DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
Chapter 34
by Donny Mumford
I'm on my cell phone talking with Willie, explaining, "I just got home, like three minutes ago. I was on this horrible work detail all fuckin' day.
It was a totally unexpected turn of events, and at the last minute too.
Yeah, and then the fucking detail went on for two hours past my normal quitting time. Plus there was this asshole who... " He soothingly interrupts, "Whoa, calm down, Dylan. It's no problem. I'll simply wait for you to get ready; like on your balcony having a smoke or something while you shower and whatever. So it's okay, really." I go, "You don't understand. I'm dirty from head to foot, I've got a bee sting that's looking red and nasty and swollen on the back of my hand, and there are scratches on my hands, arms, and legs and I'm sweating like a hog. Plus, the geek that drove me home refused to use his air conditioning and... oh man, I feel like shit. We need to reschedule our dinner." He goes, "No, we don't." I yell, "Yes we do!" Then calmer, like I'm talking to a child, "The restaurant reservation is for seven o'clock and there's no way I can get cleaned up and make it by then." He says, "I'll change the reservation to a later time, and anyway I'm half a minute from your house. Listen, you're obviously distraught, but I'll take care of you." I'm shaking my head, muttering, "No, listen to what I'm saying, I don't want anyone seeing me this, um, dirty..." Willie goes, "Shhhh. You're a marvelous person, Dylan, but you need someone to take care of you, and you deserve to be taken care of too. I've always known this about you and it's why I've tried to do that, but ya know... you've fought it. So just sit tight! And, I'm approaching your condos now." He ends the call. At the sink I put my head back and scream, "Balls!"
After rubbing my face with my dirty hands, then exhaling a long-held breath I start frantically washing my hands in the kitchen sink, then just stop.
Fuck it! Walking to the front window while drying my still dirty hands on a paper towel, I look out and see a Mercedes Benz convertible parking at the curb below. It's gotta be Willie at the wheel, right? Yep, he gets out and looks up, waves his hand at me and gives me his really nice smile. I pull my head back embarrassed he caught me looking for him. Then, wait a fucking second! I can see him out the window, but from down there you can't see a damn thing except sun-glare off the front windows of the condos. Damn, he must have guessed I'd be looking out the window for him. Then I glance at my reflection in the mirror over the sofa, and oh shit. I've got hat-hair too! I had to wear the company's baseball cap on my sweaty head all day. To m ake matters worse my faced is smeared with dirt because a few seconds ago I rubbed my hands over my face in frustration. And, Jesus Christ! my hands and fingernails are as dirty as they've ever been in my life. It's because that skinny asshole of a counter guy, the one with a hair across his ass, insisted we leave immediately after I finished cleaning the equipment. I never got to wash-up! And I never got to change out of my sweaty company t-shirt and shorts either.
The doorbell chimes as I gawk at my dirty knees. They're dirty from kneeling on the ground digging out the last of the weeds from around the bricks in the path that lead to that disgusting green pond. As I'm walking to the front door I hold out both arms looking at the cuts, scratches, and streaks of dirt. The last thing I feel like doing is going out to dinner tonight, but that goddamned Willie never takes 'no' for an answer. And he had to come early on top of everything else! I yank open the door and there he is looking sparkling-clean, the cleanest most put-together guy in the world compared to me. He shines with cleanliness, and he's handsome too, especially with that smile of his. And he has a new haircut. Naturally it's the latest fad haircut with basically no hair on the sides and back, but longish light brown hair on top. It's wind-blown now from driving with the top down. Yeah, but it still looks cool on him.
Willie walks inside as I back up so I don't get any dirt on him. He's grinning, saying, "Holy shit! You weren't exaggerating!" I say, "We need to reschedule dinner like I said on the phone." He chuckles, "Nah, we don't need to reschedule anything. I already told you I'll change tonight's reservation. Are your lips clean at least?" I'm like, "What? My lips?" He says, "Lean your cute dirty face forward. C'mon, lean forward." With a confused expression on my face I do that, and he leans his head forward and kisses me on the lips.
I'm stepping back again with Willie laughing, then saying, "You're the cutest Pigpen in the world." I'm like, "Pigpen?" and he says, "You know, the 'Peanuts' comic strip? You don't read the comics in the Globe?" I shake my head, then return to my current favorite topic, "We need to reschedule this dinner date. How about next Monday? Mondays are good for me." I'm thinking 'Oh man, he smelled good when we kissed'. Willie ignores my latest plea to reschedule tonight's dinner, sticking with his comic strip stream of consciousness, "You don't even need to subscribe to the Globe. The Peanut comic strips are online now. You can download an app." I'm like, "Forget the comic strip, Willie," and he goes, "No, listen. Today Linus says, 'I feel depressed' and in the next box he says, 'The world reeks of despair'. Then in the third box he's carrying a bowl of cereal, saying, 'Even my cold cereal doth taste like wormwood.' In the last box, Lucy says, 'How depressed can you get?'" I look at him like he's out of his mind, and he goes, "You know, you're depressed about being dirty from a day of manual labor, so that strip kinda relates coincidentally..." and his voice fades out as, frowning now, I mumble, "You say that's a comic strip? Um, is that supposed to be funny?"
Willie waves his hand at me, "Oh, it's full of deep psychological insight; it's little kids saying things like, 'the world reeks of despair', um, but never mind that now." I weakly, say, "Willie, we can't..." but he walks right past me, asking, "Is it okay if I get a beer from your refrigerator?"
He assumes we have beer, which we do, but we never did until two days ago.
I say, "Yes, get a beer, but we've gotta reschedule this date." He waves his hand at me again, "Don't be silly, Dylan, we're passed that now," and he pops the tab on the beer can and swallows some Coors beer. I go, "Please, Willie," but he holds up his index finger, like: wait a second. Taking his smart phone out of his pocket he hits a button and a second later, says, "Hi, this William Worthington, I have a seven o'clock dinner reservation tonight that I need to change to, let's say, nine o'clock." I'm rolling my eyes, slowly shaking my head, as Willie listens, then politely says, "There's no way to change the reservation, huh? I understand completely. May I speak to Mr. Scallabrinie, please," then he holds the phone to his chest, muttering to me, with a smirk, "She got huffy when I asked to speak to the owner." I'm again wiping my face with my dirty hands, as Willie says, "William Worthington, yes sir. Um, yes he's my uncle, and I was hoping, um..." Willie winks at me, and says to the guy, "Oh that's so nice of you. Yes, I'll tell him you said hello."
Putting the phone back in his pocket, he goes, "You remember my uncle, right? He owns the restaurant in Boston that we visited that time. Well, he also owns a wholesale liquor distribution business with my other uncle.
