Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 29

by Donny Mumford

It's loud in the apartment with everyone trying to talk over the music. Heh heh, a damn good thing our next-door neighbors, Bob and Midge, are at Foxwoods or wherever the hell they said they were going. Anyway, with the decibel level stupidly high and Carl speaking quietly, I can't hear everything he's saying. Something about a person named Pat Martinez.

Trying not to sound exasperated, I'm like, "Sorry, Carl, I didn't hear all of that." He looks over at the guys in the living room, mumbling, "I don't want anyone else to hear me." I can't imagine how the hell they could! Blowing out my cheeks and then exhaling in a slightly frustrated manner, I'm thinking... 'First, it was the drama of Stosh and my friend, brainwashed Connor with his recently acquired gay affectations, and now Carl. I mean, any other time I'd be happy to look into Carl's serious-looking eyes and give him my full attention, the cute little fucker... heh heh, but I need to finish this freakin' dinner right now...

Looking for Robby to maybe step in here, I glance at the guys in the living room and see almost everyone moving out to the balcony again. They're doing it loudly too with guys talking over each other and then I hear Connor's unfortunate giggly-laugh. Well, I'm glad there's something for him to laugh about anyway.

Oh man, this dinner party was a dumb idea! My objective was discovering something useful I could do for Connor and that isn't going to happen. Even if by some chance I get to have a more personal discussion it'll be pointless because Stosh is always right there too. Hopefully Rob and Chubby spend enough time with Connor and Stosh that they recognize what I see, which is that Connor is in over his head in that relationship. Maybe they'll have a suggestion as to what we can do to help... assuming there is something we can do.

Only the two ice hockey players, Carl's snooty roommate, Paul Towers, and Pony's very nice roommate, Donald Johnson, remain inside with snooty Paul walking over near me to get a beer from the cooler. He smiles, saying, "It sure smells good in here, Dylan. Italian is my favorite meal." Huh! That wasn't snooty. I nod my head, saying, "Thanks, I hope I don't screw it up." He goes, "I'm betting on you," and he walks back in the living room to sit in the armchair that's up against the wall. Donald sits on the footstool and they continue their discussion about, um... ice hockey, I assume.

Turning back to Carl's problem, I'm like, "Who's this person Pat whatchamacallit you mentioned? Um, and is this Pat-person a guy or a girl?" While saying that I'm glancing at the guys on the balcony, curious about who Stosh is talking with and see him drinking his Mexican beer standing behind Connor who's talking with Chubby. Stosh isn't saying anything but I'd love to know what Chubby's saying.

Carl backs up near the refrigerator, asking, "Would you come over here in the corner, Dylan?" Looking over at him I fixate for a second on the redheaded flattop haircut that he just got a few hours ago. It gives my dick a twinge thinking how sexy it would have been to do that haircut for him myself. Looking away so I'm not staring at Carl and maybe making him self-conscious, I see there are only three of Stosh's Mexican beers left on top of the other cans. Huh, for a person who rarely drinks 'anything alcoholic', he sure chugged down those first three beers fast.

Joining Carl at the corner of the kitchen, I'm like, 'Where were we?" He whispers, "Um, the Pat person is Pat Martinez. He's a guy in my dormitory, um, and I'm in an athlete's dorm, Dylan... not a co-ed dorm." Nodding at him again, I'm like, "Uh huh. What was the other stuff you were saying?" Still whispering, Carl says, "Well, last night I was in the dorm's recreation room where there's couches and a big TV and a ping pong table and whatnot. It's where some of us hang out instead of staying in our room, ya know?" I go, "Sure. What a shocker the college is pandering to the athletes again by providing special privileges like that entertainment room." He goes, "Huh?" and I shake my head, muttering, "Nothing. Go ahead," so he says, "Well, I've talked with Pat a few times before and it's kinda weird but what we mostly have in common so far is that neither of us drink. We're like the only two guys in the dorm who don't like beer or whiskey. Anyway, we make fun of the guys who act stupid after they've had a couple of beers. We're all freshmen ya know, so some of the guys don't know how much to drink yet."

I force a grin and a chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, it must be funny, but what did you wanna ask me?" He shrugs, "It has to do with Pat." Nodding my head, I glance at the bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce, muttering, "Uh huh, go ahead." He says, "Well, it's really embarrassing so I can't tell Rob 'cause he's my mentor and I don't want him to think... um, anyway this Pat and I are laughing and then he asked me if I smoked pot and, of course, I have. I smoked part of a joint once in high school, so I said 'yes'. I didn't want him to think I was a total dork, ya know? Plus, you and Rob have encouraged me to make freshman friends, so Pat's a freshman, and..."

Taking a deep breath, I'm like, "Yes, that's good, Carl. Um, ya know I don't mean to be a dick but I've got to get this dinner finished before everyone is too drunk to eat it. So, um, could you cut to the chase, please? What's the basic situation, or whatever...?" He goes, "Well, we go to Pat's dorm room and smoke pot, um, like three joints I think, or at least two. Sharing them and we had... oh man, it was fun laughing our asses off and falling all over each other. This was in his room, ya know?"

Nodding my head, "Yes, in Pat's room." I step away to stir the spaghetti sauce hoping Carl gets to the point eventually, and why the fuck couldn't he tell his mentor this? Carl takes a deep breath as he steps over close to me and says, "Okay... well, I can't remember why exactly, but Pat said, ya know... um." I go, "It's okay to just blurt it out." Wrinkling his cute nose, he shrugs and says, "Anyway, it sounded sensible at the time." I go, "What did? What did Pat suggest that sounded sensible?" Carl whispers, "He thought it would be funny if I pulled my sweatpants down." I go, "He pulled your pants down?" Shaking his head and giggling nervously, he goes, "No, he told me to pull them down... my sweatpants."

I stop stirring, asking, "Did you, um, pull down your pants?" Shrugging and looking embarrassed, he mutters, "I think I did and then Pat pulled my underpants down too. We were laughing though, you know? Like a joke and then Pat asked me if I'd ever been, um... blown. If anyone ever blew me." I'm nodding while trying not to grin, managing to mumble, "Uh huh, have you? Has anyone sucked your dick?" and Carl shrugs, "Yeah, I'm gay like I told you so, whaddaya think?" I shrug now... it's contagious, the shrugging. He goes, "I mean, well no, I've never actually had my, um, dick sucked, not exactly. Mostly I guess it was just me and the twins, Roy and Rick. You know, doing a circle jerk."

I'm opening boxes of spaghetti and dumping them into the big pot of boiling water... Where'd the twins come from? Carl stopped talking to watch me until I go, "You and the twins doing a circle jerk. When was that?" He shrugs, "Oh man... let's see. I guess it was back in middle school." I go, "You guess? Are you saying that's the last semi-gay experience you had, and it's actually not even gay, was when you and the twins were twelve and thirteen-year-old boys sometimes jerking-off together? That doesn't make you guys gay, and what happened with Pat?" Carl does an elaborate shrug, so I'm like, "Nothing happened? This guy Pat didn't blow you?" Carl goes, "That's what I don't know. When I woke up I was in the chair in his room with my pants around my knees... my privates hanging out there." Jesus, I'd liked to have seen that 'cause I just know Carl has a ginormous cock. Well, I don't know why I think that except he's little and it'd be ironic... never mind that now.

Carl has stopped talking again so I prod him on by asking, "So, forget the twins! As far as you know nothing happened between Pat and you, right?" Another shrug from Carl as he's mumbling, "All I know is Pat was gone. I don't know what he might have done to me when I was out of it." I'm confused so I ask, "Is that a question? I mean, what are you asking me?" He goes, "I'm asking how do I know what Pat did to me while I was sleeping?" Squinting my eyes, I'm like, "C'mon, you're not pulling my chain, are you?" He goes, "No!" and I'm like, "What did you do when you woke up?" Shrugging for the umpteenth time, he mutters, "What could I do? I pulled my pants up and went to my room. I don't know where Pat got to." I'm like, "That's it?" Carl makes a face, saying, "Yeah, but what I really wanted to ask you, and this is between you and me, right?" I nod, "Uh huh, whaddya really wanna ask me?" He makes another face, muttering, "How can I tell if I've been raped?"

Okay, no guy eighteen or nineteen could possibly be this fucking clueless. Except maybe Carl. It's like this though: I'd rather assume he's serious and risk the chance of me being made the brunt of some elaborate joke, than call bullshit on Carl and find out he's serious thereby hurting this kid's feelings. I'd rather suffer being the dope getting punked than risk humiliating Carl and I'm certainly not going to express my true feelings to him about this whole deal, which basically can be summed up as... you gotta be shitting me!

As I'm thinking about that, I dump the simmering spaghetti sauce into the big 'rented' casserole dish, asking, "Um, Carl, would you bring over the stand to this casserole dish please?" Things are moving along with this dinner finally. The spaghetti will be done in like five minutes so I need to get everything set up as a buffet.

When we have the stand set up I light the little Sterno cans under it hoping they'll keep the sauce hot, then I'm like, "Okay, Carl. Um, here's the thing, it's highly unlikely Pat did anything to you when you were passes-out, and you can forget about being raped. You'd know if you were raped. This guy Pat would need to be the worst kind of perv to play with your junk when you were passed out, and he probably isn't." Carl goes, "Yeah, I don't think Pat's a pervert. He seems kinda inexperienced like me, but how can I be sure? What I needed to know, basically, is do I still have my cherry? It's embarrassing as all get-out, but I guess that's what I'm asking you."

Oh boy! I'm doing some fake coughing, covering my mouth as Carl pats my back, asking, "Are you okay?" Nodding my head, "Yeah, I'm fine, Carl." Actually, I'm trying as hard as I can to be serious for him, but come on! Carl keeps throwing me straight-lines that beg to have smart-ass responses. I control myself though, and ask, "Do you remember anything at all after Pat pulled your underpants down?" He shakes his head, so I ask, "When you woke up, did you notice any stains on your pants or your legs... was your penis sticky maybe?" He shakes his head while giving me a 'look' like I must be out of my mind. I'm like, "Good, um, how about your ass? Did that feel sticky or wet?" He goes, "No, nothing like that." I ask, "Well, what did you notice?" He shrugs, "I didn't notice anything. As I said, I pulled my pants up and went to my room and got ready for bed, but I couldn't sleep very well. I was embarrassed and, I don't know, I felt stupid. Whaddaya think, Dylan?" There goes another one of those straight lines like a pitch right down the middle of the plate.

I'm grinning to myself at the picture in my head of Carl lying there on that chair with his junk hanging out surrounded by his red/orange pubic hairs. Oh man! I get Carl to pass me dinner plates from the cabinet over the counter. I'll use the plates as platters. One for the meatballs, one to pile the sausages on, and then another for the pork ribs. Our dinner plates for tonight are the ones we rented. We wanted all twelve dinner plates the same, plus they're nicer plates than the ones that came with the apartment.

Carl says, "So you don't think I was, um, violated? Why do you think I fell asleep in the chair though?" I go, "I'm not sure you fell asleep. Here's what probably happened... and it happens all the fucking time, Carl. You and this guy Pat must have given off signals that maybe there's some mutual sexual interest there between you, but when you pulled your pants down and then Pat pulled your underpants down perhaps Pat, um, made a move on you of some kind and you, being unfamiliar with a move like that, um... well, you fainted." He looks troubled, mumbling, "I fainted? That sucks... excuse my language." I quickly amend that by saying, "Um, that's the unlikeliest of the possibilities. More likely you passed out from the pot. Yeah, that's probably it. You're not used to smoking grass. Or, the grass was doctored; that's a possibility too. Fuck, maybe the joints were doctored with cocaine, which unfortunately happens sometimes."

As I'm using a slotted spoon to get the meatballs from the sauce, Carl goes, "Yeah, the grass," and then he plucks a meatball off the spoon and puts the whole thing in his mouth and goes, "Ah, ah, ah... hot!" Can I believe he did that? With an incredulous expression on my face, I watch him sucking air into his mouth cooling the meatball and then he chews it and swallows. He grins and goes, "Yum," and I'm like, "That was meat." He looks startled for a second and goes, "It was tofu?" I'm like, "God forbid, no!" then, he's like, "Pretend it was." I nod, "Yeah, that was the only tofu pretend meatball I've ever made."

He looks a little shaken as he moves his pink tongue around in his mouth and then says, "That did not happen.," and then, "So, I wasn't raped? What a relief!" I'm staring into his eyes, still not sure I haven't been 'put on'. Well, he's either a world-class actor or he's being sincere, which is troubling in and of itself. Carl goes, "Thanks, Dylan. I didn't think I was raped, but I wanted to be sure I've still got my proverbial 'cherry'..." I'm like, "Proverbial? and he earnestly says, "Um, please don't tell anyone about this, okay? Don't mention the tofu meatball either if you don't mind." I nod, mumbling, "Okay, I won't."

Biting my tongue not to laugh, I continue transferring the various meats onto separate plates with everything steaming hot, just the way it should be. Glancing at Carl, I still can't detect suppressed grins or smugness so I guess he was being truthful about that preposterous story. Hard to believe... but there it is. He looks relieved actually. I ask, "Have you seen this Pat kid since then?" Carl goes, "No, it only happened last night. That's the other thing I wanted to ask you about. How should I act when I see him? What should I say to him?" He's still moving his tongue around probably rethinking his vegetarian status.

I go, "Help me carry these plates of foods to the kitchen table. We'll set it up like a buffet. Bring those big-ass serving spoons too." He hesitates, saying, "As a loyal vegetarian, one who may have inadvertently eaten a meatball for the first time ever, I'm not sure it's okay for me to be this close to all this meat." I go, "What...?" and then I see him grinning, as he goes, "I'm kidding you, Dylan." Whew, good to know. I wasn't sure I'd recognize the difference after that story he told me.

