DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 54
by Donny Mumford
Driving away from Squirrel's house I'm having second thoughts about washing-up and changing clothes. No, why would I do that? I'll go right to the office and pick Rob up wearing my dirt-encrusted clothes, dirty hands, and grease smudged face. How else would I look after changing a flat tire? I'll give Robby the opportunity to see what a person looks like after doing something odd like that. It'll be a first time experience for him I'm sure. I mean, who changes a flat tire? You call road service and then just stay out of the way while somebody changes the tire for you, right?
Huh, and now I'm thinking how bizarre it was that I never thought to wash up a little at Squirrel's house before our poor excuse for sex. Ya know what? It was that Henry kid that threw me off my 'game'. No one was supposed to be there and it threw my timing off, that and the fact I'm out of practice handling side-sex opportunities. Well, frankly, the whole thing with Squirrel threw me off.
And, Christ, this traffic blows! Every friggin' time I need to drive somewhere during a workday, like this Monday afternoon, I'm baffled that the traffic is so heavy. I mean, who are these people driving these cars and why aren't they at work? Whatever, I make it here and now sitting in the idling truck at the main office building. I'm texting Robby that I've arrived and he texts right back that he's on his way out.
It's almost one o'clock so there's some foot-traffic at the front door. Maybe these people are coming back from business lunches with their business-related visitors. It's easy to pick out the employees from the 'visitors' because Dickers & Son employees are dressed up as usual while representatives and salespeople from other companies are dressed casually. Mr. Dickers still believes in that old philosophy that if his employees dress professionally they'll act that way.
It sounds logical but I have no idea if it's a valid assumption or not. I do know that right or wrong, Mr. Dickers is in the minority as regards his company's prehistoric dress code. The few times I've taken the 'T' someplace in the city I've seen commuters, businessmen and women on their way to work who dressed as though they're on their way to a ballgame, or picnic, or maybe to serve a few days in jail for stealing office supplies. They weren't wearing suits and ties, I can assure you of that.
Okay, never mind that, here comes Robby loosening his tie as he steps out the front door. Oh man, he looks like a young banker or lawyer, assuming they still wear suits to work... or, oh yeah, someone employed by Dickers & Son... haha. Seeing Rob smile at me makes me smile... I can't help it. What a great smile he has!
Getting in the passenger's bucket seat, Rob looks at my smudged face, dirty hands and clothes and goes, "What the fuck happened to you, babe? Were you in a fight?" As I'm driving us away from the office I tell him about the kid with a broken arm trying to change a flat tire. I explain the coincidence of me meeting the kid one time as a friend of this other kid I know. When I saw the poor bastard struggling with one arm in a cast, naturally, I stopped and helped because who wouldn't? And blah, blah, blah. Ya know, with some embellishment and whatnot.
Robby's sincere when he says, "That was wicked nice of you, Dylan! But, Jesus, how'd you know how to change a flat tire?" I'm like, 'What? You don't know how to change a tire?" He shrugs, "I've never done it but I guess you're right, how hard could it be." I'm like, "Just common sense although it is a rather nasty job," and Rob goes, "Yeah, I can see that. Um, how's your mom doing?" I tell him about spending a ton of time making my mom feel good about everything and how she's doing great. Rob shakes his head a little, saying, "You impress me more every day. What a good son you are, and a good Samaritan too!" I shrug, "Ah, come on, Rob. You'd have done the same thing." He mutters, "I'd have called road service or, more likely, Dickers & Son's maintenance crew, just saying..."
When we get home I wash up and change my clothes while Robby's drinking a soda and telling his mom about whatever it was he did at the office. His mom is always interested in what's going on with the business. She worked alongside Mr. Dickers the first fifteen years he was building the company. I've picked up vague murmurings that there were some, um, less than one hundred percent legal dealings and contracts with the city of Framingham involving trash removal and other unspecified business activities that helped get the company off the ground. Then, this or that agreement were agreed upon and the company became basically a lawn cutting service for municipal buildings and schools and that grew into a lawn maintenance and landscape design company and that grew into a year-round operation with snow removal in the winter for companies and town buildings and parking lots, and then a full-service property maintenance operation and then finally a few years ago they added the large earth moving machinery and pre-construction site prep began, and I don't know what else.
It's a fairly large company now with three hundred employees and three or four offices. I'm sure I'll never find out what shady dealings were necessary to get the business off the ground and running but for some reason, I think it's cool of Mr. D. that he could play hardball when necessary. Now, of course, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth... whatever that means. When I was a seventeen-year-old kid working on the lawn cutting crew I had no idea there were other aspects of the business going on simultaneously.
Actually, Mrs. D. was still working part-time when I was working for the lawn cutting crew. The last year or two she's been strictly a housewife doing, um, doing whatever it is people who stay at home do. Ya know, shopping and cooking and cleaning I suppose, although the Dickers do have a home cleaning service that comes in once a week. From what I can tell, Mrs. D. mostly shops and cooks in between going out to lunch with her lady friends. They have a glass of wine or two with their lunch while planning charitable activities and whatnot. It keeps her busy I suppose. And maybe I used the incorrect designation when I said 'housewife'. I'm sure there's a more politically correct, um, awkward-sounding group of words that have replaced 'housewife'. Hmm, maybe I better find out what that is because Robby might think I'm destined for that role when we're married. And maybe Robby should think again...
Anyway, I'm cleaned up now wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. I join Rob and his mom in the family room where Rob asks, "Ready to get some lunch, babe?" and he stands up. Naturally, his mom says she'll make lunch for us but Rob wants to eat out. As we're walking out the back door, he asks, "How about a few beers and a couple of roast beef sandwiches?" I'm like, "That's cool," so we're going to see what the new Beef and Ale House in Natick is like.
I've been driving the pickup all morning and Rob doesn't say anything about him wanting to drive, so I get in the driver's side and off we go. On the way to the restaurant, he tells me what he did at work this morning... the secret project for his father involving the history of salaries and bonuses paid to management staff and VP's the past ten years. That was borderline interesting and then Robby provides additional details of that project thereby entering into the realm of too-much-information. I mean, as far as I wanted or needed to know, but I nod my head hoping he'd tell me the only thing I'm interested in... how much these people actually got paid last year. That would be interesting but Rob omits that from the too-much-information dissertation.
Anyway, Rob's enthusiastic about the size of the unspoken salaries and bonuses. He's like, "Omigod, Dylan, we're gonna be vacationing in the Bahamas, babe!" That has my curiosity piqued further, so I'm like, "Oh yeah? What did the VP in Human Resources get paid last year, for example?" He laughs out loud, and avoids telling me by saying, "You're not gonna be working in human resources! Fuck that, you'll be working for me and getting the biggest bonus possible."
Parking at the Beef and Ale House, I'm like, "Why will I necessarily be working for you? Not that I'd mind you understand, but we'll both be starting out as equal college grads, right?" He pats my shoulder saying with a grin, "Are you familiar with the word 'nepotism'?" I go, "Oh, that... yeah, I've heard of it."
As we walk into the restaurant, he says, "It's not just that though. Hell, I've been working with dad in the office for four years now." I go, "Yeah, I see that. No problem. Anyway, I still need to talk with Tom Rider, my mom's fiancé, ya know, before deciding where I'm going to work. He told me he and his brother, Tim, have a job for me with their company. That enterprise of theirs is apparently expanding like crazy." Robby mutters, "Don't even joke about working there, Dylan."
