DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
by Donny Mumford
The Barns' family, plus the Moms and their guys all left the beach around five-thirty. An hour later Chubby and I are getting ready to do the same thing. It's been a beautiful beach day, but now we need to shower and get dressed for Chubby's birthday dinner. The Army boys and Vinnie are staying on the beach for a couple more hours, then they'll meet us at the 40th street amusement pier later tonight. It's been a very good day for me personally.
The aforementioned perfect beach day, plus the outrageous daytime sex with Charlie in the alcove, which is one for my scrapbook, and then the reunion with Dodger and Vinnie, and meeting Norman. Dodger's grown-up in some ways, seemingly even more confident then he used to be. I guess one does grow up faster in the Army as compared to living at home with mommy and daddy...
Chubby and I are carrying our beach chairs, trudging silently through the sand as I'm thinking about Dodger's and my history together. We've always had a strong, but unusual 'connection' that I've never really understood, and I mean right from the first minute I met him. Robby introduced Dodger as his younger, little brother. And at that time Dodger was 'little', being skinny and about five foot, five inches tall, but I'm not at all sure he was ever 'younger'. I mean he was younger, age-wise, but he acted older with more self-confidence than we were back then. I didn't recognize it then, but in hindsight I can see that Robby and I were naive compared to Dodger.
That's especially true where sexual matters were concerned. The brothers, I found out much later, had an incestuous relationship that I'd assumed Robby instigated, but now I'm not so sure about that. It's not a topic I'm likely to explore with either of them though. I'm pretty sure that relationship has ended now anyway, but I don't know if it ended because Dodger joined the Army, or if it ended when Robby and I became serious lovers. One thing I know for sure; the brothers are extremely competitive about everything and they always have been.
Another thing too, Dodger's always pretended to looks up to me, and he's given me tons of compliments over the years, but even with his semi-subservient act, he's always been the one in-charge of any sexual encounter we've ever had together. Not that there's been very many encounters. There's the two or three times with Vinnie as the third guy in, and a few other times with just Dodger and me, usually while getting his hair cut. Hell, Dodger fucked me in the pool that very first afternoon we met. I tried to stop him, but couldn't because he's a champion swimmer for one thing, and he was more insistent we do it then I was insistent we don't do it. He's this very likable, friendly, funny kid that can somehow have his way with me. I don't know, I can't put it into words. He's uniquely Dodger, that's about it.
Immediately after being introduced to him he dropped his bathing suit and stood there naked holding out the swim suit for me to wear. I hadn't expected to go swimming; hell, I didn't even know they had a pool. Dodger might be the most naturally dominant side-sex partner of my life. Everything he says he says with a grin, like he's doing nothing unusual as he's getting Vinnie and me to do sex the way he likes it. I comply with his 'commands' while rolling my eyes; that sort of thing.
That's all in the past, of course, and things change. Even so I know Dodger and I will most likely screw around at some point, if only for old time's sake. Ha ha, the three-ways with Vinnie bring to mind Vinnie's big cock and his numb-nuts manner of doing exactly what Dodger tells him to do. Then there's the intrigue of what Norman has in his pants. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Robby expects Dodger and I to engage in a little buddy sex since he's totally aware we've done it in the past. If I know Robby though, he's more concerned about Dodger telling me his brother's not right for me than he is about us doing some buddy sex. I don't want to hear that bullshit either, so Dodger can save his breath. I've made up my mind that it'll always be Robby and me together at least until the sun rises in the west, or we both drop dead, whichever comes first.
At the condo Chubby and I stow the beach chairs in the back of the Volvo station wagon. We take turns showering and get dressed pretty much alike in Polo golf shirts, baggy shorts and classic Sperry Top-Sider footwear, sans socks. Ready for anything, we grab beers and sit on the deck sharing a cigarette. Our impressions of Dodger is the topic of conversation and we're in agreement that the Army hasn't changed him as much as he's probably changed the Army. Also of interest is the absence of complaining and bitching about Army life from Dodger and Norman; apparently it's agreeable to them. We have to chuckle at some of the things Norman says, although he doesn't say a helluva lot.
Speaking of Norman, we try imagining what it'd be like growing-up on a farm in the middle of the country the way he did. All things considered it's agreed we prefer the East coast over North Dakota. Then, as we're finishing our beers, Bud and Rider come up the steps. Chubby goes through basically what I did the other day giving the guys man-hugs and thanking them for their generous birthday gifts and the awesome birthday dinners. The Mom's fiancés appear to like both of us a lot... either that or they're both excellent actors. One thing we especially appreciate is that neither of the guys probe us for information about ourselves or our Moms. Oh sure, they ask general questions about college and our summer jobs, but nothing specific. It's almost like guy-talk with our peers except there's never a mention about our sex lives, and no winking innuendoes about theirs'. So there's a lot to like about our future step dads.