They've provided all the liquor for Dino's Restaurant, and most bars and restaurants in this town, like forever, so of course they both know Dino Scallabrinie. So, he was nice enough to set us up with a nine o'clock reservation in the VIP section," and he laughs, muttering, "A VIP section for Framingham restaurants. That's a good one." I mutter, "What?" and after swallowing some more beer, Willie's like, "Yeah, but first I need to work some magic and turn you from Pigpen back into the cutest guy in America. In other words, I'm gonna take care of you." Carrying his beer, he takes hold of my arm walking us down the short hallway, saying, "Your bedroom's still down this tiny hallway, right?" I go, "Yeah, of course it's still here," and he says, "After the horrible day you've just had you deserve some pampering." In my bedroom he goes, 'Get undressed while I fill the bath tub. I'm going to bath you like you're my boy, which in many ways you are, except you don't realize it. Not yet anyhow."
Oh man, I simply don't have the energy to compete with Willie; he has way more energy than almost anyone I know. A long hot bath sounds pretty good though. Willie wants to baby me... fine! And Willie certainly knows how to put on a soothing confident manner that agrees with me, and somehow makes me want to do what he says. And, it's mostly good things he wants me to do; well, with good intentions at least. That time he thought I needed money he arranged for me to be in an erotic gay video. That wasn't one of his best ideas, but he's had some good ideas too. I undress and walk into the bathroom as Willie's testing the bathtub's water temperature. He looks up, murmuring, "Oooh, brother! Ha, seeing that perfect body of yours brings a million delicious memories to mind, but best friends don't have sex together, do they? Instead, they do favors for each other like I'm doing for you right now." I don't think Willie has any idea what being a best friend even means.
He's never had one as far as I know, and that makes me feel sad for him. He means well, but because he's never had a role model, someone with a positive image for him to to emulate while growing up, he's forced to improvises behavior hoping it's appropriate. His parents shipped him off to private schools from first grade right through prep school, so basically he's been on his own like forever.
Willie looks up, and asks, "Do you have bubble bath?" At first I chuckle, then realize he's serious so I shake my head, "Un uh," and he says, "I have awesome bubble bath at home. Bought it at Fureos' Men Shop on Newbury Street in Boston for thirty-four dollars. It's made specifically for a man's needs. Maybe I should give you the bath in my bathroom. Whaddaya think?" I immediately step into the half-full tub of water and sit down facing the facet that's still pouring out hot water. Willie mutters, "Okay, no bubble bath. Is the water too hot?" Then he picks up the bar of soap from the soap dish. Frowning he asks, "You use bar soap? You do have bath gel too, right?" I nod, saying, "In the shower stall. The last time I had a bath was like months ago, but I did use that bar of soap. I got it last Christmas in my stocking." He says, "You're kidding, right? Someone gave you a bar of soap for Christmas?" I snort out one of Charlie's laughs, "Yep, it was one of about thirty things in my stocking. My mom insists on filling up Christmas stockings for my brother and me. You know, with inexpensive stuff like a box of Gummy Bears, a comb, fingernail clippers, or a bar of soap. Gag gifts mostly, but useful and it's fun seeing what's in the stocking." He looks at me for a second, then murmurs, "That's sweet of your mom. I never had a Christmas stocking. Actually I thought Christmas stockings were only in stories of old time Christmases."
Not wanting to pursue that pathetic line of discourse, I slide down in the hot water unit it's touching my chin; now my dirty knees stick up out of the water. Willie mumbles wistfully, "Gee, your knees are dirty too. Oh well..." and he takes his shirt off, then his slacks. Folding them neatly, he lays them on the closed toilet lid. Wearing only boxer shorts now, he goes, "I'll shampoo your hair first." I slide down further until my dirty head is under water, then sitting back up with water dripping off it, I do it again. By now Willie's got the shampoo and bath gel from the shower stall. He pours shampoo on my head, saying, "I'd normally have music playing in the background during a bath. I mean if we were in my bathroom." His fingers rub into my scalp for a minute, then he excitedly says, "Hey, Dylan, remember the first time you spent the night at my house and I played about ten versions of different artists singing Leonard Cohen's song, 'Hallelujah'?" I go, "Yeah, I do remember that. We were in your huge bed with black sheets.
Those songs made chills run up and down my spine. It's an emotional type song, 'Hallelujah, and only artists with big voices can do it justice." Rubbing his fingers through my hair, he goes, "Yeah, you're right about that; it creates atmosphere! Music can create a sense that something special is happening. Of course, when I'm with you I don't need music to know something special is happening, but why not add the music if it's convenient, ya know?"
I'm feeling dreamy now in this hot bath water with Willie massaging my head. I murmur, "You do have a nice bedroom and bath, Willie." Ha ha, that's maybe the biggest understatements I've ever made. His bathtub's big enough for three and it's got a Jacuzzi feature. His shower stall is as big as this bathroom, and his whole bathroom is bigger than my bedroom. Yeah, nice set-up alright. Heh heh.
Willie's fingers feel good rubbing my scalp and I wish he'd do it longer.
Then he reads my mind, saying, "Dunk your head under water a few times, and I'll start over and do it a second time." That's what we do and when finished the second shampoo, he mutters, "When I'm done bathing you you'll need to completely rinse off under the shower." I let Willie totally take over my body as he holds my wrist scrubbing one hand, then the other, getting them pink and clean, then the same for my finger nails. I hate dirty fingernails! He washes my entire body, doing it without paying any more attention to my privates than he does my back. Then, like with the shampoo, he washes my body a second time and it's awesome because I like being touched. Being babied like this would probably make most guys extremely uncomfortable. I'm the opposite though; I feel completely relaxed in Willie's hands, maybe more so than anyone else's, and I mean even Chubby's or Robby's hands. That's because Willie's done things like this for me at other times during our long relationship. Wait, Robby has too, so I'd feel equally comfortable in his hands. Anyway, Willie's and my relationship is the longest one of my life. No, I mean the second longest after Chubby's and mine. Willie's and I have had an on-again, off-again relationship since I was a junior in high school, while Chubby and me have been tight for twenty-one consecutive years and nobody comes close to that, except my mom obviously, but that's a different kind of relationship.
I lose track of the time, but it has to be at least a half hour that I've been in this bathtub. Willie keeps adding hot water and there's perspiration on both our foreheads. Mine from the very hot water and his from the effort of bathing me. All this time being washed, rubbed, and babied has been done mostly in silence with the only subtle sounds being that of water splashing. Willie bathing me requires a tremendous amount of physical contact, and with an attractive guy like him it's surprising it's not arousing me sexually. It doesn't though, not until Willie's almost done the second bathing. That's when my cock finally starts getting hard. I'm feeling infinitely better than when I first got home; it's actually amazing how dreamily good I feel right now. The second time Willie's washing my legs, I'm staring at the side of his face and feeling a special connection to him, and that's when my cock starts getting really hard. He looks so serious leaning over the bathtub squishing soap with his fingers between my toes: that's when my cock becomes a full-blown boner sticking straight up in the water, the tip of it barely out of the water. Oh man, that boner feels really good making me quietly gasp, but I resist the urge to touch that throbbing organ.
