I like to avoid almost everybody whenever possible.

Anyway, I'm resigned that Chub's going to college for two more years and I'm not. I'd much rather work and make money anyway. That's what I was thinking in class when Rob bumps my arm, mumbling, "C'mon, let's grab a smoke." Oh fuck, I may have dozed off like Chub does in class. Jesus, is it the break at ten o'clock already?

Huh, that first hour went by fast. We go outside for a cigarette although neither of us has much to say. I don't detect a bad mood coming from Robby and I'm in an okay mood myself. One of the things I was thinking about before dozing off is Rob's comment last night about his sore dick. Okay, I'm still thinking about that because I'm a little fixated on it, but c'mon... why wouldn't I be? But still, I've almost concluded it doesn't bother me. I mean I'd be the biggest hypocrite in town if I got upset about Robby having side sex after all the hot sex Danny and I have had since coming back to Merrimack. I'm merely curious who Rob's getting it on with, ya know? Simple curiosity, but I can't ask. That's against our 'arrangement' rules.

When we're halfway done our smokes, a short squatty guy comes over to us and goes, "Yo, Rob, can I bum a smoke off you." Robby chuckles as he gets his box of Marlboro lights out, mumbling, "Richard, you bad boy! You absolutely and positively gave up smoking for good last year." After Rob lights Richard's cigarette for him, the guy says, "Yeah, I know, but this is the first cigarette I've had since then." Rob goes, "Bullshit alert!" and they both chuckle and then talk about some guy named, Pants, which I assume is a nickname. This is good though because it passes the rest of the fifteen-minute break without me needing to say shit. We drift back to class with a lot of other students, all of us late getting back but the professor doesn't seem to mind. Good omen there!

So, eventually we're done with the Gender and Society crap until next Monday morning. That's the good part although we've got a lot of work to do in preparation for that Monday class. I'm aware that most professors load us up on homework projects early in the semester to weed out the less committed students. I can see why they'd do that for underclassmen but for Christ sakes, we're seniors and we haven't been weeded out yet, so... duh!

Our next class is at twelve-thirty and as we're walking out the door, Rob asks, "Ya wanna go back to the apartment or head over to the Quad?" I shrug, "Um, I need to chill out after this morning's torture chamber of horrors... and we need decent food too. Not that vending machine shit at the Quad." Heading for the pickup I don't know why I'm grumpy, but I mutter, "Ya know, Rob, that last course of ours wasn't even on our list of long-shot possibilities, so how'd we end up in it?" Robby shrugs, "My fault I guess for not registering sooner," and I go, "Nah, it's both our faults... jeez, Gender and Society... throw the fuck up!"

Walking to the truck, Rob goes, "What's wrong, babe. Can I help?" Shrugging, I go, "Nah, it's just. Oh, I don't know... I'll get into the groove of going to classes eventually," and then I whine, "But all this shit we need to do for next Monday's class!" He shrugs, 'We'll work on it together! You do the first eighteen questions and I'll do the rest. Then we'll copy from one another." Hmmm, cheat! I go, "Good, but we'll need to be clever so it doesn't look like what it is, which is us copying from each other." Rob goes, "Don't worry about it." Very un-Rob like, but I like that sentiment!

We both make a mug of coffee in the apartment and then, as Robby reads the textbook for our next class, I start cooking a big breakfast. We won't have time for lunch on Wednesdays because we have the 12:40 class with Professor Hyena titled 'Leadership Theory and Practical Application' or some such shit, and then from 2:00 to 2:50 we're in the 'Managerial Finance' class. After that, Rob has baseball practice at 3:30 and I have free time until dinner. Finally, something to look forward to.

For me, the drudgery of sitting in classes will become less of a problem after a few weeks but it's tough in the early going when time seems to almost stand still in class. It's around the halfway point in class that I want to stand up and scream... fuuuuuck! Anyway, we have enough time before that class to enjoy our late breakfast and then we make it to class with ten minutes to spare.

We eventually get through both afternoon classes and then outside the building I take Rob's backpack from him as Rob says excitedly, "Thanks, Dylan. I'll text you when practice is over." See, he has baseball practice to get excited about and I'm happy for him. I go, "Yep, have a good one, Rob," and we pat each other on the arm and head in different directions, Rob to the ballpark and me to the apartment.

While walking toward the parking lot carrying both backpacks and smoking a cigarette, I text Pony. Leaning against the pickup waiting for Pony to reply to my text I'm gazing around the campus thinking about the past week; the first full week at Merrimack for our senior year and I like the sound of that... 'Senior Year', meaning our last year. And, like I said earlier, the first weeks are the hardest and now the first one is almost behind me. Thursday's first class is again the 'The History of Rock & Roll' class but it isn't until 12:40 and our only other class is 'Managerial Finance' at 2:00. So we're getting awfully close to our first three-day weekend and then, of course, we'll be starting everything all over again next Monday. That's not something to concentrate on now though.

Now I'm thinking again that the campus looks really good this year although I do wonder for the tenth time where all the cute guys have gone. It must be my evaluation process that's become fucked up. I'm in the oldest segment of the student population now but I still look at some of the cute boyish freshmen and even sophomores although they mostly seem really young. Not that I think they're too young. No, I suppose if the situation were just right I'd hook up with an eighteen-year-old. It's just that the circumstances for doing that seem remote at best. I'm not going to initiate 'contact' and there are only very limited opportunities to do so with freshmen anyway. Frat parties and whatnot but I'm not so sure freshmen are looking for seniors to hit on them. Quite the opposite actually. As I recall, when I was eighteen I wasn't interested in some old guy of twenty-two... get serious!

So that leaves guys closer to my age, which is where the mystery of the missing cute guys comes into play. There are very few junior or seniors who catch my attention although I admit that an occasional rare one still does. It's just that I might go two days without seeing one of those rare exceptions. Maybe it's the beards a lot of the guys are wearing nowadays. Nah, some guys look cool with the style-beards that are short and neatly outlined and whatnot. It's that most guys leave whatever cuteness they ever had behind as they move further into their twenties. It's not like they do it on purpose, so I'm not exactly blaming them.

