Invited

Chapter 43

( Changes )

Hardly believing what happened during this remarkable night, I watch Ronny Lynch ride his motorbike out of sight, the back wheel pushing up a spray of water as the soft spring rain continues coming down.

Back in my bedroom, smiling, I get undressed, then pad to the bathroom wearing only the underpants Ronny wore for a while tonight. Doing what I needed to do in the bathroom, I thought about how mind-blowingly fast Ronny and I connected in every way possible. It was remarkable, incredible, and impossible, but it happened just the same!

The wonderful times I've had with Billy Underwood, I'll never forget as long as I live. Our relationship was much different than Ronny's and mine, though. Billy and I experienced a slow-developing explosion of emotion where Ronny and I connected like wildfire almost instantly, both of us powerless to resist the runaway freight train of emotions we shared. The attraction we immediately felt for one another was impossible to ignore or deny.

Yeah, it was like one of those UFO encounters where the guy says he couldn't speak or move as he helplessly floated up to the spaceship where the aliens did stuff to his private parts. That was Ronny and me, minus the spaceship. We were helplessly in the hands of a force we couldn't understand or resist, and we also did things involving our private parts.

In bed, lying awake thinking about all this, I hear Mom and Dad come home from the neighborhood every other Wednesday night card game. I smile because, if Ronny had agreed to spend the night with me, he would have put his finger to his lip, "Shh, Wallingford," as he did at the Sears parking lot when that car or truck scared the shit out of us.

Telling me 'Shh' is simply part of looking out for me, the silly idea my gay friends have that I need looking after. Absurd but sweet in a way too. I'm a year or two younger than everyone, and I look younger than that. Plus, I've been accused of acting immature at times. Ronny's the opposite. Sure, he can be as crazy and wild as me, but he still makes mature decisions when needed, and he looks older than his years. An excellent example of his maturity level was his decision not to spend the night with me. I wanted him to, but he said no.

Other than that, though, we agreed on just about everything tonight, and our sexy messing around was perfection. Also, the time we had together in between the five or six orgasms we had, we got along fabulously then as well. Mostly, we were trying to please one another, with neither of us in the guy/guy role or the girl/guy role. Ronny and I are neither and both at the same time; we're equal in everything.

Considering all that's happened tonight, ending with Ron's and my sworn commitment to have sex only with each other, I expected I'd be awake half the night thinking about all of it, but I was wrong. I fell asleep five minutes after getting in bed.

Thursday morning, my cell phone alarm got me up at six o'clock, and my first thought was: I need to hurry and get outside because Malcolm's driving me to work. My second thought was I sadly needed to break up with Billy after work.

Getting dressed in my oldest jeans and a threadbare, long-sleeve t-shirt, I grimace, not looking forward to doing that, but it is the right thing to do. There isn't any way I can ignore the insane, inexplicable connection between Ronny Lynch and me. We don't understand how it happened, but we know how we feel about one another.

Plus, to be honest with myself, I've noticed Billy's been drifting away from me, and I've had tears in my eyes because of that. Somehow I need to explain to Billy the overwhelming flood of desire for one another that Ronny and I experienced last night. If someone tried to tell me a similar story, I'd call bullshit on that.

Nevertheless, there was an irresistible magnetism so strong we came together in a fever, and then we were hardly separated all night. The least I owe Billy is to be forthright and honest with him, explaining how I simply can't resist Ronny; I can't!

I'm going to try not to cry, telling Billy how I'll always love him, how grateful I sincerely am for all he's done for me, and how I'll never forget any of our beautiful dates. Oh shit, as I said, obviously, I'm not looking forward to that conversation, but I will do it with sincerity and honesty.

That's for later, though. For now, I do not want to keep Malcolm waiting. I'm giddy about NOT taking the bus to 69Th Street and NOT getting on an overcrowded train car with people bumping me and sneezing on me, and blowing their bad breath in my face.

So, that's a massive positive for this morning, although there is something I am worried about. Yeah, uh-huh, there's always something for me to worry about, and this worry is about Malcolm saying he was giving me a wake-up fuck first thing this morning. Before last night, I'd been looking forward to that, but now I can't do it. Ronny and I made a pact that I belonged to him, and he said I was to have no other sexual contact. The same rules apply to him, so that's that.

A quick shower, then I get dressed and go outside ten minutes before Malcolm told me to be there. It stopped raining sometime last night, and today is now a sunny day, although everything is still dripping wet. Watching for Malcolm's Chevy, I think about his five-inch-long penis and its wildly large girth, opening me up yesterday afternoon wider than any other boner has ever opened my anus by a wide margin. And, wow, did it hurt at first! It was a sexy hurt, though, and then Malcolm fucked me awesomely and got me off in less than two minutes. Yeah, wow!