The Moms make their grand entrance on the deck carrying a tray of mixed drinks for themselves and the guys, plus a platter of cold shrimp with cocktail sauce that they purchased at a seafood shop. The shrimp were boiled very fresh and then put on ice so there's a snap when you bite into one. The conversation centers mostly around Chubby and me being twenty-one now, which appears to be a bigger deal to them than it is to us. There's the expected advice about not overdoing it in bars, and a reminder of how expensive drinking in bars can be, and don't drink and drive, and so forth. Chubby and I act serious, nodding our heads at what they say because it's well-meaning advice, although unnecessary. We've had experience in bar-type settings, many times at Tracy's speakeasy for one, and the occasional bar or restaurant we've managed to get served in even though underage.
Later, at the restaurant, it's pretty much a repeat performance of my birthday dinner except Chubby's more gracious than I was. He stays with the table conversation all the way through dinner, and is more effusive in his appreciation of the gifts and the dinner. He also makes the Moms smile as he detailed what's wonderful about the new backpack and Samsung tablet they gave both of us for our birthdays. So okay, next year I'll imitate Chubby's enthusiastic appreciation. It's all good though and for the first time I'm beginning to feel Bud and Rider actually are part of the family. I'm very comfortable with both guys and happy for them and our Moms. The Moms are always upbeat anyway, but there's just more for them to be upbeat about being engaged to these two good guys. Sometimes it seems too good to be true, but then I tend to over-think things instead of taking them at face value and enjoying the good times in the moment.
After dinner it's the same as the other night: they're going to another club for drinks and dancing while Chubby and I are heading for the boardwalk to meet Dodger and the boys. Chubby drives, saying, "You know what we should be doing, Dylan; we should be going to bars and clubs ourselves." I say, "Yeah, I know. Dodger's visit is unfortunate timing, but we can still stop at a bar. How about that one near the boardwalk. You know, the one we pass walking from our condo to the beach." He goes, "Chickie and Pete's?" I nod, "Yeah, that's the one. So what if we're a little late meeting up with the guys." Chubby goes, "You're right again, bro. We need to christen our twenty-first birthdays together with a shot and a beer in a real bar. The drink we had at dinner doesn't count." After parking the car in our driveway, we walk the block to Chickie and Pete's bar. It's on the corner across the street from our place. Smirking at each other we cross the street to the bar.
There's a bouncer sitting on a stool next to the door checking the ID of two tawdry-dressed girls. The bouncer has big muscles and long hair. I'm guessing he's in his early twenties although he looks older. He thanks the girls and they go in. When the girls open the door the sound from inside is very loud.
The bouncer glances at us and chuckles, then in a high pitched voice, says, "Let me see what ya got, guys." Chubby hands his drivers license and college picture-ID, asking, "What's the name of the band tonight?" We can even hear the band playing through the closed door. The bouncer's friendly enough handing back Chubby's ID, saying in that high pitched voice that doesn't go with his macho body, "It's a local band, 'Moon Children', they're pretty good." He motions with his hand for me to give him my ID. After scrutinizing it front and back, he goes, "Fuck, that's cool! Both of you have just turned twenty-one. You sure as shit don't look it, but I remember my first couple of night after turning twenty-one. Fuck, don't do what I did." And that's it. We don't care what he did when he was twenty-one, so we don't ask.
Chub and I walk inside to bedlam. The floor is packed with young guys and girls dancing; some dancers are cool and some just moving seemingly without purpose, and to a different beat than the one the drummer's putting out.
The song being screamed by the lead singer and loudly played by the four piece band is not a song I'm familiar with.
There are some obviously very drunk young adults in this crowd. Looking at me, Chubby holds up one finger while nodding towards the bar. I follow him assuming he means one drink and we're outta here. Using his smile and friendly demeanor Chubby somehow makes standing room at the bar for both of us when there was no such space before. The bartender's busy so it's like five minutes before he gets to us. He's leaning towards us so we can hear him, 'What'll it be, boys?" Chubby says, "Two Coors drafts and two shots of Old Granddad." Chubby turns to me and shouts in my ear, "I know you hate shots, but it's sort of mandatory that a shot be part of our first legal drink together in a bar." The bartender puts the beers and shots in front of us on little napkins, Chubby pushes a twenty dollar bill towards the guy, shouting, "Thanks, keep it," meaning the change. I half expect the bartender to yell, 'Keep it? You owe me another two dollars, asshole!' or something like that. Instead the bartender just nods his head, meaning 'thanks', and we lift the shot glasses as Chubby says, "To us, of course," and I take the whole shot and swallow it in one gulp. Hideous!!! Yes, it's hideous, but it's one big hideous gulp instead of three or four sips of hideousness. It's like running and diving into the ocean instead of taking little steps and suffering the temperature change over and over. We both gulp down some draft beer, then Chubby asks, "Can you handle another shot?" I shake my head no, and he says, "Okay then, one was just right."