Inside the front door, I say, "I'm not joking. Why would you think that's a joke, Rob?" His face gets red the way it does when he's really frustrated, or really pissed off. He takes a deep breath, and then apparently decides not to press the matter and instead asks, "Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?" I shrug, and say, "At a table I guess," and we take a few steps over to the reception desk at the front of the restaurant where there's an unfortunate-looking young man with lots of acne scars behind the podium. The sign reads, 'Please wait to be seated'. Jesus, when this guy was a teenager didn't his parents know about dermatologists? This is in the twenty-first century after all.
The guy appears to be about Rob's and my age and size with, for some unknown reason, a superiority attitude. He gives us a weird 'look' like our flies are down, and then asks, "Is it just you two?" I'm like, "Yeah," and he goes, "It'll be just a moment." Fuck, does he think he's the 'maître d' at the Ritz? I turn around to see who he's motioning to behind us and then feel his hand touch my arm as he says, "Step aside, please. As I've said, I'll get to you momentarily," then he smiles at a group of young women behind us, saying to them, "Good afternoon, ladies. A table for four? This way, please."
Rob and I exchange 'looks' like what the fuck was that? We're still standing here with our dicks in our hands three minutes later while the guy is still talking and grinning his toothy grin at the four girls he seated ahead of us. They look to be about our age, a couple of them are, um, on the slutty-side while the other two are normal looking sort of wall-flower types. Rob's irritated and his body language could mean trouble, so I say, "C' mon, I changed my mind. Let's sit at the bar," and that's what we do.
To start with, Rob was already annoyed that I mentioned the possibility I might take a job working for the Rider twins, and then we get snubbed by that self-important asshole with a receding hairline and acne scars, so I got concerned Rob might let the angry scary part of his psyche take over. I figured sitting at the bar would avoid the picture I saw in my head of Rob with a fistful of the guy's shirt, ripping it as he's pushing the guy up against the podium, saying, "Yes, it's just the two of us, jerkoff!"
I haven't seen that wild-man act from Robby in like two years but I have seen it, and in the wrong set of circumstances I'm worried he'd be capable of murder. Yeah, he could have killed a guy who was tormenting me years ago. Not kill him on purpose, but what he did could have resulted in much worse than the permanent limp the guy still has to this day. And that isn't the only time Rob's gone nuclear either, not by a long shot. As I said, he hasn't done it recently but I can still recognize the warning signs of him possibly 'losing it'. In any case, it's better to be safe than sorry which is why we're sitting at the bar.
Rob still looks grim, so I cheerfully ask, "Well, exactly how much money are we talking about making at Dickers & Son, ya know, including salary and bonus? What'd the VP's take home last year after taxes?" He mutters, "That's private," and a bartender says, "ID's, fellows." We show him our driver's licenses and then order draft beers and roast beef sandwiches. The bartender pours our beers into frozen mugs and puts the mugs on round cardboard coasters in front of us. After that, he turns his head and yells to the guy at the carving station, "Two roast beef for right here, Raphael." No, this isn't what you'd call a 'high class' establishment and that's another reason the guy's attitude at the front of the restaurant is so puzzling.
The bartender had to specify 'roast beef' when yelling out our order because there's also a large ham the guy carves from for ham sandwiches. The ham is warm and wicked tender and very good. I get the warm ham sandwiches occasionally, but today I'm 'feeling' the roast beef sandwich. We drink some beer and then both start to say something at the same time and then both stop. A second later Rob mumbles, "What were you gonna say?" I go, "No, you go ahead," and he's like, "Okay, what'd you find out from Googling Fort Myers for our trip? Is there a good beach there, a boardwalk maybe, and generally speaking what's interesting besides Red Sox spring training?" Ooooh, yeah, my assignment... hmm.
Making a face, I go, "Well, with the flat tire situation, ya know, me helping that kid with the broken arm and all, I didn't get the chance to go online." He goes, "Changing the tire took four hours?" I'm like, "No, don't be a jackass! I was visiting my mom too." Oops, that might have been a guilty overreaction due to me spending time with Squirrel in that disappointing side sex affair. Rob's eyebrows go up as he mumbles, "I was just asking."
Clearing my throat, I go, "Yeah, I know... haha. I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that but you have no idea what it's like changing a tire with cars and trucks flying by, and I mean literally two feet away." He goes, "I still don't know why you didn't call for road service," and I look down the bar, muttering, "Where the hell are our sandwiches?" He goes, "They'll be here. And, um, yeah, well, no problem... we can look up shit about Fort Myers when we get home... um, that's if you still wanna go." I'm like, "Why wouldn't I still want to go?" Rob's being sort of stiff and formal, not like himself 'cause he's still pissed about me considering a job with the twins' company, and then that acne-faced ass-hat at the front desk punking us by seating the girls who were behind us in line.
I go, "Hey, let's chill out. No need to be tense... we're on spring break!" He shrugs, mumbling, "Sure, okay," and I then I can't resist bringing this up, "Are you still upset about me mentioning my future step dad's company?" He makes a rude sound, muttering, "Christ, no..." and I'm like, "Hey, what do you always tell me about pouting?" He goes, "I'm not fucking pouting!" I go, "That's what I always say too." Okay, for different reasons we're a little tense at the moment. It'll pass.
We silently drink our beers and then I can't let it go, saying, "Robby, it's not like I've had a serious talk with Tom and Tim about working for them. I'm probably going to work for you or at least apply for a job with your company." He sounds disgusted, saying, "You know Goddamn well you don't need to apply for a job... that'll be just a formality. Dad already assumes you'll be working for the company, and he very much wants you working with us as well." I'm like, "Yeah, that's flattering but I can't diss Tom and Tim by just blowing them off. Anyway, wouldn't it actually be better if we worked at different firms? Comparing stuff or, you know we'd have more to talk about after work every day." He goes, "Was that a question?"
Our sandwiches appear in front of us unceremoniously, the bartender dropping them on the bar, and muttering, "There ya go, guys." They serve the sandwiches on small paper plates without anything else. No chips, no French fries, no pickle, no nothing. Robby looks at the bartender with a scowl on his face and asks, "How 'bout some horseradish?" I knew it, he's looking for a reason to snap. As I said, this part of Rob hasn't shown itself recently but today he's looking for an excuse to pop someone.
The bartender, of course, couldn't care less about Rob's attitude as he slides a jar of horseradish from in front of two men who look about eighty-seven years old. The jar slides to a stop on the bar between Robby and me. Rob uses the little spoon in the jar to spread horseradish on his roast beer, as I say, "Christ, Rob. I'm telling you it's like ninety percent I'll be a Dickers & Son employee anyway, so I don't know why you're acting pissy." I can see his body language change as he grins now, saying, "Ninety percent, huh? That's getting close to the percentage I'm looking for." I go, "Okay, it's almost a hundred percent," and he chuckles, mumbling, "I'll accept that percentage. In the future, however, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't scare me with that bullshit about working someplace else, okay?" I go, "There's still that one or two percent... just saying." It's nice being wanted.