Obviously, straight guys never think about a guy's cuteness, and if they notice it they don't care about it. See, straight guys don't need to spend time on that like I do. Although they do probably, the hornier of them, spend the same amount of time gawking at the female population here. The difference is girls don't lose their looks as they get into their twenties. So it's us gay guys who get the short end of the stick again! The short end of the stick? What the fuck does that even mean? It's not a sexual reference, is it?

My phone pings... that little 'ping' startled the shit out of me! You see, I let myself get into a trance with my musings and then almost anything, even a little 'ping', tends to startle me. Jesus, my nerves shouldn't be on edge at my age. Stepping on my cigarette butt I check out the text... it's from Pony. He says he's doing volunteer work with his roommate this afternoon. What in the fuck does that even mean? I tap on his phone number and Pony answers right away, saying, "Yo, Dylan. Sorry, but like I texted, I can't come out to play this afternoon. Donald and I are in a volunteer program at the YMCA." I'm like, "Oh... good for you guys! Um, what's that all about?"

He explains that Donald, his roommate, signed up with a volunteer program at the North Andover YMCA as a community service thingie for college credits. I suppose he signed up because he has a kind heart too and not just for the credits. In this case, the 'people' they're volunteering to help are underprivileged children who need help reading; kids with learning disabilities. Mostly Dyslexia or A.D.D. which is attention deficit disorder. Pony goes, "It'll serve as more suck-up material for my parents; that's what it boils down to for me. You know, I'll casually drop this awesome volunteer stuff on my parents when I talk to them." I mutter, "Yeah, I guess," and he goes, "As I may have mentioned, Dad sent me another text asking me to call him when I've got some free time so we can talk about things."

Yeah, whatever. He's all set for this afternoon... and, surprise, I actually feel good about having nothing to do. No, I really do feel good about it. I'm not especially horny although some recreational buddy sex with Pony would have been nice. John Smith is a possibility but he works until four-thirty so that'd be tight, timing-wise. I'd need to be extra horny to try setting something up with him, and as I just said, I'm not horny anyway. So, with Danny at baseball practice too, and Pony racking up brownie points, and John Smith too much trouble, um, well that's the totality of my side sex buddies nowadays.

Back at the apartment, I have a passing thought about Dennis Raymond. He's another side sex possibility. The box truck guy with two first names, but he seems a little too odd to me now. He's a sweet guy I guess, but I'd need to be uber horny to text him. In the old wild west days of my youth, I'd be texting Dennis right now. He gets off work at 3:30, or he did last year. In my present old age situation, however, I'm happy to chill out here in the apartment and read my latest book. Of course, instead of reading, I could get started on the college work that needs to be done before tomorrow's classes. Hmmm, I'm probably not going to do that.

After making sure the new stain on the sofa's slipcover has dried, I spread out on the sofa to read the paperback book I bought 'used' at the bookstore. It's a novel written twenty years ago by an author who is most likely dead now. It's titled, 'Plum Island' and it's written by Nelson De Mille. I read another book by him although I can't remember the title. I like that the protagonist is a wise-ass. I figure I might be able to pick up some wise-ass pointers. You know, things to say in my normal discourse. Some people might say I already have too many wise-ass things to say, although they'd be wrong about that.

I have a restful, pleasant afternoon reading my book and then after I pick Robby up at baseball practice we have a pleasant evening, just Rob and me. First, we work together preparing a meatloaf and scallop potatoes dinner. A big meatloaf because we're planning to have plenty left over for sandwiches. There's a lot of prep work necessary for both the meatloaf and the potatoes but it's fun cooking with Robby who I believe must be putting me on with his almost total lack of food preparation expertise. I'd have thought he'd pick up a few pointers in that regard by osmosis if nothing else after living twenty-two years and eating for the same amount of time.

Our dinner turns out to be awesome and then we spend three hours on college work, which sounds horrible but wasn't all that bad tonight because I was in a 'zone' enjoying the close proximity of my lover boy. Tonight is just one of those times when I'm really appreciating Robby. Appreciating things I normally take for granted like his super serious expressions of concentration and knowing how conscientious he is with, well, with everything. It makes me grin to myself as I tease him by saying, "Um, we can probably skip this part, Rob. It's not that important," knowing he'll look incredulously at me, saying, "Skip it? No, we can't skip it!" I go, "Oh!" Heh heh...

Mostly though it's the physical aspects of him I'm fascinated by tonight. The physical parts of him that I'm so used to I take for granted most of the time when I shouldn't do that. I mean, special things like the way his too-long hair shines. It needs cutting and I can't help wishing I was going to be giving him his haircut on Saturday. It's goofy of me but I like his blond hair and the way it's grown over the tops of his ears and his bangs that he keeps pushing off his forehead with his fingers. I lean against his side pretending I want a closer look at something in the textbook. We sit close together at the desk anyway which makes it difficult for me to concentrate. Right now I'm not paying much attention to the work but instead, I'm trying to anticipate the next time Rob's going to swipe his fingers across his forehead pushing his bangs over and then, as he goes to do that, I casually reach over and do it for him. Haha, he looks at me with a funny expression. I shrug giving him a blank 'look' so Rob grins and continues saying what he was saying. Oh man!

Yeah, it'd be fun giving him a short haircut and watching the hair fall off the clippers and scissors with Rob being docile in the barber chair. Hmmm, haircut thoughts mysteriously just snuck up on me somehow for a second there. Yeah, but I'll have my days as the main barber again, and I'm guessing it'll be in the not too distant future.

And then Rob's pointing at and then underling something in the textbook. He's unaware that I'm staring at the side of his face and not the book. Ya know I get that thought again that Rob would look killer with horn-rimmed glasses. I'm even getting used to Pony's eyeglasses but they'd look better on Robby. Oh fuck, I'm getting a boner!

Robby's so fucking handsome though and I like the way his skimpy beard is coming in very soft-looking. Haha, at inappropriate times I'll do or say goofy things on purpose; things I know will make him grin or laugh. I like that because that's where his boyish looks still shine the brightest... when he grins or smiles and I like to see that. He frowns at me, but in a friendly manner, and then laughs or grins at my goofiness, asking, "What the fuck, babe? We gotta finish this." I look serious then and nod my head.