We can't carry on a conversation without shouting so we don't try.
Instead, leaning with our backs against the bar we gawk at the scene in front of us while finishing our beers. It's apparently mandatory that you be at least slightly drunk in order to convince yourself this is a good time. Lot's of front-end loading is required because this club is simply too crowded and too loud. When we walk outside relief flows over me escaping from the sensory overload inside. We walk the last block to the boardwalk and go up the ramp with me saying, "Maybe we're not cool enough to appreciate that bar scene." Chubby goes, "Oh, I don't know, they seemed to be having a good time and it looked like a fairly normal college-age crowd. Remember the beach parties in Fort Lauderdale?" Yeah, now that I think about it, they were very similar.
We're still stuffed from the great dinner we had so aren't tempted by the many food offerings available on the boardwalk. As we walk toward 40th street we pass shops selling fudge that's being made before our eyes and the same for Salt Water Taffy. There's funnel cakes and cotton candy and a hundred other eatable items in between those two gross treats; none of them tempting us at the moment. Speaking of 'front-end loading' we had two beers on the deck before dinner, one cocktail at the restaurant and a glass of wine each. Add to that the shot and a beer we just had at Chickie and Pete's bar and we should be smashed, but we're not. The alcoholic beverages we've imbibed over a three to four hours period and mostly we were eating something right along with the drinking. That being said, we're not sober. Just the right amount of 'high' from the alcohol drug to put us in a fun-loving mood.
As a matter of fact, now that the shot and beer have kicked in, that bar scene appears more attractive. Maybe tomorrow night we'll give it another try. Some guys get mean when they drink... we're the opposite.
We finally spot Dodger, Vinnie, and Norman on 35th street. They're sitting on a bench at the beach side of the boardwalk with their feet up on the railing looking at the ocean and smoking cigarettes. Dodger's wearing an Army baseball-style cap that I tip off his head from behind, saying, "No smoking on the boardwalk, son!" He turns around and sees it's me. Grinning and putting his hat back on, he says, "No shit, you're the six-hundredth person to tell us that tonight." I smile, mumbling, "And yet you're still smoking,"
he flicks his cigarette butt over the railing as he stands, telling Chubby and me, "We drank that whole bottle of bourbon with diet Cokes. Ya know why? It's because you guys didn't get us the case of beer we asked for, and the machine was out of regular Cokes." He's not slurring his words too badly so I guess he isn't that drunk. Chubby says, "You should have reminded us about the case of beer. You kids need to take the initiative if you insist on your underage drinking." Dodger goes, "Yeah, I hear ya, old timer." Then Dodger asks, "Hey, have you guys already been on the 40th street pier?"
Chubby shakes his head, "Nah, we we're on our way to meet you three numb-nuts." I pull Vinnie's stubby ponytail, asking, "How ya doing, Vinnie?" He says, "I feel good. How 'bout you?" I go, "Yeah, I'm good too." Then Dodger goes, "Whoa! I just remembered," and he sings the first line of The Beatles birthday song, "They say it's your birthday." Then, "Happy Birthday Jeff!"
Vinnie asks, "Is it your twenty-first?" and Chubby goes, "That's the rumor, Vinnie. You guys ready to hit some of the thrill rides on the pier?" Dodger snaps a finger on top of Norman's head, saying, "Wake up Norman, we're gonna go on a few rides." Vinnie helps by nudging Norman's shoulder, and Norman grumpily asks, "Now what the fuck is it that you want?" Vinnie frowns and seriously asks, "You ever think of the metaphysical aspects of that question?" Norman goes, "What?" He gets up scratching his head and the five of us begin walking down toward the pier.