We eat our sandwiches without saying anything else. It doesn't take long to eat a Beef and Ale House roast beef sandwich. They come on a Kaiser roll about the size of your average hamburger roll. After wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, Rob hits my arm, saying, "Asshole, scaring me with that work bullshit..." I go, "You're the one who was acting like an asshole, not me... but I forgive you." He says, "Ya want another roast beef?" I nod and Rob waves his hand at the bartender, then motions at our empty paper plates and mugs, saying, "Two more of the same."
I drain the beer dregs from my mug, as Robby mumbles, "This is hitting the spot, huh? This fucking beer is cold and ya can't beat these sandwiches." I nod, "Yeah, except it's only the first beer that comes in a frozen mug. You watch, the lazy bartender will use these mugs for refills." Rob mutters, "Yeah I know, the lazy motherfucker..." and he chuckles. Jesus, it isn't hard to get Rob in a good mood, ya just tell him what he wants to hear. Lots of people are like that.
And then I see he hasn't forgotten about the arrogant reception guy 'cause he's looking over his shoulder at that guy. I hit his shoulder, saying, "Forget him," and Rob looks at me, saying, "Yeah, you're right, but I gave some serious thought to rearranging that officious weasel's facial features. The jerkoff!" I'm like, "Oh? Ya mean you took offense just because he humiliated us by telling us to move out of the way as if we're shit birds?" He goes, "Yeah, because of that, plus I know that dickless creep from high school. We definitely had our differences. Good to see his career is off and running here at the Beef & Ale House. He's probably hauling in thirty thousand a year four years after graduating high school. I'm pretty sure that's above the poverty level anyway." I'm not poking that bear, so I say nothing. Saying nothing rarely gets me in trouble.
We have a second sandwich and two more beers and then leave. As we're walking out I keep Robby's attention away from the creep at the reception desk by asking him questions about the project he worked on this morning. It probably wasn't necessary but I wanted to make sure Rob didn't make eye contact with that guy. Who needs a confrontation ya can't win? By that I mean, sure Rob could pound that dweeb's face in but we're considered adults now and the law frowns on adult men fist fighting in public.
So, yeah, I'm kinda proud my mature attitude managed to avoid a confrontation between old high school adversaries plus, my willingness not to press the point about a job with the twins avoided a dumb-ass argument about where I might get a job after college. Maturity and careful use of words is what was needed for both delicate situations, one of which I partially caused by mentioning working for the twins. I'm still gonna talk to Tom about the job. I'm not, however, mentioning that to Rob again. Well, not unless I'm seriously considering taking the twin's offer. Yeah, that's a better approach than just throwing the possibility out there without any idea what I'm talking about. And, while it was an awkward ten minutes with Rob, at least now he knows I might consider the other job opportunity which maybe will get me a better offer from Dickers & Son. Ya know, better than the one Rob and his dad may have initially had me pegged for. In other words, human resources can kiss my ass! Gee, if only I could act this mature more often, ya know? Being mature is very taxing and tiring though, it's exhausting actually... and not a lot of fun.
After lunch, we go straight home and then straight to our bedroom but, no, not for that. We go online Googling Fort Myers, Florida. After reading everything we can about it, we look at each other and I sense the hesitation we both feel about being the first one to fully embrace the idea of going there. I say, "Yeah, it's a good possibility but it is the Gulf of Mexico, not the ocean." and Rob's like, "Yeah, but the pictures of the beaches look pretty nice in the Fort Myers/ Sanibel area, and then there's Jet Blue Park and the Red Sox to consider. We've never been to a spring season game."
Nodding my head noncommittally, I continue looking at pictures on the laptop of hotels in Fort Myers while we continue trying to talk ourselves into doing this. I'm like, "The Residence Inn looks pretty nice and they offer last minute specials of $95 a night, plus the last minute flights' are in the $200 to $249 range for round trip fares. Ya know, depending on the airlines and the departure times." Rob mutters, "Well, the cost is in our ballpark, no pun intended." I nod, muttering, "Yep. Jesus though, without going for the last minute deal the airfare ticket is like $500 each way, which is so far out of the fucking question it's laughable." Robby goes, "No shit! Who the fuck are these people who pay that?"
I have no idea who they are, but there's a lot of them because most flights are full except, obviously, the rare last-minute scattered available seats on some of the flights, all of which are leaving and arriving at odd times. Well, obviously, most people don't go on a trip at the last minute.
After some silence, I ask, "Do you wanna do it?" He bites his bottom lip shrugging and then mumbles, "I don't know... it's kinda hard to pull the trigger and get my credit card out if ya know what I mean." I go, "Yeah, you mean it's hard making a decision, right?" He snorts out a laugh and goes, "Yeah, that's basically it." I'm like, "Well, we don't wanna go today but we pretty much gotta decide if we're gonna do this at all. If we are, we'll need to leave tomorrow, coming back Friday. Can we agree on that much?" Rob makes a 'face' that could mean anything, so I go, "Tomorrow morning we're gonna need to be pulling our credit cards out, or forget about it entirely."
He thinks about that a few seconds and then snickers and says, "Oh, Christ, yeah, I feel better putting all this shit off until tomorrow." Grinning, I'm like, "Ya sure? That'll only give you about eighteen hours to grow a set of balls," and he grins saying, "Oh yeah? You wiseass..." and we get into a good-natured altercation. Rob jumps up, limber as a cat, and wrestles me onto the bed. We're giggling like two ten-year-olds wrestling and flopping around on the bed trying to pull each others' pants down to see each other's pee-pee.
Not for long though because we're quickly successful getting each other's pants down. Then I pretend Rob's got me captive as he's holding my wrist together with his left hand, grabbing the Astroglide from the bedside table with his other hand. He unscrews the cap using his teeth while I fake struggling and then the tube is at my ass and he squeezes the lubricant near my asshole, mumbling, "We'll soon see if I have a set of balls or not..." I go, "Oh, no! Not that!"
When he drops the tube of lube, he spreads the Astroglide around my asshole with his fingers and then pushes a finger inside and I go, "Eck!" Wiggling his slippery finger against my prostate has my dick changing from firm-status to boner-status, BAM, just like that. Feels good too. We're both partially on our sides with Rob behind me, his arm over my side with his hand still holding my wrist together. Satisfied he's got enough lubricant in my ass, he drops his head and kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "We're booking that trip tomorrow morning, you brat."
His cock's head pokes my asshole but I flop flat on my stomach causing his cock to slide off my left butt cheek as he goes, "Come here you," and he straddles me pushing my shirt up to my neck. He rubs his hands up and down my back with the slippery fingers of his right hand spreading a little Astroglide on my ribs. It all feels good too. Yeah, I LOVE physical contact with another guy! I love being touched! If there's a word for a person who likes being touched, I don't know what it is. A word meaning the opposite of haphephobia. Those poor haphephobia bastards don't know what they're missing.
And then the best touching of all, Rob's boner touches my anus again, and then, "OOOH!" it's inside my body. OW! that hurt, but now Rob's waiting before moving that fat hard penis further up my ass. He's allowing my talented asshole to catch up, which it does fairly fast and then the slow trip of Rob's engorged cock begins. It slowly pushes up my ass with me scrunching my face but almost laughing at the hurt at the same time. I know the pain is a temporary condition and I'm freaky in that I kinda like the pain competing with the throbbing pleasure vibrations coming off my prostate. What a magnificent idea the prostate gland was. It's the end result of probably sixty trillion mutations over four billion years before finally stumbling upon this version ten thousand years ago. Who cares how long it took though... it's here for us now!