Haha, it's cool messin' with him. Also, I entertain myself by interrupting what we're doing to ask Robby questions in a serious manner. Questions I already know the answers to but I like how he looks into my eyes with his pretty blue ones and tell me way more than I care to know about, um, whatever. Yeah, I like listening to his boyishly serious and earnest voice that can almost hypnotize me at times. Oh God, when that happens it feels dreamily sexy and good!

It's easy to let myself slip into a dreamy, semi-hypnotized frame of mind being this close to Robby, observing everything about him. For half an hour at a time, I'll leave my arm across his shoulders as we snugly sit together at the desk. I like touching him and he smells good too. God, it's stupid to be in love like this but it's the most awesome thing in the world too. And Rob doesn't have any idea I'm mostly concentrating on him and not the class work.

If Rob had his way we'd probably go past the three-hour mark with this homework-bullshit except I'm getting so aroused by him I can't resist putting my arm around the back of his neck to pull the side of his face over and kiss his cheek for ten seconds straight before whispering, "I love you, Robert." He turns his head and we kiss... and then we're off to the races again. Five minutes later, I'm saying, "No, Robby, don't rip my underpants again! I'll pull them down... Jesus!"

Oh man, he was impatient and then, Omigod, he gives my ass a good hard fucking with me leaning over the desk, my hands on either side of the notepad he just finished writing on. I'm looking down at the notes without actually seeing what's written because mostly I'm listening to Rob's grunts and moans as he's humping his hard boner up my ass... without additional lubricant. There's some left from last night but a little more would help although, Omigod, it hurts so fucking good!

It's an unbelievably awesome four or five minutes, or maybe longer, and then I almost faint during my climax as I'm shooting cum in a hard straight streak that just skims the desktop before splattering on the wall behind it. Robby unloads a huge amount of cum up my ass and I'm shaking like a leaf while he's still holding me from behind with both arms around me thrusting his cock, but only lazily now. His fat cock is making a slushing sound going back and forth in my sloppy rectum, me limp as a dishrag before Robby finally pulls his now flaccid, fat penis out and then he smacks my ass hard "SMACK!" which gets my shoulders shuddering again! Oh man!

After catching our breath, Rob swipes a few times at my asshole with tissues and then he casually smacks my ass again but not hard this time, murmuring, "You're good to go for now." We pull up our pants and leave everything on the desk as Rob squeezes the back of my neck, "C'mon baby, I need something to drink," and he sort of guides me into the kitchen where we both get Cokes from the refrigerator and as we drink the sodas silently we're looking at each other slightly nodding our heads, like, 'that was good,' but we don't need to say anything 'cause we both know it was.

Finished the Cokes Robby takes my hand and says, "I can do better," and we walk to the bedroom where he picks up the new container of Astroglide he used before our new slipcover fuck yesterday afternoon. It came in the mail two days ago via FedEx. He twists off the cap and says, "You do it this time," and he pulls his pants down and sits on the edge of the bed. I stroke lube on his cock, stroking the foreskin on and off the head until his cock is hard again, the foreskin now stretched almost all the way off the head. I'm silently looking into Rob's eyes as I keep stroking on his boner that gets harder and harder until he pushes my hand away, murmuring, "Now do your ass."

I drop my pants to my ankles noticing Rob's earlier cum has soaked into my boxer underpants and as I pull my boxers down the wet cum drags against the back of my leg leaving a wet cum streak there. Still not saying anything, I push lube in my wide-opened asshole and then pass the container of Astroglide back to Rob who puts it on the bedside table.

He stands up and murmurs, "How 'bout lying your chest on the bed, Dylan." Sure, I like that position and I especially like doubleheaders, two-baggers, or whatever metaphor there is describing fucking twice in a row... the second act usually lasting much longer than the first. I get on my knees next to the bed like I'm going to say my prayers, but I don't. Instead, I lie my chest on the bed and then decide to get off my knees. With my chest and face still on the bed, I go up on my toes, sticking my ass up level with Rob's groin. Instead of feeling his hard dick in my ass, I fell Robby smacking my ass, "SMACK!" I grunt, "Ow," and then he mounts me, so to speak.

It's a long luscious fuck that takes me higher than a kite can fly... oh-me-oh-my. All I think about for what seems like an eternity is how good Robby's hard fat penis feels inside me. Oh sure, I know he's feeling at least as good but at this moment in my mind, it's mostly about me. Robby's second climax doesn't click in for quite a while and when it does there's some wildly fast, "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds in our bedroom as he's desperately pounding that really-hard and fat boner of his up my ass. When he climaxes with a gasping breathy sound it sets off my climax and I squeal, 'Eeeeeeeiii!" with cum soaring out of my granite boner that's so hard it doesn't even quiver as it sticks defiantly straight out. Cum shoots out in a skimming shimmer leaving a streak of wetness across our bedspread. There's a nice amount of cum shooting out both our boners, especially considering this is the tail end of a doubleheader. For eight to ten seconds we're both involved in the ecstasy called, sexual climax. There's shaking, shivers, and fireworks going off all over me and it's a totally breathtaking experience... as usual.

And, no... not a single word from Robby about his sore dick. Heh heh, it's not even mentioned. If I can interpret anything from his enthusiastic fucking I'd say my lover boy was again much hornier than me! It was excellent sex and then we shower together, still not talking a lot but we don't need to talk a lot. Sometimes we don't talk at all while other times you can't shut either of us up. It's whatever the fuck we feel like and that's what you get when you're one hundred percent comfortable with one another. We've been super comfortable with one another since at least the beginning of the summer. It's never been better between us and for that I credit Rob's persuasive ways that got me to move in with him.

In the shower, when we're as clean as it's possible to be, I'm still feeling this ginormous 'thing' for Robby... my adoration and sexy love for him is big tonight. He's my man... that sort of a thing. So, I'm hugging him and kissing his neck until he turns me around and fucks me again with water from the shower head pouring down on us. My asshole never closed up from part-two of our double-header plus there's still plenty of lube in there as well as some of his cum and therefore no pain at all, just a really hard fucking as if Rob's determined that this one will finally do it for me.