For real, I'd be looking forward to a repeat performance, except for the fact, as I said, Ronny and I have sworn to be exclusive. So, no Malcolm and no more sex with Billy, either. Still, I'll always have beautiful memories of Billy and me fucking. He'd call it messing around, of course. When he was into it, totally engaged as he was a couple of months ago, we were making love. We were in the kind of love that some poets write about. Lately, Billy's lost that loving feeling, and I don't mean since catching the virus. It was a month or two before that.

Then there's the sex Ronny, and I had last night. It was, um, so fabulous I'm not sure it would make much difference if Billy were still committed to me or not; I'd still need to go with Ronny. That was the insanely strong attraction between him and me last night. Insane, and I'm getting aroused by simply thinking about it, thinking about him.

Oh, here comes Malcolm. His Chevy pulls over to idle at the curb. He gives me a look that I can't interpret. Malcolm is inscrutable.

Getting in the passenger seat, often called the shotgun seat, I smile, "Good morning, Boss." Without turning his head, his very dark eyes glance sideways at me quickly, then he says in his usual monotoned, bored-sounding voice, "How are you doing this morning, Grant?"

"Good, I'm doing excellent, but I'm Gary, remember?" Oh, was that a slight grin I saw on Malcolm? I think he entertains himself keeping me guessing what he'll do or say next.

He says nothing driving us away from the curb. I look at him and see the sun shining through the windshield, hitting Malcolm's little gold hoop earring, and how it glistens and sparkles as his dark brown face shines. He's handsome with a mix of African and European facial features; his hair is long on the top of his head but almost shaved on the sides and back. It's an Afro version of Mark Jones' haircut. Sitting there, Malcolm looks big, although he's slim and just a little over six feet tall. It's his broad skinny shoulders that make him appear bigger than he is. And, yeah, I think Malcolm's hot.

We ride silently for ten minutes, driving past the 69th Street Station. It would have taken me a half hour longer on the bus to get here, what with the six stops the bus makes along the way. For something to say, I ask, "Did you have a good night, Malcolm?"

Looking straight ahead, he mutters, "Yep, I fucked Tyrone, then we drank bourbon and Cokes at Sharkie's' Bar, shooting pool until eleven o'clock."

Grinning, I mumble, "How good is Tyrone? I mean, at shooting pool."

Pulling to a stop at a red light, Malcolm mumbles, "He's not good at pool. The other thing I mentioned... yeah, he's good at that, which reminds me." He looks at me now and asks in that deadpan way he has of talking, "Did you remember to bring a rubber, or do we use the olive oil as lubricant again this morning?"

My dick tightened significantly, "Oh, dammit, I guess you'll need to use the olive oil again. I forgot to bring a condom."

He doesn't say anything but drives two blocks further, then pulls over abruptly, cutting off a driver who blasts his horn. Malcolm nods at a CVS store, "Run in there and buy rubbers. I don't want to hear you whining all day that I got olive oil on your fucking pants."

Nodding, I hesitate, then mumble, "I'm not supposed to, um, last night my boyfriend and I, ah... well, never mind," and get out of the car.

Okay, I'll buy condoms, but we don't have to use one. This will give me time to think about how to tell Malcolm I can't do his morning wake-up fuck. Slamming the car door, I hop over water at the curb, thinking: 'dammit, the bitch of it is, I want to feel that obese hard cock of his up my ass again. Just one last time. Is that so bad?'

Yeah, you see, I know what to expect this time, and I could handle it better; plus, the lubricant on a condom is a much better lubricant than 'effing olive oil. Not that I'm planning on us fucking... just saying.

Buying a six-pack of Trojans, I figure they'll come in handy as lube sources for Ronny's three-inch dick, and I'll wear them when I'm fucking him, which I guess I'll be doing tonight, although I'd much rather it was the other way around.

Getting in the car, I show the condom packet to Malcolm, who rolls his eyes and pulls the car back into the traffic flow without commenting. I don't know what he meant by rolling his eyes, then he mutters, "Too small."

"Um, what's too small?"

He just shakes his head. Goddamn, he gets me hot and aroused. He is so fucking cool! Well, I need to come right out and say NO! Then, I'll explain why, and he might even respect me for refusing. Yeah, sure... I subtly grope my junk 'cause he's a hot sexy motherfucker, ya know?

Malcolm parks in the same garage as yesterday, but when he took a ticket from the machine, I didn't see his brother this morning. Going up the ramp to level two, I grin and ask, "Doesn't your dawg Willie work today?"

He snickers, "He's my dawg, Willie, alright. Best little brother ever! And ain't you a hot shit remembering that! Yeah, he'll be working the parking lot booth today, but not until ten o'clock."

Malcolm parks, then I need to walk fast to keep up with him going to Morrison's office on level sub-2 to check in. Malcolm sticks a cardboard card in a time clock, mumbling, "This is too early for Morrison to be here, but he'll know we started early to make up for leaving before five last night."