Willie sits up straight, taking a breath, saying, "Okay, I'm satisfied that you're as clean as a new born babe, Dylan. After you rinse off in the shower I'll put something on those scratches and..." Then he sees my boner and stops to glance over at me without commenting or changing his facial expression. I shrug, and he nods his head a few times, then wraps a hand around my boner, mumbling, "Look, all the dirt from your body is floating on top of the water. You'll need to first use a little bath gel in the shower, then rinse off really well." He squeezes my boner, mutters, "Damn," and starts stroking my hard cock without saying anything else. He strokes it while looking into my eyes with his pleasant expressionless face. I stare back at him mesmerized as sensations grow and grow with buzzing and sizzling all around, and up and down my cock. His hand feels so good on my hard boner I finally arch my back away from the curved end of the tub, moaning quietly.
"Ahhh, oooh," The steady stroke, stroke, stroking continues and I'm like, "Aaah, ummm, umm, umm, umm." Then he murmurs softly, "I've been doing this to myself a lot lately. This is the longest I've gone between boyfriends; it's been almost six months now. My girlfriend, well, she was never all that satisfying." His fist tightens and the stroking is faster as I squirm, my eyes closed now as I'm struggling, causing water to splash over the edge of the tub, "Oooh, mmm," then with a mini squeal my hip hump in the water with cum gushing from my boner going straight up, then splashing back down on the water's surface as another shorter stream shoots up. Grunting some more, my face feeling hot, I go on my side, facing Willie. He strokes my boner sideways under water as my stomach muscles clench, then forces out another spurt of cum. I go limp now, gasping a little and sitting up again.
Willie lets go of my now softening penis as I sigh, staring at the cum floating on top of the dirty water. Oh, that felt so good! Willie stands, mumbling, "That was random. Now you need to hop in the shower, Dylan, and I'll drain the tub." Yeah, but my eyelids are half closed as I continue savoring the fleeting afterglow of my orgasm. Willie grins nodding his head, mumbling, 'When you're ready, that is," and he goes over and turns the water on in the shower, then hold his hand under the spray until the temperature is just right. He comes back and holds his hands down to me. Taking hold of his hands he helps me stand, giving me a little head nod like I did really good. Oh man, I'm such a sucker for this kind of stuff. Getting out of the tub, splashing water on the floor again, Willie mumbles, "Don't worry about it." Walking the six steps to the shower stall on my own, with Willie right behind me carrying the bath gel and, maybe there in case I fall, ha ha.
Taking the bath gel, I get in the shower stall, murmuring, 'Thank you, Willie," and then lean back out, put my wet clean hand on his cheek, and kiss him on the lips. The door closes and I stand under the hot flowing water feeling better and better. As I'm spreading bath gel on myself I can see Willie through the glass door. He's using a towel, moving it around the floor with his foot, wiping up the water I sloshed there. Turning around under the spray to rinse off the bath gel, then back around again, I see him cleaning out the tub now. Huh, I wish I had a butler, or whatever a guy's title would be who'd do all this bathing for me on a regular basis. Ha ha, pipe dream! Turning off the shower and stepping out of the stall, Willie's there with a bath towel. He's drying first my head and hair, then my neck and working down across my shoulders. I just stand here feeling a funny buzzing sensations in my belly. Willie lifts my arms one at a time, drying them, and continues drying down my body. I still feel a tingle from my orgasm, compliments of Willie's fist. He has long fingers, long everything actually, including his dick, although I can't see it at the moment because of his boxer shorts. The question is: do I want to see it? He finishes drying my body; then, holding me in place with a hand on my shoulder, his other hand takes a hairbrush off the shelf, "Stand still, Dylan," and he brushes my hair trying to get the front hairs to stay brushed to the side.
As he brushes my hair, he mumbles, "I gotta say, you have the most beautiful blond hair I think I've ever seen, and it has some wave in the longer front hairs." Well if that's true, it's something that developed as I got older, like during the last three or four years because it didn't used to have a wave. Of course, this is the first time it's been long enough to notice a wave in all those years. Willie's a little frustrated my bangs aren't cooperating." He says, "Maybe a little mousse will help, but in any case you need to have a barber trim around the ears and neck line at least. You look shaggy, and I've never seen you look shaggy before." I'm silently ignoring most everything he says because being taken care of like this has me in a pleasant little submissive trance that I don't want to lose. It's the way Willie just goes ahead and does what he wants that gets me feeling docile like this. He goes, "Don't you agree?" He's referring to his haircut comment, I suppose. Well, now I have to respond with a mumbled, "If you say so. Um, Rob can do that for me."" and he goes, "I wouldn't even think of cutting your hair myself, but I don't like the thought of someone like Dickers butchering it either."
Putting the brush down, he says, "You know what I'm going to do: I'll arrange an appointment for you with my hair stylist in Boston. When you get home from work tomorrow I'll take you there myself at, um, say six o'clock."
Oh fuck, there goes my docile trance. I say, "No thanks, Willie. Not tomorrow, but I'll get it taking care of soon." He pulls at the hair that's grown a little bit over my right ear, saying, "Yeah, I hear you, but I'll probably come over tomorrow and take you to the salon anyway. You aren't too good at making decisions, and you tend to procrastinate." With that he slides his hand across my forehead, still trying to get my bangs over to the side.
Giving up on that, he goes, "Okay, you're very clean and looking as cute as ever now. While you were finishing your shower I took the liberty of picking out a few things for you to wear." Patting my shoulder, like I've been a good boy, he goes, "C'mon in your little bedroom. I've laid some things out on that tiny bed of yours. See what you think." I'm grinning to myself, having a good time even without my juicy trance. Only Willie could pull this off so well.
We walk into my bedroom with me still naked, not that that's a problem for me because I like being naked. Ha, I see immediately that Willie's chosen clothes for me to wear that he'd bought for me over the years, not that he remembers doing that now. He thinks I bought these clothes myself. There's a button down the front, long sleeve shirt made of a cool material, and skinny shorts that I actually wear quite often. They have a pleated front with the legs reaching just below my knees. He bought me, among other things, these two pieces of clothing for our trip to Key West, spending stupid money for both. He doesn't have a clue though, or he'd have said something. He picks up the shirt, and holding it out to me, he mumbles, "Ya know, I'd definitely buy something like this for myself." I'm putting the shirt on as he says, "You've got some really nice stuff in your closet, and then a lot of the other shirts and shorts that look like, what I'd imagine, they sell at places like Kohl's. Maybe your mom bought them for you, so I'm not dissing them, just saying..."