Robby murmurs, "Omigod, this feels better every time we do it, babe." I grunt, "Ow," and he says, "Sorry," and leans against my buttocks which tells me the trip up my ass is completed, meaning all of Rob's soup-can-thick four inches of hard penis is now inside my rectum. Rob's rubbing up and down my sides again and then his fingers rub up against my spine as he mutters, "You have very nice vertebra. Yeah, a very nice spine I must say and your skin is so smooth and tight. A really nice body actually, I mean for a lad so young." I snort out a chuckle as the pain fades. Damn, it always feels awesome being totally filled up back there and it always gets me seriously aroused too. I tighten my buttock muscles squeezing that fat cock of Rob's, and he goes, "Oh shit yeah, that feels good on my pecker, little fellow." In a cartoon voice, I go, "I need to poo." He laughs out loud, and says, "Not now, there's no toilet paper. You can go poo later, okay?"
That's the last joking around we do because Rob starts thrusting, (starts out) fucking my ass awesomely hard and fast. Near the end of our wrestling, his pants slid down to his knees so I'm hearing some slapping sounds as his crotch smacks against my buttocks and that sound always adds to the thrill of getting fucked. He's got a hand on the mattress on either side of me in a push-up position as his hips move smoothly doing all the work pounding away and almost immediately all thoughts of the world around me take flight from my consciousness. I concentrate exclusively on the fantastic sensations coming from my rectum and from the throbbing boner I'm lying on.
What an excellent way to spend a few quality minutes together! It's, "Slap, slap, slap," and, "Um, um, um," from me with Rob grunting, "Ahh!" at each thrust. Seriously, I can't imagine why the popular position for male's fucking, by far, is the 'top' position. I get double the pleasure as the 'bottom' and with close to zero effort on my part.
My rectum is a sea of nerve endings all swimming in pleasurable waters, waves of that pleasure created by Rob's moving boner and, at the same time my hard penis is competing for my attention by getting harder and quivering in its hardness as it's anticipating the fireworks building in my nuts that give every indication of being a spectacular display and will soon be exploding beautifully for real, blasting out my hard cock but also blasting off in my mind. I'm waiting for the signal that will send sizzling hot sperm up and out my rock-hard cock creating a tsunami of sexual pleasure in the front and back of my body, sensations spreading to the roots of my hair down to my curled toes when it hits... all for my pleasure to luxuriate in as I shudder and shiver and clench my teeth hardly believing I get to experience this again. It's a shared act of love when I'm doing this with Robby and that elevates it above all others I've ever done this with... being in love takes everything higher and higher. It just does!
Sure, it's quick this time at only about four minutes and that's because Rob's intention from the start was for us both to realize for the five-hundredth time the thrill of orgasming together. This time I feel his climax explode first and as always happens, that sets me off within seconds and I'm squealing into Rob's pillow at the unbelievable screaming sensations of sexual climax. Sensations are so enormous it's like the entire universe stops to watch as I shudder with intense pleasure and then I hear Rob's sigh and then he moans contentedly as he lies on top of me, and then his body does a little shudder followed by another sigh from Robby. Oh, yeah, and then there's those zipping after effects I'm experiencing that make my shoulders shudder again... nice!
Right afterward there's always heavy breathing and pounding hearts from both of us because sexual intercourse and eventual climax use up 101 kilocalories which, as everyone knows are units measuring expended energy. It's equivalent to doing significant exercise, and I didn't make that up. I didn't need to make it up because from the 7.5 billion humans living on this planet presently a few of them are scientists who took the time to do a study about fucking and they're the ones who came up with those results. No wonder we're breathing hard, huh? Rob is responsible for a lot of those kilocalories, but I'm breathing hard too 'cause climaxing is an explosive bodily function...
Robby rolls off me, mumbling, "Holy shit, I'm sweating. That was quite a workout, huh, babe?" Haha, I was just thinking that same thing. I'm tempted to tell him about the 101 kilocalories but he's not into scientific detail all that much. That's more my 'thing'. Instead, I say, "Ya wanna do it again?" He laughs and slides off the bed, saying, "Not right this second, no. That was exactly what I needed though. Thanks for participating." I go, "Yeah, sure, glad to help."
He's wiping his dick with tissues as I mumble, "I spunked on the blanket." Rob goes, "Ah, Jesus, not again!" and he looks over at the hamper where we stuffed the bedspread yesterday when the same thing happened. Getting off the bed I point to the wet spot, asking, "What should we do about that, boss?" He goes, "What we did the last time. Stuff it in the hamper, put some dirty clothes on top and say we're doing our laundry." I go, "Good plan, um, but when are you gonna clean me up? Your spunk is drooling out of my ass and, ya know..." He snickers and tosses me the box of Kleenex, mumbling, "Does that answer your question?"
Tossing the box back at him, I pull up my pants, saying, "I'm taking a shower. You do the washing machine thing for the bedspread and the blanket because, frankly, it's your fault I spunked on them. Obviously, you didn't learn your lesson after the bedspread incident and you made me do it again." He pulls up his pants and drags the blanket off the bed, saying, "Have I mentioned lately that you're a spoiled brat?" I go, "Yes, you have," and he goes, "Okay, I'll take care of the washing machine, but I'm including the sheets too. Everything goes into the washing machine, our dirty clothes included, and then you take it from there. You switch the stuff to the dryer and then make up the bed with the clean stuff, okay?" I nod, "Yeah, I guess that's partially fair," and then I head down the hall to the bathroom, thinking, 'I needed that sex especially after the incompetent Squirrel couldn't last long enough for me to get 'off' earlier. Gee, and after all I did for him too! Overall though... heh heh... this has been an okay spring-break day... so far.
The shower feels great as showers always do, and then when I'm done and Rob's showering I get dressed and go downstairs where I give a little wave to Mrs. D. and then continue down to the basement. She smiled at me but couldn't say anything because she's talking on the phone, so that worked out well. In the basement, I wait a few minutes until the washing machine cycle is done and then move the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer and then stay in the basement drinking a beer from the basement refrigerator. Ya know, Mrs. D. could be off the phone now so going upstairs wouldn't be smart because I'm not feeling like a whole bunch of small talk right now.
I'm grinning to myself thinking about little Squirrel telling Sonny and Ray he fucked me. Oh man, I can imagine him embellishing it and the looks on Sonny's, and particularly Ray's faces... haha! Oh yeah, that's awesome! I can hardly wait to run into those guys. I'll be like... oh, Jesus, Squirrel fucked me a new asshole! I haven't been fucked like that since my days with Willie Worthington when I was in high school. Hee hee... they don't know who he is but they'll know he was a guy who fucked me before either of them did, which means Squirrel was a better top than either of those awesome 'tops'. Sonny will know it's bullshit and laugh it off, but it'll dig into Ray's ego something terrible.
After two beers in the basement, daydreaming about crazy fun shit, I fold the dried clothes, piling them the hamper and take it upstairs, saying to Mrs. Dickers, "Rob makes me do all the work," and she says, "I'm gonna give him a good talking to about that, Dylan." We both chuckle and then, in the bedroom, I make up the bed as I'm wondering where Robby got to.