We're walking with the flow of the crowd for a couple of minutes, then Norman says, "Sorry I yelled at you, Vinnie. I'm feeling that bourbon; it gave me heartburn." Vinnie goes, "No problem. Um, ya gonna be okay for the rides?" Norman says, "Yah, it's not so bad." Dodgers like, "We need to dilute the fuckin' booze in our blood streams. Let's buy large fountain Cokes at that shop across the boards." Norman looks over, mumbling, "Yep, y'betch yah." Chubby and I sit on a bench watching the three guys making their way across the boardwalk, bucking traffic. Chubby goes, "Dammit, we should be spending this night bar-hopping, Dylan." I don't say anything because Vinnie comes back and sits next to me, mumbling, "I don't even want a soda." Chubby says, "You toads are fucked-up tonight, ya know that? I bet you didn't eat anything while drinking the fifth of bourbon." Vinnie says, "We had a bag of pretzels, but it wasn't a fifth of bourbon. It was a 750ml." I go, 'What's the difference?" He says, "Approximately two and a half ounces." Chubby leans forwards, asking, "What's a fifth then?" Vinnie looks at Chubby like Chubby's pulling his chain. Realizing he's not, he says, like everybody in the
world should know this, "A 'fifth' refers to a fifth of a gallon, but today the fifth bottles of liquor have mostly have been replaced by the 750ml size bottles. Ya know, when most of the world switched to the metric system." Chubby goes, "I knew that."
Dodger and Norman come back with large paper cups of soda, slurping the drink through straws. We get up and resume walking toward 40th street as I ask, "Dodger, have you hooked-up with any of your high school stoner friends since you've been back?" He goes, "Yeah, I saw Tom late Monday night and we smoked a lot of weed, didn't we Normie?" He nods, "Yep," and I ask, "How was it," and Norman goes, "Not so bad." At the 40th street pier we're in line to buy tokens, none of us choosing to put out $40 for a wrist band since it's almost eleven o'clock already. Two young adult males in Islamic garb are getting on the roller coaster. They're wearing the white cotton, loose-fitting, long-sleeved, ankle length sort of, um, dress I guess. Dodger sees them, and says, "Heh heh, there's lots of politically incorrect humor making the rounds at our Army base, not that I approve of it. Still, here's one of the jokes making the rounds. It's about Abdulla. He's trying to contact the soul of his cousin, Naved, who exploded himself as a suicide bomber.
Seems that dumb-fuck Naved was interested in the legend about the 72 virgins.
Abdulla successfully connects with the soul so Naved, asking, 'How's the social life there, bro?' Naved brags, 'Amazing, bro! I can pick out just about any female I want and fuck her brains out. They mostly don't object.
Both males and females roam around as naked as the day they were born. Nobody bothers me and I do it around the clock, dude.' Abdulla goes, "Holy shit, bro. Is that how all of heaven is?" Naved goes, "Oh no, bro, not heaven. I am reborn as a street dog in Kabul, bro!' and the unexpected punch line gets us all laughing. Dodger's laughs too, adding, "A lot of Abdulla jokes floating around the Army base by prejudicial bastards taking cheap shots at the
terrorist." Fuckin' Dodger, expect the unexpected.
As usual Chubby gets involved with the three girls in front of us in line as we're waiting our turn to feel the G force of the SkyScraper roller coaster. Vinnie's trying to explain G force to Norman, as Dodger's telling me, "You've always been my idol, Dylan, as you very well know." I roll my eyes muttering, "Uh huh," and he says, "Yeah, and seeing you now, standing right next to me after all these long months... oh my God, my little dick's wickedly excited in my Army-issue boxer shorts. We need to find a little private space for a proper reunion." I nod my head, "Uh huh," and he chuckles, "No, I'm serious, dude. Don't give me that 'uh huh' shit." I go, "Forget about me, you've got your hero-worshipping boyfriend, Vinnie, with you and his butt is itching for you to scratch it." He goes, "Oh man! Vinnie and I have been like tom cats in heat for five days now. I love that kid, but I'm talking about you and me now. You, my mentor in all things." I go, "Uh huh,"
and he laughs, muttering, "What's with that 'uh huh' shit?"
When it's our turn for the roller coaster Chubby gets on the ride with one of the girls, Vinnie pushes me out of the way so he can get on with Dodger, and I get to ride with Norman. It's not as much fun as it could be because Norman's yelling every ten seconds, "Oh fuck, I think I'm going to throw up." Jesus! A nerve wracking two minutes for me, and the couple behind us too I assume. It's one awesome thrill ride though but when we get off Norman's as white as a sheet. Dodger's like, "What the fuck, Normie?" Norman says, "It's the Coke, I think. I drank too much Coke." Yeah, the Coke, not the third of a bottle of bourbon. Vinnie and Norman decide they need something to eat while Chubby says he's going on the SkyScraper ride with the girls again. Seizing the opportunity Dodger takes my arm and nods at a sign with an
arrow pointing down. The sign reads: 'Restrooms'. "C'mon down with me, Dylan. I need to take a wicked piss." I go, "Didn't the Army teach you how to take a piss by yourself?" He laughs, "Keep me company, c'mon." I hesitate and Dodger nags, "I'm scared there may be a pervert waiting in the restroom." I go, "So? Then there'll be two perverts in the restroom." He squeezes the back of my neck laughing. I think to myself: sure, why not go with him.