Looking at him and smiling to myself, I pull on a pair of boxer shorts.
Willie retrieves his clothes from the bathroom and gets dressed, saying, "I found some Bactine maximum strength antiseptic spray for those cuts and scratches, so you'll need to take the shirt off again. The Bactine was in your medicine cabinet, and Benadryl too." I nod my head, unaware I had either of those medicines. When I've got my shorts on and my shirt off again, he sits me on my desk chair and applies the Bactine to the scratches on my arms and legs, then holds my hand, looking closely at the bee sting, muttering, "The fucking stinger's still in there... that's not good. No wonder it's swelling and dark red." I look closely myself, but can't see it. Looking at me, he asks, "Do you have tweezers?" I go, "No, but Mom does," and I get them from her bathroom. Holding my hand with his left hand, he looks closely at my bee sting, his face down close to my hand. I run my fingers through the longish hair on top of his head. Light brown wavy hair that feel like strands of silk, not that I've ever felt strands of silk. Wish my hair was long like his.
Willie looks up at me, grinning, then looks down again and carefully holds the tweezers between steady fingers and pulls out the bee's stinger, exclaiming, "Okay, that's good! I got it the first try." He puts some Bactine on the bee sting and passes me the Benadryl, saying, "Take one of these just in case. You're not allergic to bee stings are you?" I shake my head wishing there was more he needed to take care of for me. Then I see Willie's also laid out the sandals he bought for me in Boston a year ago, so I step into them as he's using the comb off my desk to fix his hair, saying, "I don't know why I bother with my hair, it'll just get blown all to hell again with the top down."
We walk to the kitchen where I swallow the Benadryl capsule with some orange juice, drinking it right out of the quart bottle. Willie says, "You're in one of your quiet moods I see. You haven't said two words in the last forty minutes." I nod, and he laughs, yelling, "Say something!" Chuckling as my latest little trance slips away, I say, "Thank you for taking care of me.
I was quietly enjoying a little dreamy trance if you must know." He goes, "Yeah, well I could give you a big dreamy trance if I chose to, but I won't 'cause we're not boyfriends; we're best friends. You're the first one I've ever had, by the way, and I like the idea of it quite a bit." I say, "Well you can backdate me as your best friend to a couple of years ago if you want." He goes, "Yippee, I had a best friend and didn't even know it. Such a relief... in hindsight anyway. Ha ha." Patting my shoulder, he adds, "Except you were my boyfriend back then so I don't know if you could have been both." I give him a hug, "You're one of a kind, Willie." He hugs back, murmuring, "Thanks... I think."
Stepping apart, I glance at my wristwatch and see it's five minutes of eight, so I ask, "You want another beer? We've got like forty minutes before we need to leave for the restaurant." He points to the first beer he opened, saying, "I've still got most of that one to drink," and I'm like, "That's warm by now," and get us two cold cans of Coors from the refrigerator and we go out on the deck. Nice night, although it's already dark. I say, "A month ago the sun would still be shining at this time of night." He nods his head, asking, "You ready for your junior year?" and we talk about some of our college experiences thus far. He's still going to Columbia University in upper Manhattan, New York, and living in a dormitory, which surprises me.
I ask, "Why don't you get an apartment?" and he surprises me again, "Because I like living on campus. I like being around everyone, and feeling like one of the guys, ya know?" That makes me feel bad for him again. He shrugs, "Anyway the dorm is where I met my last two boyfriends, although I don't know if Ronald was actually a boyfriend; more like a sex buddy for six or seven weeks."
That reminds me again of how lucky Robby and I are for being loving boyfriends a few years now. Not many gay guys have regular boyfriends at our age.
Charlie's the latest young gay guy to remind me of that, and now Willie.
I've met some guys, like Boone and Teddy just recently who, while still in the closet, call themselves boyfriends and I guess they are, although they're an unattractive and odd couple. I'm still embarrassed thinking back on the night with Boone. Anyway, I haven't run into too many gay guys with boyfriends. Some with sex buddies, but not boyfriends.
Something noteworthy is happening that I'm just beginning to notice: Willie's been talking differently then he used to. Most of the braggadocio is gone and he seems more grounded and comfortable with himself. He's still a bit of a snob of course, but this new Willie is a mighty big turnaround from the days that sicko made him his pet sex-toy on a leash. I'm proud to say I helped him recover from that Wildwood disaster, so it's not a one-way street where Willie just buys me stuff. I've helped him, not monetarily, but with life-changing things like that the boy-toy thing, and then in Key West when he was seriously depressed and may have tried suicide, and other times to a lesser degree. I think I've been good for him. I'm not on an ego trip with this, but when Willie was calling me his boyfriend it did wonders for his self-image which, like Ryan, at times needs a little help. Those two have things in common, although they're way different, but it's weird that I'd run into two such unique, and at times contradictory individuals like Willie, and then much later, Ryan. And, in the same way I was kinda missing Willie, I'm now missing Ryan and looking forward to seeing him in two weeks back at college.
Done talking about our colleges, I ask, "Where'd you learn about Benadryl for bee stings and what to do for cuts and scratches? You know, first aid stuff like that." He grins, "At summer camp. I went to summer camp every summer after private school right up until my seventeenth birthday. A damn expensive summer camp it was too, not some living-in-tents summer camp. They had first aid courses and swimming lessons and stuff like that, but mostly it was a tennis camp, and then basketball practice after dinner. That's where I learned to play tennis and basketball so well. They had professional players from both sports in charge of the programs." I go, "Huh," and he says, "As you know, not that I think it's a big deal or anything, but I was captain of my prep school's tennis team for three years. That's until I got thrown off the team temporarily for that little incident with our vicious buddy, Andy." I go, "Oh man, there's a name from the past. Sneaky little bitch, Andy." Willie goes, "Yeah, but he was almost as cute as you. Well, not almost, but he was a cutie. Vicious little bastard, for sure, but cute."
We're still reminiscing as we're going down the outside steps to Willie's car. It's a steel gray Mercedes Benz convertible. For something to say about it, I ask, "What model is this?" Willie gets in the driver's seat, saying, "It's an E-class Cabriolet with the collision-prevention-assist feature.
This car breaks for you automatically if you're about to run into something or someone that you haven't notice yourself, like when you're driving and texting or something like that. That's all I know about this car though.
I'm no more of a gear-head than you." I walk around and get in, mumbling, "It's a beautiful car. How long have you had it?" He shrugs, "A few months.