Walking fast, keeping up with him as he heads for the freight elevator, I mumble, "Don't forget that you want to help me get paid a better hourly wage since I'm working for you now."

Malcolm laughs as we get on the freight elevator going down to ground level. "That's not my job, Grant! Talk to Morrison or your main floor boss about that."

I whine, "You're my boss here, though." He ignores that as we get off the elevator and walk out on the dock. He uses a key to get the large garage door going up, then points, "Stop whining and get in there, Grant. Get behind the restaurant junk."

When we walk behind a high pile of junk, he mutters, "Give me one of those too-small rubbers."

"Huh? Um, I meant to tell..."

He interrupts, "Goddamn, Grant, I need a kickstart this morning as much as you need it. I had a few more cocktails than I should have had on a weeknight with work the next day."

We're in storage area 5 with all kinds of stuff from the cafe that went out of business last year, plus tools and machines, plus piles of bags of mulch. Standing here, I'm hesitating to give him a condom as Malcolm hits a couple of switches that turn on overhead lights, then he pushes a button getting the garage door coming back down. "A little privacy, huh, Grant?"

He held out his hand then, and like a robot, I opened the six-pack of condoms and handed one to Malcolm. He chuckles, "Ya know, it was fun lighting your ass up yesterday. Dude, I can't remember ever seeing anyone enjoy getting fucked as much as you enjoyed my big cock."

I nod and watch him pull down the fly of his old khaki pants, a rip in the knee. He says, "Don't just stand there; get your pants down and suck my cock for a minute or so. It won't take long getting me hard."

Nodding again, I pull my jeans down, then my underpants. Holy shit! My dick bounced up, already a boner, which shocked me. Malcolm chuckles, saying, "I'm flattered you got aroused by me so easily. Let's go, though. Hurry up."

With one hand holding my firm dick, I drop to my knees, pick up his ridiculously fat cock and lick all around the bulbous head, the tip of my tongue getting down under the foreskin, tasting something unpleasant, but only for ten seconds or so. Opening my mouth as wide as I can, I get the head in my mouth, but I can't do a lot with it because it's too big.

He's pulling my hair, muttering, "Go back to licking it, Grant. That felt good."

I shouldn't be doing this, but I figured one last time, but only because Malcolm said he needs it to counteract a hangover. If he said he was fucking me strictly for my benefit as another pity fuck, I'd have said no. I didn't want to disappoint him, but... Bullshit; who am I kidding? I probably would have taken the pity fuck too.

Pulling the head of his ridiculously fat cock from my mouth, barely avoiding my teeth, I lick all around it, down into his pubic hair. Now I'm feeling the five-inch-fat-as-hell shaft getting boned up really hard, and my cock getting stupidly hard too. He rips open the condom packet, mumbling, "This will never fit, but I'll use the lube," then he taps my skull, "Here, take this and wipe the lube on my boner."

Ha, ironic that last night Ronny couldn't use a condom because condoms slide off his little dick, and this morning Malcolm can't use a condom because his dick is too big, and the condom won't fit around it. After wiping lubricant on his fat cock, I wipe some on my anus, then turn around and get my hands on part of a broken counter, pushing my ass up.

Malcolm grabs my hips and, with a hard thrust, forces the wide large mushroom-shaped head of his boner past my sphincter muscle. He had his hand over my mouth, smothering my scream as he forced his hard boner right in, holding me in place and containing the sound of me howling in pain.

He's used to his bottom boys howling in pain as he pushes the rest of his enormously fat boner up inside me. It's only five inches long, but it feels like twelve; then he thrusts up, and, still groaning in pain, I go up on my toes. He pulls his boner back, and I go, "Ooh, um, Omigod..." dropping down off my toes.

Both his hands tightly holding onto my hips, Malcolm drives that big cock right back inside me, and I go up on my toes again as he lifts up, then a little higher as I gag, trying to scream. Then he does it again, and again I'm going up on my toes, his hands squeezing my hips, and then again, this time with my head lulling, and I'm like, "Ooh, umm, oh! That last one felt so good, Malcolm. Ahh, umm, ohh, yeah..."

I'm wide open back there now, as wide open as I've ever been in my life. A fist could fit up my ass, and the pleasure train had just pulled into the station, bringing with it the sighs and moans of soaring sexual pleasure. Malcolm plows my ass hard and fast, me continually needing to go up on my toes like a ballerina every two seconds, my brain flooding, overflowing with sexual pleasure vibrations, and me making a fool of myself moaning and praising Malcolm's fucking technique.

His vast, wide, rounded boner stimulates areas in my rectum that have never before been touched. Sensitized for the first time, they scream with sexual pleasure, unused to how fabulous it feels having a hard cock sliding incredibly tightly against them. The new areas, as well as all the familiar areas that most boners stimulate, have me shuddering at the waves of unique pleasure sparkling from nerve endings by the thousands, by the millions all around my anus, and especially my almost apoplectic prostate gland.