As we carry the plates to the kitchen table, I ask, "Well, do you like this guy Pat?" Carl nods his head, "Yeah, I think I do," and I go, "Then you'll wanna tell him something like... 'sorry I crapped out on you last night, Pat, but I haven't been getting enough sleep lately and that was some wicked bad-ass pot ya had there'." Carl's frowning as I go, "Yeah, seriously, Carl, start with something like that and then take a bit of an aggressive posture. Be on the offense and not defense by adding something like... 'dude, did you punk me with that pot? Was that shit laced with cocaine or something like that?' Ya know... and then see what he has to say."

Carl goes, "Oh, I'm not as cool as you. I couldn't say that. I get the idea though. It's like I should act as though it was no big deal... and that we're cool." I go, "Yes, that's it exactly," and he mutters, "I can sort of handle that part. I mean now that I know it wasn't a big deal for real. Seriously, Dylan, thank you for your advice. I knew you'd be the right guy to ask about this." I wonder why he thought I'd be the one to lay this on? No, I'm not asking why he thought that... I can't handle any more right now.

I smile at him, mumbling, "Glad it was nothing to worry about, Carl," and he goes, "Yeah, Pat didn't do anything after I crashed so, no problem." I'm like, "Yep, that's the idea. Probably nothing happened." He goes, "Oh? Now you're saying 'probably' nothing happened. But you said a minute ago a much more definitive, nothing happened..." and I go, "That's what I meant... definitely nothing happened. Yep, that's what I meant to say. But, Pat and you need to hook up, dude. What's he look like anyway?" He goes, "Oh man, he's not as cute as we are; you and me. Pat has nice teeth though." Jesus, nice teeth is the best he can come up with. I go, "He sounds, um, interesting." And it just hit me... haha, Carl said 'as cute as we are'.

Carl follows me around while I get the rest of the meal on the kitchen table. When he bumps into me the second time I realize I need to get him doing something. I set him up grating a big wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. I don't like grating that cheese anyway because it leaves my hand smelling funky. Just in time, the guys are coming inside off the balcony again. This time followed by a cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke.

Ya know, something I've noticed about guys in groups. It's probably unspoken peer pressure but I find it interestingly odd the way non-smokers tend to bum cigarettes and share joints smoking their asses off in social gatherings. Especially when adult beverages are also involved. And at college, I can't imagine a social gathering when alcoholic beverages aren't involved... so it's booze, cigarettes and, of course, pot. That goes for regular smokers and non-smokers alike... a walk on the wild side for some guys I guess.

As Carl's vegetarian spaghetti sauce is heating in the microwave, I'm thinking I've finally got everything ready for the dinner. The salad is out and two loaves of Italian bread with a half pound of butter so... awesome. Robby comes over reeking of booze and marijuana to give my shoulders a hug and then a quick kiss on the side of my face, asking, "What can I do to help, Dylan?" Haha, good timing Robby! I go, "We're all set boyfriend! Thanks for offering to help though."

Donald is getting a beer from the cooler near Robby and me and, as he pops the tab on the can, he says, "Hey, I'm curious guys... are 'straights' outnumbered by you gay dudes at this party? It would be the first party I've ever been to where I might be in the minority of the gay/straight variety." Then he laughs, adding, "In another regard, I'm always a minority." He means because he's African American. Paul chirps in with, "Yeah, that's right. How many of you guys are gay in here?" Carl says, "Oh, Paul, that was so rude! I'm disappointed you'd ask that." and Paul, seeming very un-snobby-like, says, "Sorry. You're right, roomie, that was rude of me. It doesn't matter anyway, right?" Huh, maybe I've misjudged Paul.

But yeah, how many guys from the twelve of us are gay? Rob and me, of course, and... and that's it. I mean there are more gay guys here, obviously, but they're in the closet: Pony, Carl, Danny, and Specks are all still in the closet. I'm pretty sure Connor and Stosh have some kind of bizarre gay thing going on so that would be eight out of twelve gay guys. Nothing unusual about that because us gays tend to drift toward one another. I tell Paul, "Well, you know Rob and I are gay but I can't speak for anyone else." Connor says, "Stoshie and I are proud to be gay as well," and he does a gay thing with his hands. That's new; I've never seen Connor do that thing with his hands before. Stosh glares at Connor, and if looks could kill... I think I'm the only one who noticed him glaring.

Anyway, Paul goes, "So only four homos then." Most of us chuckle, except Carl who says, "That word is a pejorative one and totally unnecessary and..." I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Calm down, Carl... he's joking," and Donald goes, "Yeah us straight guys outnumber you fags although I've never in my life been to a party with all guys. Where are the muffs?" Chubby says, "What, you've never been to a bachelor party?" Paul says, "Wouldn't a bachelor party have strippers? They'd be girls, right?" There's some bantering back and forth, harmless booze-affected banter about sexual orientation, most of the gays in the closet keeping quiet. all except Carl, and he's not even drinking!

To get off that awkward topic I get everyone grabbing a plate and serving themselves from the buffet. After that, I don't hear another word about who is gay or who is not. It didn't surprise or upset me that Paul and Donald joked about the gay stuff because, to me, it shows that they're not uptight about it one way or another. Actually, most people I've met in my life aren't uptight about it... or pretend they're not at least. In other parts of America and some countries around the world, I've read that inclusiveness is not a priority. I don't live in other parts of America or other countries around the world though, so I mostly concern myself with here.

While guys fill their plates Rob and I open the wine bottles and serve it in plastic wine glasses. There are beer cans and glasses of wine and bottles of water on the table as we eat. Mostly the conversation consists of ball busting and telling jokes. Occasionally someone knocks over a wine glass or a beer can. It happens when guys are reaching for bread or the salad bowl or grated cheese or hot pepper flakes, or just gesturing with their hands as they talk. The tablecloth is soon a patchwork of dark red splotches with pale-colored beer stains mixed in, and then some spaghetti sauce dots appear on the tablecloth around where we're each eating which pretty much finishes off the tablecloth. I don't believe even Robby is gonna be able to return this to the rental store for a refund.

When I was dishing out all the food on platters and various sized serving bowls I thought I'd made way too much food, but when everyone in various degrees of drunkenness is going back for seconds I begin panicking that I haven't made enough! It all gets eaten and then neither Rob nor I, nor anyone else attempts even a perfunctory cleaning-up. After dinner, everyone is either taking a piss, getting more to drink or out on the balcony smoking cigarettes or joints. By ten o'clock, after three hours of imbibing boozy drinks, there's only one sober person in the apartment and, obviously, it's naive Carl. I half expected maybe Connor would be sober too, especially considering Stosh had said Connor isn't allowed to drink, but that's not the case. I have a feeling from looking at Connor that the no-drinking rule was out the window a couple of hours ago. I'm guessing he's had some shots of bourbon to go with a few cans of beer... so good for him.

Neither Connor nor Stosh has had much to say which in Stosh's case is a very good thing. I haven't been able to get them in a conversation without others involved so my hope of butting into their lives is on hold... maybe permanently. It'll be interesting to hear what views, if any, were formed by Rob and Chubby tonight about Connor's situation with Stosh. That'll be a conversation I'll have with them some other time... not tonight!

Anyway, even though Carl is sober he seems as happy as can be conversing and mingling with us drunks. I have never been able to put up with drunk guys myself, not for very long. I mean when I'm sober. When I'm drunk I find most other drunks to be really good company! The exception to the rule of me not being able to tolerate drunks when I'm sober happened a couple of times when I've been sober and Chubby's been extremely drunk. Yeah, I liked helping him out... we were much younger then but those couple of times were actually very cool. Helping my brother...

Obviously, it makes me feel good that everyone is complimentary about the dinner and seemingly contentedly full as well. It helped that they were all pleasantly drunk, I suppose. I've got a glass of wine wandering from one little group to another both inside, and then outside on the balcony with the smokers and while doing that I'm overhearing some interesting conversations, as well as participating in some myself.

On the balcony, Carl's hockey player roommate from Canada, Donald, is telling us how they always, always, always have a designated driver when he and his buddies go out drinking back home. Pony goes, "Oh, dude, I know this guy who, whenever he draws the short straw and has to be the designated driver, at the end of the night he purposely drops his drunk friends off at the wrong houses." Then Pony laughs his ass off at his own story, which is contagious. It is a bizarrely funny thing to do, so we're all joining in with his laughing. I'm like, "Good one, Pony." Danny overhears that and, with his clothes reeking of pot, he goes, "Oh fuck, I was at this frat party last year smoking some really good shit with this chick from the Islands and I thought I was doing this really cool dance with her until someone stepped on my hand." We all frown and he goes, 'Yeah, it happened. I somehow was lying on the..." and the aloof, Paul Towers, goes, "Smoke another joint and tell us more." Danny goes, "Excuse me, but who are you again?"

I pull Danny aside to avoid any possibility of a confrontation and he goes, "I'm fine, Dylan. Who's that asshole though?" I mumble, "That's Carl's freshman roommate from Canada. He probably feels out of place or something. Just ignore him." We go inside to get fresh beers as Danny's saying, "But there are beers outside, baby," and I go, "Yeah, but I need to take a piss too." When I step back I bump into Pony who came in right behind us. He goes, "Me too," and as Danny's getting another beer Pony and I go into the bathroom. Standing side by side pissing, I'm like, "How many joints have you smoked? And, where are you getting that shit anyway?" Pony says, "Oh man, I like your dick... it's pretty. When the hell we gonna, you know...?" I say, "Soon, Pony. Who is smoking pot with you?" He goes, "Fuck, just about everyone. We were passing joints around out there," and he waves his hand randomly, adding, "You know, most everyone was smoking grass before we ate."

We both shake our own dicks getting that last drop off, as I ask, "Did you bring the pot?" He shrugs as he's putting his dick away, saying, "I had three joints with me but they got smoked fast. I shared and, oh yeah, Danny had some grass and we rolled a few." I go, "Danny, huh?" We get beers as Carl's coming inside, saying, "I need some of the Coke now, Dylan." I nod at the refrigerator and he takes out the big bottle of Coke he brought with him. As he's pouring Coke into a plastic cup, Pony asks, "Did you at least try the wine, Carl?"

Putting the bottle back where he got it, Carl says, "No. Hey, do you guys know who Troye Sivan is?" I nod, "Yeah, he's that super cute kid who sings. He started out on YouTube I think. You know, just like Justine Bieber did." Pony goes, "Who the fuck are you guys talking about?" and Chubby comes in and asks, "Where's the Wild Turkey bottle, bro?" I point at the coffee table. Chub gets the bottle as John Beverly comes in, saying to all of us, "I gotta drain the dragon," and Chubby goes, "Thanks for sharing." John Beverly was naturally following Chubby and as he walks down the hall he says, "Count me in if you're pouring shots."

Chubby's looking around for the plastic shot glasses. I go, "They're outside, Chub," so he grabs some twelve-ounce plastic beer cups that are stacked on the bar, saying, "Everybody's in, right?" Carl says, "Um, none for me." Pony goes, "Hey Jeff, what was that shit you were telling us earlier? Ya know, about life with its deep meaning." Chubby pours more than an ounce of bourbon in each plastic cup, muttering to Pony, "I'm sorry, who did you come with?" Pony steps closer to me, and goes, "I'm Dylan's friend." Chubby grins, mumbling, "I know that... I'm just fucking with you, Pony."

Twisting the cap back on the bottle of Wild Turkey, Chub's like, "Well, it's not the meaning of life story, Pony. It's life's story if you're referring to the one how we all arrived in this world." Pony goes, "Yeah, that's the one." Chubby chuckles and says, "I'm a little surprised you don't already know how that happens, but here goes. It usually starts with each of our biological fathers ejaculating into our biological mothers. As you know, there are 40 million to 1.2 billion sperm cells in each ejaculation, depending on how fertile your biological father was and I'm guessing your father was on the lower end of that range, Pony, but that's not a problem because you're here, right? There are ten trillion galaxies and each one contains ten billion stars. No, wait... that's another story."

I chuckle as Pony goes, "No, I meant the other story about a single cell." Chubby's chuckling to himself again and then he goes, "Oh, yeah the single cell story. Well, we all came into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust." Pony turns to me, saying, "Yeah, this is the one. Wait till you hear this." I go, "I've heard it ten times already," and Chubby grins at me and then says, "The single cell is actually much, much smaller than a tiny barely visible speck of dust. The single cell we all started out as was sub-atomic small and invisible to the naked eye. Nearly invisible even with electron microscopes... that's how small we all started out...very, very tiny." Pony, as if he's explaining it to us, says, "Jeff's saying it was micro-fucking-scopic," and we chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, we heard."

John Beverly's back, "Oh fuck, not that BS story again, Jeff." Chub goes, "It is not BS, numbnuts... it's a reality of our existence. Amazing reality." Pony says to me, "I love hearing your brother talk," and Carl says, "I do too, Pony." Chubby chuckles again and says to me, "Ya gotta love the children, don't ya?" and then to everyone, "Let's do these shots now, boys." We flash down the shots and Pony goes, "Shots are better than beer, right Jeff?" Chub goes, "That's an entirely different story, Pony. I gotta finish this one first. So, forty weeks after that almost invisible speck that was all there was of us at one time, there have been at least six trillion cells that have grown from the original almost invisible one and then they all get crushed together in the vise of each of our mother's birth canals and out we pop screaming our asses off. Then... the world starts in on us." Pony goes, "That's the part I like. When Jeff says... then the world starts in on us!"

Danny comes stumbling in holding a piece of paper and laughing his ass off. The beer in his hand tilts and beer dribbles out of his cup onto the floor as he says, "Listen to this shit. Specks wrote some love poems to this chick, Pamela. Omigod, these fucking love letters would make a buzzard feel queasy." Specks charges in and grabs the piece of paper from Danny, yelling, "Asshole! That's private shit, Monday!"

John Beverly burps and then starts telling us about pickup lines he's used that he even admits are lame. I don't get it at all, but don't ask and then John points at Chubby and goes, "And, oh fuck, listen to this. A couple of weeks ago Jeff and I are trying to find a hot spot in Quincy that some frat boy asshole told us about the Saturday night before. So we're in Quincy in the general vicinity, we think when we see this hot babe, or maybe she was a whore. Anyway, Jeff goes, "Hey," and she comes over to the car. Jeff, haha, says to her something like... I'm looking for a little action. You know wine, women, and song and I could do without the song if I had to, so the whore says..."