I find him lying on the sofa in the family room texting on his cell phone. That's a good idea and I take my phone out seeing a text from Chubby about his flight to the Dominican Republic and how beautiful the resort is. We text back and forth a little. It's awesome when Chubby remembers to bring his phone... and it's charged too. After that I text Danny but he doesn't text back although Pony does and he tells me what I already knew about Fort Lauderdale from going there myself.
Rob and I don't go out after dinner. Instead, we spend another hour online rechecking everything about Fort Myers. We both second guess ourselves about going, but in the end, our desire for a few days in the sun overrides our concerns about going someplace we've never been before. We check the weather forecast for Fort Myers three times using different forecasting sites and none of them have anything to say about the possibility of precipitation. It's sunny, sunny, sunny for the next three days. All the forecasts indicate 'sunny with temperatures in the low eighties'. Perfect, in other words.
Rob grabs his 'junk' and goes, "My balls grew, let's book it!" I'm like, "Finally, huh?" We do that and take advantage of last minute rates for flights on Delta and then make a three nights' reservation for the Residence Inn, which has the most attractive last-minute deal for room rates.
No refunds for the last minute rates so we're committed! We lie on our bed talking about the trip while enjoying the fresh linens that still smell faintly of Downy Fabric Softener, which also reduces static cling in case ya didn't know that. The flight is nonstop, 3 hrs. and 37 minutes leaving at two-thirty in the afternoon which kinda sucks but beggars can't be choosey, or so I'm told. We'll lose most of tomorrow, but that's okay. It feels good having something definitive to look forward to. All in all, I'd rather be in the Dominican Republic where Chubby went, but there's something to be said for a trip that's just Robby and me, plus saving over three thousand dollars is good too. It's going to be just Robby and me for much of the rest of our lives, so let's see how it goes, ya know?
We told Rob's parents what we're planning and they both acted like it's no big deal. It's like we're adults with our own money, earned last summer, so Rob's mom merely said, "That sounds like a wonderful time," and then she says to Mr. Dickers, "Robert, we need to get away for a few days ourselves." Mr. D. emphatically says, "For Christ sake, Em, this is a crucial time at work finalizing about a million damn details for the Falmouth project and you talk about getting a tan at some damn Caribbean Island?" She calmly says, "It's Dylan's brother who is spending spring break in the Dominican Republic, dear. Rob and Dylan are going to sunny Florida on the Gulf Coast." Obviously, Mr. D. wasn't paying a lot of attention when Rob was telling them our plans. Mr. D. looks up and says, "Oh, well, have fun, boys. Do ya need any money?" Robby goes, "Yes, could you spot us five hundred dollars for 'walking around' money?" He mutters, "No," and then he's like, "Would you care to join me for an after-dinner drink, Em?" Yes, she would...
After finalizing our reservations, Rob and I have a few beers and a few cigarettes in the pool house while looking at Rob's laptop tentatively planning on the things we might do in Fort Myers. There's a list online from Fort Myers' Chamber of Commerce titled: '26 things to do during your vacation in beautiful Fort Myers' most of which we wouldn't do unless someone put a gun to our heads. Other attractions sound kinda cool though, like a boat ride through the Everglades, or maybe we'll try the so-called Sun Splash Waterpark, or Zoomers Amusement Park, and other things like a preseason Red Sox game. Plus beach time and swimming in the Gulf and the San Carlos Bay should be cool too.
So, it looks promising until a detail we haven't accounted for pops into our heads... the minor detail that we'll need to rent a car. Fuck, renting a car when you're under the age of twenty-five can be a ballbuster... although it can be done. So, we put in a reservation for a car at one of the places that will rent to guys under the age of twenty-five... the 'We'll pick you up' rental agency, Enterprise. The fact they won't need to pick us up, however, doesn't lower the rip-off price they charge for us under twenty-five-year-old drivers.
I'm trying to be cool and blasé about this, but the truth is I'm excited about our little adventure. Tuesday morning we have breakfast and then take longer than we should be deciding what clothes to bring with us when all we really need are some shorts, t-shirts, and a bathing suit. We managed to turn that into a dog and pony act by over-thinking everything but recover in time to say goodbye to Rob's mom, who offers us money that we refuse, and then we're on our way to Logan Airport. We manage to get through the disgusting traffic caused by construction that never ends on the Mass Pike and arrive at Logan an hour before our flight. After parking, most of the hour early arrival time is taken up going through security but we're walking down the corridor looking for our gate with fifteen minutes to spare. It's a good feeling accomplishing everything successfully on our own. After all, we are adults and nobody's going to do things for us from here on out, and I guess we're still getting used to that fact.
The last-minute tickets meant we can't sit together on the plane. We're both in middle seats, of course. These are the last minute seats available because no one in their right mind wants to sit between two strangers if they can avoid it. My middle seat is opposite the wing with a talkative older woman, grandmother-old, on my right at the window seat and on my left a grumpy businessman type who has two nips of vodka and then snores for two hours. He's overweight too, of course... as many people are nowadays. The belly fat around his sides overlap the armrest between us, and the armrest on the aisle too. I'm scrunched near talkative grandma who was nice except she nearly drove me insane making mouth noises eating her peanuts one at a time during most of the three and a half hour flight. I had sharp needles sticking in the back of my head for a good portion of the flight but, not being a complainer, I kept the discomfort to myself. Well, who the fuck could I complain to anyway?
Deplaning took way longer than sensibilities would indicate it should, but what can you do except stand half bent over so your head doesn't hit the overhead luggage compartments waiting for snails to move up the aisle after taking an hour and a half to retrieve their too-large carry on luggage that's stuck in the overhead compartments, and of course the cabin heats up disturbingly during this seemingly endless process.
Finally off the plane, Rob's waiting for me in the tunnel connecting the plane with the airport. He grins and says, "That wasn't bad at all. This young guy offered to let me sit in his aisle seat so he could sit next to his girlfriend. The middle seat I bought was only available because of the last minute cancellation. Anyway, the guy gave me two tickets to tomorrow's Red Sox game at Jet Blue Park. Look!" and he shows me the tickets that are two rows up from third base. I'm like, "Wow! That's awesome!"
As we're walking up the ramp, he asks, "How was your seat?" I go, "Fine! No problem," and we walk out into the air-conditioned airport terminal. Rob's looking around, then he points, muttering, "There's the car rental sign." We reserved an economy car at Enterprise and at the counter when we finally get to it Rob and I both need to show our driver's license and debit cards and then for only $71.49 a day, we get the use of a ratty looking Chevrolet Spark with 26,000 miles on it. Inside this piece of shit car, it smells strongly of a gross disinfectant spray. Ya gotta wonder what worse smell could there have been in this car that they needed to use this unbearable-smelling deodorizer to cover up. The price includes accident insurance which the unfriendly agent at the counter insisted we take.
We're both pissed about getting ripped-off like that but we basically had no choice 'cause we needed wheels. We make a pact that when we're twenty-five we'll never rent a car from Enterprise. That'll show 'em! We check in at the Residence Inn a little after six o'clock and, thankfully, that goes without incident. Our room is okay. There's a queen size bed in the room and a nice view of the noisy street in front of the hotel with a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant across the street from us. I don't remember any of the pictures online showing this view. The deep fried grease smell is strong when we open the window for some fresh air and, after immediately closing the window, we look at each other and shrug like, whaddya gonna do? Neither of us is especially pushy or aggressive and we're not cool-talking hot-shits like Chubby, for example, so maybe we get taken advantage of a little but we're here now and we're determined to have a good time.