Dodger hasn't lost any of his sexiness as far as I'm concerned.
We walk down the steps, but don't go in the restroom. Dodger opens the other door, mumbling, "What do we have here?" The sign on the door says: 'Authorized Personnel ONLY'. As he's feeling on the inside wall on either side of the door looking for the light switch, he mumbles, "You'd think they'd lock this door, huh?" He finds the light switch and a 40 watt overhead light comes on. I say, "Maybe they thought people would take the sign at face value." Taking my wrist he pulls me inside, saying, "Close the door." Looking around I see it's a storage area for lifeguard equipment. A couple stacks of those round life preservers, folded tarps, and a lot of oars for the rowboats. Oh, and a couple of medium sized first aid kits. I look back at Dodger and he's already got his pants down to his knees, whispering, "You still make me crazily horny, Dylan." He stokes his four inch dick, dropping his pleading eyes to it, saying, "Would you?" I shrug, then bend at the waist, the way Timmy sucks cock, and take Dodger's dick in my fingers, then suck it into my mouth. Dodger's scent immediately swarms over my brain. It's a variation of Robby's scent; both are very sexily attractive. Dodger's been known to have occasional sickly sweet, albeit sexy, BO. Tonight though he smells very clean with a kind of boyish scent I instinctively inhale. It wakes up my penis.
Like Robby's cock, Dodger's is stubby and fat with a big helmet head. When I take the whole hard shaft in my mouth the head pokes at my gag reflex area near the top of my throat. Robby's cock is a half inch longer than Dodger's and reaches past the gag area. Other than that they have identical cocks. As I lick and suck Dodger's he rubs my head like he always does, and makes quiet sounds of arousal. He's always been a bit sex-crazed, not unlike his brother and moi. The Dickers brothers are big fans of anal sex, primarily as 'tops'. I can remember 'topping' Dodger only one time, or maybe it was two times; no more than that though. I suck a nice boner on him and as soon as I straighten up he's pulling my shorts down, mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan, that felt really good. Nobody can do that as good as you." I mumble, "Uh huh," and he goes, "Oh, nice! You're still shaving your pubes. That looks sexy," and he strokes my cock a few times, then uses it as a leash pulling me over a few steps, saying, "Bend over here and hold on to that pile of life preservers, okay?" I let a tiny feeling of submissiveness sneak into my mind because it's sexier that way and Dodger has always had that touch of dominance with his sex, although he wouldn't call it that.
Bending over I feel good and my groin's buzzing with anticipation of good buddy-sex with someone I like a lot. Dodger murmurs, "Yeah, keep your ass up just like that. That's my boy," and he gives my butt cheek a hard slap, "SMACK!" I yelp as he puts the head of his cock at my asshole, quietly saying, "I feel stupidly excited about doing this with you again. Forgive me, but I'll probably have a quick climax." He humps the fat head in, and I gasp.
Dodger rubs his hands up and down my back, then squeezes my shoulders before another hump of his hips drives his fat boner in another two inches or so. More squeezing on my shoulders makes them shudder as I let out a breathy exhale. So far it's mostly the big hurt I'm feeling. A last hump and Dodger's all the way in, leaning flat against my butt cheeks. Then, laying his chest on my back, his lips brushing my ear, he says, "This feels as awesomely wonderful as I remembered it. Don't tell Vinnie though, okay? He wants us to do it as a three-way, but I could 't wait to feel my dick inside you."
I grunt, "Uh huh," and he chuckles, repeating my, 'Uh huh."
The hurt is fading quickly and now the million nerve endings around my stretched anus, plus the pressure of his fat hard cock on my prostate gland has those two areas singing their sexy song together, making me go, "Ooooh, mmm, mmm, feels good now." Dodger murmurs, "Heh heh, nice, huh?" and he lifts his chest off my back and stands straight humping against by buttocks a few times giving me chills that skitter down my spine. He smacks the side of my ass, then starts moving his hips, his boner steadily sliding tightly back and forth in my rectum. Glancing back I see him with his hands on his hips rhythmically fucking my ass; this closet-like room filled with the unmistakable rhythmic sounds of two guys involved in some hard anal sex, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds of a good hard ass-fucking, just like Dodger said he'd be doing earlier today on the beach. My dick was fairly firm from sucking Dodger's cock, but now seminal fluids roll in and turn my cock into a granite boner that's steadily pulling away from my belly until it's sticking straight out and so hard it doesn't move even with Dodger slamming against my ass, "Slap, slap, slap." I'm deeply aroused with a nice trance-like veil floating down on me as I quietly moan, "Mmm, mmm, mmm."