Shivering with intense pleasure for less than two minutes, I squeal like a girl who sees a mouse as my hips hump forward, and a blast of cum storms up from my balls, electrifying every nerve ending in my penis. The creamy projectile explodes out in all its well-intentioned glory, looking for a female egg to fertilize, desperately wanting to be the one out of millions of sperm specks to do that.

All hope of doing that ends with a splat against a cardboard box labeled Bounty Napkins... blanc/white.

Disappointed sperms drool down the side of the box as I'm flying around the solar system, sizzling with immense otherwordly pleasure, my shoulders shuddering at zipping chills going up my back. "Ahh, ooh, my God," as now the aftereffects of that orgasmic climax zip around my body at the speed of light. Heat sensations, making me dizzy, flow from my cock up my body as I hold my breath, then I shuddered again. Holy fuck, that was good!

I go, "Oh man," and look at Malcolm, who is wiping his dick with a white paper napkin, saying, "Two minutes, Grant. You blew off in two minutes again, and I'm not mocking you because I climaxed while you were climaxing. Dude, you love taking it up the ass, don't ya?"

Holy shit, I didn't feel his climax filling me up, but I now feel a lot of his cum running out of my ass, and it feels like my asshole is opened as big as my entire buttocks. Putting his dick away and zipping up his fly, he says, "We need to get to work. Pull yourself together."

Not realizing I'm holding my dick in my fist, I nod and mutter, "Yeah, okay..." and Malcolm is watching me as I stroke my dick, getting it hard again, then let go of it and say, "Thank you, boss, that was fantastic."

What I could have added but don't is... my boyfriend, Ronny Lynch, last night fucked me even better than just you.

Shockingly, he did too! Omigod, though, I shouldn't have done that with Malcolm! Tentatively grinning at Malcolm, I grab napkins and wipe my dick, then my ass. The napkin soaks up some cum, but I need to wipe my ass three times before the drool tapers off. Tentatively feeling around the edges of my wide-open asshole, I pull my fingers away because it's freaking me out how big it's opened. Weird and freaky.

Malcolm says, "Bend over," and I go, "Bend over, um, why?"

He says, "You're acting a little bit too frisky, and I feel like spanking you; that's why. If you're going to be my pussy boy, you need some spankings to get you more docile."

"I'll be docile, Malcolm."

"Bend the fuck over."

I do, putting my hands on the cardboard box, and he spanks my ass for like ten seconds. "Okay, you can stand up. The spanking will be part of your morning wake-up fucks. Pull your pants up and get to work."

My hands are back, lightly rubbing my spanked ass, muttering, "Yes, Malcolm."

Fuck, that hurt, but I sprung a boner getting spanked. Malcolm is such a stud!

Putting four paper napkins in my underpants, I pull them up, then my ragged old jeans, and go out the door he went out. Standing on the loading dock I'm taking deep breaths, mad at myself for giving in to my urge for Malcolm's fat dick, but strangely intrigued by the spanking.

Never mind that, though. Dammit, I have no willpower. The very first chance I had, I broke my word to Ronny and got fucked. Yeah, well, I'm no martyr, so I'm not confessing this to Ronny.

Am I right, though, that Ronny fucked me better than Malcolm? No, that's impossible, but nevertheless I liked Ronny's fucking me better for the same reason I liked Billy's fucks better than Pat's. The person doing the fucking accounts for a good portion of the sexual arousal and pleasure. That's more important than equipment unless you don't have special feelings for either of the tops you're comparing. Then equipment comes into play.

Saying that doesn't mean Malcolm's topping with his ginormous fat penis wasn't special; it was very special, just not as special as Ronny topping me last night or Billy in the past.

Thinking about that, grinning, I wander down the dock to the end, my asshole still gaping open. The opening sucking the cum-wet napkins inside a little, feeling freaky as hell. Malcolm calls, "Grant! Give me a hand!"

Turning, I see he's juggling two medium size cardboard coffee cups with lids and two bear claw pastries on napkins. I take one of each, "Thanks, boss," and he says, "You owe me three-fifty. I hope you like the bear claw."

He sits at the end of the dock, but I stand, mumbling, "You opened my asshole so wide, then you spanked me, so I'm afraid to sit." He mutters, "That's your problem," and he holds up his pastry, "Look at this... my bear lost his toes."

Rolling my eyes the way he did earlier, I take a chance and tentatively sit next to Malcolm, my feet dangling off the end, "I think a napkin went up my ass, Malcolm."

"Tell somebody who gives a shit."

I'm like, "Okay, Malcolm. Why are you being such a prick this morning?"

