Dylans Freshman Year

DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR

Chapter 12

by Donny Mumford

Christina and Robby are in the front seat, me and Rose in the back. I'm up against the window because Rose has situated herself in the middle of the seat with her legs spread... not very lady-like if ya ask me. The girls are carrying the conversation as we drive to the House Of Blues. With three beers in him, Robby's silently concentrating on driving... he's following Chubby and Samantha who are leading the way in the Jeep. The girls with us in the pickup, Robby's and my blind dates, are roommates from Boston College and they're talking about how friends back at BC are going to be jealous when they hear about the private party we're all going to. During a lull in their conversation Rose slides over right next to me as she's saying to her friend, "Ya know what, Christina, I just might let this pretty boy get in my pants tonight." I do a nervous, "Heh heh... " with Robby laughing a blurted-out, almost choking laugh. Christina says, "Well, it's not like it's unheard of that someone gets in your pants, Rosie." Rose goes, "Or yours," with Christina talking over her saying, "Did you see that girl from the dorm in the room next to Samantha's, the one with the Afro hairdo?" Rose is like, "No, but let's not go there right now anyway... okay?" Christina mumbles, "Whatever..." A part of Rose's bare thigh is pressed against me as she crosses her feet at the ankles. I find myself gawking at the green stiletto high heels she's wearing, then I look up to see streetlights gleam off the safety pin sticking through her bellybutton which causes me to jerk my eyes up further and look right into Rose's eyes. She's been observing me checking her out so I do a goofy gulp, my face getting red. She puts an expression on her face that she probably thinks is sexy, then murmur real low, "Ya like what ya see, Dylan? Wanna suck face?" Trying not to gag, I say, "Not here..." She mutters, "nonsense," and leans over, stretching her neck upward so she can reach my face and gives me a kiss on the cheek near my mouth. Her nostril piercings feel odd against my cheek and her peach fuzz mustache tickles the corner of my mouth. "Hey, stretch!" she says, "Lean down so we can lock lips," as she takes my hand and holds it against one of her tits. Holding my breath, I lean down and our lips meet briefly... again I feel her mustache and it occurs to me how odd it is that I should experience this mustache thing with a girl, especially since none of my boyfriends has grown a peach fuzz mustache yet. Well, except for Alan at Stop & Shop who's got a full beard, but he's not a boyfriend. I have unfinished business with Alan which makes he smile to myself and Rose apparently misinterprets my smile, saying, "You like what you see, stud? Stick with Rose, honey; I'll take ya places you've only dreamed about." Before I can say anything, Christina looks back and says to me, "You don't have a chance; ya might as well get your pecker ready, kid, cause Rose will own it soon enough," which gets the two girls laughing much harder than seems warranted. I don't know what the hell that's all about, but I've got a feeling the immediate future isn't going to bode well for me.

The House Of Blues is located on Landsdowne Street across from Fenway Park; it's a way cool area. We cruise past it gawking at the huge neon sign hanging top to bottom spelling-out "House Of Blues" while over the door is a neon 'BOSTON' to differentiate this place from the half dozen other House Of Blues across America. There are other busy bars on Lansdown Street so it's a hub of activity tonight. Robby parks the pickup in a parking lot that charges thirty-five dollars on game days, but only ten bucks tonight. Walking back to stand at the end of the line, all of us a little excited now, there's electricity in the air with the crowd's buzzing conversation, the neon lights, and limos letting people off at the front of the club. Would-be celebrities that none of us recognize are escorted in through a yellow door at the side of the building while we wait with a lot of others in the line at the main entrance. Then, someone gets an arm around my neck and I know instantly it's Chubby; he's finally arrived after parking the Jeep and doing God only knows what in the car with Sam. He and Samantha butt in line in front of us and Chubby kisses me quickly on the cheek; it's a real quick kiss intended to show the people he butted in front of that I was saving a place for him. It's a little awkward, but Chubby doesn't lack confidence in too many areas. I go, "Hi Chubby! This looks cool!" meaning the House Of Blues, and he says, "See! And to think I had to nag you into coming." Samantha's talking with Rose and Christina so Robby joins Chubby and me, saying, "Chub, can the three of us lose the girls and hang out together tonight?" Chubby and I look at him for a second before realizing he's making a joke, Chubby mutters, "I wish, dude," and I'm not sure if he's kidding with that or not, then he adds, "But a deal is a deal, right?" I whisper, "Fuck the deal, lets get the passes from Rose and run our asses off." Robby asks, "Ya think we should?" and we look at him again for a second before Chubby asks, "That's another joke, right?" We're giggling over dumb little nothing things like this because of the beer mostly, but also just because we feel like goofing around saying nonsensical things. The line moves forward slowly; at the door Rose hands over our passes and this big dude checks them to be sure they're original copies... another big dude checks our IDs. The ID check results in a bright pink stamp on the back of our left hands telling everyone who sees it that we're underage for alcoholic beverages. Chubby's doing an exaggerated exhale, staring hard at Rose, who says, "Jeffrey! Don't look at me like that! They told me it was a private affair so I assumed we'd be able to get drinks." We pass by the bouncers at the front door and in we go, everyone's a little out of sorts now.

Inside the lobby the first thing I notice is how crowded it is and then I see the big signs congratulating 92.5 FM, "The River", for fifteen years on the air! Independent radio? What the hell does that mean? Samantha points at some people on the second level balcony, and yells, "There's daddy, maybe he can get us some beers, or something," and off she goes through the crowd while the rest of us find space against the wall to wait for her return. A few minutes later she's waving at us to come up the stairs which are guarded by another bouncer who looks up getting the okay from Mr. Lovins, Samantha's father. Us boys traipse behind Rose and Christina exchanging glances like, "This might suck!" At the top we all mumble quick introductions to her father and then follow him to an elevator which takes us up to the third level. It's still noisy on this level and crowded too, but just not as raucous. This is the level where all the private suites are and we go into the one labeled "Lovin's Mercedes Benz Dealership" where Mr. Lovin passes out one ticket to each of us , saying, "Okay, kids... I'll allow a chit for one cocktail each, but that's it. Oh, and who's the driver?" Chubby rolls his eyes and looks away while Robby conscientiously raises his hand, saying, "I'm driving, Mr. Lovins." Mr. Lovins takes back the drink ticket from Robby, saying, "None for you then, son," and off he goes to shake hands with others of his specie. Robby looks like he's been slapped so I grab his arm and say in his ear, "Fuck him! Come on, we'll think of something," and we follow Samantha to stand in yet another line; this one leading to a bar with two busy bartenders. Sam's acting smug, as if she saved the day, until Chubby complains, "One lousy drink? That's it?" and the two of them bicker about that. When it's finally our turn we all order vodka and cranberry juice and when the bartender complains about the underage stamp on the back of our hands Samantha uses the "boss'-daughter-card", yelling,. "My daddy okayed these drinks, and he's paying you, so I suggest you use your head." The bartender's looking around for an authority figure as the other bartender says, "They got tickets, give 'em a drink. Jesus! Do ya gotta make a federal case outta everything, Stu?"." So that worked out okay until it's Robby's turn and this same bartender asks for his ticket, Robby looks at me as if I have his ticket. I'm pointing at nothing, saying, "There it is on the floor, you dropped it," and we both bend over as the people behind us are grumbling at the delay. People want their booze, ya know? Anyway, the bartender says, "Alright, alright, here's your drink!" Robby takes it, thanking the man politely, and we wander out of the suite where we're met by one of Mr. Lovin's assistants who guides us to a door that leads to the mezzanine level where seats are reserved for "Lovin's Dealership". I hear Samantha saying, "Thanks, Mickey... hey, how 'bout getting us a couple more bar tickets?" Mickey mutters, "Don't hold your breath, Sam," and it sounds like maybe he isn't a fan of the boss' daugther. She gets a puss on her face and I guess Mickey thinks better of his flip remark, because he adds, "I'll try though," and a fake smile follows.