Oh my God, this feels good! Dodger's fat boner really has my rectum spread wide open now and he's not the least bit shy about fucking it fast and hard. His grunt of arousal accompanying every hard thrust up my ass somehow adds to the sexiness for me, as does his scent that taking over my olfactory glands. As sensations increase and then multiply, Dodger gets a firm hold on both my hips pulling me back into his thrusting, and the constant pounding of his cock up my ass, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," tells me I'm being fucked by a confident and dominant, and in this case, cute young guy. He showed early consideration by humping his cock up my ass in stages, letting my rectum adjust between each thrust, but after that Dodger's in-charge and he's going to fuck my ass hard until he climaxes, and that's just the way it should be. That's how my brain chooses to& perceive it anyway, and thereby allowing me play the role of the submissive sex partner being dominated by Dodger. It gives me these gooey sexual pleasure sensations to go with the vibrations of pleasure coming from a super sensitive prostate button and my extremely stretched and equally sensitive anus. My nuts are rolling around becoming overloaded with cum; spunk that needs to be ejected up and out my rock-hard cock, probably sooner then I'd prefer.
I'm getting squirmier bas my orgasm builds and that hard fat cock continues going up and back in my ass with more force, the second and now with each thrust Dodger slaps against the side of my ass. He knows how to fuck and he's doing it perfectly as I moan, my eyes squeezed shut and my body's tingling all over. And always there's that sexy sounds steadily ringing in my ears, "Slap, slap, slap," until Dodger goes, "Aaah, ooh, fuuuck!" and he's pressing against me humping against my ass cheeks shooting his load of spunk off the walls of my bowels. That sets me off and I squeal too loudly while humping forward, seeing stars explode in my mind as cum storms out of my throbbing boner splashing against the life preservers, then again as I shudder all over. Gasping I grab myself to stroke out drools of cum. Another shudder and, "Oooh that was good." That was really good. "Mmmm, oooh," I moan as Dodger pulls his cock out of my ass along with a breathy exhale. We do the normal deep breathing that follows climaxing, which is the most extreme bodily reaction possible. Nothing else packs so much bodily response into just a second or two. Whoa, my shoulders do their shudder as the last flickers of orgasm sizzle away.
Dodger's grinning and shaking his head, then exclaims, "What the fuck is it with your ass, bro? Jesus, I don't climax that hard in anyone's ass but yours. Holy shit!" I go, "Awesome having sex with you again, brother-in-law to be." He goes, "Don't get me started on that, but wow, this was a really good five minutes," and he chuckles, "That was extraordinary, don't ya think?" Then, "Here, Dylan, I brought one of those little packs of Kleenex with me." Reaching to his pants that are around his ankles by now he pulls out of his back pocket a individual pack of Kleenex, takes one sheet to wipe his dick and hands the rest to me. I'm like, "So you brought this little pack of Kleenex with you tonight; um what, thinking you might sneeze, is that it?" I'm wiping his cum off my ass as he laughs, "Yeah, I thought I might sneeze, or get to fuck your primo ass. Or maybe both."
Putting a few Kleenex in my underwear, I pull up my pants and we do a hug, with Dodger sounding serious for once, "Thanks Dylan! That was even better than I remembered." Walking out of the little storage room we glance around, but there's no one pointing at us, no beach patrol guys standing there to arrest us, no nothing. Dodger grins, "Hot shit, we didn't get caught." As we go up the steps, I ask, "How's your haircut fetish working out for you?"
He goes, "I notice it ten times stronger when you cut my hair than when my
gruff E-6 boss cuts it. I couldn't go on leave without him giving me the haircut first though, although I wish I could have left it for you to do.
Didn't we have some hot times during my haircuts?" I nod, "Yeah, for sure.
Does that E-6 guy insist all the guys in his unit get their haircuts from him?" Dodger goes, "Ya know, now that you mention it, I'll bet he has a haircut fetish. He does insist everyone get their hair cut by him."