Got it for my birthday from Gramps. Dad and Mom were away at the time." I'd like to asks how he's getting along with his parents now, but the last I heard they were doing fine so I think I'll leave it at that."
Turning the motor over, Willie glances at me, saying, "Being with you again, Dylan, um, it's really nice." I smile, "Right back at you, Willie, and thanks again for taking care of me. If you hadn't insisted, I'd probably have spent the night pissed-off and moping around the house feeling sorry for myself." He beams at the compliment. It's so easy to make him happy. I just wish more people would do it. I almost always get the feeling he's lonely and I don't understand why he should be. He knows lots of people; a lot more than I know. Like, I remember when, years ago, he'd take me to those block parties in Cambridge. Everyone knew him, and a lot of them were gay, but it felt to me like they were all in competition with each other. No one was especially a friend of Willie's. He basically has led a lonely life of many acquaintances over the years, but with none he actually could call a friend. Except me, that is.
As it turns out I need to give him directions to Dino's although we were there together once before. After parking a block away, we get out of the car and I'm wondering if Willie, like Robby two nights ago, will hold my hand as we walk. I'm not sure if I hope he does or hope he doesn't. He doesn't, which surprises me, but I think it's for the best. We walk slowly sharing a Marlboro Light and talking about what we feel like having for dinner tonight. Inside the restaurant a lady at the desk, before we can say anything, goes, "Sorry, gentlemen, we're totally booked for tonight. An insurance agency reserved the restaurant from eight-thirty till closing. It's some sort of retirement party. I'm very sorry, but I hope you'll try us again."
Willie smiles his really good smile, saying, "Would you check again if there's a table, please. Nine o'clock, William Worthington," and hearing the name, her face lights up, "Oh, yes. I've been told to expect you, Mr. Worthington.
It's been so hectic tonight, please forgive me. If you'll follow me," and she picks up two menus. Willie beams at me.
We follow her to the far right hand side of the restaurant, near the bar.
It's like a small private section with two tables, one set-up for two, separated from the main dining area by a four-foot divider wall with live plants of some kind growing from long planters on top of the wall. It separates these two tables from the retirement party that's boisterously taking place in the dining room. The other table in this private section is few feet to our left, occupied by three serious looking men who are finishing their meal. The bar begins four feet to the right of us, and it's crowded with men wearing suits and ties, although most of them have loosened their ties by now. Willie and I gawk at the mostly overweight men for a second, hearing words like aggregate limits, something about capitalization, and ceded reinsurance leverage. I look at Willie, nodding my head at the bar, and feign seriousness, saying, "How about if you make a cellphone call to Mr.
Scallabrinie and have these insurance people removed from the bar area. They're annoying me." He laughs out loud, the hardest I've ever seen him laugh, and it gets some glances from a couple of the insurance men. I chuckle at Willie's laughter. He's wiping his mouth with the clothe napkin, still snickering and muttering, "Oh boy, that would be the balls."
Two minutes later Tony comes over and says to me, with mock astonishment, "The VIP section? Way to go," then he does a double take looking at Willie, probably remembering I was with Robby Saturday night. He raises his eyebrows at me, smirking, "Dylan Newman back so soon." Aww, he finally remembers my name. Well, I got a big yuck from Willie, so I'll try it with Tony.
Tapping his forearm, I seriously say, "Tony, would you please ask those gentlemen at the bar to leave? They're annoying me." Tony and Willie both laugh this time. It must be the outrageousness of that request, so I add, "No joking around, I'm serious," and they laugh some more. Taking a deep breath, Tony leans down, saying to us, "I needed a good laugh. It's been an awkward evening so far. Six different people asked me if I felt I had enough life insurance, and that's just in the last twenty minutes." Tony looks sexy with his black hair and swarthy complexion. Both go well with super white teeth giving him a killer smile. He points at me, saying, "I know you're twenty-one, but what about you," and he points at Willie, who goes, "Yeah, I'm twenty-one too." Tony chuckles as he's looking around, then asks, "What do you guys want to drink?" We order Old Fashions because that's not an all whiskey cocktail, unlike a Manhattan or martini which are all liquor.
Tony stands at the end of the bar and one of the bartenders comes right down to him as Willie says, "Ya know, when we agreed upon this restaurant yesterday, I asked my uncle about it, completely forgetting I was here with you before. Nice place, I mean for Framingham." I go, "Oops, a little bit of snobbery snuck out there, Willie." He makes a face, grinning and saying, "I'll need to watch that, won't I?" The drinks come and we toast to friendship. The serious men in this so-called VIP section drop money on the table without waiting for a bill, and then make their way out. They never even glance at us. We watch them go, then Willie says, "I think I've seen that fat guy in my uncle's restaurant a couple of times." I turn to look at the guy, but he's already outside. "Do you think he's some kind of gangster?" He shrugs, then says, "Maybe," then adds, "It's nice having this divider here separating us from the riffraff on the other side." I mutter, "Snob," and he says, "Heh heh. I said that just so you could call me a snob again." Then we talk about some of the snobby restaurants and places we've been together, admitting ritzy snobby places definitely have some admirable qualities.
Tony returns with our Old Fashions, and takes our dinner order, plus we order a second Old Fashion. Willie orders escargots for an appetizer and linguine with clam sauce for his entree. Ugh! I go for less exotic menu items: a shrimp cocktail appetizer and veal marsala as my main course. Then I order a bottle of the Chianti Classico Robby and I had a glass of Saturday night, telling Willie he'll like it. When Tony leaves, Willie says, "You're a wine connoisseur now too, huh?" I mutter, "Yeah, and I've got wavy blond hair now too." We're still working on our second Old Fashions when our appetizers arrive, then Tony's back opening our bottle of wine asking if we'd like it slightly chilled. We do, and he puts it in a bucket that has its own little stand next to our table. As we eat we're joking around about what we think a 'best friends' responsibilities should be. Then we rehash the strange relationship we had with our little sex-buddy, Andy, and all the trouble he ended up causing both of us. Of course this was like three years ago and neither of us has any idea what's happened to Andy since then.
Feeling the two cocktails, I go easy on the wine and we leave a quarter of the wine in the bottle when we have coffees: me a regular coffee, and Willie an espresso, which comes in a thick tiny cup. He offers me a taste, but no thank you. When the bill comes we argue about it, but I know Willie's going to insist so I relent, then worry if he'll leave enough tip. It's the first time in all the years Willie's been paying for our dinners that I've ever given a thought as to how much tip he leaves. I feel an obligation to Tony though because he's been so good to me and the other underage guys this past year or so. When the check comes back with Willie's American Express card, I mumble, "What's a good tip, Willie? I've heard it's appropriate to leave anywhere from twenty to twenty-five percent of the bill." He goes, "Yeah, that's what most suckers leave for a tip, but for the drinks a ten percent tip should be enough. I mean the waiter merely drops the drinks off while the bartender did all the work making them. Then there's the sales tax. You don't tip on the amount of the sales tax." I don't like the sound of this, so I say, "At least let me leave the tip." He goes, "Don't be silly.