Right off the bat, there's constant wet 'SLAPSLAPSLAP" sounds in the bathroom with Robby's arms tightly around me, his chest against my back and my arms extended with my hands on the tile wall holding us away from it. Omigod, his hips never moved faster driving that big fat cock of his back and forth in my ass. My entire rectum takes an incredibly hot and sexy pounding. Our moans are as loud as the wet, "Slapslapslap," sounds with me going, "Uh, uh, uh," as Rob grunts, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, with every thrust of his fat boner. In the background, barely noticed is the added sound of the rustling shower curtain from Robby's ass hitting it with every fast withdrawal. Our eventual climaxes are small, I mean as far as volume but huge in the sensations department. Feeling faint I collapse against the wall, shaking when it's over. Robby's tight against my back with his cock still up my ass. And, no, there's been no mention from Rob about his sore cock this time either, which is odd but now I've got a sore ass which I also don't mention.

Catching our breath under the water that continues pouring over us, we're motionless for almost a minute. Rob's arms are still around me and, wow, I'm feeling incredibly well taken care of by now. Finally Robby murmurs, "Are you okay, Dylan?" I nod my head and gasp, "Fantastic is how I am, Robby," and then I do mention, "Um, my rear end is a tiny bit sore... but no problem." He mutters, "Oh, sorry about your ass," and I go, "No, like I said, no problem although I'm ready for some sleep." He mutters, "Oh, thank Christ, me too."

We get out of the shower and the first thing Rob does is help me with my ass. He wipes off his cum that's drooling out and then he's like, "There ya go, boyfriend," and, snickering, he follows that up with two extra hard smacks, "SMACK! SMACK!" on my still-wet ass. I yelp out, "OW! OW!" as he's mumbling, "Just making sure your, um, rear end is too sore for any more activity tonight." I turn around and we grin at each other as I rub my buttocks sheepishly, thinking how hot it was of Rob to do that. Very dominant!

As we dry ourselves we're exchanging smirks and doing little head shakes like we're agreeing that, 'Oh man, we're awesome... haha'. Robby mutters, "Just so I'm sure, um, do you need more spanking tonight or any more fucking maybe?" I shake my head, muttering, 'Nah, I'm good," as my dick quivers. Yeah, he's my man alright.

Rob's in the 'my man' mood too as he takes charge by putting his arm around my waist guiding me back to the bedroom, saying, "Damn, I feel like I'm doing okay sexually satisfy my boyfriend. If you need anything else, baby, just let me know, okay?" As my hand goes back to my ass without me realizing I was gonna do that, I say, "No, I'm totally good, Rob. You've been fantastic. You're my man!" He was just searching for a little compliment like all tops seem to do. He gently pats my bare ass, murmuring, "Thanks, I'm ready for some sleep too," and then, "Let's sleep naked." I nod my head and get in bed first as Rob takes care of turning off the overhead light and then the desk light before he gets in bed to wrap me in his arms. Oh fuck, I love being treated like this as I snuggle against him. A kiss on the side of my face as Rob murmurs, "Not a bad time, huh, baby?" Looking for another compliment? I don't want to give him a big head so I go, "No, not bad at all," and we go to sleep.

That's right, Robby, treat me like I'm special! Ha! By now he knows how to take care of me and make me happy. It's inconceivable to me that anyone could do it better, or as well.

We sleep late Thursday morning because our first class isn't until 12:30. Rob begins to move around on the bed at ten-after-ten... according to my watch. I pretend to be still sleeping, hoping I'll fall back to sleep. I hear Robby yawn and then he gently opens my right eyelid, a finger on the top lid and on the bottom one as he's murmuring, "Are you really still sleeping?" I go, "Not now I'm not," and he looks at me with that 'look' in his eyes. Opening both eyes now, I go, "Oh no, my rear end is too sore for that big-boy of yours this morning, Robert. Too soon for that!" And actually, my ass is too sore. I noticed it and finally mentioned it last night. It's mostly my anus, my asshole that gets really stretched but inside is kinda sore too or at least it seems to be to me. The constant friction of Rob's fat, fast-moving boner during four fucks leaves a 'mark'.

Yeah, even for my valiant ass it's a challenge dealing with last night's three acts of anal intercourse within an hour's timeframe, not to mention the earlier slipcover fuck. My ass handled it all pretty fucking well though and, oh no, I'm starting to get a boner from thinking thoughts like that! Haha...

I'm like, "Seriously though, isn't your dick wicked sore?" He shrugs, "Nope. It was yesterday though!" I'm like, "Do tell," and he chuckles and goes, "Oh fuck, Dylan, I got hit right in my dick by a fastball from Norn Wise. I couldn't get out of the way and BAM right on my dick... and I wasn't wearing a jock or anything. Motherfucker, I saw stars and I mean... I actually saw stars! I thought I'd pass out for a second there."

Oh, that's why he had a sore dick, huh? I go, "Your dick didn't seem to be bothering you last night," and he goes, "My dick would need to be hit a lot harder than that to keep me from having sex with you, baby! Haha, you're irresistible, that's what you are," and he gets his arms around me, which leads to a little wrestling and hugging in our naked condition. We get stiff dicks but I'm trying to push him away as he giggles and tries to get his stiff dick in me. And, yeah, our stiff dicks soon become a couple of hard boners during our squirming wrestling under the covers and then Rob succeeds in brazenly slipping his boner up my ass. I go, "Ahhhhh," and stop wrestling trying to enjoy the feel of the thrusting in my ass but my ass really is too sore and I tell Rob about it. He reluctantly pulls his boner out, asking, "You sure?"

After thinking about it for two seconds, I shrug and can't resist that 'look' in his eyes, so I go, "Well maybe a little more," and Rob fucks me slow for a long, long time. After the first minute or so, it's all pleasure and I moan quietly as Rob's hips keep moving. I'm on my back, my knees pulled back so far they're touching my sides. Rob's got a hand on the bed next to either side of my chest, his face hovering over mine with my hands around the back of his neck, my fingers intertwined as his hard fat cock goes back and forth in my ass, seemingly forever. It feels so good now and I like that Rob's making squeaky sounds as the sensations coming off his boner must be awesome. I'm soon floating in the air feeling like the most special person on earth. They'll be a price to pay and I'll probably be walking funny all morning but this is worth walking funny.