As we're taking seats down front I'm breaking Chubby's balls, saying, "All we can eat and drink... isn't that what you said? Everything's free... 'compted' I believe is the word you used." He's like, "How the fuck did I know we couldn't get drinks and there'd be no food?" then to Samantha, "Is this it? We sit here and watch the concert? What about the party?" She's looking flustered for once, "Daddy explained it that way... a party, he said. Did ya ever hear of a party without free shit? I figured there'd be trays full of drinks and food, ya know?" Chubby feels sorry for her then and rubs her back, saying, "Ah, it's not your fault." No one's in a very good mood at the moment because this certainly isn't the hot party atmosphere we'd felt we'd be experiencing. Plus, all we've had to eat all day is a couple of vegan pizza slices about two hours ago. Plump Rose, my tattooed blind date, pokes me in the ribs, and whines, "When are we gonna dance, I wanna snuggle in real close with you and do a nasty grinding slow dance... something to get you all hot a bothered!" I'm swallowing hard, trying once again not to gag at the thought of that, then say, "Rose, I don't know why we need to sit here, I don't know anything about this so-called party! Ask your friend." There's probably four hundred seats in this section and only about a quarter of them are occupied, the rest of the people are partying somewhere in the building. Rose gets huffy, stands up and stalks away to talk to Samantha and I'm thinking I could have been nicer to her, she isn't a horrible person, at least that's what I keep telling myself, but, ya know, she's hefty and she has a safety pin pierced through her belly button and ass antlers tattooed on her back, and, jeez, I'm a tiny bit turned-off by her, ya know... but yet I don't want to hurt her feelings 'cause she never did anything to me. That damn Chubby! He should have checked-out Samantha's friends before putting Robby and me in jeopardy like this.

Now I'm looking around and everyone seems to have settled down: Robby and Christina are talking away, drinking their cocktails. Lots of talking from Robby, and he's the one who asked me what to talk about with the blind dates... guess he figured it out. Chubby and Samantha are on the other side of Robby and they're laughing about something as they talk to Rose. A minute later Rose comes back for her drink... she picks it up and says to me, "Okay, dude, I'm dumping you temporarily." I frown at that, but I'm actually getting my hopes up, until she adds, "Not really, but Sam just got off the phone with her father and there is food. It's buffet style in the restaurant on this level, but so far she only has this one chit to get in so temporarily we'll need to take turns. Since I'm the hungriest, and the one who got Sam to call her father and find out about the buffet, I'm going first." I make a face like I give a shit, but Rose doesn't see it because she's already off for the stairs leading out of the seating area. Good, that'll keep her occupied for awhile, but I feel kinda conspicuous sitting here alone. I look over to see Sam and Chubby doing some light making out, which almost turns my stomach. Chubby's too good for her! Fuck this! I'm gonna explore a little, get away from girls and see if there's a cute boy somewhere I can ogle. Waving at Robby, I say, "Be right back, I'm gonna look around a little." He makes to get up, and I know he wants to come with me, but Christina gives him a look and Robby waves at me weakly. Taking a big swig of cranberry juice and vodka, then carrying the glass with me, I go up the steps Rose just went up and through the double doors to the vestibule where lots of people appear to be getting ready to file down to their seats for the concert. I don't feel psyched about any of this anymore. Through the vestibule the crowd thins-out a lot and I notice the walls for the first time: they're all painted in patterns, not solid colors. The patterns remind me of Aztecs art, or maybe it's more like Egyptian drawings in the tombs of the Pharaohs... I don't know, I'm no art critic, but it's certainly unusual. Don't know what I expected the House Of Blues to look like inside, but it isn't this, that's for sure. As the band begins warming-up, a band I never heard of by the way, I'm walking randomly from one corridor to another. Going up a staircase, then another, marveling at how cavernous this place is.

Turning the corner of a quiet corridor while draining my vodka drink and feeling a little lightheaded, I bump into a tall man who looks about thirty years old, dressed all in black. He's wearing black boots with shiny flowing black slacks that are so full there's enough silky material in each leg to make another suit with. His outfit includes a black double-breasted sport coat with a wide black belt tightly belted around his slim waist, looking extremely odd on the outside of his jacket. A black turtleneck sweater is under the jacket extending up his entire rather long neck to stop just under his chin. Thick, long blond hair on the top of his head with the sides cropped short; the long hair on top is combed forward over his forehead to cover the top half of rimless eyeglasses so that his eyes seem to pop out of nowhere; eyes so dark blue they're almost purple. His face is very pale, the nose too long, and the mouth too wide but his posture or attitude or maybe it's an air of arrogance, something about him is scarily sexy and I'm thinking about the promise I made to myself after that experience I had when I was naked with Alan, the promise, or was it more a dare, to experiment with an older man if the chance came up. This guy's probably ten years older than Alan... a really different kind of man, style wise. At the bottom of his chin is a neat patch of blond whiskers barbered to a quarter-inch... a strip of whiskers covering the width of his chin, about one inch wide. I stare at him without moving a muscle. "What are you doing up here?" he asks me. I go, "Huh?" while, for some reason I'm handing him my empty glass. I'm prone to boners, I get that; but this is a weird one 'cause I feel my dick moving and firming up just from observing this tall strange man, and I have no idea why that is. Extremely manly, mucho macho, or whatever the proper words are... so intensely macho he makes Alan Snyder, seem childish. Nodding at the empty glass I'd just handed him, the man in black calmly says, in a syrupy-smooth deep voice, "You assume I'm a waiter, is that it?" He has some kind of an accent but he isn't speaking in an intimidating manner at all; he seems to think it's funny. Naturally, I'm not sure what to say to him so I reach for the glass to take it back, and he says, "Let's get you a refill and then you can tell me what you're doing up here. Fair enough?" and his hand is on the back of my neck now, squeezing it lightly, giving me shivers down my back as he leads me into a foyer, and then into a large empty room.

Empty of people, I mean... there's plenty of stuff in the room... living room furnishings in the form of a long curving leather-sectional couch with an oblong glass cocktail table in front. The couch faces a big plate glass window that looks down on the music hall, five levels below. There's a bar to one side of this big room with a small kitchen area next to it and a door leading to another area behind that. On the other side of the room a complete photography studio has been set-up. Electronic dance music thumps in the background, heavy on the bass. The man in black is at the bar making me another drink, he sees me looking at the speakers, and says, "That's a Detroit style techo beat. Hear the synthesizers and drum machine? Big on the keyboard machine too, and sequencers." I'm staring at him with a blank look on my face, so he asks, "You're not into the club music?" I shrug, and mumble, "It's alright." He uses a metal scoop to gather a lot of little square ice cubes from behind the bar... they make a clinking sound as he drops them in my glass. Pouring vodka, he says, "In case you're wondering, I'm a five percent shareholder in the Boston House Of Blues, which is the reason I get to have my studio here. I'm a professional photographer, it's my hobby and my profession." I glance over at the elaborate photography set-up while he's coming around the bar with my drink, saying, "Obviously you're not old enough to drink so don't tell anyone where you got this," and he's smiling as he says it. I take a sip, it's half vodka and so strong it makes me cough and spit some out. The man pats me on the back, seemingly concerned, "Too strong? I am sorry, here... give it to me." My eyes are watering as I hand it back to him and he adds more cranberry juice, saying, "People are always telling me I make drinks too strong. You'd think I'd wise up!" he's chuckling. His photography studio is like you'd expect: lots of ceiling lighting on a railing system, big and small floor lights, a number of those mysterious umbrellas you always see in a photographer's studio, and two cameras on a tripods as well as a number of cameras with neck straps on a shelf, all with different size lenses.

The man gives me the watered-down drink, then holds out his hand, saying, "I'm Phillip Dellario, and you are...?" I go, "Oh, hello, I'm Dylan. Um, Dylan Newman, that is... ah, we got passes, me and my friends, from Samantha's father who sells Mercedes Benzes. I don't... that is, we're blind dates..." As my face turns red, I'm thinking what an asshole I am!! Forcing myself to stop babbling I do a couple of fake coughs, then look up at him and when he looks back at me I quickly drop my eyes. He has to be a foot taller than me, which would make him six-foot, ten-inches. He says, "Blind dates are fun, no?" I gulp some vodka and cranberry juice, and mutter, "Not really," which gets him laughing again... it's a nice easy laugh, not forced or hurried. After his quiet laugh, he points at the studio, and says, "A lot of equipment just to take a picture, no? It's necessary though... I need to accommodate light refraction, reflection, and absorption. In refraction, the light experiences a change of direction when passing through a transparent material and..." He stops in mid sentence seeing the uncomprehending expression on my face and, pursing his lips to hide a grin, he ends his presentation with a wave of his hand, muttering, "and so on." I nod my head and gulp some more of my drink, feeling a little uncomfortable, but not in an anxious way. Like Alan, this man doesn't seem threatening at all. He asks, "So, Dylan Newman, why are you up on the private suites floor?" then he quickly adds, "Although I'm glad you are, you understand..." I go, "I don't know, I was just wandering around because Rose used the chit for the buffet..." then I make myself stop the babbling again, and shrug, "I'm lost, basically... that's about it." He's shaking his head, then asks, "Ya ever do any modeling, or ever think about it?" I go, "Um, modeling? You mean like girls do?" He smiles again, saying, "Just as many guys model as girls." I frown at that because it's obviously bullshit, although I'm too polite to contradict him. He seems to be always holding back a grin, a smile, or a laugh. I'm not sure what he's up to, but it's interesting, in a way. Almost to himself, he goes, "Ah, what the hell... ah, would you mind if I smoked a joint? I don't drink, but once in a while I treat myself to a little marijuana." I shrug again, then shake my head "no", indicating I don't mind, although I'm not a fan of weed because I don't like the smell. I say, "Yeah, no problem... that's cool." He says, "Thanks, I don't suppose you've ever tried it... I hope not anyway." He walks back to the bar saying, over his shoulder, "Sit down if you'd like to." So, what the fuck, this is cool... I saunter over to the bar and sit on one of the four stools in front wondering why he said that thing about "he hoped I've never done weed," I go, "Well yeah, sure... we do some pot every now and then... I'm good with it." Shit, I don't want him thinking I'm a dweeb or something.