Ya know, being high on alcohol helps, but some things just hit me as wicked funny the way that did, or maybe it's because Chubby was the one who supposedly said it and I can hear the inflection in his voice when he says shit like that. Still grinning I'm getting another beer from the inside cooler when I hear Paul coming in off the balcony, saying to a very drunk Donald, "Turning and turning in the widening gyre/ the falcon cannot hear the falconer." Donald goes, "Is that from a rap song?" and Paul huffs, saying, "No, it's Yeats!" Donald goes. "Oh, I don't think I've heard any shit of his."

Snickering at the pompous Paul, I go outside to get some fresh air. Most everyone is out here again so I squeeze between Specks and Pony, who are sharing a joint and giggling like little kids. Looking back I glance at Pony's flattop haircut. It's beginning to get that 'soft' look after three weeks. Actually, that sort of what my hair looked like right after I got it cut. I insisted Danny do a long version of a flattop. Gee, it doesn't look especially cool like that... huh.

Sidestepping the pot smokers I get to where Connor's standing next to the grille keeping warm. He has a can of Bud in his hand. I touch his shoulder and he turns giving me his sweet-boy smile. He's always had an awesome smile. He goes. "Hi, Dylan," I go, "Hey, Connor," and then make a 'face' rolling my eyes at Stosh who's pontificating to Danny, saying, "I was just explaining this to a guy the other day. There always needs to be leadership. Personal relationships absolutely require leadership to be successful," and he rubs Connor's nearly hairless head, then leaves his hand on top of Connor's head, adding, "I always subjugate my boyfriends. That's my first order of business, right Connie?"

Danny, who isn't interested and therefore ignoring Stosh, asks, "Dylan, do you know if it's supposed to rain tomorrow? Does anyone know? We might be able to play ball in the afternoon." Stosh continues. "It didn't take me long with Connie here, but there is a right way and wrong way to get on top of a person." Danny goes, "Uh huh, excuse me and, um, that's wicked interesting, dude, but do you got any grass on you?" Stosh makes a huffy sound and then goes, "Of course not," and Danny looks at me and goes, "I know you don't have any on you, Dylan." I shrug and say, "I think it is supposed to rain tomorrow." I'm trying not to grin because Danny's working hard with his 'straight' act even though Stosh, whether he realizes it or not, just basically reconfirmed he and Connor are gay. Two hours ago Stosh acted like Connor was crazy when he said they were gay.

Getting no response to his search for pot, Danny goes, "Okay then, I'll see you girls later," and he slides against the balcony's railing to further his quest for a joint. Stosh frowns at Danny but doesn't have anything to add. I was interested in what Stosh said about subjugating Connor and as I'm contemplating kicking him in the nuts. Stosh looks at me and says, "Thanks for inviting Connie and Me, Dylan." Oh...

He has a beer, a can of Bud even though he called it 'swill' earlier. I go, "Well, it's not often I get a chance to see Connor, and..." Chubby bumps my arm and I say to Stosh and Connor, "Excuse me for a second." Chubby wants to bum a smoke off me so I give him what's left of my box of Marlboro Lights, saying, "I've got half a carton in the bedroom, bro. You keep those..." as Chub starts to say something John Beverly grabs him and starts whispering something in Chub's ear. Fucking John Beverly...

Turning back to Connor I hear Stosh pontificating again. This time to Connor, saying, "It's well known... everybody fucking knows this. The exact quote is, 'Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake'. That's famous advice from the Chinese philosopher, Confucius, and modern generals quote it to this very day... that and other things he's said like a thousand years ago." He swallows some beer and then mutters, "I'm surprised they didn't teach you that during your two years in the Army." As I'm giving Connor's shoulder a squeeze, I say to Stosh, "Actually, that's a quote from Napoleon Bonaparte about two hundred or so some years ago," and after getting that stab in on the pompous Stosh, I ask, "How you boys doing? Did you get enough to eat?" Then I can't help rubbing it in and say, "Oh, I see you've switched to the American swill, Budweiser, Stosh."

Stosh goes, "Better than nothing," and then Connor brightly exclaims, "That was a great dinner, Dylan! Killer meatballs too!" He's definitely been drinking and I mean more than that can of Bud he's presently holding. And just then he sounded like the Connor I remember from days gone by. He was lively and sweet and full of nice things to say back in the day. It makes my heart hurt to see him now with this... oh, whatever. I smile, saying, "Thanks, Connor! I need to confess it was Chubby, um, Jeff who made the meatballs. I'll tell him you said they were awesome."

Butting into our conversation, Stosh pokes my chest with his pointing finger and says, "Hey, how come everything you say to me is meant to put me down?" I'm like, "Whaddaya mean?" He goes, "I knew it was Napoleon who said that. I was just about to correct myself but you want me to look stupid." Connor says, "Stop it, Stosh! That's idiotic," and I see Stosh's face get bright red as he repeats the word, "Idiotic" as if he can't believe his ears. I go, "Chill the fuck out, Stosh," and then I ask him, "Have you been smoking the pot I smell out here?" Stosh goes, "Don't be ridiculous," and Connor winks at me and makes a 'face'. I think that means he's had a toke or two."

No one is smoking a joint out here now although I can still smell it. I guess they smoked all they had, whoever 'they' are. Stosh seems to still be simmering about Connor basically calling him an idiot so to get him thinking about something else, I'm like, "So, Stosh, how's your job working out for you?" He goes, "It's okay," and Connor goes, "Dylan, Stosh's job is going great. It's like coming to Merrimack was meant to be! This job Stosh has is so much better than his job in Texas. Stoshie got promoted after only a couple of weeks, so things sometimes work out awesomely like it was destiny we moved here to North Andover." Chubby appears out of nowhere and puts a hand on Connor's shoulders, saying, "Oh Connor my friend, nothing in the universe is preordained. There's only chance and, of course, physics obviously." Stosh mumbles, "What the fuck does that mean?" and then he does a double take looking at Chubby and me standing next to each other, adding, "Oh, you two are brothers, right?" Chubby pats my shoulder, saying, "Yes, I'm proud to say we are." Stosh looks around as if he's looking for someone, and then says to me, "I thought that little-redheaded kid was your brother." I shake my head and Connor goes, "They look alike, I think that's what you mean, right Stosh?" He shrugs, muttering, "I guess."

Connor tilts his can draining the very last drops of his beer and then asks, "Can I get any of you guys another beer?" Stosh glares at Connor but I guess he doesn't have the balls to say anything with Chubby and me here. Chub doesn't know about Stosh's earlier remark that Connors not supposed to drink and he says, "Yeah, thanks, Connor. Um, and if you happen to spot that bottle of Wild Turkey ya might wanna bring that out too. I see the shot glasses are out here." I see them too... there on the outside window sill.

Conner starts to leave but Stosh grabs his arm, saying, "What the hell. I guess I'll have another beer too," Connor mutters, "Sure thing," and Stosh goes, "And, Connie, get me one of those cups off the bar. It's barbaric drinking out of cans." Connor goes off on his mission and I wonder again what happened to Stosh's definitive statement about 'Connie doesn't drink anything'. Chubby goes, "So, Stosh, you're not barbaric, huh? That's cool, but I can't help noticing you're going all retro hippie on us with the long hair and beard and obviously you have a total disregard for what you wear?" Jesus!

I can tell that Chubby's already pissed at Stosh's attitude. That was an outrageous statement though, even for Chubby, so I get ready to tackle Stosh if it comes to that. Stosh doesn't take offense though. It must be Chubby's smile and the way he said that insulting remark about Stosh's appearance, making it sound almost like a good thing. Stosh goes, "Yeah, I was born too late. I wish to hell I did live through the sixties and seventies." Chub nods his head, saying, "Huh, really? I always thought that counterculture bullshit sounded thin. They were stupidly passionate about abstractions mostly, don't ya think? And then, of course, they were what ya might call flaccid about human feelings." Stosh goes, "Huh? What?" and Danny comes over, saying, "I don't think anyone's got any grass left. I was gonna score some off that bitch that comes on campus every Thursday but her prices are way too high." I have no idea what he's talking about but he looks so cute and sexy. I like his longish hair too, now that I'm used to it.

I'm like, "Well, you know better than ask me, Danny. I'm that rare dude who doesn't care for pot." Chubby produces a joint from his shirt pocket, asking, "You mean something like this, Danny?" I see Connor at the sliding glass door struggling with three beers, a plastic cup, and the bottle of bourbon so I help him carry that stuff outside.

I don't know what happened to Chubby's joint but no one is smoking it when I pass out a couple of beers and realize there isn't one left for me. Chubby's pouring shots for everyone, using the shelf of the outside grille as a table. I take mine and do a shot and then grab Pony's beer and chug some of it. Pony hits Chubby's arm and says, "That Wild Turkey is some smooth shit, Jeff." Making a 'face' I go back inside to get a beer for myself. There are four guys inside playing a game of liars poker, which I ignore. I'm trying to figure out how much I've had to drink tonight. Hmmm, too much but not as much as I normally would have, or as much as everyone else has had, and that's because I was cooking and dishing out the food in the kitchen earlier. And that's a good thing!

Danny comes inside and loses five dollars in the liar's poker game before coming over to me grinning and getting close to me, in my space actually, as he says, "Your little friend, Pony, talked me into giving him a haircut tomorrow." Well, fuck, that screws up my plans for a Sunday with Danny. I wanted it to be like we had last time I got a haircut. I must look disappointed because he goes, "Aw, you can get that worried look off your face because I'll get him done first and we'll send him on his way. You and I will have the rest of the day to ourselves." I didn't know I had a worried 'look' but now I purposely make a 'face', muttering, "I wasn't worried! What the fuck ya talking about?" and Danny points at me with his index finger, saying seriously, "Be at my dorm at high noon. Oh, I might need to do a few haircuts for my bros from the team too, but that'll be earlier." I laugh then, asking, "Earlier than noon? Bullshit. You won't be up by then and you'd be wicked hung-over if you did get up by noon." He goes, "You'll see, baby," and I go, "We definitely do need to talk though!" Danny's look of confusion tells me he's forgotten what he told me about him telling Robby we're in love, which we're not!

I acted annoyed but I like Danny being in my space even though he smells like pot. Now I'm looking at his sexy mouth and his chin with those whiskers just at the end. I lightly brush my fingers through those short, soft hairs at the end of his chin as I say, totally without rancor, "Yeah, we need to talk so we can straighten out that misconception you have about us being in a serious relationship. AND, most importantly, the thing you said earlier about Rob needing to know about us... there is no 'us'. It's, um, insane to think that." He's just grinning at me, probably not listening. I swipe the bangs off his forehead with the tips of my fingers, adding, "Do not say anything to him!" His bangs drop down almost to his eyes again.

Danny finger combs his bangs to the side and then pats my shoulder and, continuing to keep his voice low, he says, "Easy, baby. I didn't know what you meant at first about us needing to talk, but now I do." I go, "Yes, that's because I just told you what I meant," and he goes, "Don't be getting yourself all worked up. I'll explain it to you tomorrow." I go, "I'm not worked up and it's more like I'll explain it to you tomorrow." He goes, "If you're referring to what I think you are, I was just making a suggestion. You know I always go along with whatever you want." Omigod, what a crock of shit that is!

Danny's doing his purposely obtuse 'routine' again. The routine he told me he does to entertain himself while frustrating others. Before I can say more, Specks comes inside yelling, "Look what I got, Danny," and he holds up a wrinkled joint. Maybe it's the one Chubby had. Danny turns and goes, "Ya gotta be shitting me," and then he pats my head, saying, "Tomorrow at twelve. Be there!" and he heads outside to the balcony with his roommate... a couple of potheads!

After putting a few things in the dishwasher while sipping on my beer, I'm happy to have some time alone. I can see Chubby holding court on the balcony again. That makes me grin. It also makes me want to hear what he's saying so I go outside where I think Chubby's talking about one of the professors he told me about weeks ago, and it's a funny story. Chub's saying, "Yeah, the first fucking class I had this year and it's with a Professor Abbah IbinAbdellah. Fortunately, he was nice enough to write that name on the whiteboard or who the fuck could spell it. This dude was wearing a heavy dark tweed three-piece suit and one of those checkered racing flags on his head. I leaned over to tell this snatch sitting next to me that this guy might not be from around here. Then the guy feels the need to explain to us he's our professor. Well, I was pretty sure he wasn't a fashion consultant. It was like ninety degrees outside the first day of those stupid introductory classes and he wearing a wool three-piece suit."

There's laughing obviously because us drunks laugh at almost anything. Chubby's going on with his story but I don't hear it because Pony's saying in my ear, "I'm getting another flattop tomorrow, Dylan." I nod, "Yeah, Danny told me," and Pony goes, "Fuck, I wasn't going to at first but Danny convinced me that I look killer with this haircut. Whaddaya think?" I go, "It's okay, but I thought you only got the flattop to appease your dad." Pony nods at someone who bumps his arm and then passes him a one-inch roach. Pony takes a drag and holds it in his lungs while holding the roach up to me. I shake my head and he puts his hand behind him. Someone takes the roach as I hear more laughter coming from Chubby's group.

Exhaling that offensive smelling smoke, Pony's eyes flutter and then he goes, "Yeah, he told me you're the only person on the planet who would look better with a flattop than me." As I'm rolling my eyes, he goes, "And get this... Danny said I can come over tomorrow as a special exemption to the Saturdays only for haircuts rule." I go, "Whoopee," and he goes, "He's making an exception because you and me are close friends." I go, "Oh, huh."