Oh man, after almost forever, but too soon at the same time, our climaxes happen within ten seconds of one another and we're both moaning and scrunching up our faces at the sensations of orgasm. Omigod it's worth anything doing this with him. Eventually, we get out of bed and Robby's really attentive asking what he can do for my sore rectum. I let him baby me by lying on my stomach while Rob's gently wiping his cum that drooled out onto my butt cheeks and all around my anus and then he's being extra gentle wiping inside my wide-open asshole a little. He spreads a creme on my ass that won't help at all, but it's the thought that counts.

And, yes, I still get excited about Rob and me having awesome sex together and I get excited about how he treats me special afterward and how fantastic I think my boyfriend is and how wonderful everything about our lives has been all summer and even better here at college in our own apartment. If I seem to be overdoing it, being too enamored of Robby, or my behavior seem a little childish or immature... too fucking bad! I'm not some stoic guy who tries being super cool, too cool to get excited about stuff. I'm enjoying life and not afraid to show it. That's me, what can I say?

Then, after the fucking and touching there are routine parts of life that need to be dealt with too. For example, it's become obvious to us that our schedule is fucked as far as breakfast/lunch are concerned. We have another 12:30 class today which means we need to have either a too early lunch or very late breakfast.

Thinking about that we also need to deal with the mundane bathroom necessities, me walking a little funny with every move I make and exaggerating it to get some pity looks from Rob. We're finally getting dressed as Rob's saying, "I guess it makes more sense to have breakfast, right Dylan? My hot dog idea the other day wasn't as good as your breakfast idea yesterday." I shrug, mumbling, "Breakfast it is then; you wanna help?" He begs off saying he wants to get our stuff from the desk organized; the stuff we left last night when we got involved in other matters.

Rob goes to do that and without him to see me I stop overdoing my sore ass routine. It got me plenty of sympathy from my stud lover boy, but enough is enough. As I'm cracking some eggs in a bowl to mix for an omelet I can't stop grinning because this is the sex life I've always envisioned I'd have. Then Rob comes back in the kitchen grinning at me and without a word grabs the Windex and some paper towels. I know what he's doing. We exchange smirks because I know he's going to clean my cum shot off the wall in front of the desk before organizing our college papers on top of the desk.

And my ass isn't a problem, not by the time we leave for our 'History of Rock & Roll' class. Actually, I can't remember feeling better. I loved the way Robby did everything last night and this morning, and even doing homework with him was fun. I keep glancing at him during the drive to campus thinking how much I admire and love him. He's my man alright and I grin to myself remembering how much I hated when Ray would claim he's 'my man'. He'd say it before, during, and after he fucked and spanked me as hard as anyone ever has. God, he was a terrible person but an awesomely dominant 'top'. For a short time he was the most dominant awesome 'top' of my life, and yet I didn't even like him near the end of that summer. And how my mind drifted to thoughts of Ray, I can't explain...

Time passes by okay and classes are over and I'm again carrying Rob's and my backpacks to the pickup. It's Thursday, a little after three o'clock in the afternoon and now there is a for-real three-day weekend looming in front of me. That thought makes me smile. I've been smiling a lot today. Sure, Rob will want to do our study work tonight but then it'll be a study-free, three-day weekend. And while I have no idea what we'll do, I do know it won't have anything to do with college studies.

Back at the apartment, I'm thinking about all the sexual heat Rob was throwing around last night and this morning. Yeah, it was special and not something I take for granted. The best part is that Rob mostly initiated our sex; it was his idea. The one exception was our fuck in the shower; that was my idea but Rob was definitely 'up' for it, so to speak. Oh, and yeah, I guess I got us going there at the desk doing our homework but Rob was responsible for some of it. And, yes, I'm hoping for an encore tonight.

Sigh, it was exceptional sex and a lot of it, and consequentially I'm again not horny at all. That doesn't mean, however, I've lost interest in 'topping' Pony. No, I have not lost interest in that. Whenever he's ready for that I'll be all over it, but I'm going to wait for him to indicate when that is. His emotions have been erratic because of problems at home, problems that are finally on the mend I think.

Yeah, horny or not I've had a 'topping' sort of fever in my brain and I've had it for a while now. It's the other end, no pun intended, of anal sex and last night Rob's excellent 'topping' of my ass had me thinking how cool it must be to be him. I don't mean I want to change anything we do together, absolutely not, but I was thinking today in class how good Rob must have felt being 'the man' doing the fucking and observing me in an ecstatic state, one that he was making happen. Oh, I don't know exactly how to put it, but it's something like that. I'm getting like Danny trying to explain something; it seems obvious in my head but gets mixed-up trying to put into words.

I know what the bottom line is though, and again no pun intended... it's that I've got an itch to fuck a cute 'bottom' boy. I wanna be the aggressive, sort of dominant 'top' and Pony's nominated to be the cute 'bottom' boy I was referring to. After saying all that I'm not texting him. Let him text me if he wants to because of what I said a minute ago; he's been a little screwed-up in the emotions department. And then my phone pings. Holy shit, just like that! And its Pony texting, 'Where are you, Dylan?' Wow, cue the scary music. I was just this second thinking about him.

Instead of texting him back, I call his cell phone, "How ya doing, Daryl? I'm at the apartment just chillin'. What's up?" He goes, "Ya know what, I'm not even going to yell at you for calling me, Daryl. You're so high on my list of people who I most admire, I'm okay with you calling me that once in a great while... if you insist." I go, "Thanks, whaddaya want?" He goes, "Oh boy! Right there, that was rude the way you said 'Whaddaya want'? Am I'm annoying you? That's what it sounded like and it's the kinda shit that brings you down a couple of pegs on the list... the list that you used to be on top of." Heh heh, I chuckle and mutter, "Sorry, but I don't know how else to ask it. How about this: Daryl, I hope you're well, um, what can I do for you?" He says, "A little better. Hey, no more screwing around though, do you wanna start our running program again? Ya know, like we did last year..."