Chewing his pastry, he says, "Just teasing you, Gary. I enjoyed fucking you so much this morning, then spanking you that I don't even want you to reimburse me for the coffee and pastry. We'll keep the sexy spanking as part of our morning sex, and the coffee break is my treat."

I go, "Oh, um, okay... thanks. That fuck was a damn good eye-opener, boss. Really felt good, um, so did my spanking." He nudges me with his elbow, "Should we save some time from our lunch break to do it again?"

"Do you want to? Seriously?"

He swallows the last of his bear claw, "Yeah, I do." I gulp, wanting to say no, but mutter, "Damn, um, yeah, okay. It was wild how opened up you got me. God, it's really something. Ah, the spanking this afternoon, too, you mean?"

He says, "Depends how I feel. Are you going to finish that pastry?" I give him the remaining half, mumbling, "I like the pastry and icing part but not the almond paste and raisins inside." Taking a big bite, he mutters, "That's the best part, dummy."

When we get to work, there's very little talking except some mumbled cursing when an especially dirty aspect of the job blows on us. The work isn't as boring as the repetition of the envelope opening machine, but this is harder work, labor-intensive work, and we're both sweating at our morning break.

We both needed to piss out the coffee from this morning, so in the lavatory, I couldn't help glancing at Malcolm's dick as he stood at the urinal next to me. Jesus, though, it can't be comfortable with that fat thing between his legs. Malcolm monotones, "You've never seen a dick this big around, huh?"

I shake my head, "Nope. Isn't it an uncomfortable load to always have in your underpants, though?"

"I never think about it. Hey, do you want to try blowing me again? Nobody uses this lavatory. I can give you some hints on how to suck a dick as big as mine."

Chuckling, "Gee, Malcolm, I don't think so. I mean, it's too big for my mouth, plus you had it up my ass a couple of hours ago. It probably got some shit remnants on it, ya know?"

We walk out of the lavatory with Malcolm deadpanning, "Oh, yeah. You're probably right. You can stroke it to get it hard for your lunchtime fuck."

I go, "Okay," and we go up in the freight elevator to get another coffee. He got another bear claw too, but I just shook my head, mumbling, "No thanks," to the counter lady. We take our coffee down to the dock and sit at the end. Malcolm breaks off a piece of the pastry with icing and gives it to me.

Then, done eating the pastry, we lit cigarettes and drank our coffees as we smoked, again without talking. Both Ronny and Malcolm are very comfortable with the silence, which is ironic because I thought I was too. Billy couldn't stand to go a minute without someone saying something, and now it was me who broke the silence when Ronny and Malcolm let it go on too long for me.

A couple of more hours working on this nasty job, then after lunch, I gave Malcolm's fat cock a good stroking, and it got hard as steel. We used the lubricant from another condom, and he fucked me pretty much exactly as he did it this morning, his thrusting just about lifting me off my feet, me going up on my toes as far as I could. He grunted and filled me with his thick creamy cum, as I squealed like a girl again, shooting off.

Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I looked at Malcolm and asked, "Am I getting a spanking?" He gave me a look, then said, "Pull your pants up and get back to work."

I never know what's up with him. He's a moody motherfucker. Goddammit, I'm not doing the fucking with him tomorrow. I mean, if he remains in a bad mood.

Then, after work, driving me home, Malcolm breaks a five-minute silent period, saying, "It's cool to see how your asshole is relaxing for my big cock, Grant. Seriously, after another half dozen fucks, your pussy will be opening up quicker and quicker while hurting less and less. So, by the middle of next week, the fucking will be so much smoother, and I mean for both of us. And I still get a kick out of seeing your expression when I fuck a load out of you. Haha, holy shit, you look cute."

Nodding, I say, "Oh, thanks. You're a handsome fucker yourself, boss. Ya know, my first boyfriend claimed I have a miracle ass, one in like ten million, so I think you're right about smoother fucks by next week. Anyway, your dick already feels fantastic. Hard to believe it's going to feel even better. Um, I wonder if my asshole will start closing up faster, too, after a half dozen more fucks, I mean? And, um, that spanking in the morning was kind of cool and sexy hot."

He ignored that and went into another long silent period. Anyway, there's no longer a need for me to use Billy's euphonism 'messing around'. Ronny and Malcom call it fucking. So does Pat, and me too from now on. Speaking of Pat, I'm hoping to keep my word about not fucking with him anymore. Ronny doesn't know about Malcolm, so he can't ask me about him. Pat, he knows.

Pulling over to the curb in front of my house, Malcolm mutters, "I don't know, I guess your pussyasshole should close up faster when it gets opened up a dozen more times and gets used to it. Same time tomorrow morning, Grant. You did a good job today.."

Getting out, I say, "Thanks, um, you remember I'm Gary, right?" He nods, "Yeah, I know your name, Grant."