I got it." Balls! I catch Tony's eye on the way out subtly motioning at Willie, trying to infer I have nothing to do with that tiny tip. Not that Tony has any idea what I'm trying to convey; he grins and does a little wave of his hand.
Outside Willie says, "I assume you know me well enough by now to realize I was explained tipping as my father sees it. It's the rich person's cheap way of tipping. Rich people are often the worst tippers; they simply can't make themselves give any of their money away even though they have more of it then they can spend, and often did nothing to earn the money in the first place. Not me though, I always leave at least twenty-five percent of the total.
What do I care about an extra thirty dollars or so when it means more to the hard working waiter or waitress." That's a relief, but then that's the Willie I thought I knew, and I'm glad he's who I thought he was. I say, "You mean server, don't you? Calling a person your 'waiter' is so demeaning,"
and he laughs, muttering, "Bull crap," giving my shoulders a hug.
We smoke a cigarette while slowly walking the two blocks to the car, then lean against the car finishing our smokes with Willie asking, "Dylan, have you ever been so horny you could hardly catch your breath, but you told yourself you weren't going to initiate sex even though you're with someone you've had great sex with in the past? Has that ever happened to you?" Ha ha, I can't imagine what he's leading up to. I act clueless though, saying, "I try never to initiate sex with someone for the first time." He goes, "Really? How interesting, but what about with someone you've had sex with, um, say a hundred times, but you promised yourself, as well as that person, you wouldn't suggest sex because you didn't want to get your hopes up that something more would develop and then get disappointed again?" I flick my cigarette butt off the convertible's side rearview mirror, asking, "Is that a question?" He laughs leaning against me, "Would you think me not a man of my word if I suggested tonight we have a simple buddy-sex fuck?" I go, "You sure are full of questions tonight, aren't you William." He says, "I gave you a bath... don't forget that."
We joke around about it until I say, "Okay, William, you've actually never been a man of your word in the first place, so you're not screwing-up anything new there. I'll do some buddy sex with you, but only if I can be the bottom." He goes, "Well, forget about it then." We chuckle at that, then Willie hugs me, murmuring, "You're awesome, Dylan. I'll always love you better than anybody." I can't say 'right back at you' to that, so I mutter, "You're pretty special yourself, William." He lets go of me, chuckling and saying, "Stop calling me, William. It makes me think I'm back in prep school."
Driving back to my place I thank Willie for dinner again, and he says, "We should have monthly dinners like this one, like a tradition or something like that. You know, to keep in touch. I mean as best friends and all we're sort of obligated, don'cha think?" I go, "Most definitely," but I know that won't happen. Not on some regular basis anyway. He's going to college in New York and he'll have another boyfriend soon enough, but getting together a couple of times a year isn't out of the question. By now Willie and I have developed the kind of relationship/friendship that if we don't see each other for months, when we do see each other it's the same as if we saw one another a week ago. Especially now that he's apparently settled into a consistent personality. In years gone by he'd act differently every time I saw him. I never knew what to expect.
I tell Willie to park in back of my place, which he does, and we go in through the basement door with Willie telling me, "We can't do any romancing with our buddy sex. No making-out as foreplay, or cuddling afterwards, although I wish we could." I go, "You're exactly right. We'll be doing some hot buddy-sex just because we feel like it, and because we can. Save the romance for someone you're romantically involved with." I flick on the overhead lights that are mounted in the drop-ceiling, but Willie says, "Whoa, baby, too bright." The lights are on a dimmer switch which I turn down, telling Willie, "There's no terms of endearment either, not with buddy sex. So can the 'baby' references." Willie grins, muttering, "Got'cha, no terms of endearment. You're right." I go, "On the other hand, vulgar comments and insults are perfectly acceptable." He chuckles, "Lots of rules, and by the way I got the 'buddy sex' terminology from you. Side-sex with a buddy, right?" I go, "Yes, recreational buddy sex. It's self-explanatory and helpful having names for various sex acts as a short cut, ya know, in case one of the participants is in a hurry." He goes, "Most definitely," and I add, "Not a lot of explaining necessary once everyone's learned the language. Buddy sex is designed to get your rocks off, and then, 'Thanks, dude. That was hot, see ya around town, maybe.' Like that."
Willie takes his shirt off, mumbling, "This room's perfect for recreational side-sex with a buddy," and we both chuckle at yet another of our nonsensical comments. I'm taking my shirt off, with Willie asking, "No chance somebody's going to walk in on us, right?" Dropping my shorts, I go, 'There's always a chance, but in this case it's close to zero." Willie's got his boxer shorts off and now we're both as naked as we can get except for my wristwatch, cross necklace, rings on my fingers, and my leather bracelet, which is actually the last present Willie's given me. Glancing at his penis I'm wondering if it's grown a tad. I go, "Obviously you're measuring your dick on a regularly basis, so what's the latest reading?" He laughs, "I don't measure my dick, it is what it is." I nod, "And what is that exactly?" He laughs again, "Well, it's eight and a quarter inches flaccid like now, and a little over eight and a half when boned up, maybe more than that when that big boy's really tight. I'm usually too aroused to measure it then." I go, "So you do measure your penis?" He goes, "No! That would be sick; I'm merely going by measurements taken when I was twelve." We both laugh as I go, "Uh huh."
Both naked, we come together but only to embrace; this isn't a make-out moment. The couple of quick kisses we've done so far this night were appropriate for two close gay friends. Not lingering kisses, but rather friendship kisses. Our foreplay for buddy-sex consists of bodies squirming together with our arm around one another, all four hands hungry for the feel of another young man's skin, rubbing over muscle definition verifying how our bodie s are different from those of the opposite sex. The feel of Willie's athletic body with his mostly hairless, silky smooth young skin has always been a turn on for me, but then any youngish slim and tight male body excites me.
Willie's is just more familiar than most.
The sides of our smooth faces slide together; his face smooth because he shaved before leaving the house and mine because I've yet to need a real shave. Our olfactory senses, while minuscule compared to many in the animal kingdom, none the less can pick-up our individual scents and those pheromones just happened to be mutually arousing, thereby adding to the sexual attraction we have for one another. In a very short time our hips, almost involuntarily, do gentle humping thus stimulating our sex organs and further enhancing sexual arousal until we gasp almost simultaneously. Our brains have countless memories of our past mutual intimacies and we subconsciously slip into our earlier established sexual roles when together; mine a submissive one to Willie's dominant one. I feel a comfortable foggy veil of submissiveness slide over my mind making me shudder slightly at the pleasure of it and nestle my face against Willie's neck and shoulder as he gently rubs up the back of my head, his fingers in my hair, whispering, "Ummm, this is so nice. You're my boy, huh Dylan?" My body melds into his as I await signals of what he wants to do next.