The man, Philip, is behind the bar again and he now has his hand in a drawer looking for something, saying, "That you've done some pot surprises me, but maybe it shouldn't as I see a pack of Marlboro in your shirt pocket... if you want to smoke, be my guess. You kids grow-up faster they we ever did." Yes, a cigarette!! I can sure use one, so I mutter, "Thank you," and light-up as he's firing up a skinny, hand-rolled joint; the smell is unmistakable. He says, "Let me guess... you're in your sophomore year." I go, "Nope, I'm a freshman," and he says, "I was thinking that, but I didn't want to insult you, but you are quite young looking. How 'bout that model question; any interest?" I say, "Not really, not now anyway." He says, "Well, you're too young now anyway, I don't photograph anyone, boy or girl, who isn't at least eighteen years old." I laugh for a second, then stop when I realize he's serious. Blowing out a long stream of smoke, I go,

"You're kidding, right? I mean, I'm nineteen!" A light seems to go on in his head and his eyes, just barely visible where his long blond bangs ends, open wide and seem to shine. He slaps the bar, and says, "You meant you're a freshman in college... oh man, of course." I'm blowing out more smoke as the realization drifts into my head that he thought I was a freshman in high school. I go, "You didn't think... I mean, you thought I was still in high school?" He's shaking his head muttering, "I'm terrible with ages, Dylan... just terrible. No, of course you're in college." I'm fumbling my wallet out of my back pocket, saying, "No, I can tell you don't believe me, here... look at my license, and my college ID." He's like, "Oh, that's very nice of you, but I believe you," as he takes my license out and studies it closely. If he believed me why'd he take my offered wallet? After studying my license he then checks my college ID and my picture on that, and then, grinning again, goes, "Yep! You're nineteen... wow, I don't believe I ever looked this young. I'm forty-one as of yesterday." I mumble, "Happy birthday," thinking, "He doesn't look that old!" Philip inhales and holds the smoke in his lungs, then exhales it all, exclaiming, "Wow! That's good shit. Here, try it, take a toke," and he passes the joint to me. Still a bit insulted about the age thing, and not wanting to seem like the high school freshman he thought I was, I inhale and imitate what he did holding the smoke in my lungs and this strange feeling comes over me as I'm exhaling. A dizzy exhilaration is the best way I can describe it. Not pleasant or unpleasant, but there is a noticeable benefit, which is I don't mind the smell of the marijuana now that I've had a drag. "Thanks," I mumble, trying to be blase, as I'm passing the smoldering joint back to him. He takes another hit, holds it, then exhales saying, "It's laced with some cocaine so it's probably better than anything you've had before," then another deep inhale as I'm thinking, "Cocaine! What the fuck..." but yet I feel cool with it... this is an awesome adventure.

Philip finishes his joint, asking, "You want the roach?" and my eyes dart to the floor, thinking, "Fuck! Roaches... they give me the creeps.." but from somewhere in the back of my mind I remember that the last piece of a joint is called a roach, so I shake my head, saying, "Nah, no thanks. It's good shit though... like you said." He's very relaxed, smiling at me, mumbling, "You're delightful, you really are. And, what a face." Feeling self conscious for a second, I mug an expression even as I know I'm making an ass of myself. He smiles for about the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes, takes my glass and makes me another drink, saying, "Come on over to my studio, I'm going to take some pictures of your face and show you how I can make you look different by using different lenses and lighting." I go, "Okay, sure..." because it sounds like a cool thing to do. Walking over he unbuckles the belt around his sport coat and takes that and the sport coat off. The black turtle neck is tight to his slender body making him look even taller than before. When he leans over to fold his coat on a canvas director's chair his bangs drops away from his forehead and I see a tattoo there. It looks like the male symbol; a circle with an arrow pointing up. His hair is dry and very clean looking, "Let's get you out of your winter coat," as he reaches over, but doesn't touch, he asks, "May I?" and I say, "Sure," and he then helps me out of my coat. "Good," he says, "Stand over here and I'll adjust the lighting. After turning on some of the overhead lights he goes to touch my head, but stops again to ask permission, "Do you mind if I touch you?" I go, "No, it's alright," and he cups behind my head with one hand and ruffles my hair with the other, saying, "A photographer is a very touch/feely person where his models are concerned... we're always adjusting posture, or this or that." His touch is light, the palms of his hands are dry and slightly cool to the touch. He speaks quietly, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you have a baby face that's so naturally sexy it's almost impossibly for me to believe it's real, although obviously it is." He does some more ruffling of my short hair, then says, "And this tough-boy burr haircut you have is so perfect as a counterbalance to your baby face." Looking closer, he adds, "I take it your girlfriend cuts your hair for you, am I right?" Without thinking I say, "Oh no, it's my boyfriend, and he's not too good at it yet," and I know immediately that the way I said the word 'boyfriend' can only mean 'boyfriend'... not a friend who's a boy. Fuck! His hand stops moving on my head for a second, then he continues getting the hairs to stand up as he says, "Well, he'll get better with practice, and anyway the primitive cutting adds to the contradictory-ness of your look... ha ha, if that's even a word." I mumble, "Hey, thanks... I think." I gotta admit I enjoy hearing all this from a professional photographer who's probably seen hundreds and hundreds of faces. He pulls his head away from me a little, maintaining his hold on the back of my head, and turns on another overhead light. "What a beautiful shade of blond hair you have... two shades actually." I mutter, "My boy... er, my friend has exactly the same color blond hair as I have, isn't that a coincidence?" He runs his fingers over the top of my head again, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips, but there's no respond to my comment.

Exhaling a big breath and backing away, he takes a camera off the shelf and adjust a number of things on it while looking through the viewfinder and aiming the camera at me. "Just look natural, Dylan." That's easy enough to do and soon I hear a subtle "click" each time he snaps a picture. He takes a number of shots from different angles and then he changes cameras and adjust some lighting, and does it all again. I just stand here looking at him, "Look right at the lens, Dylan," he tells me and I do as he says. There's no flashbulb going off in your face, just the brightness of the flood lights, or whatever they're called. "Okay, come on over and I'll download these onto the computer so we can admire you're good looks." He says all this with a light, casualness to his voice... it appears he's extremely comfortable with himself, and seemingly having a good time. I'm comfortable too and actually kinda anxious to see how I look when a professional takes my picture. After loading the pictures he refills my half-drunk drink and lights another joint, passing it to me after taking a big hit off it himself. The slim joint's hot in my fingers as I inhale and hold the burning smoke in my lungs... this is exciting, and I like that Philip's treating me like an equal; and he's over forty years old, but it's like we're peers... and the compliments are nice too. I've definitely got a buzz going though, whoooeee! Philip taps a button on his computer and my face fills his LED HD monitor, the picture is so lifelike it scares me for a second and I gulp some vodka and cranberry juice, then take another swallow... this stuff is good. "If you don't mind me saying it again, Dylan, you've got the sexiest face. See the position of your facial features, your eyes are larger than normal and your lips are full and your cheekbones and, wow... you're super photogenic!" I can't think of anything to say except, "Thanks.." and he taps the computer for another picture. "Perfection..." Philip mutters, apparently to himself. Another tap, then another, and Philip excitedly says, "Look at this one, the expression on your face is marvelous, so natural, but so interesting at the same time! It's inviting, it's friendly, maybe a little mysterious even... just wonderful, and... well, Dylan, you must already know how cute you are." Getting used to hearing the compliments by now, I mutter, "Um, thank you, I hear that once in a while, yeah..." enjoying myself immensely. Still, I fully understand I had nothing to do with how I look... or very little to do with it anyway. Philip passes me the joint, saying, "Don't do what I'm going to suggest if you have any reservations about it, but do ya think I could take some pictures of you bare chested?" I inhale and hold the smoke while nodding my head, and when I exhale, I go, "Sure, I'm pretty thin though so I don't know how photographic I'll be." He smiles, pats my shoulder, and says, "It's photogenic," taking another hit on the joint, I go, "Huh?" and Philip says, "We probably had enough of this," meaning the joint, and he taps it out in an ashtray, saying, "You're both photogenic and photographic, so I guess you could say we're both right." Once more I go, "Huh?"