We only have Wednesday and Thursday to do stuff because today is pretty much shot and our return flight is Friday at seven in the morning. The late afternoon flight from Logan today and the very early flight Friday morning are a result of our last minute ticket purchases and because the times suck we got the low-cost round trip fares. Yeah, it's awful not being rich!
On the plus side, rich or not, the weather is gorgeous at eighty-two degrees and it's still very sunny at six o'clock. Supposedly the sun doesn't set until seven-forty so, after changing into shorts and t-shirts we go out to walk around a little. I'm wearing my sunglasses and it feels great to be in this warm weather with the sun so bright and hot I need sunglasses. It's especially appreciated after a long winter in the Boston area. Fort Myers, like Ocean City, New Jersey, looks like a town. There are some stores, some houses, and some people so it's like any town except there are a lot of motels and hotels here and the Gulf of Mexico is in the vicinity. Water, in this case, the Gulf of Mexico, is the major difference between an ordinary town and a vacation spot.
After walking for ten minutes, Rob goes, "Well, the weather is great but Fort Myers isn't doing anything for me so far, babe. I mean this has a different feel to it than being at the shore. I'm not feeling I'm at a place special." I shrug, mumbling, "Let's give it a chance." Nodding, he says, "Uh huh. Oh, let's try that restaurant across the street. I'm hungry."
I have the high-gloss pamphlet they gave us at the hotel that shows where all the restaurants and points of interest are and, for the most part, it's for sure we definitely need the car to do anything tomorrow. For now though, there are restaurants within walking distance. I look in the brochure for the one Rob's pointing at, which is the Dinner Train Restaurant. Oh, I read that supposedly this place has some form of entertainment going on while you're eating. I show Rob that and he says, "No, let's not take a chance on that." We look at other options and Rob points to a picture of Miller's Ale House. It's a half mile from the hotel so it should be three or four blocks to our right. We cross the street as I read a couple of the reviews for the restaurant and then tell Rob, "Some people liked this place and some others didn't." Robby lights a cigarette and mutters, "Well, we're gonna like it, right?" I go, "That's the kind of positive thinking I like to hear."
As it turns out, the restaurant isn't anything special but it doesn't suck all that bad either... it's okay. The food is average and so is the price of everything. Maybe that's what Fort Myers is... 'okay'. It's not horrid and not especially good either. That's what we say about the Red Sox game we see Wednesday. It's only 'okay' because there are only a few of the regular starting players in the game, plus the Red Sox lost. We did get to see Mookie Betts like ten feet away for a minute. He took his hat off to wipe perspiration while talking to the third base coach and, oh no, he's losing his hair! He'll be bald before long. That sucks.
And, Jet Blue Park was jammed for the game, sold out, as apparently all their spring training games are. Well, the whole town of Fort Myers is basically sold out during spring training. A man next to us as we waited in line for hot dogs explained to a man he was with that spring training isn't a good time to visit Fort Myers unless the Red Sox is your main reason for being here. The rest of the winter months are much less crowded and Fort Myers is a very nice spot without the baseball fans. Huh, who knew?
Well, that 'nice spot' comment is only partially true anyway because spring training crowds or not, Fort Myers is what it is and it's no Wildwood New Jersey, that's for damn sure! It's like an amateur summer vacation spot. People who don't know any better wrote some nice reviews for Fort Myers online which partially made us decide to come here. I don't blame them because, as I said, they don't know any better. They're uninformed, ignorant as to what a first-rate summer vacation spot is all about. Fort Myers... get serious!
After the ballgame, we drive to the beach and while the beach is very nice, the Gulf of Mexico is not an ocean, obviously, so it's almost like swimming in a lake. Plus there's no boardwalk in Fort Myers even though they claim there is. Their idea of a boardwalk is to name a street 'Boardwalk' and that'll be Fort Myers' boardwalk. It's a street with some stores, some of the stores even selling the kind of cheap junk you can buy on a real boardwalk like t-shirts and fake jewelry and whatnot, although mostly the stores are the kind you find in malls. There aren't hordes of people walking this fake boardwalk either, plus there are traffic lights and cars on this so-called 'Boardwalk'. Robby and I got to laughing at this imposter boardwalk and then we went into a conveniently located bar and had six beers each while whispering derogatory things about Fort Myers and laughing our nuts off again. The beers helped us see the humor in our situation. So, even though there is no boardwalk we still had an okay time on their pretend boardwalk/street... so that was 'okay' but not good... just okay.
And something that's very obvious in Fort Myers is the lack of anyone our age. If other college-age guys came here for spring break ...we didn't see them. Of course, we wanted to get away from the normal clownish atmosphere of spring break locations, BUT not to the extreme of zero students. Instead, there are many, many older folks here. Oh, yeah, older folks are all over the place taking their time and then there are the families with young children too. That's who we mostly see in Fort Myers, older folks or families with young children. And, yeah, we caught people pointing at us and talking behind their hands because we were like exotic creatures from outer space. Not really... haha... it was okay. And we saw a few bars that actually had a band playing. The one we went in for a beer we didn't stay for long because the band sucked so bad we were embarrassed for them.
Then later we went to the Sun Splash Waterpark. The park was okay but not as good as other waterparks we've been to, not nearly as good. We could buy beers though, so that was good. We had beers at Jet Blue Park too and booze always helps you see the humor in things. We're not mean drunks looking for trouble. We're mellow and we weren't actually drunk either time anyway... just a little high. Wednesday night we had dinner at KJ's Steakhouse and it was okay. The prices aren't bad here, not what I consider rip-off prices, but not what you'd call bargain prices either. We both got a little sunburn on the beach so there were a few yelps when we irritated the burns on the sheets while fucking two times Wednesday night but that was okay.
We had an okay breakfast for an okay price at a spot not far from the hotel and then drove to the beach again. It was crowded but the sand is better than Wildwood's beaches. Nice beach but without the ocean, the beach experience seems, um, flat. The water is flat of course, but I mean the beach experience just wasn't the same... sort of 'blah' compared to an ocean beach. We had an okay time on the beach though. One big problem on the beach was I needed to keep averting my eyes when some of the older sunbathers showed a little too much skin.
No more sunburn though as we were diligent about the sunblock Thursday morning. We wanted to do something different in the afternoon and we were torn between a three hour Everglades boat ride or checking out Zoomers Amusement park. The thought of big mosquitoes in the Everglades, whether or not there are huge mosquitoes there, the possibility there may be is what swayed us to choose the amusement park and it was okay. Okay, but definitely not up to the standards of New Jersey amusement parks... not remotely close to those standards, but for what it was and the price, as I said, it was okay.
Thursday night we tried a restaurant we saw on the fake boardwalk yesterday. Its name is the Beaches Boardwalk Cafe and we were intrigued by a cafe with two misrepresentations in its name... boardwalk and beaches, neither of which are remotely near the restaurant. Well, there is no boardwalk to start with... the food was okay though.