Oh yeah, last year we'd run three or four days a week and then work out at the fitness center after running. Good healthy exercise but even better was the sweaty, healthy fuck we'd have afterward. That combination of physical activity and then sex is really special. Pony's a physical fitness nut, or at least he was in high school. He was on the track team and I think the swim team too, or was it gymnastics? Anyway, it all served him well because that boy has a really taut, hot body even though he's slimmer than me. He has those long tight muscles like long-distance runners have.

It was chilly walking from class to the pickup but then that's actually good weather for running, so I'm like, "Yeah, super idea, hotshot. Let's do it!" He says, "Meet me at the track, okay?" The track is on the other side of the ballpark, an easy walk for him from his dormitory. I mutter, "Ten minutes. See you there."

Well okay! This is a great idea and Pony's sounding more like himself too. Perhaps he's heard more good news from his parents. I change into sweatpants and then put my hoodie back on. I'll be a little cold at first but after running a mere quarter mile I'll probably be sweating.

Pony's already there when I park the truck at the entrance to the track. There's nobody else here, which is perfect! Huh, the sweatpants I lent Pony are on the first bleacher row alongside two bottles of water. He's wearing gym shorts as he stretches. The shorts are too big for him with the pant legs down to his knees. Probably borrowed from Donald, his roommate. He's also wearing the sweatshirt he borrowed from me that matches the sweatpants on the bleachers.

When I get out of the pickup, the sound of the door slamming makes Pony look over. He gives me a little wave and I do the same. Huh, the sunlight shining off his glasses obscures his eyes and he looks like a very thin alien from another planet. Jogging over to him, I go, "Only pussies need to stretch before running." Pony says, "That's one of your more ignorant utterances." When he said that it sounded like the voice he uses when talking to anyone other than me. Yeah, for reasons I've never figured out he has a totally different, sweeter personality with me than with anyone else.

I say, "Hey, you! It's me... talk right!" He laughs, "You're always saying my glasses are smudged, but I can still see who it is. I know it's you. It's just that we're gonna run now and I know about running whereas you do not, so I gotta be in charge of this." I go, "No, ya don't," He says, "Yes, you listen to me because I know what to do to get ready for a run and you're clueless."

I make a 'face' at that not that I give a shit about any of it, and he adds, "C'mon, pussy, do some stretching like I'm doing." The good thing about this is he's getting back to his old self. Blowing out air noisily like I'm frustrated, I imitate him doing stretching for three or four minutes and then mumble, "Fuck this! I'm ready, let's go!" Nodding his head, he runs in place for a bit and then says, "Yeah, okay, I'm ready too," and we start jogging around the half-mile track.

After fifty yards or so, he asks, "Is it possible for you to jog any faster without cramping up?" I go, "What? Of course I can jog faster! I'm not going to right now though... I'm pacing myself," and he goes, "Jesus, my grandmother can run a faster mile than the pace we're on." I chuckle and then mutter, "How about if your grandmother bites me," but I pick up the pace a little. Once around the half-mile track and I'm already feeling winded, so I ask, "When can we stop for a smoke break?" He grins, mumbling, "I usually smoke as I'm running." Oh sure!

A little further on, I ask, "Have you heard anything more from your parents?" He tells me again that his dad sent a text instructing Pony to call him and Pony did call this morning. His dad was not exactly friendly, but he did say he appreciated Pony's efforts and then like parents will do, he ended with a lecture about how bad Pony's behavior was last summer. He couldn't leave it on a positive note, ya know! From what I've heard from Pony about his dad I'm not a fan of Daryl's dad or his parents in general for that matter. Granted, I'm only getting one side of the story but I'm siding with my little brother here.

Nodding my head to acknowledge I heard him, I've decided to keep it on a positive note myself, saying, "Ah, just forget the last part of your dad's conversation, Pony. Concentrate on his positive early comments. I'd bet anything that both your parents are thrilled you've made this effort to appease them. They couldn't or wouldn't do it so your dad probably feels guilty and is trying to justify his lack of parenting by reminding himself about your rebellious behavior last summer. That's an asshole move on his part obviously... just saying." He looks over at me, so I add, "Some people need to get a dig in whenever they can, ya know?" He says, "Well, no offense but if you're referring to my dad as an asshole, you don't know him, do you? I'd appreciate if you'd stop the name calling where my parents are concerned." Huh? Well, I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! I try to take Pony's side and he gives me that bogus crap!

Now I feel like saying something negative like his old man did. I start to say something sarcastic but Pony looks at me grinning and says, "Gotcha, didn't I?" Oh fuck... he was yanking my chain. I go, "What? Noooo! I knew you were just breaking my balls." By now I'm sort of gasping out whatever I say while Pony's voice shows no strand from running, as he adds, "Dad was spiteful and he can be a bit of an asshole at times but I was spiteful last summer and a bit of an asshole myself so I figure we're even on that one point. Still, you're right; he always needs to have the last word." I'm totally winded and can only nod my head at that as Pony, in a conversational voice, adds, "I'm used to dad saying shit like that. Here's the thing though... there was no talk from him of pulling me out of college and that's mainly what I care about." I manage to nod my head again and gasp, "That's good..." He grins at my obvious exhausted condition.

We've almost completed a mile as we approach the bleachers for the second time so, after a gasping inhale, I ask, "How fast was that?" and Pony goes, "Six-minute and ten seconds," and he holds up what looks like some kind of stopwatch that he'd been carrying in his left hand. I didn't notice it until just now when he held it up.

I'm thinking, 'Wow! That's a helluva lot faster than I expected. That's fast! And then Pony bursts my bubble by laughing. He then shakes his head, mumbling, "Omigod, I'd be ostracized beyond belief if anyone from my high school track team knew I did a six-minute mile. It's too humiliating to contemplate..." What the fuck?

He's still jogging alongside me even though I'm going the slowest I've jogged since we started this forced march. I'm too winded to even consider talking now and Pony knows it so he just smiles at me as we jog up to the bleachers again. I stop and Pony does too. Leaning over I've got my hands on my knees breathing deeply with my legs feeling tight and achy.