Getting off the barstool a wave of dizziness hits me and I bump into Philip, who says, "Is it okay if I toss out the rest of your drink? I don't want to sound like an old fart, but I think you're getting a little drunk." I go, "Do you have coffee?" and I can't believe I had the nerve to ask for that. He goes, "Just instant, would you like some?" I go, "After my photo shoot," and Philip laughs out loud at that, then says, "You're priceless!" I'm not sure what he's referring to but grin anyway, nodding my head like "I get it!", but I don't. Taking off my shirt, then pulling my T-shirt over my head, I ask, "Where should I stand?" and Philip stares at me for a second before saying, as he's slowly walking towards me, "Yes, you're very slim but you've got a wonderful body." He looking at me, and then from Philip a loud, "Oh shit! That's fantastic! Absolutely marvelous!" I'm like, "What? What?" and he says, "Your tattoo, that's what." I go, "Oh yeah, cool, huh?" He goes, "Cool indeed. Your sexy baby face and the tattoo are so contradictory, just like the rough burr haircut and your innocent sexy face. You must have the boys, er, the girls pounding down your door." I heard the inference and, what the fuck, I'm cool... so I say, "You were right the first time, it's boys. I'm gay and proud of it!" and I don't know where the fuck that came from either! I never boast about being gay, and I never regret being gay... it just is, like my appearance just is. He says, "Me too, not that I advertise it all that much. Even at my advanced age my dear parents still aren't positive one way or the other. I tried fooling myself by getting married to a rather snooty girl, a pretty thing, but it didn't work out." He tells me all this in a confidential way, like he'd tell a contemporary and I'm flattered once again. Flattered, but unable to come up with an appropriate response. What I do say is, "Oh, that's a shame," which makes him smile. Maybe he smiled because I said it with too much feeling... I was kinda dramatic when I said it. Things are a tad fuzzy right now. Philip says, "Thanks for your concern, Dylan... and congratulations to your lucky boyfriend." I go, "Thanks for saying that, Philip!" and feel so stupid! Why'd I say that? Damn!

He quietly goes, "How 'bout you stand over here." Happy the subject has changed, I enthusiastically say "Sure thing, Philip!" which makes him smile his warm smile again. Lights are turned on and positioned, then there's the subtle 'click' 'click' of his cameras with me just standing here looking into the lens. After a half dozen shots he comes over to me, a camera dangling around his neck, his hands up, "May I adjust your pose a little by touching you?" I say, "You can touch me, I like being touched," and he smiles a wry smile taking my head in between both his hands and tilting it to the side, then gently rubbing the palm of his hand up the back of my head while squeezing my shoulder with his other hand. It feels good, and then, after taking a deep breath, he asks, "Ah, I wonder... can you look mysterious?" I put an expression on my face that I think might be mysterious and he squeezes my shoulder again while trying to conceal a grin, "Maybe just a little less mysterious than that, relax and do something with your eyes like this," he shows me what he means and then takes more pictures. Then, letting the camera hang on it's strap around his neck, he comes back over to me again to rub and squeeze my biceps this time and murmurs, "Nice guns, Dylan...", then runs his fingers through my hair, before once more adjusting my body... this time so that I'm leaning back, my crotch jutting out, my knees slightly bent, and my arms crossed on my chest. "Click" "Click" then a flurry of pictures, "Clickclickclickclick". More adjustment with lots of touching, and as he's adjusting my position one of his hands subtly caresses my chest, neck, shoulders and head. There's a calmness and gentleness to his touching, rubbing, and his squeezing of my body; some touches come close to my private parts but never actually go there completely and I'm feeling so good I wish he would massage my dick a little.

My cock is either boner hard or semi-hard throughout all this so-called 'model' positioning, but Philip never acknowledges it or looks at it. This time he's close to me silently ruffling my hair back with his right hand, attempting again to get it standing-up, while he holds the waistband of my pants with his left... the back of his fingers against my bare belly tickles because there are slightly stiff hairs growing on the back of Philip's fingers; his long fingers are quite a ways down inside my underpants. It has me puffing out little bursts of air, shifting my feet, my boner poking out the front of my pants and bumping his thigh as he's busily caressing me under the guise of positioning my body for the next picture. Strangely enough, it's not freaking me out.

Finally acknowledging that he feels the head of my hard rod bouncing against his leg, Philip raises his eyebrows and looks down at my tented crotch bulge, but he still doesn't touch it. I'm sucking on my bottom lip, aroused and randy as the music in the background continues pounding out a strong beat. Looking into my eyes with an expression on his face that I can't interpret, he leans his head to the side while pulling on my ear a little so that my head leans over like his. As I pant with anticipation, he nods his head one time, perhaps confirming to himself that I'll do whatever he wants me to, then he backs away pulling me with him using the hand in my pants. I stumble a step or two before he slowly pulls his fingers up from my underpants, rubbing and tickling my belly as he does it. His hand free, he looks questioningly at me and I look down and do another fake cough. He busies himself changing cameras as I grope myself and then, holding my crotch, I bizarrely begin dancing to the music; dancing hot and suggestively sexy, the way Willie taught me to do it. Phillips eyes get big behind his rimless eyeglasses as a grin forms on his lips and, without saying a word, he pulls his turtle neck sweater over his head and dances with me, bare chest against bare chest, and now his groin begins pushing against my boner matching the steady beat of the music... this is so cool, and at the same time, so hot! There's a patch of blond chest hair between Philip's pecs that appears to be stiff the way some guy's pubic hairs are stiff; the way the hair on the back of his fingers are stiff. It's not what I'm used to certainly, but nothing about this experience is what I'm used to. He's an awesome dancer too, moving his hips and shoulders so smoothly and effortlessly... there's a flow to each movement and it seems every muscle in his body is involved. I don't know why I should be surprised that a forty-one year old man can out-dance me, but I am. While dancing he reaches over to a shelf for a remote control which turns the music up louder and now Philip really gets his groove on... I can hardly keep up with him. Staring at me the whole time, his expression is one of joy and there's a gentleness to him that shows through, yet he's got something sexy about him too, in an exotic way and I think of Gary from Wildwood for a passing second, then discount him because Philip's in another league. I move in close to him and he encircles me in his arms and our dancing now is basically dry-dock fucking... my hardon feels sticky and wet at the head. The dancing winds down as sweat bubbles pop out on our foreheads then roll down our faces. He smiles at me in a confident way, then leans in and kisses me a brotherly type kiss, then a wet kiss on my mouth and I go, "Oh!" He says, "Ahhh, how I wish I were your age again, Dylan... I'd never let you out of my sight." The first kiss was sweet and the second one kinda hot, but it didn't have nearly the heat for me that my gay friends create when we kiss. Still, that first gently kiss gave me a feeling that Philip might be lonely or sad about something. I don't mind being held by him 'cause he's sexy, but it also has something to do with the continuing overall manner he has of treating me like an equal. It's basically been my experienced that adults are incapable of treating teenagers as peers and frankly I don't blame them because we do dumb things and make poor choices all the time, but that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying being treated equally by Philip. I say "treated equally" but that's not to imply he doesn't have the dominant role here, he has it by default for one thing, and because I can sense he wants it, for another.