Pony looks wasted, but he's not slurring his words. I guess that doesn't happen when you're stoned, not to the degree a person slurs his words when hammered. I hear John Beverly's voice and look over. Pony and I listen as John says, "Yeah, dogs are awesome but some not so much. These dogs scared the shit out of me." He's talking to the hockey players. He goes, "They were these two big German Shepherds, both of them big. They were black and brown with those long mouths and big teeth outside the fucking drugstore, both have their leashes sort of loosely around a parking meter. I wanted to get in the store but I'm not getting near those dogs 'cause they're both doing this growling in the throats. Ya know what I mean? Anyway, their owner finally comes out... this big scary fucker of a man and when these ferocious looking big black and brown dogs see him and stop their growling at me. They shrank down on their haunches making whining sounds and this big guy snarls at them in some language. I think it was German but anyway, the two dogs cringed and squirted urine onto the sidewalk. They were scared shitless of that guy. I was scared shitless of the dogs and they were scared shitless of that man! Weirdest thing I ever saw." Jesus, the stories are getting more preposterous by the minute.

I go back inside and glance at the kitchen... what a shit-house! Whose idea was this anyway? The rest of the night I only sip on a couple of beers. If I hadn't had the three or four shots of bourbon I'd probably feel okay tomorrow morning... but I did have the shots. More crazy stories and jokes with guys laughing their nuts off, more drinking shots and beers while smoking too many cigarettes and then more joints popping up one by one from somebody... and it's loud and the next time I check my wristwatch somehow it's approaching one o'clock in the morning. What? How'd that happen?

Finally, the first two guys say their goodbyes and go out the front door. Then everyone starts leaving although it takes a little while. Neither Rob nor I suggested they start leaving but we're not trying to get them to stay either. And I must say they're all very nice about complimenting everything, so that's cool. The coats were all put on our bed because we had no other place to put ten coats. Guys are in the bedroom getting their coats with Rob and a couple of guys saying goodbye at the door, Connor comes over to me and says, "I'm a little drunk, Dylan," and then he hugs me around my neck with both arms, his body pressed to mine. I big hug for two seconds and then he gives me a sloppy kiss on the mouth and puts the side of his face against mine keeping his arms around my neck as he says, "This was the best night in quite a while for me, Dylan. Thank you and please don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing and you know I'm a survivor."

He lets go of me but kisses me again. I assume Stosh is in the bedroom with five or six other guys getting his and Connor's coats. Connor goes, "Haha, I think Stosh is scared of your brother and you. He was very cautious of what he said tonight." I go, "He should be afraid of us," and I smile, asking, "You're okay then?" He nods, "Yeah, and you and me are getting together for coffee this week, right?" I nod, "Any time you text me, I'll be there, Connor." He says, "I love you. You saved my life and I won't waste it... trust me please and don't worry about me so much." We both see Stosh carrying two coats down the hall and turn to him as he says, "I'm a little smashed but Connie, you can drive, right?" Connor nods and Stosh pats my shoulder and says, "It was a good time, Dylan. Thanks."

I go, "My pleasure," and Stosh asks, "Ready, Con?" Connor goes, "Yep, I'll see you next week, Dylan," and they leave. Huh, I want to feel a little better about Connor but I'll wait on that for more evidence that he's alright for real. Booze can cover up stuff and it can make us say stuff that's not exactly always accurate. And Connor's got those gay affectations from somewhere which puzzles the shit out of me. Maybe I'll ask him about that during one of our coffee dates.

Everyone is hugging and bumping fists dragging out the goodbyes but eventually, it's just Rob and me in the apartment looking at the disaster around us. When I turn off the CD player the silence is deafening. We look at one another, shrug and then take down the rented table and fold up the chairs. I'd already cleaned the casserole set-up and put a few things in the dishwasher, but that's all we do. We both make a 'face' and Rob goes, "Ah, the hell with it, babe. Let's get to bed." Amazingly, Rob isn't as bad off as I expected he'd be... we just want to go to sleep. We manage a cursory cleanup of ourselves in the bathroom and then get in bed. Ahhh, so nice. No messing around tonight and sleep comes on me quickly. My last thought is: I'm glad it's over, and my very last thought... no more big dinner parties!

Sunday morning the ringing of Rob's cell phone wakes me out of a dream. I know I was dreaming but try as I might, I can't remember it. Robby, lying next to me, is cursing under his breath. I go, "Are you going to answer that?" He mutters, "I guess," and slides out of bed as I check my wristwatch: it's almost ten o'clock and when I move my head it goes boom, boom, boom! Yeah, but not as bad as some hangover 'booms' I've experienced.

Robby saying into his cell phone, "Yeah, dad, good morning to you too and, no, I wasn't sleeping! I've got a bit of a sore throat is all. What's up?" Robby looks over at me and mugs a 'face' at the 'I wasn't sleeping' lie. He wanders out of the bedroom, saying, "Next weekend, you say? Oh man, um..." I'm thinking his dad just asked if Rob can work next Saturday. Robby always says 'yes' and I'll probably go with him again.

Turning over, I pull the covers up to my chin and try drifting off to sleep but Robby's back, saying to his dad, "I'm sure he will. Yeah, we'll probably come home Friday night, and.... what?" He listens, and then says, "Okay, then... we'll come home Thursday night. We don't have class on Fridays." He's listening again and now I'm listening too because the 'he' Robby referred to can only mean me. I guess I'm working next weekend. Well, I can always use the money.

Rob leaves the bedroom again, he's walking in circles, but this time when he comes back he has a glass of OJ in one hand and three Advil in the palm of his other hand. He's got the phone hunched between his ear and shoulder the way he does all the time. Leaning down to me he offers the pills and juice so I sit up and take them from him. As I drink the juice and swallow the hangover medication, Rob's saying to his dad, "Sure thing. No problem, dad... hi, to mom and we'll see you, um, Thursday night I guess. Okay, yes, we'll try to get there early enough for dinner, sure."

He ends the call and hops on the bed to rubs my head, saying, "Guess what?" Putting the juice glass on the nightstand, I mutter, "We're going home Thursday night so we'll be ready to get up early for work Friday and Saturday." Smiling, he's like, "How'd you guess?" I roll my eyes at him like... seriously? He goes, "I didn't have the energy to argue with Dad about anything. I won't get paid but you will. You'll get paid for two eight-hour days at fifteen dollars an hour." I'm like, "What? Only fifteen?" Smirking, Robby says, "Omigod, I know you're worth so much more than that, baby. I know that, but that stupid overtime report we did together set in motion a new overtime policy that radically cuts back on overtime spending." I go, "Boo!" and he asks, "Seriously, do you mind working with me next weekend?" I shake my head, "Nope. Count me in, boss."

Robby goes, "Oh and, um, please don't get mad at me, Dylan, but we need to get haircuts before going home. Especially you." I go, "I know that, Robert! You don't need to tell me that all the time, Daddy. As a matter of fact, I've already made plans to get a haircut. I'll be at the dormitory barbershop today at noon. I made those plans when I didn't even know we'd be working next weekend." Rob's still holding his cell phone, as he mumbles, "Uh huh, that's so fucking excellent of you. You know what... I'll call Danny and tell him I'm coming too." Dammit!

He does call Danny and I'm silently pissed-off all over again. Yeah, just like I was pissed off last night about Pony horning-in on getting a haircut. I wanted Danny to myself today. What the hell happened to Danny's rule about haircutting only on Saturdays? That's the way Golden did it last year and Danny should stick to that this year, I mean after making an exception for me obviously.

Rob gets off the bed saying to Danny, "Thanks, I can always count on you, buddy!" I ask incredulously, "Danny was awake?" Rob chuckles, "Yeah, after his phone rang about twelve times he was, heh heh." Putting the phone on the desk, Rob asks, "How do you feel?" I shrug, "How do you think I feel? I'm hungover but it's not too horrible considering everything. The kitchen and living room are an unbelievable disaster zone though. What level of a hangover are you dealing with?" Rob goes, "I know what a disaster area the apartment is because I just walked through it trying not to break my ankle on the debris scattered around. And, um, I guess I'm not feeling a bad as I expected. I took three Advil last night and three more this morning."

With a sigh, I get out of bed and look in the mirror. Huh, I'm trying to flatten my hair with my hand, mumbling, "I'm undecided what to tell Danny I want for a haircut. What are you telling him you want?" As I'm following Rob into the bathroom, he says, "The same as last time. It was good... it'll be my haircut until graduation. Why don't you get the preppy haircut I get, assuming you don't want another imitation flattop or whatever that last haircut was supposed to be." I say, "It was a long flattop. I instructed Danny how I wanted it cut and we compromised. As I'm putting toothpaste on my toothbrush, I mutter, "And your haircut looks good but I don't want us two having the same one. Guys will break my balls for copying you, plus we're too old for something as cutesy as identical haircuts. We've not twinned boyfriends anymore. I'll ask him for, um, I don't know yet."

Robby finishes brushing his teeth, rinses out his mouth and says, "You'll figure something out. Let's clean this place before we shower." I go, "Oh God! We gotta clean this shit-house with a hangover, that really sucks the big one!" He walks out of the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, "It was your party." No shit.

I finish washing and then pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt and begin helping Rob clean the apartment. Neither of us says a word for the next forty minutes. When the kitchen is sort of back the way we want it, and we have the dishwasher running, Rob says, "So, babe, I've been thinking... why not get a real flattop like your buddy Pony has, and Carl too? I like how you'd look 'cause it will remind me of you and me five years ago. Also, Dad and Mom said we looked great after our last haircuts... it never hurts pleasing the 'rents." His parents, not mine, but I know what he means. It makes for a stress-free environment.

We're stacking the folding chairs near the door for the guys who will pick them up as I shrug, mumbling, "I don't know, maybe I'll get the same haircut I got last time. The long flattop... it's sort of a flattop. The thing is... I mean, look how funny my hair looks now. It's like two-inches long sticking straight off my head like I stuck my finger in a light socket." He says, "Yeah, that why I said you should get a regular flattop. Jesus, it's only a fucking haircut, not a life or death decision, Dylan." I whine, "Oh man, a regular flattop like Carl's? I always feel scalped after haircuts like that." He shrugs but apparently doesn't have anything more say about it. The truth is I don't care all that much myself except I'm dealing with this fucking haircut fetish too.

It takes us another hour to finish cleaning. The vacuum noise gets my headache pounding again so I take two more Advil. Finally done the cleaning, I'm carrying two trash bags to the basement knowing it's dumb to agonize about what haircut I should get but it's still on my mind and, haha, it doesn't help matters that I've got a huge crush on my barber.

Yes, haircuts are mostly traumatic events for me while merely a bit of a nuisance for everyone else. Hell, for them it's not even that big of a nuisance because of how convenient it is having Danny the barber right here on campus... and it's free!

After dropping the trash I hear the shower running as soon as I step inside the apartment. It's already past noon which is when Danny told me to be at his room and I haven't showered yet or eaten anything, so I text Danny that we'll be late and then as soon as Rob's done in the bathroom I take a quick shower. After that, I find Robby in the kitchen frying bacon and cracking eggs into a frying pan. He goes, "I'm making us a late fried eggs breakfast, babe. How about putting some bread in the toaster for me." I go, "Oh, nice, you're making us breakfast! Sure, I'll do the toast." As I'm doing that, I ask, "You feel okay?" Rob goes, "Not great, but okay, I guess. Um, if you don't mind I'd like to get my haircut first. When you were in the bathroom the coach texted me to join him and other mentors at the ballpark so Coach can go over film of the freshman's batting problems. And, ya know, the guys like Carl will be there too."

Hmm, this is good! I ask, "What time do you need to be there?" Rob goes, "Before two o'clock and this is breaking my balls. I do not feel like watching freshmen in the batting cage but I gotta go." I'm thinking... Oh, do tell! An afternoon with my 'crush' Danny just might work out for me after all! We'll need to get Pony on his way too though. Yes, this can work out after all.

We take our time eating breakfast and then drive on campus and as we're walking into Danny's dormitory, I say, "I guess I'll get the same long version of a flattop I got last time." Rob shrugs. Haha, I guess that wasn't remotely on his mind. He's like most guys and doesn't feel it's worth spending much time discussing haircuts. He said I should get a haircut like Carl's and that's all he has to say about it.

I knock on the door and Pony opens it. We do a regular fast guy's hug. He still hasn't gotten his haircut so I'm like, 'What the hell?" and we walk in seeing Danny cutting some other guy's hair, plus there's another guy sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, obviously waiting for a haircut too. Danny looks up and says, "Super hangover day, huh?" Robby mutters, "My hangover isn't too bad." Danny goes, "Sorry to keep you boys waiting but these two got here first and then, um, Pony". Rob goes, "Well fuck, Danny! You said... um, I need to be at the ballpark before two o'clock!" Danny shrugs like... not my problem. Well, this blows!

Pony hits my arm, smiling and saying, "I hear you're gonna get a real flattop like mine this time?" I grumpily mumble, where'd ya hear that?" He grins, "A little birdie told me." I snap at him, "Don't fucking worry about it, alright?" It must have been Danny who told him that. I can't imagine why though.

Glancing at Pony sitting in the desk chair, it's obvious I hurt his feelings and he's pouting. Goddammit, I didn't want to do that! I rub his shoulder and lean over close to him to sort of whisper, "I'm sorry for snapping at you, I've got a hangover, Pony. Ya know, if I looked as good as you do with that haircut, goddamn right I'd get the regular flattop like yours." He adjusts his glasses and mumbles, "You look way better than me with any haircut." I give the back of his neck an affectionate squeeze, muttering, "Well, I guess you're right about that," and we both snicker as he leans against my hand so I give his neck another little squeeze.

Watching Danny cutting that goofy-looking guy's hair I can't help but be impressed how effortlessly he does it. It's like he's been giving haircuts for years. Then, after a few minutes' worth of frustration building up in me about all these guys getting a haircut on Sunday, I ask a bit too forcefully, "What the fuck happened to Saturday being the haircut day, Danny?" He's not put off by my aggressive tone. He gives me his friendly cute smile and goes, "Every Saturday is haircut day, yeah Dylan, but these guys are overflow that I couldn't get to yesterday 'cause I had to get ready for a dinner party. I closed up shop early. It was a killer dinner party though!" I go, "Yeah? Thanks," and he adds, "Omigod though, I got wrecked from too much weed, babe." Rob, who was looking at a Sports Illustrated magazine, looks over at Danny, probably because he called me 'babe'.