I watch him drive away, then turn to go inside my house, thinking, 'Goddamn, that is one crazy job I've got. Wow, the fucking sure helps the day go by quicker. I feel good! Then, as I'm closing the front door behind me, I get a text from Ronny, 'Did you tell him yet?'

Oh, yeah, Ronny comes flooding back into my life, pushing everything else out of it. He means did I tell Billy about us yet? I haven't, but get a shiver reading Ronny's text. Yeah, because it came from him, a chill ran up my back. Shivering, I texted, 'No, not yet, Ronny. I just got home one minute ago. Where are you? Can we get together now? I'll tell Billy later."

I want to see him. It's so odd how squirrelly I feel just thinking about him, about Ronny Lynch. I think his name is cool too.

He texts, 'I'm home. Hey, Wallingford, get this, dude... I think I totally aced one of my finals. Um, but I was hoping you already told Underwood about me, about us. Damn, someone is ringing the doorbell. Tell him, tell Underwood, okay? Oh, and I already mentioned a little bit to him. I've gotta see who's at the door.'

Dammit, what did he tell Billy?

Whatever it was, I'll soon find out. And nothing can change the fact that I'm in over my head, letting Malcolm fuck me while probably in love with Ronny. Oh, man, if he wanted to, Ronny could boss my ass around something terrible, have me wrapped around his little finger doing whatever he said, but it's not in him to do that. I wish he was like that a little, though, and maybe I wouldn't disobey his no-fucking-around rule. Wow, yeah, he could be my man for real, but it's okay that he's not. We're wired together. We'll be long-term boyfriends, and I'm totally on board with that. What if he finds out I cheated on him already, though? I can't see how he could find out.

After washing my ass with a wet washcloth, then changing underwear, I washed my hands and face, tried combing my hair, then gave up and threw the comb in the sink. In my bedroom, I put on clean jeans, deodorant, and a polo shirt, then a very lightweight hoodie, and instead of walking to Billy's; I rode my bicycle.

I got off the bike in his driveway, and Billy came out the back door wearing his glasses. Oh, fuck, he looks cute with glasses on! He seems used to wearing them too, and he's probably had them on all day without thinking about it. Wearing glasses is just one more part of Billy Underwood now.

Yeah, he does look cute with glasses, and all of a sudden, my heart is thumping heavily in my chest, and I feel like a little kid, scared for no good reason. He smiles his amazing smile, a smile that's the same as his brother, Charlie, gave me yesterday. The Underwood brothers were born with excellent natural smiles, and Billy uses his smile to perfection. I'm stunned, staring like a goof as Billy says, "Hey, Gary, what's up?"

"Oh, um, you're wearing your glasses, huh? Oh, ah, are you coming with me to my uncle's barbershop? I thought maybe..."

Smiling his smile again, looking so nice, he walks down the porch's three steps and says, "Nah, you go. I'd be embarrassed for your uncle to see the way Charlie chopped up my hair." Then, putting his arms around me, he asks, "Do you have something to tell me?"

"Huh? What? No, um, so, you're not coming with me, huh?"

He murmurs, "Come up on the porch and sit in the swing with me." I hesitate, and he smiles again, his arm behind my waist, urging me to the porch steps, "C'mon, and you can tell me what you have to say."

Why was I so ballsy, thinking it'd be no big thing telling Billy I was breaking up with him? Why, in the name of God, did I think it would be no big deal to tell him Ronny, and I hit it off last night, and he fucked me five times? That sex lit us up like a rocket to the freakin' moon or something. Why did I think I could tell Billy he's lost some interest in me, so blah, blah, blah, sorry and all that, but I'm dropping you...'

Reality blew up in my face the minute I saw Bill. Nervously, I glance sideways at him in his cute glasses as we sit on the loveseat swing. Billy's arm goes across my shoulders as always, except my body is stiff as a board today. From habit and because it feels so safe and comfortable, I can't helpbut relax then and snuggle in against him. I sigh, then ask, "Ah, what did Ronny tell you?"

Billy rubs up the back of my head, his fingers fluffing through the longest hair I've had in a year, saying, "Oh, he said that Wallingford, meaning you, had something important to tell me when he, meaning you again, got home from work. When I asked him what it was you wanted to tell me, he said you were breaking up with me, and that he, Ronny, is now your boyfriend, and you're not allowed to mess around with me anymore, or words to that effect. Then he said he was sorry for stealing you from me, but it wasn't planned; it just happened organically, and that you're both sorry about it, but it is what it is."

"Oh, uh-huh. He said all that, huh? Um, he wasn't supposed to say anything to you. Here's what I have to say. Um, Billy, I'll always love you, but I felt an overwhelming attraction for Ronny Lynch last night, and I couldn't stand the thought of sneaking around behind your back, so I needed to come right out and tell you about it. And he's right that we're both sorry for this, and I hate disappointing you and/or hurting your feelings. You've done so much for me, and I can't believe this is happening, but it's, um, it's really something I can't ignore."