We stop dancing and he lets go of me, saying, "That was the most extemporaneous fun I've had in a long time. You're an exceptional person, Dylan Newman," and again he pulls on my ear, and I get the feeling he's doing that to prove to both of us that he can do that, or anything else whenever he wants to. But still, there he goes again with the compliments! Who wouldn't like being praised all the time? I'm feeling very adventurous so, speaking of teenagers making poor choices, I ask, "Ya ready for another drink and maybe a toak of that excellent marijuana?" Philip stops in his tracks, thinking about something, then cups behind my head with both his hands, asking, "You do pot regularly, right?" I go, "Well, not every day but you know... I mean, I'm in college." He does a squeeze, then let's go of me and shrugs, "Okay then, if you can handle it, why not?" and he heads back over to the bar with me following. We haven't bothered to put anything on to cover our chests, the perspiration gleams on Philip, but I'm just damp on my face. Damp and feeling like a total hot shit too because it's obvious Philip finds me enticing and it's neat having a man twice my age so interested in little old me. To see how far I can take things, I go, "Yo, Philip, how 'bout instead of a hit off a joint we do a line of coke?" Truth is I'd be too scared to ever try cocaine if sober, but I'm not sober and I want to prove to Philip he's not making a mistake treating me as an adult. He says, "Wow! You're full of surprises! Okay, but just one... I don't think I have more than a couple of twists left anyway." He rustles through the same drawer he got the weed from and I climb up on the bar stool feeling sophisticated, but maybe a little nervous now too. Philip mutters, "There you are," talking to himself, meaning the cocaine I assume, but then he stops, like he's thinking about things again. Turning around, he says, "I found my little stash, but I don't want to do it. If you had your own I'd let you snort it or do a gummer here, whatever... but I don't want to supply it to you because you're too young, and I hope you know it has nothing to do with the cost of it." Relieved, I go, "I'm good with that, do your thing, dude! Hey, how 'bout that other joint then," and that's what we do. We share another joint while I try to forced down a bottle of Samuel Adams larger... ghastly stuff! The pot has me really mellow though, I'm talking about Robby and me, but without getting into details of our love making... just general stuff. Philip doesn't tell me much about himself, just that he'd recently broken-up with someone he'd been in a long term relationship. The other man was quite a bit older than Philip and apparently Philip was deeply in love with him, but the other guy just fell out of love. Then we talk about his photography and the talk gets around to nude photographs which Philip said he's done some of, but only when commissioned to do so... not as a hobby. Being in a confused, randy state of mind, I asked, "Would you take some nude pictures of me tonight?" He's dumbfounded by the question, and I should have been too, but my brain is totally scrambled. Truth is I feel bad for Philip because he's sad over his lost lover... also I like him, and I'm horny, so maybe subconsciously I want something more to happen between us. It's egotistical of me to think that me having a sexual encounter with him will be the remedy for getting his mind off his lost love, but it might do that temporarily at least... plus his age intrigues me mightily and I'm wondering if sex with someone twice my age will be different than sex with my peers. Also, I like the way he treats me on an equal basis, but yet was still protective enough of me that he wouldn't allow me to do the cocaine.

I'm waiting for Philip's response regarding the nude photography as he's silently thinking again, and looking concerned about whatever it is he's thinking about. Finally he quietly says, "Is that a proposition?" and I say, "God, no! I just think it would be cool to run around naked. Don't you like being naked?" He goes, "What if things escalate and get sexual? After all you're extremely attractive and I haven't been with another man for almost three months now." My heart begins beating harder because I think I do want things to escalate, and also... he said, "another man" inferring he considers me to be a man, which I am according to the law, but you know what I mean. I say, "I can take care of myself and I'm probably too young to be of interest to you anyway." He laughs at that, mumbling, "Well, I've been with a lovely man twenty years older than me for many many years, but you're still attractive to me... very attractive." The pot and booze is clouding my thinking, I get that... but still, I feel good that Philip is impressed with me so I force the issue, "Well, nude then?" To his credit he's not pretending to be uninterested, he comes right out with "Hell yes; I'll take nude pictures of you. I'd love to, in fact. It's just that I don't want you thinking of me as a dirty old man." I'm not exactly sure what he means by that since it was me who asked him to take the pictures... I nod my head and leave it at that. We quickly finish the joint off, although no way can I get the rest of my beer down. My nervousness is completely gone, I hop off the stool and sway slightly before getting my balance; it seems like my mind and body are in very different places for a couple seconds there, places I've never been to before. My mind's functioning well enough to realize it's the pot, and therefore I should be wary, but just the same I'm thinking everything is clear, bright, and totally right in my world. And, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to do, I drop my pants and underwear; then, sitting bare ass on the floor, I take my shoes off so I can get my pants all the way off. Standing up wearing only my socks, I ask, "Whaddya think?" and spread my arms. Philip's like in shock standing there with his lips parted, staring at me with an expression of disbelief on his face. He unconsciously gropes himself and tries to say something, but only air comes out, so I repeat, "You like, Philip?" He nods his head, mumbling, "You're an amazing young man, truly amazing. At your age I was shy and backwards." Feeling smug and ignoring how weird this is, I'm thinking, "This is way cool! Nobody else but me would be so adventurous!!" Then, the strangest thing: for a few seconds I can't remember where I am or how I got to be naked, standing in front of this tall bare-chested man. What the...? A murky awareness slides into my brain and I remember the blind dates, and me wandering away from the group... and, oh yeah, the biggie... I remember the pot smoking and that I've been drinking vodka too! That explains it and it brings on a feeling of relief as if simply being aware of these bizarre and dangerous facts makes everything alright. Wondering what I should do now, I kinda cover my crotch with my hands and tap my foot, looking for Philip to guide me. His tongue's licking around his lips as he picks-up the remote for the music and this time uses it to turn the music off. We look at each other in the silence then as I'm trying to smile, but it's so strangely quiet my smile is replaced by a questioning frown. I clear my throat while Philip's making a project out of returning the remote to it's proper place on the shelf. With the music silenced, listening carefully I can just barely hear the band performing in the music hall below, and that helps me put things in perspective... there's a normal concert and party going on out there somewhere, an affair I should be at. This awareness makes my current naked state even more uncomfortable, 'cause I'm going to need to explain my absence eventually and I sure as hell won't be able to tell them the truth.

Philip appears to be gathering himself as he walks up to me and puts a hand on each of my shoulders directing me to the center of the screen, quietly saying, "You want a nude photo shoot, and you shall have it?" Actually I've changed my mind about that, but I pretend to be blase, muttering, "Sure, why not... I'm kinda smashed a little, but it's cool... I'm good." He stops and squeezes my shoulders, asking, "You sure you're okay? We don't need to do this, or we can do it another time; how 'bout that?" It's tempting to put it off, but dammit I don't wanna be a wimp so I say, nervously, "Well, since I'm already naked, let's take a couple of pictures that I can give to my boyfriend for his birthday... heh heh heh." Philip grins and then reaches down to cup my cock and balls in the palm of his hand, which really takes me by surprise. The fingers of his other hand lightly feel where my pubes have been shaved and then he squeezes my nuts causing my dick to stiffens and grow even as he's looking at it. I'm biting on my bottom lip, my face getting red as I begin making a quiet, "Mmmmm," sound in my throat. Dropping my package, he says, "Okay, Dylan... how about you cover those with both hands and lean as far back as you can" and when I do, he goes, "Good! Now look at the camera with a blank expression," which I do, and all of a sudden I'm feeling sexy and hot all over again. Lights are adjusted by Philip, then there's that same subtle "click, click, click" of the camera as he takes a dozen pictures. He's back over to me now rubbing his hand across my chest, asking, "Do you mind if I make your nipples erect," I wet my lips, and say, "No, not at all," and when he begins twisting them between his fingers my cock bones-up some more. He says, "You get erections easily, don't you?" I huff out some air, and say, "Oh, I don't know about that." His other hand is massaging my belly, as he's saying, "I absolutely love the shaved pubes look, but yours have grown in a little, like a five o'clock shadow," and he laughs, maybe because he mentioned 'five o'clock shadow' and I don't even have peach fuzz on my upper lip yet. Except for the hair on his chest, Philip's body looks inviting and I realize I'm getting turned-on by him, maybe I've been turned-on for awhile now. Leaning my chest against his I feel his chest hairs; they're a little bit wiry, but I like it okay... it makes me think of Alan, although Alan's body hairs are soft.

Frankly, this whole deal is so fucking different from anything I've experienced I don't know what to think about it from one moment to the next. Oh, it's sexy as hell alright, and that's partially true I suppose because it's so different, but I'm betting most of the sexiness is a result of the banned substances in my system, and somewhere in my brain I know I wouldn't be doing this with Philip except for the drugs, but so what... it's new sexy fun! Tell ya the truth, I wish there was a touch of danger associated with this, but Philip's so damn considerate and nice to me there just isn't any chance of that. He says, "Taking you at your word, Dylan, I'm assuming you're sexually experienced, and therefore I'm interpreting your actions as an invitation for me to have sexual relations with you. Am I mistaken about that?" Right then I'm realizing that he isn't mistaken about that, and it's like a slap-in-my-face of reality; what a surprise...

this is real and I can't help myself now 'cause it's gone too far. I mutter, "Maybe..." and he puts a hand on each of my shoulders pushing me away from him a few inches, "Look at me, Dylan," so I look up into his eyes feeling like a little kid, my dick almost a full blown boner now... he says, "It's not nice to tease, be totally honest with me: are you inviting me to have sex with you?" Now I'm biting my bottom lip, thinking, "Am I? Am I inviting this nice older man to have sex? If I am it needs to be safe sex... that's what Robby says!" Somewhere in my brain I know I just brought Robby into this mess using distorted logic, assuming he'd be good with me doing this as long as it's safe sex. I mutter, "Yeah, I am... but if you don't want to, that's okay too." He hugs me to him, his wiry chest hairs squished against me, as he's saying, "Thank you for the invitation, it's a huge ego builder for me, and I really need that. Of course, I probably shouldn't take you up on it, but I'm only human, and you're... well, you're very special." I gulp, but it makes me feel good he thinks I'm special, and it seems I'm doing a good thing helping him with his ego, so with that additional rationalization going for me, I allow myself to be excited again. I'm committed to it now, so in addition to being excited, I'm kinda proud I didn't punk out. Mentally patting myself on the back, I congratulate myself, "Ya didn't punk out with Mohawk man either, and that turned-out good... well, except for the spanking, so this might rock too!"