I check out the guy sitting on the floor and then look away because there's nothing interesting about him... nothing to see here. He's a little on the husky side, weight-wise. Nice head of hair although wasted on him.

Pony leans past me to bumps Rob's arm telling him, "Um, Rob." Pointing at the guy sitting on the floor, he says, "Troy's next and then you can take my spot. I'll wait." Robby goes, "Thanks, Pony, that's very considerate of you." Rob and I are standing here like statues so I nod at Speck's bed, figuring we'll sit on it while we wait. As soon as we step toward the bed though, Danny goes, "Um, sorry boys, but please don't sit on Speck's bed. I promised him we wouldn't do that anymore."

Glancing at Danny's bed I see a tangle of sheets and blankets so we end up sitting next to the husky guy, Troy, on the floor. Rob and Troy bump fist, muttering, "Dude!" and they talk about a coach named Salone, who's apparently the pitching coach. After listening to them for a minute it's obvious that Troy's a pitcher on the baseball team. Neither of them mentions haircuts, which is why they're here, but they're normal guys and as I said, almost all guys merely think of haircuts as a routine necessity whereas I think of them as an experience to loathe and love at the same time.

Rob doesn't introduce me to Troy, for which I'm grateful. I've worked myself up into this grumpy mood because of the way today is turning out so. Leaning back against the wall I'm obviously acting put-out and pissed-off. No one pays any attention to me being pissed off though so I only waste energy on that for a minute before becoming fascinated at the way Danny's cutting this tall blond-headed goofy-looking guy's hair. It's the haircut style I hate; the one with the fade on the sides and back with clippers cutting the hair wicked short but then they'll be a mop of blond hair on top of the guy's head. I promised myself I'd never get that haircut again and I won't. It's too stupid for words, although I do like watching Danny cut it for this goofy-looking guy. I admire the way Danny never hesitates with anything he's doing and, in this instance, that includes cutting this guy's hair so fucking short on the sides with the clippers it's giving me a boner watching him do it!

Damn, he's so good at barbering and, yes, Danny's become a better barber than me and he's way the fuck better than Golden ever was! But then, there are only a few professional barbers, and absolutely no home barbers, who are as good as Danny. He's a rare one alright! I gotta give him his props although applauding seems over-the-top so I keep my admiration to myself. None of these guys has a clue how hard it is to do what Danny's doing, so they can't appreciate it the way I do.

Danny finishes with the goofy-looking guy's haircut and the guy gets off the stool, muttering, "Thanks, Monday. I owe ya, dude," and he walks to the door where he sees Rob and goes, "Yo, Dickers, whassup? Guess I'll see you at the ballpark, dude." Rob goes, "Yeah I'll be there with my mentee, Snowdon. Ain't it a bitch though that Coach calls a meeting on a Sunday?" Goofy-looking mumbles, "Well, yeah! I'll be bringing my big-mouth mentee, Arnoldson, who is winning the batting-battle with your boy." Rob goes, "You're dreaming! Carl hits circles around that clown of yours. See ya at two o'clock."

All these assholes are ballplayers obviously. Except Pony and me and Pony wouldn't even be getting free haircuts if he wasn't my friend. The thing is though, Danny's not only giving ballplayers haircuts but his friends too... and he knows tons of guys. There are twenty-five-hundred guys at Merrimack so if he's smart he'll stop making friends immediately. Guys will take advantage of Danny.

Troy's next and he gets the same haircut the blond-headed goofy-looking guy got. He sits on the barber stool and says, "Yo, Danny, how they hangin'?" and that's it. No discussion about the kind of haircut he wants. Danny puts the cape around Troy and turns the clippers on and immediately lots of Troy's brown hair begins falling off his head. It's so different from when I was giving neighborhood guys free haircuts. With those guys there was always the whining question, 'What haircut should I get, Dylan?' None of that whining with Danny as the barber... he gives you the haircut he wants. I suppose he sort of follows what the guy's last haircut was, only Danny cuts it shorter... haha. It's kinda funny really because no one seems to notice or, more likely, they don't care. The dopes!

It takes less than fifteen minutes and Troy's walking toward the door slapping hands with Robby on his way out. Pony says, "Go ahead, Rob. I'll wait." It's the same with Rob. He sits on the barber stool, Danny puts the cape around him and begins cutting Rob's hair the exact way he did the last time. There wasn't a single word exchanged about it. So Rob is getting a very short preppy haircut with a part on the side and a cute pompadour in front. Uber-preppy, plus short, but short hair is mostly in fashion now anyway. How it got to be the fashion, and so quickly, I don't fucking know... but it is. Actually, I kinda think Robby looks youthful with that haircut.

Danny combs Rob's hair the way he feels it looks best and Rob leaves it like that and then slaps palms with me as he walks by, saying, "We'll text, babe. I don't know how long this damn video session will last." I mumble, "Yeah, okay, I'll text you later, Rob." Pony gets on the barber stool and I get off the floor to sit in the desk chair Pony just vacated. Danny goes, "How ya feeling this morning, Pony?" He goes, "A little fuzzy," and that's it for discussion. It's a good thing Pony wants the flattop again because that's what he's getting. Gee, I wish I could be as blasé about getting a haircut as everyone else is.

Danny starts right in using a very short attachment on the clippers running the clippers up the side of Pony's head. The buzzing clippers keep my fetish running kinda hot. Done the sides and back of Pony's head, Danny's now spraying that hideous hairspray and brushing Pony's hair up and back on top using the hairdryer to dry it so Pony's hair is standing up as straight as it can get. Then Danny cuts the same flattop haircut Pony got last time and the same one he gave Carl yesterday afternoon.

A haircut is such a simple routine process for most guys while for me, fuck, it's much more. Christ, right now I'm pushing at my boner and worried about what I should get for a haircut. Jesus, watching these haircuts I can hardly catch my fucking breath and my stomach, all the way down and around my groin, feels all funny and strange, and scary. Getting a haircut is definitely not a simple routine thing for me!

It takes Danny less than ten minutes to do Pony's haircut and I can still smell that hideous hairspray now that he's done. Fuck, Pony's haircut looks so short and spiky with his scalp showing through the wicked short hairs. No way am I getting that! I'm willing to admit though, I've never seen a neater flattop than that one. As Danny takes the cape off Pony, he looks over at me and nods his head at Pony's flattop. I guess he wants me to critique it so I grin and nod back at him, saying, "Yep, looks awesome, Danny." Christ, what a sexy barber he is! Haha...

As Pony stands he's feeling how short his hair is like every guy who has ever gotten a short haircut does. Pony mumbles, "Thanks a lot, Danny," and then, putting his glasses on, he asks me, "How do I look, Dylan?" I go, " You look cooler than I think it's legal to be in this fucked-up state, Pony." Jesus, eyeglasses on a guy with a flattop haircut? Give me a fucking break! Poor kid...

Pony grins at me, muttering, "Thanks," and then, "Well, I'm off to do some bowling." My eyes pop open as I mumble, "Bowling?" and he tells me his roommate, Donald, challenged the first-floor in their dormitory to a bowling competition. Two five-man teams from each floor. Pony, who's still feeling how short his hair is, explains, "It's competitive and fun, ya know? Losers buy the beer. Have you ever been candlepin bowling, Dylan."? I go, "Huh?" not paying much attention because I'm jittery now that it's my turn for a haircut. Pony makes a bowling motion with his arm while still smiling.

Jeez though, Pony's an awesome kid. Um, he's not a kid actually, he just acts like one sometimes. Nodding my head, I go, "Oh, candlepin bowling! Yes, I've done that a few times. Have fun, Pony. I'll catch up with you later... maybe." Feeling real affection for him, I give Pony a hug and he hugs back tightly. Nice kid. Danny stares at us with the barber cape over his arm.

Now it's my turn and, holy fuck, no one has a clue. no one could possibly relate in any way to the turmoil I go through for a simple haircut. They're lucky they don't need to deal with it or they'd all probably have hair down to their asses. With this weird scary feeling in my gut, I sit on the barber stool. I should be pissed-off for real because I had to wait an hour, but I honestly didn't mind the wait because it was fascinating watching Danny give those guys haircuts. It's so quiet now with only Danny and me in the room and the clippers silent for just about the first time since I got here. I'm gonna say something but I kinda think Danny should be the one who says something first. He's the guy in charge.

He still has the barber cape draped over his left arm as he's brushing the cutting blades of the clippers, doing it more aggressively than necessary if you ask me. Abruptly he puts the clippers down and takes the barber cape by the edges to shake it. I watch the hair clippings drift to the floor joining the different colors of hair already on the floor. There's cut hairs all around the stool I'm sitting on. Blond, brown, and black hairs... lots of them. No red hairs from Carl's haircut though, so obviously Danny swept up the hairs after he closed down his dorm barbershop yesterday.

I'm feeling ridiculously nervous and squirmy waiting for... gulp, a haircut. Nothing new about that. It's always pretty much the same although I always work my ass off to appear casually blasé like everyone else; like I'm a normal guy. Acting casual for me though is fucking exhausting. I feel weak and scary-excited and nervous, all at the same time. And especially now that Danny's my barber and he's different, he's so business-like when he's cutting hair.

Finished shaking out the barber cape, he fluffs it up and lets it settle down over me and then absently runs his fingers through his hair that's dropped to his forehead; his bangs are so long they almost reach his eyes. He finger combs the hairs over to the side where they stay momentarily before drifting down on his forehead again. Like my own hair, when I let it grow long that time, Danny's brown hair has a little wave that's not quite a curl and he actually looks good with long hair. Not stupidly long though and I normally don't think long hair on guys looks cool, but with Danny... hmmm.

Oh man, I'm fucking nervous. I feel like a little kid sitting on this stool with my feet not reaching the floor while Danny's takes his good old time doing whatever the fuck he's doing. His back is to me now as he fiddles with the various clippers and attachments. I want to say something but why doesn't he say something to me? It's so fucking quiet!

Well, why the hell wouldn't he take his time? I'm just another guy out of probably twenty that Danny's given haircuts to this weekend. I can see how it'd become just routine for him. Oh man though, my dick is so tight and it's sticking straight out. I need to adjust it to the side, which I do while trying not to move the cape too much because it would be obvious what I'm doing if Danny turns around.

It's only been like two minutes since I sat on this stool but it seems much longer because I'm kinda stressed. I clear my throat hoping it'll get him to say something. Danny nonchalantly walks behind and uses a clip to fasten the ends of the cape behind my neck and then, putting his hands on my shoulders he leans his head down close to mine and asks me a totally unexpected question. He goes, "Tell me the truth now, Dylan... are you fucking that kid?"

I'm stuttering for a second, "Huh, what? Um, who? Do you mean Pony?" and then getting under control a little, I go on the offensive, "What the fuck kind of question is that? NO! He's a friend, that's all. We hooked up last year doing some running at the track and then working out at the fitness center. Jesus, Danny!" Needless to say, my dick isn't a boner now. That question came out of nowhere!

He tightens both hands, squeezing my shoulders and saying, "Good. I'd be wicked jealous if I thought you were." I start to say something but he interrupts, quietly adding, "I know, I know, baby, that was unfair of me because I'm doing it... well never mind what I'm doing 'cause I plan on stopping. It's just that you're special to me. Well, that's an understatement... I get jealous as hell thinking you're doing it with him." I make an embarrassing gulping sound in my throat because I can't think what I should say to that... and, did he say he was giving up his other side-sex?

Hugging around my neck now, Danny kisses my cheek, murmuring, "I've told you this before... but Jesus, I get excited, turned-on actually by how good you smell. Gawd, you smell so sexy! I can't begin to describe it any better than that... sexy." He kisses my cheek again and this time his lips stay on my cheek for like five seconds before he murmurs in my ear, "I love you. I'm madly in love with you... just so you know."

Holy shit, I'm struggling to come up with some response to that when he says in a half-joking manner, "And ya know, Dylan, when you're fully my boyfriend they'll be no more screwing around on the side for you. I won't put up with that." Well, I need to say something to that outrageous assumption of his, but before I can, he goes, "That'll be a rule... I'm gonna be the only one you'll be going to bed with. Just a heads-up, okay?" I manage to mutter, sarcastically, "Yeah, riiiiight, Danny." He chuckles and then sighs and says, "I'm so tired, Dylan. When I'm done with your haircut will you lie with me in bed like you did after your last haircut? I was hung over that time too."

I'm going to ignore the 'I love you' statement and all that other nonsense as well. The fact is Danny doesn't even know what being in love means. Oh man though, when his longish hair was against the side of my face as he was hugging my neck, his hair had the faintest smell of marijuana and cigarette smoke in it and, Omigod, that turned me on! Isn't that nuts! He's a clean guy too so I'm sure he washed his face and hands but didn't take a shower so the smell lingers in his hair.

Some. but definitely, not all guys' hair fascinates me and certainly Danny's hair falls into that category... it's all part of the fetish I suppose. Danny mumbles, "For a change, baby, I do the top first. I need to break up the routine a little. Get my juices flowing to do this right for you!" and he gets the hairspray can in one hand and, while he covers my eyes with the other he sprays my hair with the hairspray for like ten long seconds. God, I hate that smell! He stops and in a conversational manner, asks me again, "Will, you, Dylan? Get in bed with me after your haircut. I wanna cuddle with you and maybe we can nap for a little while too... please!" That horrible smell of hairspray surrounds me as I mumble, "Sure, I'll get in bed with you, Danny." He brushes back through my hair and sprays more of that shit on my hair.