On the boardwalk again I see Chubby getting on the roller coaster ride with a different girl. I tell Dodger, "Well, if your boss does have a haircut fetish, he's got a sweet set up with you young guys not having a choice. By the way, I caught that fucking fetish from you. I hope you know that." He goes, "Bullshit! You don't catch a fetish like you catch a cold." Norman and Vinnie join us. They're both eating hotdog's, neither of them realizing we'd left the boardwalk. They tell Dodger, "You should get one of these wieners, Dodger. These dogs are good and they're only four bucks each." Dodger laughs, "The fucking nerve charging four dollars for a hotdog." As they kibitz about the cost of hotdog's, I'm thinking about earlier this summer and the rush of my haircut fetish when Ryan was cutting my hair. I haven't had a haircut since, and don't intend on getting one until, like Christmas maybe. I want a stubby ponytail like Vinnie's. Go from one extreme to another, that's me.
When Chubby's roller coaster ride with the girls is over, he rejoins us, muttering to me, "I think all three of those girls are headed for the nunnery. I just wasted two rides with them." I go, "None of the three were as, um, up for anything like Ellie?" He goes, "Not even close, bro. Two strikes and I'm out." Norman's finished his hotdog and is now slurping the last of his soda, and that sound makes my blood run cold. The sound of slurping when there's no liquid left except a tiny bit of ice melt. Annoying! Dodger's talking seriously with Norman, "Have you got any ideas about our missing medic slush fund?" Norman shrugs, "Not really, Dodger, maybe it's an accounting error. Nobody's checked that, have they?" I'm listening to their Army talk trying to figure out what it is exactly they're talking about. Dodger goes, "With that cash floating around, I'm suspicious it might have something to do with Smithy philately with that broad from nursing, what's her name?"
Vinnie, who I didn't think was even listening, frowns, then mumbles, "Um, you must mean philandering. Philately is stamp collecting." Dodger rubs his index finger across his philtrum, and goes, "Yeah? Well maybe I meant stamp collecting. Smithy and that nurse and their stamp collecting has something to do with the missing cash," then he laughs. Norman says, "What the fuck ya talking about stamp collecting for?" Dodger's laughing again, musses Norman hair, muttering, "I got words mixed up, Normie. See, I'm not perfect."
We go on two more rides, both with Norman yelling, "I think I'm going to throw up." That'd be kind of a funny childish bit to do on purpose, unnerving the strangers on the ride near you, but Norman's serious about almost throwing up so it's unnerving for me. The pier begins shutting down around midnight and we're done with the amusement rides anyway. The plan is: Chubby and I buy the guys a couple of six packs of beer, which they'll drink in their room while we do a little bar hopping. Walking down the boardwalk to 20th street, where Dodger's pickup is parked, we see an old couple walking the boards dressed like they're going to a wedding. Not the bride and groom, but grandparents of one of them. The man's wearing a seersucker suit with a white shirt and an elaborate pink bow tie. I roll my eyes at Chubby, but we wouldn't say anything to hurt the old couple's feelings. Vinnie wouldn't either, but he giggles, whispering, "Dylan, doesn't that bow tie remind you of some exotic lepidopteran?" I go, "Yeah, it does at that," not having a clue what a lepidopteran is. Norman asks, "What that?" and Vinnie goes, "Ya know, an insect or butterfly." Dodger says, "Talk fucking English, Vinnie, fer chistsakes!"
Finally the five of us are crammed in the pickup and Dodger drives to a package store that amazedly is still open. Chubby mumbles, "Let me handle this, Dylan," and he goes inside. We watch through the window as Chubby takes two six-packs of Bud out of a glass fronted cooler. At the counter he hands his ID to the woman. She has eyeglasses hanging on a lanyard around her neck that she lifts to her eyes and squints reading Chubby's driver's license. She says something and Chubby passes her his college picture ID. The woman looks at that as I say, disgustedly, "This blows. We're twenty-one and nobody believes us." Chubby comes out with the six packs, putting them in the bed of the pickup. He gets in, muttering, "Pain in the ass."
We get dropped off at our condo and agree to meet the guys at the same place on the beach tomorrow morning.
I'm like, "Chub, it's not right that we need to go through all this bullshit getting served, and he says, "We don't want to go through this ID bullshit the next five years every time we want to buy a beer, so here's what we'll do. We gotta put up with it here, but back home we'll pick out a bar we like off campus at Merrimack, and become familiar with the bartender, tipping him and chatting him up a little so he'll remember us. That way we won't need to go through all this ID shit every time we want beer." I say, "Yeah, and same for at home." With that settled I feel better about things. We decide to hit Chickie and Pete's bar again because there's a chance the bouncer will remember us. He doesn't, but he passes us through again without any problems. It's just as crowded and loud inside as it was the first time we were in here, and no more fun than the first time either. We're less drunk now then earlier, but we're not quitters so we persevere, determined to celebrate our twenty-first birthdays.