The feel of him makes my cock throbs and get firmer, thus further increasing desire as reality's receding so the sexuality of the moment can flourish and grow until I'm very aroused, tightly rubbing my hands up and down his back, grabbing handfuls of his tight butt cheeks grinding my sex against his. Willie puts a hand on each of my shoulder pressing down and I slowly drop to my knees and rub my face against his hard cock and hardening balls.
The pheromones are strong here and I lick around his cock to taste as well as smell his personal scent. His fingers gently ruffle the hairs on my head as he coos soothing sounds of approval, which resonate in my submissive frame of mind, encouraging me to try harder to please him. Yes, it's approval I crave from my dominant sex partners so I suck on his cock with my cock getting to a hardness and tightness that it's sticking up against my belly with wetness on the head. A quiet moan of arousal passes from my throat slipping past the head of his cock as I suck on it and fist the shaft slowly.
"Mmmm," I push more of the hard shaft into my mouth licking and sucking on it hungrily. Willie's hip begin a slow rhythmic humping as he rubs my shoulders, murmuring, "Good job, boy. Take it all in," and he leans forward sliding his boner on my tongue until the head hits the back of my mouth, and pushing against the gag reflex area of my throat. I make a gagging sound for a second, but a little hump of his hips along with a simultaneous pull of his hands behind my head and his long leaking boner forces it way down my throat. He keeps pulling my head to him until my nose is squished against his belly surrounded by pubic hairs, his hard cock fully impaling my throat.
Willie moans, "Aaaah, ummmm, oooh," and pulls my face tighter against his belly. I'm dreamily floating in sexual submissiveness until my brain demands oxygen and my body begins struggling. He humps against my face one more time to show me who's boss, then reluctantly withdraws his long hard boner, and when the head's on my tongue air streams into my lungs for a few seconds before I swallow a big drool of Willie's precum and cough a couple of times just before his boner begins moving across my tongue and down my throat again. Willie moans, then murmurs, "That's my good boy, take it all. Work your throat muscles."
The urge to stroke my throbbing boner is huge but I know that my most intense orgasms are the ones fucked out of me, not the ones caused my me.
That's not a conscious thought so much as it's hard wired into my brain from experience. I wait for my dominant sex partner to do what he will. After a third trip down my throat, I'm about as dominated as I'm likely to get, so Willie pulls his cock out of my throat and mouth completely. His pinkish shiny wet boner is very hard, almost sticking straight out from his body, only hanging slightly due to the length of it. Willie rubs my head, telling me sternly, "You missed some precum, boy." I lean in and lick at the head of his cock savoring my submissive role and trying not to whimper at the sexual arousal I'm sensing.
Ultimately the brain is the largest sex organ in a man's body in that it controls his biological urges. Much of the euphoric sexual experience is controlled or emanates in the limbic lode of the brain that's developed over millions of years. It's among the oldest areas of the brain too, so maybe from there I get this strong desire to rim Willie's asshole and thereby furthering this submissive sense I'm enjoying. Willie's of another mind however. He gets a hold behind my neck pulling me forward onto my hands; I was already on my knees. On my hands and knees Willie smacks my ass and the sound of his hand slapping against my butt cheek rings out making the loudest sound we've heard in the last ten minutes, "SMACK!" as Willie says, "I know you like it rough, boy," and, "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!" with me grunting and moving my ass. Then, with a hand on each of my hips he pulls my ass up and holds it there. His boner is so hard he doesn't need his fingers to guide it to my asshole. It's so tight he guides it by moving his hips. The drooling head of his cock snuggles in against the lips of my anus, then he humps it right in past my sphincter muscle and immediately my asshole's lips hug around the neck of his cock and I go, "Ooooh," with my shoulders doing a little shudder and my back arching. Nothing can feel this good, but I tighten the muscles in my buttocks anyway hoping to further enhance the sexual pleasure coming from inside me.
We're both enormously aroused and after Willie makes a gasping breathy exhale he humps his hips harder this time driving his boner three or four inches up my ass. I groan at the pain/pleasure sensations that alternate before settling on pleasure. My head goes back as the sizzling in my rectum sends chills and goose bumps all over me. It's a buzzing sensation like little electric shocks all around my pelvic area making my shoulders shudder again. Willie's hands rub up and down my back, then a big hump of his hips and all eight-plus inches of hard cock fills my ass. I shake and hold my breath hardly believing the sexual pleasure pouring from my rectum to my brain, and then out to nerve ending all over my body. Pleasure that can't be matched by anything except a hard cock up inside my rectum. Willie's feet shuffle a little as he moves closer, then he cups my shoulders and the basement fills with sounds of males fucking, "Slap, slap, slap, slap." Sensations too numerous to count explode, taking me to the highest peaks of erotic pleasure.
All I can do is marvel that so simple and primitive an act as this can bring me such unimaginable pleasure. My already rock hard cock manages to tighten further as the, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of Willie's body smacking against my butt cheeks takes me even higher and my boner pulls away from my belly to stick straight down in its hardest possible position, quivering now in its tightness with the pee slit gaping open and my body shaking at the prospect of the climax that coming on me like a runaway locomotive.
Nothing compares to climax and as our orgasm roars up on both of us the, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds are joined by our chorus of sexual pleasure-moans that we can no more control than the inevitability of impending climax. Then, it's on me hot and heavy for real and the anticipation makes me shake like a leaf in the wind, helpless to stop the shaking until my body gets stiff and the shaking stops, my back arches and it's almost scary as I shudder, gasp, then squeal with my hips humping on their own as cum is streaking from my nuts up through my hard boner and out the quivering pee shit to splatter on the floor. Brilliant fireworks going off in my head with pleasure swarming over me from my cock, groin, and rectum spreading out to my hair and toes, then another thrust of my hips as another streak of cum leaves through my electrified cock and I hear from far off a desperate breathy moan from Willie as he humps against my buttocks shooting three loads of his sperm-laden jism up into my bowels. Another gasp and hard hump against me, then Willie lays on my back gasping before he backs up pulling his softening cock from my ass.