His fingers through my hair again, he nods, "Oh, I see, uh-huh. I hope you get to your uncle before he closes because your hair is too long and curly, and I know it's my fault we haven't been back there for two months."

"Would you come with me, please?" Shaking his head, "No, I'd be embarrassed like I said."

"Oh, yeah. Um, what do you think about what I had to say?"

"Well, yeah, it's okay, Gary. Ya know, I thought it would be Pat who stole you from me. He almost did, as you two hit it off excellently, but he couldn't get you to break up with me, so I tried Ronny. I thought he was so much like you; you two might hit it off fabulously. That was pretty much my only interest in Ron Lynch, setting you up with him. I mean, he certainly isn't cute like you, but you two are alike in many other ways. Mostly personality-wise, you know? I think he's very likable, as you are."

"What? Um, are you saying you wanted me to break up with you?" He shrugs, "Yes, but only if I approve of the new boyfriend, someone who would take care of you properly."

"I don't understand. Don't you love me?"

"I like you better than anyone I've ever known, Gary. Be satisfied with that! Look, you know I wasn't interested in messing around with guys for over six months before you piqued my interest again. We've been at it for a year now, Gary... a year! You're too special for me to half-ass it with you, and I need time to clear my head. Six months or a year, maybe longer, whatever. If I can't be one hundred percent for you, I'm cheating you because there are others who will want to give a hundred and ten percent, and you're worth it."

"Um, I think one hundred percent is the highest percentage there is. So ah, what will happen in six months or a year? You know, what if Ronny and I are in love? We're already very serious about our relationship. Seriously, it's something unique and powerful, or something."

He says, "You, me, Ronny, Pat, and whoever else are still going to be good friends. We're going to the same college and renting an apartment together in the fall, right?"

Nodding, "Yeah, but what about if you find you want the person who you like more than anyone you've ever met to be your boyfriend again, and you want to mess around kissing and fucking with him again, but he's with Ronny, and they're kissing and fucking? What then?"

Shrugging, "Then I'll steal you back from Ronny. Hey, don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on Lynch to make sure he's taking good care of you. I'm never abandoning you. It's just that I need a break. That, plus I'm not sure I want a gay life. You don't have a choice, but I think I do."

Shaking my head, "I don't think it works like that, but you're not mad at me, right?"

"Not at all. I almost 'L-word' you and I'm very happy for you. Lynch seems to be head over heels in love with you, which should make you happy."

"I told him he can't be in love with me after we'd only been together for three 'effing hours." He laughs, "Sounds like something I'd say, but aren't you getting your haircut this afternoon?"

I go, "Yes, what kind of haircut should I get?"

"Whatever you want, except don't get our magical haircut. You and I won't get that unless we're boyfriends again, and as of now, that's a long-shot possibility."

"Okay, I won't." Getting up, I say, "Um, do you have another boyfriend you're not telling me about?"

He gets up, "Nope. No boyfriend and no girlfriend. Don't be sad; we're going to be seeing each other, my sweet best friend ever."

Nodding, I hug him, and we kiss. I mumble, "You told me that gay friends can mess around if they want, so..."

Going down the three steps to the driveway, Billy mumbles, "Yep, if they want to, but I'm not going to be that kind of friend because I'm not sure I'm gay."

Getting on my bike, I grin at him, "You'll want me to blow you, though, right?" He chuckles, "Could you say that a little louder? I don't believe my Mom and the next-door neighbors heard it clearly."

I ride off grinning, giving Billy a wave. He smiles back at me, giving me the finger. Wow, that went really well! I still love him like life itself...

Hmm, there is no one in my Uncle's barbershop except my uncle, who is counting the register receipts and getting ready to close the shop. Billy felt bad I've gone so long without a haircut. He knows it's his fault so he encouraged me to correct that today, and I am. I still like doing what he tells me. Billy Underwood will always have a place of honor in my heart.

I say, "Hi, Uncle Tony. Am I too late to get a haircut?"

He goes, "It'll never be too late for you, my favorite nephew." Getting up onto the barber chair, I mutter, "I'm your only nephew."

He looks outside, asking, "Your friend, Billy, isn't coming?"

As he puts the barber cape around me, I mumble, "He has Covid, plus his brother came home from college and gave him a haircut, so he is embarrassed for you to see his terrible haircut."

He chuckles, then says, "Okay, haha, but why haven't you boys been in to see me for two months?" I go, "It's complicated," and he goes, "Oh, complicated, huh? So, what kind of haircut do you want this time?"

"I don't know. How about if you cut my wickedly curly hair the way you, a professional barber, believe it will look best, okay?"

He chuckles again, mumbling, "Oh, okay, but the pressure!" and the clippers buzz their buzzing sound for eight or nine minutes.