Chubby does his magic and this time he manages to get us two stools at the bar. We order Coors drafts again and I acquiesce and have another shot of bourbon. I toast Chubby, "To your twenty-first birthday, and a hundred more birthdays to follow." Down go the shots and I guzzle down half the draft beer, then belch embarrassingly. Chubby just took a sip of beer after his shot, then he yell in my ears, "It's after midnight so technically yesterday was my birthday, but good toast anyway." We listen to the band, checking out the crowd with different objectives. I see some okay looking guys, but nothing cute enough to make me give up this stool. Apparently my bro has come up with the same conclusion regarding the other gender. Another beer, me without the shot of bourbon and Chubby with one. The band takes a break and surprisingly I miss it. They pipe in music during the break, but at a lower volume so talking is manageable. We drink our beers talking about how cool it is to do this legally. It's like we've joined an exclusive club that we were previously ineligible for membership. Chubby goes, "It's actually not exclusive at all when you think about it. Of the 320 million people in the USA over seventy percent are twenty-one or older. The exclusive club is the
under twenty-one club." I go, "Shit, I knew it! Now we're in the vast majority." He mumbles, "Yes, but we're members of the best part of the vast majority. The just turned twenty-one club." I'm like, "Hmmm, you're right bro; we are in the best part."
It's cool sitting at a bar with Chubby, both of us drinking draft beers.
When we want another one we just wave our hand at the empty glasses and, Ron, our bartender, accommodates us. Of course we need to pay $4.00 for each ten ounce draft, but few things are perfect in this life. Around one-thirty Chubby's finally found a girl he wants to dance with. "Save my seat, Dylan,"
and he goes over to ask an overly-served, big buxom girl with big hair to dance. It's a girl that he earlier told me was a possibility except for the
tattoo on her neck. Five draft beers and two shots later and it's, 'Fuck the tattoo' and the girl now makes the grade. I've got a full glass of beer in front of me as I'm thinking how a cigarette would make this experience almost perfect, and then a guy sits in Chubby's seat. I glance at him; an average looking guy about my size, around twenty-five years old. He has a sexy sparse kinda curly, short light-brown beard, and as he rubs the back of a finger up his cheek, he asks, "Do you hang out at the 20th street beach?
I think I saw you and your long-haired friend swimming there." This guy has light brown hair in a short, nondescript style and pretty bright brown eyes. I stare at him without saying anything, so he goes, "I'm Lee Reins, by the way," and he holds his fist out. I bump fist, mumbling, "Dylan Newman, but, um, that's my brother's stool you're sitting in." He nods his head, mumbling, "I assumed it was somebody's stool." Not knowing what else to do, I do two fake coughs, then sip on my beer.
He's looking at me with a bemused expression on his face, then he goes, "No offense, but your brother's not sitting in this seat now, is he?" I puff my cheeks out blowing out some air, like, Duh! Then shrug, saying, "To answer your question, the 20th street beach is right down from our condo and that's where we hang-out, yeah." He asks, "Just you and your brother? Is he the long blond-hair guy you were swimming with?" I shake my head, "No, that's a friend," and Lee nods at my beer, saying, "Do you mind," and he picks up my glass and drinks half of it. It startled me, so I guess I have a strange expression on my face. Lee pats my back, grinning, as he slides off the stool, saying, "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow on the beach," and he quickly gets lost in the crowd. As I'm trying to figure out what I think about the guy, Chubby comes back, saying, "One dance! That's all she wanted to do, just the one dance. Said her name was Sandra, but wouldn't give a last name.
Phony name, Sandra, plus that tattoo up close is ugly." I laugh, then say, "Take rejection a little hard, do we bro?" He chuckles, muttering, "That slut doesn't know how to dance either." I laugh out loud thinking about Chubby's so-called dancing, telling him, "She was probably blown away by your dance moves. Couldn't keep up."
We stay until the two o'clock closing having two more shots. Chubby dances with one other girl but mostly we sit at the bar feeling all grown-up talking about our lives and damn glad to be living in them too. It's only a block to our condo and we've achieved our goal of getting drunk on Chubby's birthday even though we did it the day after his birthday, technically speaking. We do an aggregated hug and a sloppy kiss before bed, telling each other
how much we love one another. We're affectionate with each other sober, and even more so when under the influence. Most people are. Life is good!
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 under 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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