Philip lets go of me, saying, "Okay, this is good, but lets not force anything... if it happens, it happens... if not, it wasn't meant to be. Now, lets get some more photo shots of you." He positions me sideways, my boner bobbing in front of me. Philip's chuckling, "Dylan, I've never known anyone who gets erect quite as easily as you," then, with a hand near my crotch, he asks, "Do you mind?" In a fog, I shake my head that I don't and he puts a fist around my cock and strokes it a few times, saying, "This is an excellent penis; your foreskin is even loose with your erection's out this far." I conceal the groan I want to make, but can't stop myself from humping against his fist. Feeling me humping against his hand he strokes me more energetically for fifteen seconds before turning away to adjust himself, then say, "I'd like to get some shots that bring your pubic stubble into play, also the rough haircut you have 'cause, like I said earlier, it'll all contrast with your baby face." I go, "I don't have a baby face; I know I'm nice looking but nobody else ever says I have a baby face." Philip's sincere when he apologizes, "I'm sorry! To you and your friends perhaps the term 'baby face' wouldn't pop into your heads, but I'm more than twice your age so it's all relative, ya know?" I'm not sure what that meant, but I say, "Okay, then, just so ya know..." and he tries hiding a grin, saying, "Sit on this bench with your legs spread a little, one hand at the side of your thigh near your privates, put a tough boy look on your face and let me have the shoulder with the tattoo hunched forward a little, and flex your biceps." Doing what he said gets him to exclaim, "That's wonderful! Just like that... I want the contrast of your, er... good looking youthful face, and the rough parts... the tattoo, the ragged haircut, and pubic stubble... hold," and as he moves this way and that, holding the camera at different angles and heights, I hear only the subtle, "click, click, click, click," of the camera, then, "Wow, Dylan, you're a very hot looking young man! Oh my God, you need to think about a career in modeling. You're perfect for Abercrombie & Fitch right now. I can recommend an agent." Sitting up straight and playing with my now semi-soft cock, I say, "That's very flattering, but I'm going to college now, ya know." He laughs a little at that, then says, "Yes, I know, but that doesn't mean you couldn't also have a career that can pay six figures easily." I say, "I'll think about it, it's a big decision," which has him laughing again. "Yes, please think about it. I'll give you my card and you call me when you're ready." I say, "Thanks, but I can't promise anything 'cause I've got a lot of homework this weekend so it won't be the next couple of days." He's laughing again... this guy has a weird sense of humor, but it's a pleasant laugh, nothing mocking about it... so, laughter's good.

He takes more pictures; then, while leaning close to my face, asks, "Would you mind going into my bathroom and doing a fresh shave of your pubic area? My shaving gear is on the sink... I'd like to get some shots of a smooth groin area now; should be very erotic." The drugs have clicked up another notch by now, so I say, "Would you do it for me? It's awkward shaving there myself." He tries to say something, but it sticks in his throat again. I shrug, feeling relaxed now as I grope my cock waiting for him to get the words out. Then, noticing how his long thick blond hair that's covering his forehead looks so clean and soft, I casually reach up and pull it all to the side exposing the male symbol tattoo in the middle of his forehead. The lights reflect off his round, rimless eyeglasses as he takes my wrist, pulling it away from his hair, saying, "The tattoo is a poor choice I made while doing crack one night ten years ago. Me and Raymond were in our wild period then; it was after my first photography book was published." As he's telling me this he pulls my hand over to his lips and kisses the back of it and then a long kiss on the palm. Looking down at me, he adds, "I've been fighting an addiction problem ever since..." I suck on my lips, not sure what to say. Letting go of my wrist, he exclaims, "You're a birthday present, aren't you? Was it Sydney? Sydney Denoltey... a short fat man who's always smiling? Someone paid you to perk me up on my birthday. I know it! It's the only thing I can think of that makes any sense... you're too special to just wander in here and offer yourself to me." I'm not following too closely, but I'm not totally out of it either. I'm aware he's unsure about why I'm here, but that just makes us even because I'm unsure too. I go, "Huh?" Philip says, "Okay... can I kiss you?" I shrug again and he holds my face between his hands and kisses me on the lips. I do a half-ass kiss back but I'm not really into romance with this old guy, just a new sexual experience maybe, a la Mohawk man, maybe. After the kiss he grins, then says, "Not into that, are ya? That's alright, I enjoyed it. What the hell, I'm gonna enjoy my birthday present." I mumble, "You said your birthday was yesterday. What present are you talking about... me? I'm not a present." He goes, "Have it your way."

Standing then, "Come on, let's shave those pubes of yours." As we're walking to his bathroom he stays in a good upbeat mood, "It was an epiphany... when you asked me to shave your pubic area it just came to me." Frowning at that, I say, "What's that mean?" and, with his arm around my shoulder holding me against him as we walk, he explains, "Epiphany is, I don't know... um, an intuitive insight into something. All of a sudden the reality of something hits you over the head and it becomes obvious. Like you coincidentally just showing up a day after my birthday when I'm depressed about my breakup with Raymond, and then you come on to me. That would never happen normally so one of my friends, trying to cheer me up, had to have arranged for you to be my companion tonight." Inside his bathroom, I say, "You mean I'm getting paid for this?" He laughs, saying, "You're delightful. Now, how do I do this?" I explain about soaking the pubic hairs, then shaving them etc. etc. He says, "Right! Just like shaving one's face... why did I need you to tell me that, I wonder?" and he laughs, obviously in a very good mood now. He rubs across my cock, saying, "Mmmmm, guess I'm a little bit in the bag." He has me stand on the toilet's seat lid and then silently concentrates on doing the shaving. It doesn't take long and I'm soon smooth as the day I was born. He rinses the remnants of shaving cream as I ask, "Ah, Philip... um, will that friend of yours know where to send the money? I mean, do you want me to leave my name and address?" He looks at me with a confused expression, "Are you serious? You've not been hired by someone?" I shrug, "I don't know anything about it, and I don't care for the inference I'd expect pay for sex, I'm just saying if someone insist on giving me money... you know, then what can I do about it?" He shakes his head, and goes, "Maybe I didn't have an epiphany after all.

I'm too fucked up to figure this out, to tell you the truth. Come on though... let me get some shots of you with that pretty smooth groin area of yours." And he does.

In a minute or two I'm losing interest in the nude model routine, and I've also lost a lot of my enthusiasm for a new sexual experience because of that talk about getting paid for it. Not that I have anything against money, but I'd never be a boy whore, or whatever they're called... not for money anyhow, and that qualifier I just included "not for money" implies I might be a boy whore for the fun of it, but not for money... hahaha. It makes me laugh to myself, which tells me Philip isn't the only one in the bag. Surprising myself again, I ask, "How about another vodka drink? Do ya got any orange juice?" He doesn't, but he has grapefruit juice which is okay if you add sugar, which he does. We're at the bar smoking and drinking again, me smoking Marlboro Lights and Philip sucking on another joint and drinking a Coke. I'm still stark naked except for my socks and Philip's still bare chested. As I'm absently playing with myself, Philip's rubbing across his nipples, then running his fingers through his chest hairs. Mostly we're talking about sex and from what I can tell from Philip, the voice of experience, it doesn't matter if you're nineteen or forty one, gay sex is still a hot topic. Guess the same can be said for straight sex too, and while we're at it we might as well extend the age out to whatever: sixty, seventy. Philip tells me about some old guy who used to be on TV, a guy named Larry King. This dude's been married like eight or ten times and has five or six kids, the most recent one, a boy named Cannon... yes, Cannon, was conceived when Larry King was like eighty years old. He's eighty-eight now and he's presumedly still screwing, although that's hard to imagine. First off it's encouraging to know ya can still spring a boner at that advanced age, but the really amazing thing is that the old guy can still find a woman who'll agree to fuck with him. Maybe that don't apply to gays, but I don't know why it wouldn't. As we talked about it, a picture formed in my head of what the woman Larry King talked into to fucking with him might look like.