After our okay dinner Thursday night we got drunk at a bar with a piano player who also sang. We sat at the bar drinking VO and water. I don't remember why we were drinking that but the drinks were going down easily and we closed the place listening to songs originally sung by recording artists who have been dead a long time. The guy sang okay and wasn't overly loud and didn't try exceeding his capabilities, so he was okay. We brought down the average age of those in attendance, and the place was crowded, down appreciably but that was okay too because no one bothered us. Well, one older guy tried striking up a conversation but we weren't receptive and he muttered, "Fuck you then," and wandered off. We weren't rude to him and, frankly, there wasn't any need for him to tell us 'fuck you'. Old people aren't always easy to figure out though.
I think Thursday night was the best time we had in Fort Myers. It was fun even though the place and everything about it was, as I may have mentioned... just okay. Of course, we could just as easily have gotten drunk back home and saved a lot of money. One thing about the trip that was way better than just okay was Rob. He was way better than okay and I liked being with him every minute we were together, which is to say every minute in Fort Myers. Who else would I be with? There was absolutely no side sex in Fort Myers for me, or anyone else if I had to guess. So that was very different from other shore destinations I've been too, but that was okay too because I didn't want or need any side sex.
At five o'clock Friday morning we're staggering out of the hotel room for the drive to the airport where we'll need to return the car and get through security; two seriously unpleasant chores before we can even think of relaxing. This isn't an 'okay' situation we're experiencing right now. I still feel a little drunk which, believe it or not, helps. The full hangover will hit as we approach Logan. I expect to sleep on the plane so that should help a lot too. As Rob's driving he's drinking a sixteen-ounce bottle of Coke he got from the vending machine in the hall of the hotel. I'm drinking a sixteen-ounce bottle of sweetened carbonated water with artificial orange flavoring that's okay, but not great. We've both already had some of the Advil from the bottle I thoughtfully brought with me.
There's no talking until we see the airport at which time Robby says, "I left my new sandals under the fucking bed." I have nothing helpful to say about that so I don't say anything. Turning in the car entails waiting for ten minutes before an arrogant pot-bellied guy waves us forward. Rob drives to where the guy is gesturing and we sit here while he begins slowly walking around the car carefully looking for damage done to this piece of shit rental car.
After a few tedious minutes watching this dildo trying to find something wrong with this shit-box-car, Rob makes a nasty sound under his breath and gets out. He grabs his backpack and satchel from the back seat and begins walking toward the airport terminal. Huh! Well, what the fuck? I get out of the car and put my backpack on too while mumbling to potbelly, "We paid for the insurance so don't get a hernia looking for any damage. If there is any we don't know about it or, for that matter, give a shit about." He goes, "You! You smart-mouth kid, just wait a Goddamn minute," and I walk away with him yelling, "Hey, someone needs to drive this around to the return area." Rob and I keep walking. Fuck 'em! That's one of the advantages of being not only hungover but still slightly drunk, ya just don't give a shit. Of course, there are those among us who don't need to be hungover or slightly drunk to act that way... and I'm envious of them.
We go through whatever we need to in order to get past security and then we get large coffees at a coffee shop. It ain't Dunkin' Donut coffee but then it ain't Starbucks either, so the coffee is okay. The flight is on time and then it's the same deal where I have the middle seat. Rob too but this time he's two rows up from my seat although I can't see him because he didn't get lucky this time and he too needs to sit between two strangers during the flight back to Boston. There are women on either side of me this time, both average size so that's okay. Neither of them is friendly, but they aren't nasty either. The three of us are just fine without knowing one another. No introductions, no small talk, no 'excuse me', no nothing... it's perfect!
It's like a miracle that the lady is already sitting next to the window reading a magazine when I sat down and then the other lady sits in the aisle seat. There's a little rustling around, then the plane takes off and a lady pushing a cart of drinks down the aisle asks if we want a drink of something, I mutter 'No thanks', the ladies on either side of me get coffees and the next thing I know I wake up because my ears are popping as we're beginning the descent to Logan International Airport with the captain telling us, "Welcome to Boston, folks. The weather is cloudy... fifty-six degrees. Thank you for flying Delta." Huh.
Sure, I'm hungover but not as bad as I expected. I need liquids now except the beverage cart is nowhere to be seen. No matter, I'm glad to be back at Logan and a mere forty-five minute from home. The pilot doesn't crash the plane and then it's the same cluster fuck deplaning and then Rob and I are walking up that tunnel to the crowded, busy, noisy airport with unintelligible announcements being made that no one pays any attention to. Rob asks, "How ya doing?" and I go, "Not bad. I slept all the way back... like three hours maybe." He goes, "I'm dying of thirst!"
We buy bottles of water for only $3.50 each which isn't okay except we're home so I guess it is okay. We both guzzle the water as we walk toward the sign for parking. No need to go to baggage pick-up because we didn't check any luggage. And then another miracle when Rob, after checking five places finds the parking stub in the back pocket of the jeans he wore on Tuesday that were stuffed in his satchel. Yea! That allowed us to pay the outrageous amount for parking at Logan Airport in the terminal before walking out to the parking garage. I don't know what happens if you can't find the ticket and now we don't need to find out.
We walk out into the rather cold raw day but that's okay because we're home. A pickup truck is easier to find than a car which is a good thing because all the cars seem to look pretty much alike nowadays. Getting in the pickup we're both smiling because we planned, paid for, and enjoyed our little 'okay' getaway in the sun without a screw-up, without anything going especially wrong. It's a feeling of accomplishment although both of us are pretending it's no big deal. Still, we're kinda proud we handled everything okay. We're gaining confidence that the world isn't that hard to navigate through... not all the time anyway.
We're almost jovial driving out of the parking garage as Rob asks, "Whaddaya wanna do today, babe?" I mumble, "A little more sleep maybe and then, I don't know. Um, when do you wanna go back to college?" He asks, "Are you anxious to get back?" Shrugging, I go, "Not really. I'm anxious to finish." He mutters, "Me too." With the radio tuned to a music station, I doze on and off the rest of the drive home.
I guess I'd dozed off as we arrived at home because Rob saying, "Here we are, Dylan," wakes me up. I'm like, "I wasn't asleep." He chuckles, mumbling, "Okay." With our backpacks over one shoulder and carrying our satchels, we find the back door locked. Nobody's home. Rob uses his key and we go inside and head for the refrigerator for bottles of Cokes. We take a couple more Advil and go upstairs to use the bathroom and then in our bedroom we drop our stuff and lie on the nice clean bedspread. I roll against Robby and we lie there without talking until we fall asleep. I wake up hearing something, but what is it? Looking at my watch I see it's almost two o'clock. Our flight left at seven and we got into Logan a little after ten-thirty. We got home an hour or so after that so, hmm, we just had at least a two-hour nap.
The thing that woke me up turns out to be tapping on the bedroom door and then I hear Rob's mom saying, "Boys, everything alright?" We're still both wearing what we wore home, jeans and shirts, so I slide off the bed and go over to open the door. Mrs. Dickers looks nice. I'm guessing she just got back from a lunch with her lady's club because she always gets kinda dressed up for that. I smile and say, "We were napping 'cause we needed to get up at five o'clock this morning to make our flight. We're good though." She says, "Nice to have you home. How was your trip?" I say, Oh, excellent and we..." and Robby calls over from the bed, "We'll tell you all about it later, okay, mom? I'm trying to 'effing take a nap here." She says, "Sorry, I wanted to be sure everything is okay." He sighs and mutters, "Everything's okay, mom. Couldn't be better."