When he's finished, I have the exact same haircut he used to give me before I asked for the super short haircut a year ago. It's what my uncle thinks is a boy's special. In my opinion, it's too short on the sides and back and left too long on top, where my curls rule.

Getting out of the barber chair, I say, "Perfect, Uncle Tony! Um, this is always awkward, um, when I try paying for my haircut. Will you accept...?"

"It doesn't need to be awkward, Gary. I'm never going to accept money from you because you're my nephew, who I love. This will hold true no matter how old you get, so there is never a reason for anything you do with your uncle to be awkward."

I thanked him sincerely, then rode my bicycle away, thinking, it be awkward when I tell him I'm gay. Also, a very awkward situation involving him and me might happen if I went to another barber and then saw Uncle Tony at a holiday cookout or something. That would be awkward for both of us. That's not going to happen, though, so I'll be getting uncool haircuts from him forever. The way I described this haircut sounded like Mark Jones' and Malcolm's stylish haircuts, but there is a big difference.

The differemces are, their haircuts are currently trendy and stylishly cut on purpose that way, while Uncle Tony's version has nothing to do with a current trend, and isn't in any way stylish. Mostly, though, it's my shitty, too-curly hair that's impossible to cut in a cool style.

I liked Billy's and my magical so-called nineteen-fifties short butch haircut. Turning around, Goddammit, that what I'm going to have. I pedal back to the shop, get off, and go inside. Uncle Tony opens his eyes wide, "Oh no, an unsatisfied customer?"

I say, "I decided I like the really short butch haircut, Uncle Tony." Nodding, he holds his arm out, nodding at the barber chair inviting me to sit.

Getting on the chair, I mumble, "I'm sorry about this."

After another two minutes of buzzing hair clippers, I don't need to concern myself with curly hair. I give Uncle Tony a hug, "Thanks, Uncle Tony," and off I go.

Billy told me not to get what he considers our magical haircut, and Ronny didn't want me to get my hair cut short, so with this haircut I managed to please no one except myself. Maybe I should do more of that.

I get home as Mom is just getting home from work, parking the car. She gets out carrying two plastic grocery bags from Weis Market, looks at me sitting on my bike, and says, "You look nice, honey. I was missing your clean-cut preppy appearance."

My butch haircut during the past year won my Mom over. She used to like my curls but likes this haircut now. Getting off my bike, I take the grocery bags from Mom and mumble, "Thanks, Mom."

We go inside, and she says, "Your Dad is working tonight, so it's just us two for dinner. Would you like cheeseburgers and fries?"

That's what I cooked for Ronny and me last night, but I know there are more frozen patties and rolls, so I nod, "Sounds great. Do I have time for a shower?"

Putting groceries away, she says, "Sure, Gary, I'm going to sit down with a glass of wine and watch the news on TV before starting dinner."

In the shower, I try wrapping my head around changes in my life over the past twenty-four hours, changes that I couldn't have imagined happening. Billy and I didn't get our twin haircuts as I thought we would, but I got mine even though neither Billy nor Ronny wanted me to. Billy and Ronny exchanged places as my boyfriend, and sex with Ronny is now the best I've ever had. Malcolm and I are fucking twice a day when, last night, I didn't think I'd be fucking him at all, plus I'm saying fucking instead of messing around.

It's amazing I'm not discombobulated by all this, but I'm not. I'm good with everything, including disobeying Ronny's wishes that I discontinue sex with anyone but him, and I'm going to be lying about it by not mentioning it. I'm continuing to get fucked by Malcolm, and I'm continuing to get this butch haircut.

That's the extent of my rebellion, and everything is subject to change without notice. After Malcolm fucked me hard twice today, I should be sexually satisfied, but I need to use all my willpower not to jerk off thinking about Ronny and me screwing in less than two hours from now.

And I don't care that he's not cute or good-looking. I don't care that he only has a three-inch flaccid penis or an almost four-inch boned-up one or that he's shorter and smaller than me. I think he's sexy hot, and a fantastic boyfriend and I know I'm going to fall in love with him. I don't know how I know it, but I have no doubt about it.

And, as soon as Ronny agrees to do it with me, I'm coming out of the closet, him and me, so we can be boyfriends without sneaking around. We're going to be lovers everyone will be aware of, and they'll all need to deal with it as best they can.

It's brazened of me to say all these things because, in a way, I'm speaking for Ronny too, except I'm positive he agrees with everything I've said 'cause we're copasetic; we're simpatico; we see things the same way, and we're going to be together the rest of our lives.

Drying myself, I'm grinning because I don't need to fuck around with my hair for the first time in many weeks, but mostly I'm grinning because I can't wait to see Ronny. Dressed and looking good, I go downstairs feeling smugly confident that I'm right, finally right, and confident that I know what is going on with my life. I feel the best I've ever felt, and I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong.

To be continued... donnymumford@comcast.net

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