He pats my shoulder and says, "You're looking pale, Dylan. You're not used to running. Hey, you do not want to overdo it your first time running this year or you'll be too sore tomorrow to do it again. Um, ya better sit on the bleachers. Ya know, and catch your breath." I nod, and mutter, "Yeah, well you're right that I haven't been jogging much since I did it with you last year." He goes, "You haven't been jogging much? How 'bout not at all." I gasp, "That too, yeah."

I sit on the bottom bleacher row trying not to gasp for breath. Pony asks, "Would you like me to massage your calves? They've probably tightened up on you." Is he serious? He says, "I know how to do it properly, so...." He is serious! I'm like, "Yeah, that sounds sexy, Pony, but that's okay, I'm good." Nodding his head he grins and rubs my head, saying, "I can't let anything happen to you! How about if you watch me run, okay Dylan? Here, you time me." and he hands me the stopwatch adding unnecessarily, "Just push this button when I start." I mutter, "No shit, this button, huh? The only one on this stopwatch." Chuckling he mumbles, "Yeah, that button, old man." I snort out a chuckle myself now, and then mutter, "Uh huh, okay, young man," and off he goes at what seems like twice the speed we were running at the first mile. I watch him and he is really something to see alright.

Drinking, well actually it's more like I'm gulping down a half a bottle of water as I watch Pony's going around the track, his skinny legs looking longer than I know they are. I mean we're the same height but it's the wide fast strides he's taking that makes his legs look longer as he runs smoothly, fast, and effortlessly. He looks over at me from the other side of the track smiling his big smile at me every ten seconds or so and then he runs faster. Jeez, why's he care about showing off for me? He's gonna have a heart attack!

Without slowing down he comes flying around the curve and ten seconds later he's passing me sitting here on this bleacher. I hold up the stopwatch and yell, "Four-minutes, eight seconds!" and he laughs out loud knowing that's bullshit. He actually ran the half mile is two-minutes and twenty seconds. Gravel from the track kicked up behind his sneakers as he flew past me with another wave of his hand.

The next time he passes me the stopwatch shows two minutes and ten seconds for that half-mile. The third time he's coming up to the bleacher area I stand up and get in his way to put my arm around the front of his waist stopping him, but he was already slowing to stop. I go, "I'm impressed, Pony! Enough though, you'll hurt yourself." His glasses are steamed-up as he hugs me with the side of his sweaty face against mine. He's breathing hard as he gasps, "Hug me harder, Dylan."

His chest's heaving and his heart's hammering fast as I give him a squeeze. He hugs me back even harder for like ten seconds that seems longer because this is awkward. What would someone think who might be passing by? I don't mean a gay thing, I mean a thought like 'Why the fuck are those two goofs hugging like that?' You know, what could be the reason? I think I know what Pony's reason is and it's that he's been mad at everyone in his little world and they've been mad right back at him so long now that he needs some plain old fashion human affection. And I'm nominated to provide it.

Pony's always liked playing the little bratty brother with me anyway. It's a running joke with him, but right now he's not playing. He needs a hug for real... and don't we all need one once in a while?

He lets go of me and steps back, saying, "Runners always get a hug for doing super times, ya know? You'd see that if you watched track and field events on TV." He's feeling self-conscious apparently, so I go, "Well I don't watch that on TV but there's nothing wrong with hugging." He shrugs, "Well, they do hug... just saying." His eyes are moist and there's a tear streak down one cheek. He's been overly emotional and on the verge of tears more than a few times the last few days, plus obviously, he did cry openly that one time. How the fuck could his parents be such hard asses? Pony's so freaking likable!

After gulping down the rest of the water from my bottle, he goes, "C'mon, Dylan. We need to jog around more slowly now to avoid cramping up." I start jogging with him, mumbling, "I can understand your need to do this, but I've been sitting on my ass." He goes, "I need the morale boost of you running with me." I go, "Oh, that."

We do a slow jog around the track and when we stop at the bleachers he holds his arm out, saying, "Well?" I chuckle and then give him a hug. A quick hug and then I rub his head messing up his damp hair. Pony pulls the sweatpants on over his gym shorts and, carrying the empty water bottles, we walk back to the pickup as Pony's finger combing his hair, saying, "Do you think you could cut my hair a little bit shorter?" I'm like, "What the...? Why?" He shrugs and I mutter, "Jesus, Pony! Saturday you're getting Danny's special flattop haircut." We get in the truck and Pony says, "Yeah, but I want to send another selfie with shorter hair, plus as you can see I shaved the regular way this morning and it'll show Dad I'm getting even better at being the good nerdy brown-nosing boy he wants me to be... and on a consistent basis too, like every day. Better and better."

Rolling my eyes, assuming he's joking, I ask, "You wanna go to the fitness center now?" He nods, "Yeah, I wanna go there but first if you don't mind maybe you'd be so kind as to drive me to the Admin Office to see if UPS delivered my duffle bags yet." I'm like, "Of course," and he asks, "And how about that second haircut?" I shake my head, "No, Pony! Your parents will think you're being a smart-ass if you send another selfie with slightly shorter hair. They'll think you're mocking them. I even think the flattop selfie on Saturday will be too soon. You just sent that other selfie." He thinks about it and says, "Okay, I'll take your advice. I won't send the flattop selfie until a week from Saturday. Do you think that's okay?" I go, "Much better, yeah."

We drive to the Administration offices at the edge of the campus and I sit in the idling pickup in a 'No Parking' zone, asking, "You have your ID, right?" He pats his side pocket, muttering, 'Yep," and then he gets out and runs inside to see if his stuff arrived. A couple of minutes later he comes out dragging two duffle bags so I hop out to help him. We throw both bags in the truck bed and then drive to his dorm to drop them off. Leaving the pickup illegally parked again, we both carry a duffle bag to his room and then run back to the truck.