She smiles and mouths the word 'grumpy' to me as she points in the direction of Rob's voice. I nod and smile, saying again, "It was an excellent trip." She pats my arm and whispers, "When you're ready I'll fix you something to eat." I nod and smile again and when she turns to go down the hall I gently close the door and lie back on the bed, saying, "It wouldn't hurt for you to be nicer to your mom." He says, 'Yes, daddy, except if I were nicer she wouldn't recognize me." He gets an arm under the back of my neck pulling me over against his side, murmuring, "Come here, you. I need my binky-Dylan so I can fall back to sleep."
I doze off again or think I do but I must have because I don't remember anything until I feel Robby getting off the bed. I open my eyes because my side, the one that was against Rob, feels cold now. Looking at my watch I see it's three-fifteen and I feel okay. Oh, good! And I'm hungry too, which is another encouraging sign I'm getting over that VO and water hangover. The water part of that drink is a good idea by the way and is a far, far superior idea than drinking the liquor without the water and ice.
I get up, asking, "You gonna take a shower, Rob?" He goes, "Yep," and he's out the door. Sighing, I get off the bed and unpack my stuff putting most of it in the empty hamper. When Rob's back from the bathroom I take a quick shower and after getting dried and dressed I go downstairs hearing Robby talking in the kitchen. Going in there I see he's on his cell phone as his mom's asking me, "Would you like a ham and cheese sandwich, Dylan? I made one for Rob. I nod, "Yes, thank you," and then get myself another Coke from the refrigerator and sit at my place at the table. Rob looks up and gives me a smile as he saying into his phone, "Oh, jeez. Okay, yes, I'll see you in half an hour."
Mrs. D. puts a ham and cheese sandwich in front of me and pats my shoulder telling Rob and me, "I'm off to do food shopping now. Can I get you guys anything at Whole Foods?" There are bread and butter pickles on the side of my sandwich plate along with potato chips. Mrs. D. always goes the extra step. Rob goes, "Yes, get some Ben and Jerry's 'Cherry Garcia' ice cream." His mom goes, "Okay, how about you, Dylan?" I swallow and say, "Oh, no thank you. Um, this is a delicious sandwich." She chuckles and says, "Thank you, dear," and Rob coughs out the words, 'Brown noser'. I grin and take another bite of the sandwich and it is delicious with deluxe ham and Swiss cheese plus tangy mustard AND mayo; mustard on one slice of rye bread and mayo on the other slice.
Rob's done his sandwich, saying, "Don't get mad, babe, but dad asked me to come in the office for an hour and go over the project I did for him Monday." I ask, "Can I come too?" He shakes his head, "No, there isn't anything for you to do there and, um, seriously the VP's salaries and bonuses are wicked private. I know you wouldn't tell anyone but it'd be disrespectful to the VP's if it got out that I was talking about what they make with anyone." I go, "Okay, no problem," and Rob says, "You could visit Danny, maybe... just a suggestion. Something for you to do." Can I believe this?
I go, "No, that's alright. I'll wait for you here." He hops up and says, "I'll be back by five-thirty or six." He walks around the table and leans over behind me to hug my shoulders and kiss the side of my face. I lift a hand back to touch him and say, "See ya soon." He grabs his coat and says, "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Rob suggested I see Danny? Good grief, talk about confidence! Well, he should be confident 'cause he's my man and that's not a joke anymore... he is my man... and I'm his man too. I finish my sandwich, pickles, and chips and then go to our bedroom to check for text messages. I text a few guys, mostly Chubby who's still got a working cell phone, as amazing as that is. After that, I check Bank of America to see what my finances look like after spending about $1000 for that 'okay' couple of days in the sun. I'm in good shape but I wouldn't have been if I went on the Dominican trip that Chub said was $4000.
Then, killing time, I go to BING but not to ask a question. Bing is an alternative to Google. I read the interesting stories they always have there, some science, some pop culture, some famous or near famous people in trouble with the law, and all kind of interesting shit that mostly I'll forget ten minutes after I read it.
Rob's back before six, true to his word, and we hang out in the pool house again talking and laughing about our 'okay' days in the sun. Finally, he says, "I'm texting Danny to see if he wants to do something tonight." Danny's home but he just got there from his Florida trip and he's too hungover to do anything tonight. He tells Rob that tomorrow there are touch football games at the high school and we should meet him there. It seems guys who were on sports teams in high school stay in touch and there are usually 'pick-up' sports games during every college break we've been home for. After graduating... what will it be like then?
Dinner isn't until eight o'clock because Mr. D. didn't get home from the office until seven. Rob and I watch TV after dinner and then have lover's sex for an hour and I'm feeling so much in love with him right now it's like I can't think straight. Before falling asleep I'm trying to figure out what it was that gave me this accelerated feeling of love for Robby. Damn, I can't think straight though, haha, no... it wasn't one thing so it must be that we were together exclusively this week. That doesn't make a lot of sense to me since we're together most of the time anyhow, but I can't think of any other reason. Anyway, why do I need a reason?
Saturday we play touch football from one o'clock until four and then drink beers at that bar that's a block from the high school. There's a rowdy crowd of guys from the games with us, and we're having some good laughs. It's a good time until Rob gets a text from his mom about dinner. He goes, "Hey, Dylan, how about we blow off dinner tonight? Let's hang with these guys and grab a pizza or something later." I talk him out of that and we have dinner at the house. I mean, his mom already prepared the dinner! You don't tell her at the last minute fuck you and your dinner. Jesus!
After dinner, we meet up with Danny along with six of the fifteen guys from the bar near the high school, all of whom have been drinking since we left them. We move the party to another bar and shoot pool and bullshit until almost one o'clock in the morning. Sunday, of course, we're hungover again, so that's nothing new. We have breakfast and then pack up our stuff and say our goodbyes. We'll be back home in a little over three weeks for Easter weekend. That's the next time we expect to be back home unless something bizarre happens.
We don't drive right back to Merrimack though. Instead, we stop in and spend time with my mom and then end up staying for a late lunch because Chubby's there along with Tris and the twin fiancés, Tim and Tom Rider. We eventually join the others drinking bloody Mary's and have a grand old time laughing at Chubby's tales of the Dominican Republic. I hope he didn't do all the things he said he did, although he probably did. Chub and John Beverly and another guy left the resort and were drinking at a local dive bar pretending to speak Spanish and causing a small disturbance, one that Chubby never was clear about, but it definitely involved females. That's for sure if Chub and John Beverly had anything to do with it. Anyway, they were picked up by the Army or police or whatever law enforcement they have there and then, luckily, they were only held for a couple of hours before being escorted back to the resort with a warning not to leave it again.
Rob and I got to feeling pretty good because the bloody Mary's temporarily canceled out our hangovers. We finally say our goodbyes and get back to our college apartment at five o'clock in the afternoon. Then we do what it seems we've been doing a lot of recently... we take a nap. No class on Monday for us so we'll fully recover by Tuesday and then we're SERIOUSLY on the last leg of this journey called formal education. The education of Robert Dickers and Dylan Newman is almost a done deal!
to be continued...
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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