I've been here over an hour by now and feeling real relaxed... feeling no pain. The sex talk has me a little horny, but not the type of horny I get around a cute boy my own age. This is a different kind of horny, but it's horny just the same. Philip seems more under control than me in this regard, but it's apparent he likes the sex talk. I'm thinking maybe he'd be turned-on a little more if I were closer to his age, which is a thought I've never had before... the idea that some men prefer guys their age over youth has never entered my mind before this... ya know, you gotta be kidding me, but maybe it is true. The surprising things you learn about life, and they keep coming and coming. Anyway, as he's snubbing out his latest joint in an ashtray, he says, "How 'bout standing up, Dylan, and let me get a good look at you. I've barely had a glance at your ass." I hop up and step back from the bar feeling loose, and up for just about anything.

It's fun being half drunk and half doped-up on pot, the two halves equal one hundred percent of something, but what? I realize I'm in a goofy mood, a mood like I can't remember ever being in before. Then I hear, "Over in front of the lights, if you don't mind." I go, "Oh, yeah.." and stumble over. Philip goes, "Let me play the part of the photographer... you know, as if this we're a real shoot; you be the model, obviously." He has a hand on each of my shoulders positioning me right in the middle of the back screen. He says, "The photographer's the boss, okay, Dylan?" I like the sound of that, and go, "Un huh, that sounds good." A hand under my chin, "Look up at me, please," I do, and he says, "I've decided it's your eyes, there's something about your eyes that makes me think... "SEX", in capital letters." His hand travels back through my short hair then, "Gorgeous!" is all he says. Then his thumb is on my bottom lip pulling it away from my teeth slightly, "May I see your teeth please," and I show him them as best I can. He pushes the pad of his index finger across my bottom teeth, muttering, "You enjoy being submissive to me, don't you?" I feel a familiar hypnotic trance-like state slip into my head. It's the quiet in here and how he's deliberately slow when doing all this inappropriate touching, that's what's puts me into this dream-like state of mind. I mean, come on! Who puts their fingers in your mouth? Whatever, my cock is hard again as he quietly says, "I used to be like you too... of course, with Raymond I had little choice. On the other hand, before Raymond I was always the aggressor where matters of sexual relations are concerned, so I can be a very dominant partner for you, Dylan... is that what you want?" He's running the pad of each thumb across my narrow eyebrows starting from above the bridge of my nose and drawing his thumbs outward, then the tips of his fingers are behind my ears touching here and there, squeezing my earlobes and playing with my earring, and then down to my shoulders for more squeezing. Philip's doing what he feels like as I stand naked before him, because he knows he can. I let a lot of air out standing tall for him, my arms at my side, totally involved in this drama. His hands travel down my sides, and at my waist they move across my belly, tickling the skin lightly, meeting at my crotch where, without hesitating, he again cups my scrotum in one hand and my hard cock in the other. "I asked you a question, Dylan." It isn't said in a demanding way, just a natural tone of voice, "Do you want me to be your dominant sex partner tonight?" I try to say 'yes' but it comes out, "Shees," and as one of his fingers probes behind my scrotum to rub across my anus, he goes, "What was that?" and I mutter, "Ya, yes.." His finger pushes at my hole so that just the pad of the finger is parting the lips of my asshole. "Okay, Dylan, if that's what you want," and he pushes the tip of his finger inside me a quarter inch as his head comes down to mine, forehead to forehead, and he quietly adds, "But just so I'm sure, you need to clearly tell me what you want," and I say, so low I can barely hear myself, "I want you to be my dominant sex partner," he kisses the side of my forehead then while pushing his finger inside me another inch, saying, "Good. I'll do that for you then."

My boner hurts, the skin is stretched to the point of splitting. Pulling his finger from my asshole, he murmurs, "Stay like you are, please," leaning down and into me so that our bodies are touching, his stiff chest hairs crackle against my chest, I feel his erection through his pants; it's bumping my thigh as he's reaching behind me with both hands to grope by ass cheeks. "These are perfection, Dylan. In case you've wondered, it's not just your eyes... it's your natural facial expression, and your lips, and your perfect bubble butt that screams "SEXY!!!" to anyone inclined to interpret the message. I saw it immediately but thought you were fifteen or sixteen and I don't go there; that's too young for me." Squeezing fistfuls of my buttocks and then pushing a finger inside me again, and this time it keeps pushing until my anus is pressing against his hairy knuckles, "Feel good?" Philip asks. I'm laying my head against his shoulder feeling submissive, which I really don't have a choice about anyway because my cock's taken over my brain. It just feels too good... all of me feels good right now. I go, "Uh huh," and he says, "I'll open your sphincter ring with my fingers and then give you a good hard fucking like you've been asking for, okay?" Falling deeper and deeper into this dreamy trance-like mood I let my drug induced brain form the words, "Yes, but promise me you won't be gentle," and his shoulders shake as he has a good chuckle at that, then says, "Just so ya know, I'm back to being positive one of my friends set you up for me, but I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it just the same. That corny line, 'promise me you won't be gentle'... hahaha.... convinced me you're a set-up, but I love it!" I guess he's saying I'm a boy hooker and apparently nothing I say will change that. What I really am is an over sexed gay boy who's enjoying his sex life to the fullest. Another finger goes in my ass forcing me to abandon my situation analysis and stifle a groan of pain instead. Both fingers probe my hole stretching it sideways as well as up and down, feeling good now.

Strangely Philip has no discernible scent, no odor that I can detect except a faint smell of cologne, one I've never smelled before. "You're quite tight, do you mind if I use an expander? It'll make for much smoother anal intercourse, and I'm rather well hung," and another snicker from him. He's different from earlier and of course it's the laced pot he's been steadily smoking. I recall from somewhere that pot makes you hungry and gives you the giggles. I am hungry, but I'd be hungry without the pot because the only thing I've had to eat the last eight hours is two slices of vegan pizza. I ask, "What's an expander?" and he chuckles again, then says, "It's what Raymond and I call dildos." Nodding at him, I'm thinking how I've had a couple of dildos up my ass and they aren't bad at all, so I mumble, "Well, okay, if you think it's a good idea." Anyway, I'm not gonna say 'no' to him because that would break the mood of Philip being in charge. He's getting more and more confident and I like that. As he pulls his fingers out of me leaving me with my anus twitching, he says, "Stay..." and then hustles into the bathroom. A minute later he's back with a generic, ridged dildo, saying, "Bend over please," as I do, he adds, "This has been cleaned meticulously, and I've just lubed it. I'm going to twist it all the way in so you'll just need to take it... I'm really caught up in this now and stopping isn't an option," which gets him giggling again, and this time the giggling almost sounds like a woman's giggle, which isn't a good thing. On the other hand, I like what he said about "stopping isn't an option" even though I don't really believe him 'cause he's too nice. I know if I insisted we stop, we'd stop... not that I want to. I'm caught up in it too, but please... no more giggling.

Philip screws the dildo up my ass a couple inches and it's already feeling huge. My cock is still hard but lacks the tightness of my earlier boners. Philip stops twisting the dildo and pulls on it instead... I go, "Ummmmm, oohhhh," and he pushes it in then pulls it out an inch and I'm leaning forward stroking my cock going, "Mmmmmmmmm, yeaaaah!" He lets go of the dildo, gives my ass a hard slap, saying, "Stay like you are," another hard slap and then he pulls something from his pocket and hands it me. "Hold this," he says, and I take a black and gold square packet from his fingers; it's obviously a condom, which I'm happy to see. "Hold onto this until I'm ready for it; it's a condom and you'll roll it onto my erection when I tell you to." I murmur, "Sure. Do you want me to open it?" "Not now, when I tell you, and don't speak until spoken to," and he slaps my ass again, kinda hard, adding, "Please wait for me to tell you what to do, I turned the music off because when sex is involved I like to concentrate, and conversation at this point just detracts from the proceedings. You've obviously bought into this so we're going to be doing it my way from here on out." I say nothing, but he keeps talking, "That's a five dollar Sagami Original 0.02 Premium condom you're holding... it's Japenese. They've developed this condom to have three times higher bursting pressure and two times higher tensile strength than normal latex condoms, and the way I'm going to fuck you we'll need the extra strength." He begins twisting the ever thickening dildo up my ass once more as I'm replying to his condom lecture by mumbling, "That's interesting," and he goes, 'Shhh! What did I just tell you about talking?' and another smack on my ass. This is getting hot, and I need to stroke my boner again. The dildo, his dominant behavior, and the ass smacks are just right to get me greatly aroused, and my cock is a hard bone that again is aching a little from being stretched too tightly, but at the same time it feels wonderful.