As he's getting the hairdryer off the desk a few drops of the stinky hairspray drools onto my forehead. Danny turns on the hairdryer and the forced hot air almost instantly dries the drool on my forehead and then dries my hair from front to back while Danny vigorously brushes back through it getting it all standing up as straight as it's possible to be. He's right in front of me, his thighs against my knees saying something that I can't hear because the hairdryer is too loud. When I feel my hair stiffly dry and standing up so straight it feels like it's pulling on the roots, it must look funny. Two-and-a-half-inch hair sticking straight up off my head. Clowns-town!

Danny turns off the hairdryer and puts it on the desk, saying, "Christ, that looks silly, Dylan. Your hair on top is at least two inches long. No, it's longer than that because it grows as fast as weeds, almost overnight it sprouts up."

Yeah, my hair has always grown out quickly, nothing I can do about it, or want to do about it! More importantly, I've been sensing a bit of a dreamy trance developing as soon as I sat on this stool. I'd like it to deepen so I don't say anything. I often get in a trance when Danny is doing something to me that feels good, not that he knows I'm in a trance.

With one last swipe of the brush back through my hairspray-stiffened hair, Danny mutters, "Look at that hair of yours, baby! Jesus, I could kick myself in the ass for letting you talk me into that longish flattop last time," and then he drops the hairbrush on the desk next to the hairdryer. I prefer swimming in this dreamy sort of trance to my earlier nervous feeling in my gut so I'm not paying a whole lot of attention to Danny's ramblings as he's finishing with, "and when you get right down to it, that wasn't even a flattop, not really. Um, I don't know what it was, but it wasn't an authentic flattop."

I take a deep inhale glad to be feeling sort of hypnotized again. Danny squeezes my shoulder and I glance at him as he smiles saying calmly, "Hey, I'm sorry, baby. I don't know why I'm yelling at you." Yelling? I didn't notice. He shrugs and says, "Hell, I'm the one who sent you on your way three weeks ago with that poor excuse for a flattop haircut. Never again, I promise."

Obviously, Danny's one of those people who can mesmerize me! It doesn't need to be a sexual thing either. Professors and my hygienist and anyone with a certain manner and voice can almost hypnotize me like this. I couldn't begin to describe what it is in these people, but I kinda like feeling this way. And, yeah, some of them are more special, like Danny who's so good looking on top of everything else. And it's his voice, his mannerisms, etc...

I'm not sure why he's apologizing but it's a good excuse for me to stare at him. He shakes his head slightly and then he again runs his fingers through his long hair getting it off his forehead. Oh man... everything about him is so sexy. It's almost as though my haircut fetish gets put on the back burner to make room for my Danny-crush and this dreamy trance.

Done talking, Danny picks up the clippers and turns it on. He gets his serious 'face' on now that he's getting down to business. Omigod, him being my barber makes my dick get so fucking hard it hurts! Holding the buzzing clippers to the side Danny does a big yawn and then gives me his awesomely boyish grin, saying, "I need a fucking nap!" I don't have anything to say to that because I'm more than a little 'spacey' at the moment although I'm trying my best to appear normal.

He gets right in front of me and moves the comb up the stiff hairs above my forehead. I can smell his minty toothpaste-breath as he exhales. Oh man, I like that 'look' of concentration on his face, plus the sound of buzzing clippers is sexually arousing to me. He moves the clippers up near the comb and at the last second I snap out of my trance and go, "Wait! What are you doing?" I should have been paying attention for Christ sakes!

Danny looks puzzled holding the buzzing clippers in one hand and a comb in the other. Taking a step back, he goes, "What do you think I'm doing?" Oddly, I'm now staring at the clippers he's holding because, well, that particular one used to be my professional, previously-owned clippers that I bought on eBay years ago. Fuck, why am I fixating on that? I'm avoiding the topic, I'm vacillating again about what haircut to get. I thought I'd decided, but now I'm not so sure. Hearing those barber clippers buzzing away kinda scared me for a second which snapped me out of my trance.

Staring at me as though I'm a crazy person, Danny goes, "Why'd you stop me?" I sound sort of whiny, saying, "Well, um, I haven't decided what haircut I want yet. You don't just start cutting a person's hair without asking what they want!" No more dreamy trance for me! Danny sort of grins, like maybe I'm putting him on. He goes, "But I know the haircut you want." I go, "How could you when I don't even know?"

He snorts out a chuckle and goes, "Don't break my balls, baby. I'm tired." I turn into all the guys I've done haircuts for in the past. The ones who always whine to me, 'what kind of haircut should I get, Dylan?' Like them, I ask, "What haircut should I get this time, Danny?" That is so pathetic of me! Yeah, I've been in this dorm barbershop for an hour and I never gave THAT little detail a thought?

Snorting out another bigger chuckle this time, he then says in a very friendly manner, "Are you kidding me? We had this discussion last night. You decided you're getting a regular flattop. Ya know, like I just did for that kid, um, your friend... Pony what's-his-name. You're not still drunk are you?" Still sounding whining, I go, "I don't remember that. And, no, I'm not drunk." He appears amused or confused and then I go, "Um, oh, wait a second! Now that you mention it I do remember you said something like that last night but we didn't decide one way or another." He grins, mumbling, 'Yes, we did," and I go, "It's just that I didn't want to make a decision last night, and now I've made my decision. Sorry to be such a dork about this, but... well, never mind why I'm a little discombobulated. I've decided... ta da!... you can do that longish flattop you did last time. I'll think of another haircut style for next time."

He flicks off the clippers and makes a 'face', asking, "We're gonna go through this bullshit again, is that what we're gonna do? What the hell is it with you and haircuts? You make a mountain out of a... something." I say forcefully, "It's 'out of a molehill'... and I DO NOT DO THAT!" Then more calmly, I add, "As a favor to you I went along with a flattop haircut last time. As a FAVOR... because you nagged me about it."

I'm sorry to dump on his parade like that, and I've probably ruined our Sunday afternoon in bed together, but it had to be said. My heart is pounding a little because I hate to cause conflict, I don't like confrontation but when absolutely necessary I forge ahead with it. Danny's not the least upset though. He snorts out another laugh, shrugs, and calmly says, "Well, first of all, I won't do that long-type flattop haircut for you, or for anybody else. I did you the favor once, as in one time only. So, ya know, forget about that... that's not in the discussion, so what's it gonna be?"

Oh man, I hate hearing that word, 'no'. Shaking his head and smiling, Danny rubs my shoulder saying nicely, "Jeez, Dylan, I just cut a flattop haircut not ten minutes ago and you nodded your head like you wanted the same haircut." What? He waits a second and adds, "C'mon, stop goofing on me, Dylan. I'm tired, baby." Frowning, I mutter, "I didn't mean... um, did you think I was nodding in agreement that I wanted the same haircut Pony got? For chrissake, Danny, I was nodding that you did a nice haircut, you're very talented but that's too short of a haircut for me... please, get serious." Danny goes, "No it's not too short! It's the exact length it should be... every fucking professional in the tutorials says so!"

Not coming up with anything better on the spur of the moment, I fall back on an old favorite and say, "Fuck the tutorials!" Danny goes, "Yeah, that's cool. Dylan. Hey, last night you agreed you'd go with my judgment. Remember? I said I'd do a regular flattop for you and you nodded your head and it was settled and then we went on to talk about, um, whatever." I'm the one making a 'face' now as I continue whining, "We didn't decide on that, Danny... you did." Goddammit, why am I whining?

Danny's making me feel funny like I've turned into a dumb little bratty kid. It happens whenever Danny starts arguing with me. Not that this is actually arguing, um, yeah it is I guess. Oh, I don't fucking know! Now Danny's acting frustrated and I my hope of today being like that great Sunday we had together last time are going down the drain because I can't decide on a haircut.

I mutter, "Sorry, Danny. Don't get pissed, it's just..." He lets out an exasperated exhale and then puts the comb in his shirt pocket and the clippers on the desk and says, "I love you, but you know as well as I do that you need someone making decisions for you. I can do that better than, you know who, well... better than Rob. There, I said it." Oh man, I don't want to get into a discussion about Danny being in love with me... not again! My hangover is hovering around making me too weak right now, too weak for further confrontation. Yeah, that's what it is... I'm too fucking weak. That, plus Danny turns me into an immature thirteen-year-old whining puddle somehow. Not on purpose, and I guess I do it to myself mostly. Fuck!

I'm feeling silly and sort of dumb too. I mean sitting here on this stool with the barber cape covering most of my body having this lengthy discussion about a haircut, a simple fucking haircut! And I'm ruining our Sunday in bed.

Danny spreads his hands like he's open to suggestions, as he mumbles, "Okay, forget we already dealt with all this last night. What do you want from me? Tell me the haircut you want and I'll do it... except for that long flattop that isn't a flattop. It's a joke." Then he ticks off on his fingers, one at a time, "You can have the same flattop I did for Carl and Pony, and three other guys you don't know. Or, how about the preppy haircut I did for Rob a half hour ago, or another choice is the fade that I did for Troy and Markie... or do you have something else in mind?" I make a 'face', muttering, "What the hell, Danny, I'm not, um..." He goes, "Oh, and you've always looked good with a buzz cut. I'll do that for you if that's something you'd want, or fuck, I don't care by now... let your hair grow out and don't even get another haircut. By now I don't give a flying fuck... really I don't."

I go off on a little bit of a tangent, muttering, "Well, actually, I do need to get a haircut because I'll be in the office working next weekend at Dickers and Son and it's kind of an old-fashioned business in some regards. I mean the dress code, or whatever it's called. Rob's dad likes old-fashioned stuff like wearing suits to work and everyone needs to be well-groomed and what not." Danny goes, "What's more well-groomed and old-fashioned than a flattop?" He's right and what's the sense of arguing with him anyhow? I never win an argument with Danny, plus what I'd really like to do is jump inside his pants right now and spend some time with his good-looking dick.

We're back where we started, as I ask, "Well, what haircut should I get then?" He laughs out loud as he shakes his head a little. Picking up the clippers and comb he says, "See, Dylan, just like I told you a minute ago, and this is no criticism of you, but you need someone you trust making decisions for you, and that's perfectly okay. I don't mind doing that for you and, in fact, I love making decisions for you. It's no trouble. So, your haircut will be the regular flattop like I started doing ten minutes ago." He opens his eyes, grinning like he's waiting for me to agree to the obvious, and I finally do nod my head in agreement.

Omigod though, now that I've agreed to a real flattop I feel this most marvelous submissiveness sliding all the fuck over me. Oooh, it's such a dreamy and sexual feeling like it's creamily oozing into every pore of my body. It's so awesome! I don't think anyone, including Ryan, has ever brought on this depth of oozy smooth dreamy submissiveness that Danny just did. First of all, I'm weak from the stress of last night's dinner party and I'm tired and still have a bit of a hangover and then there's my haircut fetish, but mostly it's Danny's voice of authority and just the patient way he said everything and all his no-nonsense confident mannerisms. All of those Danny-things and the snuggling against my face he did earlier and his sweet kiss on my cheek and his hair smelling like pot... and him not giving a flying shit that it does... and him saying he's in love with me. Everything together and oooooh, I feel so docile and loose... every muscle in my body is totally loose except for my iron boner, which isn't a muscle anyway.

And wouldn't you think there'd be some kind of smugness from Danny? I mean because I'm agreeing to do what he wanted to do in the first place? I expected some kind of snarkiness about me agreeing that he should do the exact haircut he said he was going to do as far back as last night, but there's nothing like that from Danny. No smugness at all! I think that's because he's not the least bit surprised. He expected he'd be doing this haircut but simply had to wait for me to come around to his way of thinking. When I did, then he doesn't think any more about it. To him the solution was obvious and he just had to humor me until I realized he was right. Maybe he is right...

So, none of that. Danny merely starts the haircut ten minutes later than he felt was necessary, but no problem. Standing in front of me with his thighs against my knees again he puts the comb in the stiff hairs over my forehead and with no hesitation casually moves the clippers along the comb cutting off the hairs above the comb... the clippers making that hair-cutting sound as a pile of blond hairs slide from my shoulder down the sloping cape to my lap. There's no special expression on Danny's face as he pushes the comb a little further back on top and does the same thing with the clippers. He does it ten times before he's satisfied he's covered the top hairs on my head from front to back. Danny mumbles, "Not bad..."

I'd hoped for a more positive appraisal but there's no other encouraging comments forthcoming... only his 'not bad' comment. See, to Danny, this is totally a routine matter. He obviously doesn't have a hair cutting fetish, haha! No, he just likes giving haircuts and I know he believes this is the best one for me. I don't know why he thinks that, but I know he does. For Danny this is just one more haircut, his last one today but for me, its mountains moving and earthquakes of scary excitement and nervousness and it's also about my hard cock that's beginning to leak pre-cum. Danny and I are experiencing wildly different emotions; practically none for him while for me it's a supernova rollercoaster of emotions.

Danny puts down the clippers that used to be mine, and picks up the clippers Robby bought when he was our barber. They're the trimmer/razor clippers. Lifting my chin with a couple of fingers of his left hand, he mumbles, "Keep your head steady for me, baby." Then, with a ridiculously steady hand, he carefully runs the clippers along the top hairs on my head from the front to the back clipping off hairs making the hair-clipping sound again. He's cutting it shorter while making it perfectly even and, um, flat on top. He moves the clippers to the front and does the same thing a little further over on my head. I don't know how much he's cutting off so I don't know how long, or short, this flattop will be when he's finished.

Hell, actually I do know! It'll be exactly as short as Pony's and Carl's. Why wouldn't it be? This latest process Danny's currently doing only takes about two minutes but it's a magical two minutes in my life. I look right into Danny's eyes the whole time with my rock-hard boner throbbing. Danny does a little nod of approval to himself and then changes clippers again going back to the original one I bought so long ago. The clippers that now get used for cutting off hair in bulk.

Attaching a quarter-inch guide, Danny turns on the clippers and gently pushes my head a little over to the left and then begins running the clippers all the way up the right side of my head. Just routine for Danny and although he obviously pays attention to what he's doing, there's a look of almost boredom on his face. As I've said, by now it's routine for him... just doing another haircut, no big deal. To me, it's a huge fucking big deal!