Driving to the fitness center, I ask, "How'd that volunteer thing at the YMCA work out for you yesterday?" He goes, "It was a very worthwhile experience. I tutored two seven-year-old girls who needed help reading. Oh man, they were so sweet I wanted to hug them, but no touching allowed, ya know?" I go, "Oh yeah! That's how to get your ass in a vice. No matter your best intentions it can be too easily misinterpreted as molesting or something. And isn't that a sad fucking state of affairs for our society nowadays?" He nods his head but he's thinking about something else, asking, "If I don't send a selfie, would you give me a second haircut like I asked for a few minutes ago? Um, even though I am still gonna get the flattop for the reason I told you." I whine, "Pony, cutting a little more of your hair is so dumb!" He whines back, "But I, um, well I just like you cutting my hair because I get your undivided attention." I go, "I'm sorry but it's too nutty! I don't wanna do it. Wait until Saturday, okay?" He gets this cute pleading expression going for him now, saying, "Pleasssse Dylan! I don't ask for much!"

I snort out a laugh at him claiming he doesn't ask for much as if I owe him something, but oh man... he's got a cute way about him! Blowing out my cheeks and then exhaling noisily, I shrug, "Yeah, sure." I guess he needs somebody paying attention to him and while this will be stupid, I'll do it for him. Fuck, ya know, I should like this haircutting because I'm into guys' hair but I can't get into it now because it's idiotic for one thing, and Pony's too, um, needy right now too and that kinda ruins it.

Pulling into the fitness center's parking lot I want to get us talking about something that's more normal, so I ask, "You said you were getting to know your roommate better. Um, what's his name again?" Pony says, "His name is Donald Johnson, and yeah he's been very nice. We had dinner together and we did the YMCA thing and he's very, um, polished like, and um, refined or something. Ya know, he's very well spoken and he looks classy... nice fucking clothes too so I think his folks got some bucks." I ask, "What's his sports specialty?" As we get out of the pickup, Pony says, "Soccer, although I forget his position. Christ, I don't know a thing about soccer." I go, "Me neither," and we go inside.

Lots of people are here working out on the various pieces of equipment, both guys, and girls. I don't do this fitness center thing hardly at all although Ryan had us guys doing a weight-lifting program with free weights both freshman and sophomore years, so it's not like I'm a weakling. Pony shows me how some of the equipment works and it's kinda fun but we're soon sweating up a storm and busting our nuts trying to outdo each other. Amazingly I rather easily out lift him and do more repetitions on the equipment than Pony, which surprises me. I don't correct Pony's problem with arithmetic as far as our repetitions go, etc... He claims we tied on everything but I'll save the fact he cheats for another time when he's emotionally stronger, which I hope is very soon.

I'm ready to call it quits after like forty minutes so I happily concede to Pony that he's the endurance champ. He pats my back saying, "You don't do this as often as I do. Don't feel bad." I chuckle and go, "Okay," and he says, "I'll help you with your endurance but it'll take some time and you'll probably need to give up smoking." I just nod and smile, trying not to laugh. He looks happy as a puppy dog for outlasting me on that last machine. I don't even know the name of the damn thing.

In the pickup, Pony asks, "Can we hang out together some more? Oh, and you still need to give me a better haircut." Jesus! Looking at my watch I see it's almost five o'clock. Shrugging, I go, "You can hang out with me as long as you want but I'm gonna need to pick Rob up pretty soon. I'll text him." We're still in the fitness center's parking lot as I text Rob: 'How's practice?' About three seconds later my phone rings and I almost drop it. Pony laughs, yelling, "It's alive!" Damn, I need to get steadier nerves. It's Rob calling and he goes, "Hey, Dylan, Coach says I need to look at some videos with Carl for like an hour. Do you mind? We'll be done at six, no later than that."

I'm looking at Pony, who's looking at me with anticipation on his face. Oh fuck... he's cute even with those fucked-up glasses. I hold a finger up to Pony indicating I'm still talking and then tell Rob, "No, of course, I don't mind," and then I tell Rob, with a tone in my voice like, ''If you can even believe this shit!' "I'm with Pony who just informed me he's not at all satisfied with his haircut so I need to do it again." Rob laughs as Pony's nodding his head to encourage me. Rob goes, "Well, that's entirely bizarre but you said he's been having a tough time, right? He needs you to mentor him a little." Oh, Rob's feeling a tad guilty about spending extra time mentoring Carl tonight so he throws that curveball at me; mentioning me mentoring Pony, which I'm not. Still, touche, Rob!" Chuckling, I go, "Mentoring, huh? Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing with Daryl."

Rob goes, "Actually, what you're doing is being an awesome friend to your little buddy. But then you're always awesome, Dylan!" I go, "Yeah, I know... heh heh. But seriously, do you want me to be at the ballpark at six o'clock? Um, or was that an estimation." Robby using the word 'buddy' when referring to Pony makes me wonder if there's a hidden meaning there, not that it matters. Rob goes, "Um, yeah, it'd probably be better if you wait until I text you 'cause I'm hoping to be done before six. It's not just Carl and me. The Coach suggested all the mentors and their freshman look at video tonight. Sort of enforced volunteering ya might say."

Okay then, no problem. We end the call and, looking at Pony, I'm like, "Okay then, let's go to the apartment." Pony does his big smile, saying, "Yes!" As I drive away, he goes, "Oh, and maybe, um, remember that time you shampooed my hair and massaged my neck and shoulders... and that whole thing you do, ya know? You know, all that shit you do sometimes." I go, "I guess. What about it?" and Pony says, "Oh nothing except if you wanna do that today it's okay, I won't mind. You can do it if you want." I wonder what else 'he won't mind'. Jeez, but I can't help liking him... actually, I love the little fucker."

I'm not sure I should say this, I mean considering his shaky emotional status and all that, but I'm curious so I'm gonna say it anyway. I go, "Please don't take this the wrong way, Pony, because it's not meant in any way to be critical of you, but how come you act like you're about sixteen-years-old when you're with me but yet with everyone else you act like you're maybe twenty-five?" He shrugs and says, "Because you're the only one who lets me get away with my immature act... and I crave affection, in case you haven't noticed." I nod my head, mumbling, "Oh, that. Just wondered, that's all. It's cool..."

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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