Philip has the dildo way up my ass, just the nub end protrudes from my anus and it's painful at the moment. Bend further forward, please," Philip instructs, "Grab your ankles and maintain in that position until I request a different one." I do as I'm told and it eases the pain in my ass somehow, maybe this stretches my hole." He's got a hand on the inside of my thighs saying, "Spread your legs," which I do until I'm on the verge of toppling over, "That's good, I'll hold you up when I'm fucking you... be very docile unless I tell you to tighten your sphincter muscles." I hear a zipper being drawn down and some rustling of clothes so I look behind me and see Philip has pulled his baggy pants and bikini underwear halfway down his long thighs. I've honestly never seen a pubic patch as dense as his, the hair even stiffer looking than his chest hairs. "Hold steady, Dylan," as he takes his semi-hard seven inches of curved penis and rubs it under my ass pushing and pulling it along my crack, probing at the stub of dildo as he moves over it. A minute later his penis is a long hard banana poking the back of my balls, then pushing my bag of nuts up to my boner and I'm gaging with arousal. The thought of that long, fat, curved cock inside me has me scared and eager at the same time. "Would you like to suck my cock before putting on the condom?" and the answer in my head was an immediate, "NO!" which surprises me because I like sucking cock, but for some reason, that I'll need to figure out later, I don't want to suck his. I mutter, "No thanks," and he goes, "What if I insist?" and I say, "Then I'll do it, I guess." He walks around in front, "I insist... how much are you getting paid anyway?" With his big cock poking my nose, I answer honestly, "Nothing, I'm not getting paid," he goes, "Uh huh! Head up," so I strain my neck raising my head while still holding my ankles, and open my mouth, "Good boy," as he slides his cock into my mouth. The head is curved so severely his piss slit rubs against my tongue while the top of the curve slides against the roof of my mouth. "Suck!" and I tongue and suck the best I can, losing a lot of my boner in the process. It didn't look or feel like the cute boys' cocks I'm used to. When his cock is dripping with my saliva he pulls it out, giggling again, "That cock's too big for your mouth, isn't it?" I go, "I guess so," with spit running down my chin. "Let go of your ankles for a second and roll the condom on me." I'd dropped the packet next to my foot when he told me to grab my ankles, so picking it up off the floor, I ask, "Should I straighten up?" he says, "Just waist high," which I do, then roll the condom onto his strange boner. As he walks behind me, he says, "Grab your ankles again and no talking, please."

Okay, I'm anticipating it now. Sometimes I get so I just need to have a cock up my ass and Philip's got me primed and ready for it, so let's go! The unusualness and newness of this sexual experience is at it's peak now, but even as I anxiously and submissively await my fucking, I'm realistically expecting it'll be hot while it's happening and then not so hot afterward. With Robby, Willie and my other sex partners it's hot as hell having sex, getting fucked, but then afterward I can also experience the heat all over again in my mind. With Philip I don't think that'll happen, but we'll see. The dildo comes out twist by twist and when it's all the way out I feel wide open back there... not for long though. Philip's given up the giggles for panting and heavy breathing. First, three hard, loud slaps on my ass that really sting, and when I don't make a sound, he mutters, "Good boy, Dylan... you know the drill." I'm scrunching my lips and eyes closed because those slaps hurt, then the head of his cock is at my hole. He grabs both my hips and pulls me back into him as he's thrusting forward and the wild curve of his boner makes it feel like a cock five inches fat is pushing up my asshole. I'm yelling out, "Awwwww!!! Ohhh!!!" but he just tightens his hold on my hips finishing the penetration and then immediately pulls back all the way out before slamming it back inside my burning anus. I'm squealing but can't get away from him, two more thrusts and he leaves it up there. "You're tight for a rent-boy," as I yell, "For the tenth time, I'm not a prostitute!" Tears are running down my cheeks, but like so many times before it's already changing from pain to pleasure in my ass as my rectum expands accommodating this intrusion. Philip doesn't even mention my screams of pain which turns me on some more. I didn't expect that he'd be so stern, so hard... I'm impressed. He goes, "Ssshhh! No talking!" and then he steadily fucks my ass until it's feeling mighty fine. After two minutes he mutters, "Oh my goodness, this is fantastic! What an ass you have here. I'm going to lift your feet off the floor, so balance yourself on your hands," my feet come off the floor and he easily hold me there as he drives his cock inside me for another four minutes or so before I squeal like a girl, something I hate when my sex partner does it, and a string of spunk burns my pee slit flying from my pecker. The ejaculation draws a fast moving line of creamy cum from my belly button to my left nipple, and then a second stream follows the same path with me making a sound so high pitched only dogs can hear it. My vision is blurry and it's like I'm hearing things in an echo chamber. Philip grunts, "All fours now," and drops my feet back to the floor. I get on my hands and knees as two more spurts of spunk fly from my cock. Philip has a leg on either side of me as he mounts me again and pounds that odd, hard, curved boner up my hole widening it the most I've ever experienced in my life and it's feeling awesome! I'm hopping off my knees trying to get that weird fat-feeling cock further up inside me. When he cums he drives his cock up my ass so hard I flatten on the floor with him flopping down on top of me. Thank God he's slim! Laying on me his cock actually does go further up my ass and now he really does a number pumping my hole before running out of steam and just laying on me.

We lay here for a bit, then he says, gasping for air, "In the old days with Raymond, he'd be able to go again in ten or twenty minutes, and that's when he was the age I am now. I never could... one and done for me." As I'm looking back at him, he pulls his cock out of me and I see that the condom's drooping with it's load of semen. "Here, let me help you up, Dylan... that was an excellent fuck!" This is true... my ass has certainly never been this opened-up before; now I'm glad he started with the dildo. As I stand he holds my wrists together and smacks my ass a few more times, spanks me hard with his still stiff cock bobbing in front of him and the bulge of spunk in the condom swinging under his dick. Spanking me hard, he's grunting from the effort, saying, "I loved it when Raymond would spank me... spank me like I was a naughty boy, do you, Dylan... do you like it too?" I mutter, "A little, I guess... but it stings a lot," which gets him to stop and mutter, "Oops, sorry about that. Guess I was getting carried away." he pulls off the condom, ties a knot at the end and throws it at a waist basket, but misses. In his current pot headed state of mind he waves at the condom on the floor and mutters, "Fuck it..." Philip's done with the giggles and apparently done with me too, as he looks at me, saying, "Well, it's been wonderful, but would you be terribly offended if I asked you to get dressed and take off now so I can lay down? I did way too much grass tonight... you excited me and, well... I overdid it, is what I did, but it was worth it." I say, "No, I don't mind. That's good actually 'cause I gotta hook up with my friends... and, you did a good fuck too." He says, "Oh, thank you my dear boy. I'm feeling like I'm on the back nine though, forty-one is a long way from twenty-one." I'm putting my clothes on, asking, "Whaddaya mean, back nine?" He waves his fingers like, it's nothing, and says, "It's a golf thing," he's looking pale so I guess he did overdo. I ask, "Are you alright?" and he brightens a little to say, "Aren't you nice... um, I've never been with... ah, someone like you before. Is it traditional that I tip you or is that included in your arrangement with, whoever?" There's that lonely, sad thing coming from him again, so I mumble, "It's included." I'm quickly at the door feeling rushed out of here, he says, "You've been great, Dylan... quite remarkable and I'll remember this birthday forever." Opening the door, I say, "Happy Birthday!" and then I'm in the quiet hall and Philip's heavy door clicks locked behind me. It all seems so anti-climatic all of a sudden. You don't suppose he fucked me more for my benefit than his own, do you? Or maybe because he thinks his friend arranged this so he went along with it so as not to seem unappreciative... was that it? Damn! I don't know what to think, but I know this much: my ass is still tingling, my anus is still gasping for more cock, and my cock and balls are feeling good too... so what do I think about that. One word comes to mind... bizarre! Bizarre, and I don't really care why he fucked me... it was a unique experience and I liked it, but already I can see I was right about it not being a hot memory long term, but so what? Oh, maybe I wish it never happened, but that fucking pot screwed-up my brain! And the vodka... I turn back to look at the door wondering if there's any chance he'd want to do a quick second round, but drop that stupid thought immediately. It's just that it was over so abruptly... and my ass is still twitching and all. As I'm reaching back to rub my hole, I'm wondering, "What the fuck am I gonna tell the guys?" Checking my watch I see I've been gone for over an hour and a half... tapping my fingers on my thigh, already forgetting Philip, I'm trying to come up with a story to tell everyone, and concluding, "This is gonna be awkward!"

to be continued...

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com