Laying my head on my forearms I'm absorbing the indescribable pleasure of climax while slowly pushing my legs out behind me until I'm prone on the floor with Willie's ejaculation drooling from my wide open asshole. I love the sense of a wide open asshole with cooler air pouring into my 98.6 degree rectum. Willie's leaning against the washing machine doing his deep breathing as I feel the last of my orgasmic sensations fading away leaving me with a fairly contented feeling and me quietly sighing. Willie comes away from the washing machine to straddle me, a foot on each side of my chest. He reaches down and gets a hand under my armpits and pulls me up on my knees, then up on my feet. He's grinning, asking, "That was really good, don'cha think?" I nod my head, smiling, then mumble, "Pretty good, yeah." He rubs my shoulders, saying, "You motivate me. We climaxed awfully fast though. In the old days I'd take you to bed now and do you slow and sexy the second time, and even a third time." I snort a laugh, muttering, "And the fourth, if you felt like it."
He says, "C'mon, let's go in that little bathroom over there and I'll clean some of my cum off your ass." We walk inside the bathroom as he says, "Remember when I'd make you go to sleep with my dick up your ass?" I go, "Yep, and I'd walk bowlegged half the next day," and he goes, "Yep, but you'd be ready to do it all over again that night." Well actually I didn't have much choice 'cause he was so dominate during those couple of days in Key West. Then it was like, bang! I didn't want to play the submissive part anymore.
Fortunately, Willie got food poisoning so we never had a confrontation about it. Willie, like me I guess, chooses to remember the parts of our adventures together that he likes best. I'm not going to burst his bubble though, what would be the point of that?
This was good buddy sex tonight. I got to experience a semi-hot submissive sense, but then Willie's always fucked me really good anyhow. I've fucked him two or three times as a 'top' and, while it was hot, it wasn't nearly as hot for either of us as when Willie runs the show.
We get cleaned up, although some of the big load he shot up my ass will still be drooling out as I sleep, then it'll be dried and crusty in the morning, but a shower will take care of that. Walking out of the bathroom, Willie says, "Ya know, the truth is I'd really like to go for seconds tonight, Dylan. Drag it out by going slower and enjoy it without that desperate need for orgasm that I felt the first go round. Whaddaya say?" I'm like, "Nah, no thanks, Willie. It was good, but once is enough. I'm satisfied because, like I said, you fuck really good."
See, if he didn't ask, but just took hold of my limp cock and led me over to the chaise lounge, for instance, and got me on it rubbing me and being bossy he probably would have ended up fucking me again. We're not in that kind of relationship anymore though, so once is all it takes to relieve any horniness I was feeling. Once is never enough with Robby though; there's no discussion, we're doing it at least one more time. Neither of us would have it any other way. In between we'd be fondling each other and making-out, getting each other all hot and bothered all over again.
As we get dressed, Willie says, "Ya know, and this is the honest to God's truth, I was determined to keep my word and just enjoy your company during dinner, then maybe a sweet kiss goodbye until next time. Silly me though; I fooled myself into thinking I could spend a couple of hours with you without my libido running wild. It ran wild of course and I lusted after you because you're irresistible to me. And, um, you know I'm in love with you still, right?" I go, "Willie! Stop it, please." He pulls his shorts on, mumbling, "I know, I know, I'm just saying..." Putting on my shorts, I tell him, "It's flattering, but you're not really in love with me. You're in love with the concept of being in love. And, then you're a sex maniac too of course, but that's beside the point." We both laugh and he says, "Well, thank you, Dr. Freud. You've cleared that up for me."
Dressed now, we go upstairs and get a second beer to go with a cigarette on the balcony. It's eleven thirty and I should get to bed, but it would be too abrupt to shoo him out the door. With most casual sex buddies I could say it's been great, and I'll see you later. Not with someone I've had a history with like Willie though. Willie and Ryan are the only side-sex partners I consider special. Only those two; all the others are the slam-bam, thank-you-man, and we go our separate ways. Casual sex is wonderful, but there's close to a zero commitment beyond the good sex. It means more to me than that with Ryan and Willie though, and then there's sex with Robby which is way above anyone else... way, way above 'cause it's romantic love with him.
Willie's big on his idea we have these monthly dinners, which means monthly diners and sex of course. I don't argue because, as I told myself earlier, monthly will be closer to semi-annual, and that's closer to the reality of it. Willie says, "Ya know, maybe every two weeks would be better. I mean, we're really good together. Whaddaya think?" I shrug, "I think that's an extremely unlikely scenario, geographically speaking. You're in New York and I'm here in Mass." He goes, "Yeah, there's that." We finish our beers with Willie asking if he was rough enough during our sex, and did I get to feel submissive enough. Should he spank me more, and others shit like that.
I'm sure he's serious about wanting to pleasure me the best he can, but I happen to know he gets off big time dominating my ass, so he's actually asking if it's okay if he gets rougher, and at the same time he's fishing for compliments like almost all 'tops' do. I tell him he needs to decide how rough he'll be, but that I'll let him know if he's getting carried away. He mutters, "After all the times we've been together, I'm well aware of that fact, Dylan."
I finally mention I've got to get up early for work, adding, "Getting up early for work is something you've never yet experienced, Willie." He laughs, saying, "Hey, I was born into riches. It's not my fault." Walking him down through the basement and out to his car, I ask, "How come your father's got all those riches you mentioned, but his brothers, your uncles, are working stiffs?" He goes, "My uncles are hardly working stiffs. After Granddad set up monstrous trust funds for each of his three sons, and smaller ones for us grand kids, he turned over the control of the families' remaining stocks and bonds portfolio to the oldest son, who's my father. Both my uncles receive the same yearly amount from those trust funds as my father, and have similar houses to our's, but they've chosen to reinvest their inheritance in business ventures. My father's business is supposedly increasing the value of the family's primary portfolio so it serves generations to come."
I'd like to ask what generation initially accumulated all this wealth, but I'll save that for another time. I'm very tired and need to get to sleep. We do a quick kiss goodbye at his car and I watch him drive off with a wave, then lock up the garage entrance and do the things I need to do before getting in bed.
Before sleep wins out I think about how sexual desire can be a beautiful and powerful thing when love is involved, and how it's still pretty powerful when love isn't involved. Surely there are different levels of guys' libido; basically the energy put into a guy's sex drive. Testosterone levels are a factor too, as well as unknown internal psychological factors that for some create a condition called: hyper sexuality. It's almost as though the unprecedented build-up of chemicals leading to puberty continues after puberty keeping some guys at that same 'highest' level of sexual desire many years past puberty. Or maybe I'm all wrong, but there's gotta be something behind the profound intensity of sexual desire that I feel at times. Sexual desire at times that cause me to unconsciously do things I regret. There's passion, and then sometimes there's pure lust to deal with. Huh, I may spend a tiny bit too much time thinking about and actually doing sex, but what else could I think about or do that I might like better? Hmmm, tennis? And then sleep overtakes my consciousness.
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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