Now that I'm committed to it, and we're more than halfway done, I'm so into it I'm wishing we could start all over again. Wishing that this haircut could last three hours. Afterward, well then I'll think differently but presently it's all about the sexually aroused fetish and the wonderful trance of such awesome submissiveness I couldn't begin to describe it.

Danny doesn't talk much while doing haircuts and he does them faster than I ever could. Finishing up, he's using the trimmer/razor clippers outlining around my ears and then down the hairline behind my ears. Then he gently pushes at the back of my head and when I lean my head forward he does what he knows I don't like; he squares off the hairs at the neckline as he's saying, "Would you help me out, Dylan? We can get in bed quicker if you'll sweep up the hair from today's haircuts while I'm cleaning the clippers. After I do a quick wash-up in the lavatory we can be in bed five minutes from now. Whaddaya say?" In a deep delicious fog, I mumble, "Sure, Danny."

Huh, he's finished without a single word about my haircut. Come on, Mister barber! How's it look? And then he does say something about it. He nods, saying, "Okay, you look good. No surprise there, haha... you always look good." He cups my chin with his hand to move my head this way and that making doubly sure my hair is how he wants it. Letting go of my chin, he goes, "Don't get huffy about what I'm going to tell you, Dylan. Now that you're one of my 'real' flattop boys, like the other five, you need to plan on two weeks between haircuts; no longer than that. Okay? I want you back in this barber dorm in two weeks. No excuses. Ya see... I want you guys looking sharp so others around campus will ask you about your haircut. I'm thinking I'm gonna start charging guys for haircuts. I mean, guys I don't know... so, you and the other guys I do haircuts for are like walking advertisements for my dorm barbershop."

Still sitting on the barber stool, I come out of my trance a little and, as of right now I'm okay with what he said, so I nod my head agreeing with him, mumbling, "Okay, Danny." I'm out of my deep trance but I'm still under his spell so if he told me to stand on my head in the hall to prove how flat my flattop is I'd probably do it. Later it'll be a different story but I'm still having a wonderful time, unbeknownst to Danny.

In case he didn't hear me nod, I add, "Yes, Danny, every two weeks." He chuckles and goes, "Don't make fun of me, Dylan, alright? I'm trying to get a haircutting business off the ground. Make a little entrepreneurial money, ya know?" He thought I was punking him when I say 'Yes, Danny' but I wasn't. I'm feeling almost the same way I feel after sex, docile and weak... but really good too. The first thirty seconds of my haircut I almost shot a load in my pants but when I got past that initial rush it was like experiencing the tipping point of climax through the rest of the haircut, and that effect comes compliments of my ridiculous fetish. After looking at myself in a mirror my attitude will probably change totally, but for right now I'm good, better than good actually...

I go, "I'll sweep up for you, um, should I get undressed?" He goes, "You mean before getting into bed, not to sweep up, right?... haha." I go, "Yes, that's what I meant." Danny nods his head, saying, "Well, of course... you'll be more comfortable if you do. You can wear underpants if you want. That's all I'll be wearing and, of course, I'll be sort of wearing you too... haha." After taking off the barber's cape and dumping a surprising amount of my hair on the floor with the other casualties, Danny points at a dustpan and brush under the desk as he mumbles, "Thanks for helping."

He cleans the clippers and comb, then puts all the barber tools in a satchel. I'm on my hands and knees sweeping the cut hairs into a pile. Danny bends down and holds the dustpan so I can sweep the hairs onto it and then he dumps the hair into a bag and then holds the dustpan for me again. We do this a few times before the last cut hair stragglers are in the bag. Taking the bag with him, Danny goes, "I'll dump this in the trash and wash up real fast. I'll be back in a flash. Oh, and I'm gonna buy a Coke. Can I get you something?" I go, "Is there orange sodas in the vending machine?" He nods, "Yeah, I'll buy you one. See you in a couple of minutes."

Just before he goes out the door, I ask, "Where's that handheld mirror?" Danny goes, "Oh fuck yeah. I'm sorry, Dylan, I should have gotten it out for you. It's on the nightstand under those magazines. Be back in two minutes!" I get the mirror out from under a few Sport Illustrated magazines and look at myself. Huh, I've looked like this before. Willie took me for flattop haircuts a couple of times. We both got flattops actually... when we were eighteen. Robby and me had flattops too when we were seventeen. It was that first summer working on the lawn cutting crew. Damn, that was a cool summer. And, Jesus, I don't think any of those haircuts were done with the precision of this flattop by Danny. He's amazing!

Yep, my haircut is just like Pony's and Carl's. No special treatment because Danny loves me... haha. Nope, a flattop is a flattop to the home-haircut barber known as Danny Monday. It is cut perfectly and doesn't look horrible, but I don't love it. It's just as tight and short as Carl's and I feel scalped! But then, I knew I would.

After straightening out the bedding on Danny's bed, I get undressed and crawl into the smallish bed. It's about the same size as my twin bed at the condo. Wow, the sheets smell like Danny and I mean in a good way. His pillow, on the other hand, smells a little like his hair... duh! Haha, it smells sexily of pot and cigarette smoke. I'd probably think it was gross except its Danny's pot and smoky hair. Snuggling under the covers, I think... damn, I actually have a flattop for real this time. Yeah, well it's what Rob suggested I get.

Yeah, Rob definitely encouraged me to go for this haircut. Maybe he was remembering us way back during that lawn cutting summer too. Ya know what? I'm gonna tell Robby I followed his suggestion. Brownie points for my lover-boy. And I know my part-time parents, the Dickers, will love this haircut on me. My mom never saw a haircut of mine she didn't think was the best haircut she's ever seen in her life, and the same for my fabulous brother, Chubby. As for the other flattop boys, Pony and Carl, they'll be happy I have the same haircut they have. Other than those people, I'm betting not another human being on the planet will give a flying fuck about my haircut one way or the other. Oh, wait, except Danny of course, although I still can't figure out why he cares. And where is Danny? It's been like ten minutes, not the two minutes he said he'd be.

The last time Danny went to buy us a snack he took twenty minutes to go downstairs and back. It takes him a long time because he stops to talk with everyone he meets. With his pretty smile and super sincere attitude, he's well-liked by almost everyone. Actually, I've never heard anyone speak badly of him. Well, except for when he seems to get spacey and then there's his habit of ignoring what he doesn't want to hear. Except for that... no disparaging words about Danny.

He's back with his shiny just-washed face in less than twenty minutes. Passing me a can of orange soda he puts his empty Coke can on the desk. Empty because he drank it while talking with everyone he met along the way. He says, "Um, Ricky White wanted a swallow of your soda," and he starts taking his clothes off. I look at the opening in the can, thinking... is that Ricky's saliva I see? I can feel the can is half empty. I go, "Who is Ricky White?" Danny steps out of his sneakers and pulls his socks off and then gets in bed wrapping me in his arms, mumbling, "Just some guy," and he kisses me, murmuring, "Are you sure we shouldn't talk to Rob about us. I know what you said last night but I'm madly in love with you, and I mean to the degree I almost don't wanna have side-sex anymore, just have sex with you as my full-time boyfriend." Oh man...

I wait a few seconds, pretending I'm thinking about it before I go, "No talking with Robby though! Not a word because, c'mon, we don't seriously have anything to tell him. Not really." Danny pulls me on my side, half on him as he very slowly rubs his right hand up and down my back while still holding me tightly with his other arm. He nods his head smiling at me and then says quietly, "Ya know, if you're honestly not in love with me you seem awfully close. I'm referring to the way you look at me and the way it's impossible for me not to sense your affection for me. I think you might be in love with me and you just haven't realized it yet. Sure, it's only been the last five or six weeks maybe, but it's there... your love is there. I can feel it." I go, "You're awesome, Danny, but please believe me... it's not love."

He gives me a 'look' but thinks about what I said for a few seconds before, seemingly resigned, murmurs, "Okay, from your viewpoint maybe it's not." Good, and then he goes backward, saying, "But whaddaya say we tell Robby that, just for the hell of it, you and I were thinking we'd experiment being a couple, meaning boyfriends, and maybe a little more than just that?" He can't be serious! He goes, "I'm not an idiot, I know how awkward it'll be for you guys in the same apartment and all, but I don't like keeping secrets from my longtime friend, Rob. I told Hayden about us, you and me, and he said I should go for it. Heh heh, I took that to mean he wants me to steal you from Rob, but then those two have never been particularly close."

He hugs me with both arms now and rocks us a little from side to side and then mutters, "Whaddaya you think about all that, baby?" What am I gonna say? I could complain about him calling me 'baby', although by now it's hardly worth the effort because he'll just ignore me and, anyway, it sounds alright coming from him now. No way can I just blow him off with that 'in love' stuff because he's too sincere about it. I want to be compassionate with whatever I say and not treat this like it's a trivial matter because it isn't to him. So, with renewed conviction, I wrestle around to face him and he lets me do that. Damn, his mostly naked body feels so great next to mine. I don't mind the closeness at all... I like it.

But, getting down to business, I look at him and say very seriously, "Danny, I don't know the words to describe how flattering it is that you say the loving things you've been saying to me. It's both heartwarming and a little heartbreaking as well because I can't reciprocate your feelings. My heart belongs to Robby no matter how corny that sounds. No one knows exactly why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with, it just is what it is." He nods his head, saying, "That's so true."

Oh good... so far I'm making sense for once. I continue, "So Danny, this is honest to God true, my feelings for you have become very special and it's something I've never experienced with a buddy sex partner before. I love you as a very special friend and I admire the hell out of you and I'm way more than just fond of you. There's a kind of love that goes with my feelings for you and I've only realized that fact lately myself, BUT... it's not the 'in-love' kind of love you're looking for from me."

He's nodding his head again and then, very seriously he says, "This is awesome of you, Dylan. To tell me super personal stuff like that. Most guys would be embarrassed to say deep-feelings shit like that." I shrug as much as his hugging allows, saying, "Yeah, well I am a little embarrassed about it actually, but it's true, so..." He goes, "Well, as I said, I think you might be in love with me but you don't realize it yet. Anyway, I'm very encouraged by what you just said and I'll go along with keeping our love affair from Rob, at least until the first of the year."

I smile, saying, "C'mon, Danny! You're more intelligent than you let on. I know you're not obtuse enough to think what I said a minute ago endorses us being in a quote-unquote, 'love affair'. Am I right?" He says, "You're half right, yeah." So, he's in a one-sided love affair. I'll settle for that now. Also, I'm relieved I don't need to worry about him saying anything crazy to Rob. It'd be a shame to lose Danny as a buddy sex buddy just because he said something about a loving relationship with me, and then Rob asking me not to hook up with Danny anymore. That would be a real crying shame!

Danny goes, "Good, we're on the same page, Dylan," and he kisses me on the lips and then mumbles, "Can you get between my legs, baby, and lean your back against my chest." I'm like, "Ow, you're pulling on my skin," and we rustle around until I'm sitting on his lap facing away from him like he wants. Leaning back against his chest now, I'm not real comfortable but more importantly, I'm not at all sure we are on the same page as he said. Not the same page but closer than before I think. We're reading the same book maybe, but many pages apart. That's more like it.

He's apparently satisfied we're in the right position so he mutters, "Good," and then he reaches over to get my can of orange soda, mumbling, "I'll feed you your soda." I try getting turned around but it's not worth the effort, and he's kinda too strong anyway, so I lay back against his chest again. He chuckles, saying, "Don't make me get rough with you, baby. I love you so much I'd hate to need to do that." His arm comes around me, the soda can in his hand hovering right in front of me. He's lifting the can to my lips, and I go, "No, Danny! The guy that drank half my soda could have hoof and mouth disease for all we know."

Laughing again, he wipes the top of the can with his other hand and then leaves that arm around me with his finger flicking at my nip ring. He goes, "I cleaned the top of the can, so here..." As if that cleaned anything! Danny holds the can to my lips again and tilts it so that if I don't drink there'll be soda down my bare chest. I gulp it down... gulp, gulp, gulp, and then Danny moves the can away from my mouth a little. After I do a carbonated burp he brings the can back to my mouth and I drink the rest of it. He chuckles as I finish gulping down the sweet soda, and then he says, "See, I can be your daddy and your husband."

Why the hell do Robby and Danny both assume they would be my fucking husband? Well, first of all, Rob has never said that, not by using that word. Still, I guess I see their point except I think titles, generally speaking, blow. I don't wanna be a 'wife' and I don't think one of a lesbian couple should be called 'husband' either. Let's not fuck up every single word in the English language using political correctness as the reason for doing that!

Danny puts the empty can on the bedside table and opens the drawer to take out a tube of lube, saying, 'We used Speck's lube last time, but I bought this and it's better. Lean forward, baby." That means sitting up first, which I do because I wanna feel his hard cock up my ass. He goes, "Further... lean further forward..." He says that until my head hits the mattress between our legs. He goes, "That's perfect," and then he pulls open the waistband of my jockey shorts and I feel cool slippery lubricant being pushed up my ass, one finger full at a time... six times. Danny goes, "That'll last us through three or four times, don'cha think?" Oh boy!

I don't bother answering that rhetorical question as he gets a hold on either side of me pulling me back up so I'm laying against his chest again. He says, "I could just eat you with a spoon, Dylan. You're so cute and your body is so boyishly perfect and you smell yummy." I go, "Danny, I know you meant that as a compliment but I'm twenty-two now and I have a young man's body... not a boyish one." He goes, "No, you don't. You have both," and his left-hand works its way under me inside my jockey shorts with one of his fingers going up my ass... his other hand, the one with the slippery finger, goes around me and inside the front of my jockey shorts. Omigod, it's stupid but I like being moved around like he's been doing 'cause it's sort of dominant of him... like being touched inappropriately and pampered at the same time. He finger-fucks my ass as he's stroking lube on my cock, stroking up and down the shaft in a jerk-off fashion using his fist. Feels good... both in front and in back.

He mumbles, "Doing this is giving me a hard-on, Dylan. Isn't it weird I'm getting hard from stroking your special twin-penis to mine."? Our penises are almost identical and his fits my entire rectum better than any penis in my entire history of taking penises up my ass. Seriously, it's true!

I feel that hard cock he mentioned, it's against my lower back even as my own cock is getting hard as a rock. Now I'm stifling grunts and starting to squirm as an orgasm catches hold on me. I go, "No, Danny, ummm, oooh, no.... ummm," and he strokes, strokes, strokes with me, moaning, "Ummm, ummm, Danny," as I'm trying to push up with my feet on the mattress. He murmurs, "Okay, okay," and lets go of my cock and then pulls his finger out of my ass, but leaves my underpants caught under my butt cheeks, as says, "Roll forward." My heart's pounding as I take a deep breath and try adjusting my boner that's poking out the front of my jockey shorts. As I'm doing that, Danny goes up on his knees and he pushes me forward again. My forehead rests on the mattress and a second later I go, "Ahhh," as his boner pokes inside me and slowly goes up, up, up my ass. "Ummm, Danny, oooh! That hurts..."

He's breathing hard, mumbling, "Sorry," as he's lifting up on his knees a little more. Grabbing my hips with both hands I hear a strangled grunting sound of arousal from Danny and he starts right in doing hard fast thrusting, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds ringing out in the room and for one of the rare times, Danny's boner hurts my ass for maybe a full minute! By then he has me wide open back there and the pain fades quickly. I guess he was overly aroused and had to do everything fast this time... it happens occasionally with us.

There's the constant slapping sound of his body slapping against my buttocks, my balls swinging a little in my jockey shorts from the pounding, our ears full of 'Slapslapslap' sounds to go along with the mantra I've settled into, "Ah, ah, ah," at every thrust of his nice hard cock being shoved up my ass. I grab my jockey shorts in front and pull them down myself. If I didn't I'd cum all over them and now my nuts can swing easier. I'm hearing more quiet moans of arousal from Danny to go with my moans, "Ooh Danny, Ummm, ah, ahh, ahhh," as he pounds his boner fast and hard inside me. For me, it's only a couple of minutes and my climax is at the tipping point. That's because he primed the pump so to speak by stroking my cock first. The bed covers in a bunch from Danny thrusting his hard cock up my ass and me squirming on the bed.

And then, of course, I sense a big climax rushing all over me and I want it to happen because the anticipation is too great to hold it off. That's what happens when I haven't had sex for more than twenty-four hours, which is the case for me presently. Danny's up on his knees as high as he can get with me totally forward, my face on the mattress' sheet his boner back and forth in my ass and then he's against my buttocks humping hard, pressing my face into the bedding as I'm making a whining sound of sexual pleasure and we both climax at the same time with everything going bright red in my world. It lasts a few seconds while I travel among the stars. I don't even know if I squealed this time and Danny told me last night he was anxious to hear my squeal again.

Oh, how the sensations fly high and wide all over me and then fade leaving awesome memories of my latest and greatest climax and then the after effects make me shiver with pleasure as my cock throbs and buzzes with sensations that cause my shoulders to do a little shudder too. Nothing compares to sexual orgasms... nothing and the latest one is ALWAYS the greatest one in my mind.

Danny's taking deep breaths now as he gets his arms around me and pulls my limp body up against his again and then both of us go backward until he's lying on the bed again. He's pretty strong and manages to do that easily as he's pulling up the covers and getting us both under them... all of that accomplished with his cock still up my ass. When his head is on the pillow, he humps his hips a few times and my body rocks on him. He sighs and lifts me to the side until he withdraws his cock as I shake in his arms, murmuring, "Mmmm, oooh."

He pulls and pushes on my body some more getting me face down, half on him and half on this little bed. The side of my face is against his shoulder as he mutters, "Nice, stay like that, Dylan." My underpants are still under my butt cheeks and when I reach back to pull them up, Danny goes, "Wait a second, baby!" as he's pulling my hand away and holding it. His other hand grabs a bunch of tissues from the box on the nightstand. His hand goes over to wipe my ass with the tissues, getting most of his drooled cum off my buttocks and then he pulls up my underpants, saying, "That'll help a little," and then he drops the sticky wet tissues on the nightstand.

That was a considerate move on my 'top's' part. I snuggle in some more as he murmurs, "It feels so good with you lying so tight against me, baby," and I snuggle in a little more as Danny rubs up the back of my head and then leans down to kiss the top of my flattop, murmuring, "Oh man, I like the smell of that hairspray." I squirm to get my arm out from under me and move it across Danny's stomach as I mutter, "I hate it."

He goes, "Hate what? You mean the way that hairspray smells?" I nod my head against his shoulder and he mutters, "I'll buy a can of scentless hairspray then and use that for your haircut two weeks from now. Okay?" I nod my head again, mumbling, "Yes, thanks." I just agreed to another haircut like this one in two weeks but I'm presently feeling submissive to Danny and therefore under his control... and I like that feeling for now. I'm going to let him have his way with the flattop bullshit, for a while anyhow.

But, when I give it a thought, I do not in any way understand why the fuck he cares about me having this haircut? Finally, I'm like, "Danny, I've just gotta ask, why do you care so much about my haircut being a flattop?" He lightly rubs my back, murmuring, "Huh? Jesus, that's a good question. Wow, that is weird, really weird now that you mention it. I seriously do not know why. It's just become something I got hooked on I guess." I'm like, "You have no fucking idea, really?"

No response to that so I lift my eyes in their sockets to look at him and see he has this mystified expression on his face, like... what the fuck? He's continuing to lazily rub his hand over my back until, finally, he snickers, "Haha, yeah... it's insane how much I like seeing you with this freakin' flattop." He's quiet, thinking about that I assume, and then he goes, "I guess for some reason I've always thought of you as being perfect with a flattop haircut. Yeah, and I mean from the very first time I saw you with this haircut all those years ago. I was like fourteen at the time, and..." and his hand stops rubbing my back. He stops moving completely... everything stops.

I lift my head again so I can see why he stopped doing everything. He looks at me with a startled expression on his face. "Dylan, you know what? That's it! That's the reason!" and he's nodding his head like he's confirming something to himself and then he says, "Yeah, it's all about that first time I ever saw you. And believe you me I almost creamed in my basketball shorts when I laid eyes on you. Omigod, you had a flattop haircut exactly like the ones I've been giving guys, including the one I just gave you. Exactly the same! I can see you in my mind's eyes right now. You were wearing a red sleeveless t-shirt and khaki shorts with black hightop sneakers... and you had a flattop haircut with the sun shining off your pale golden hair. Holy shit!" Pale golden hair?

I'm more than a little doubtful about that, so I go, "How can you be sure it was me?" He shakes his head, muttering, "I don't know, the picture just popped up in my mind and I just know it was you. I was fourteen or fifteen and you had to be that age too, although you looked so young, like you were ten or twelve maybe. And of course, you were so cute I thought I'd cream in my shorts. I know it was you." I shrug but don't tell him it's impossible, although it is impossible. Danny gets more excited, adding, "Wow, this is creepy. And like I told you, in my head I can see what you were wearing. Your t-shirt hand the words 'JUST DO IT' across the front."

Well, I just got goosebumps because I still have that t-shirt someplace. Haha, I'll dig it up and wear it to freak Danny out some time. I go, "Was I with someone when you saw me?" He shrugs, "I don't think so." Hmmm, doubtful 'cause Chubby and me were ALWAYS together...

Danny goes on to tell me how he fantasized we'd be boyfriends and how he whacked-off to that fantasy for weeks. Then that fantasy faded and when he finally met me for real two summers later I was with Robby and, according to Danny, we played in a pick-up baseball game on opposite teams and all he did was stare at me but without his early fantasies coming back to him. He didn't connect the dots until recovering the subconscious earlier memory of me a minute ago. He's positive the first time he saw me is what got me and a flattop haircut 'fixated' in his subconscious mind. That's a cool story although his earlier memory is wrong! That wasn't me. Does it matter though? I mean, if he thought it was me, it's basically the same thing... basically.

He tells me that later that summer he discovered Robby and I were boyfriends and how traumatized he was about that because he and Rob were fuck buddies and yet Robby never mentioned me. Then, when Danny mentioned me to Robby, Robby wouldn't share. Danny says because of that he and Rob had a cool period in their friendship for a while and only many months later reconnected. Hmmm, maybe Danny's current subconscious mind wants to get revenge on Robby for not sharing me with him back then. Jesus, what a fucked-up thought that is! And, did he think I was some kind of sex toy?

I decide not to mention that angle to Danny 'cause he's on a roll and it's fun seeing how excited he is even though his earliest memory of me is bullshit. I say that with some certainty because I never went anywhere without Chubby when I was fifteen, or whatever age Danny thinks we were, and I never had a flattop haircut, not until I was seventeen... the second time he saw me. I do, however, have that red sleeveless t-shirt with 'Just Do It' on the front in big letters... so what's that all about?

He's lightly running his fingers over the top of my flattop hair as he's talking in that dreamy way he talks sometimes, saying, "You can't imagine baby. Probably nobody could imagine the depth of those fantasies I had about you and me way back when we were so young." He goes on for a while before stopping to try pulling on me again until I'm like, "Stop! I'm not a fucking binky! Tell me what you're trying to do," and he goes, "I just wanted to pull you up for a kiss, that's all." I go up on an elbow and Danny leans his head over and we kiss a sweet kiss and then Danny gets his arm around my neck, murmuring, "You make me crazy," and then we do another longer kiss that gets my dick hard... again.

Pulling his head away, his eyes are shining as he stares at my hair, murmuring, "I'll be damned," and he rubs his hand back through my hair, saying, "I did a really good job with your haircut, don'cha think, baby?" I nod, "Yes, and I'm serious when I say you're an excellent barber, Danny. No bullshit, you're awesome. Better than me." He goes, "Noooo! I'm not better than you, although nobody could do a better haircut than that one right there," and he nods at my head. I go, "Flattop-wise, I think you're right," and he grins before giving me one of his special kisses. The one where I'm not sure how he does it, but it always gets me squirming against him with hot sexual desire.

Man oh man, Danny is wicked happy now that he had that bogus memory flashback! He smiles and goes, "Oh fuck, I love kissing you. It's better than my fantasies. Haha, I guess so, huh, Dylan?" I smile and then say, "Actually, you're one of the world's premiere kissers, Danny.," and then I say, "Let me get back the way I was with the side of my face on your shoulder, okay? I liked lying half on you and half on the bed." He helps me get there again and I snuggle around until I'm comfortable.

Sighing I go, "This is nice. Tell me more about when you first saw me and how awesome I was." We both chuckles at that and then he goes, "No, seriously, the first time, as I said, I was fifteen maybe, and you gotta remember the crushes you can get on a guy at that age." No, I don't because I didn't know I was gay... yet. But, what the fuck, I nod my head against his shoulder anyway and he snickers, saying, "Of course, you remember. It's the kind of crush you've had on me all summer, right?" Grinning, I nod my head on his shoulder again, just going along with Danny's happy mood.

Actually, I don't remember him at all until our senior year of high school when I hardly saw him because we had different classes. We had to have passed each other at school all through elementary, middle, and high school but until age seventeen I wasn't ogling boys and was only deeply interested in Chubby. I don't have the slightest recollection of either incident Danny described but he's legitimately excited about all of it and, one way or another, it's an example of a subconscious mind fucking with somebody. Fucking with Danny's head in this case.

Discovering this 'secret' memory doesn't lessen his enthusiasms about me having a flattop haircut. He goes, "Dylan. Um, I guess you know this seals-the-deal as far as what your haircut will be all senior year at Merrimack... you'll be the flattop kid." Sighing, I go, "Oh, no." He rubs my head grinning and saying, "Yes!" I mumble, "Well, maybe I'll go along with you for one more haircut," and I surprise myself realizing I might actually do that because it's obviously very important to him. I'm happy to make Danny happy, plus when have I ever cared enough to go against my side-sex buddies' wishes about the haircut they want me to have?

Haha, yeah Willie and Ryan mostly decided that for me from age seventeen to, haha, now with Danny taking over. Well, to a lesser degree Robby was part of the haircut decisions for me too. The secret none of them know about is my haircut fetish and how it has had more to do with me going along with their haircut choices, or at least as much, as they've had. Yeah, so what the fuck, maybe I'll stick with this haircut for a while. After all, Robby suggested a flattop this morning and I've been convincing myself that everyone I give a shit about will think I look good with it.

And I even kinda like the novelty of this haircut... the individuality of it. As I told Danny some time ago, this haircut is like a startling brand new concept for the twenty-first century... outside of the Military that is. The individuality aspect is cool. Well, that is minus Carl and Pony having the exact same haircut, of course, as well as the three other guys Danny did flattops for, guys that he says I don't know.

Danny gives me another squeeze, saying, "We need to celebrate us, meaning you and me: Dylan and Danny. There's nobody like us, baby! So, how should we celebrate being us?" I shrug and he goes, "To start with I'm going to have sex with you again making you feel better than you've ever felt before in your life." I go, "Oh, okay, um, but what time is it? How long will that mentor meeting last?" He goes, "I don't know, baby. It started at two. What time is it now?" Turning my wrist I see it's ten minutes after three and when I tell him, Danny says, "We should have at least another hour, which is not as long as we'd like but I'll make you glad you stayed with me as long as we have... and I know I'll be happy."

Yeah, I'm feeling good we have more time together too. Danny does a quiet laugh and then goes, "Don't get mad, but I keep thinking about something and it's that, um, I'm sorta interested in how long you think it'll be before you realize you've fallen in love with me. Just a general range would be helpful 'cause I'm excited for that to happen." I mumble, "You're doing that obtuse shit again... don't do that." He goes, "Okay, I won't," and he lifts my face with a couple of fingers under my chin and begins lowering his head to mine. I lift my head, my lips parted and my dick becoming very alert...

to be continued...

Donny Mumford thinksat20@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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