Dylans Freshman Year

DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR

Chapter 19

by Donny Mumford

With a full tank of gas, a repaired flat tire, I'm rubbing the back of my head feeling the buzzed part of my so-called flattop as Willie and I are driving away from from McDonalds on our way to his house. As he drives Willie continues in the doldrums; constant negativity, mumbling and grumbling, feeling sorry for himself, but not really explaining exactly what his vague references to "the past six months of hell" is all about. I'm not asking him for specifics because, first off, he doesn't appear to want to tell me and 'secondly, I can't see how it will help his mood to recount the details of whatever it is that's bothering him. I also can't help but wonder how he would deal with real life problems, like Connor and Cory deal with everyday. Hell, Connor and Cory have been dealing with their situations all their lives! Maybe Willie's actually got legitimate problems, but if he's not going to tell me about them I'm stuck with the assumption that they're not that big a deal. Willie's gotten everything he's wanted all his life, maybe he thinks it's a catastrophe that he can't have a new car, or something silly like that. I can commiserate a little with the fact that most everything, except our afternoon of buddy-sex, has gone in the toilet today... and, heh heh, I still maintain that with a little time, today's ridiculous string of bad luck is going make a great story some day. If you look at today objectively it's been a carnival of dysfunctionalality, if that's even a word. Just about everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Unbelievable! Actually, a couple of times today I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing... Jesus, what a day! Heh heh.

By now it's been the third or forth time Willie's counted off today's disasters: starting with us waiting for that asshole barber for over an hour, and then he throws us out saying it's his lunchtime... and he doesn't do flattops! Then we drove around all afternoon for just the 'right' barbershop, in Willie's mind anyway, and never found it. Eventually I get the worst barber in the United States, and then there's the multiple car problems we encounered, and then having to eat in fast food joints; the horror! Ha ha. Of course, there was that cluster fuck at asshole Carl's too... and that really did piss me off, nothing funny about that. Probably the worst thing about all this, in poor Willie's mind, is that he feels he's lost 'face' in my eyes, but it's kinda like the opposite... it shows me he's human having some of the same disasters in his life that I have in mine. Anyway, it's certainly been a very different 'date' with Willie, I gotta admit that. A long day too, and I'm probably forgetting some of the crap that happened to us along the way. I've stopped listening to Willie's lament about each and every disaster we bumbled into.

It's almost eleven o'clock when we get back to his place and all that either of us wants by now is get to sleep. In his bedroom, Willie mumbles, "I'm so sorry about today, Dylan... I can't tell you how sorry!" By now I'm a little cranky myself, so I mutter, "Hey, shit happens, forget about it: it's friggin' over!" and Willie looks at me, asking, "You're mad at me, aren't you?" He seems so concerned about that, I take a deep breath and lighten-up, "No, no Willie... it's not you, but like you've been saying, it's not been one of our best days." He's still staring at me, like he wants more assurance, so I squeeze his arm, adding, "Let's think about tomorrow. Ya know, sand and beaches and sunshine." He looks relieved, and adds, "And messin' around in bed some more too, right?" I smile, and say, "Yeah, that too so, once and for all put today in the rear view mirror, okay?" He's like, "Yeah, you're right," and we do an unexpected, awkward, hug. "How 'bout we take a quick shower and then get some sleep." And that's what we do, with Willie nestled against me, but no move for anything sexy, so we fall asleep quickly.

Next morning we oversleep, and it's pouring rain outside to boot; neither of those things seems like a good omen. Willie's running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, and I say that even though I've never seen a chicken with it's head cut off. He says, "The car service will be here in fifteen minutes so we gotta get moving. I get moving by going into the bathroom, gawking at the opulence of the place for a few seconds, shaking my head at how unnecessary it all is, and then do my business of peeing, washing my hands and face, and brushing my teeth. Willie looks in on me every minute or so urging me to hurry, which I sorta do.

Getting dressed in my own clothes: good traveling stuff like sweat pants and a tee shirt under a hoodie. It's cold again, the heat spell's been forced out by the rain, so the hoodie makes sense, and when I get off the plane in Key West I'll take the hoodie off and rock the T-shirt. To me this is the smart way to travel... plan ahead, ya know? Willie, on the other hand, is wearing clothes for the warm weather of Key West; cargo shorts and a short-sleeve Tommy Bahama shirt; so he's gonna freeze his ass off until we get there, but I'm not going to say anything about that. It takes me three minutes to pack my clothes into one of Willie's carry-on luggage things; the kind on wheels that you pull along behind you... screw my beat-up satchel. I'm humming happily to myself, excited about being in first class on the plane for the first time in my life. On the other hand, Willie's fuming because he can't get everything he wants to bring into not one suitcase... oh brother! I ask, "What the fuck are you bringing, Willie, we only need shorts, tee shirts, and a bathing suit." He's full of energy, nervous energy. He says, "Oh man, I can never decide what I'll want to wear when I get there, and this goddamn rain makes it even more complicated! What if it rains there?" I mutter, "It never rains there." He takes out his rain gear and stands on the suitcase, saying, "Will you stand on this, Dylan?" I do, and he's able to zipper it up.

We're downstairs waiting for the car service, Willie frowning and checking his watch, mumbling, "Where is that damn car?" Then he begins prancing around, as Martha sweetly asks, "Do you boys have time for some breakfast?" Willie snaps, "Not now, Martha, please!" She mutters, "Sorry," and Willie gets all contrite and starts apologizing to her for being sharp and they do a little kiss on the cheek to make up, but I'm thinking, "Wait a minute, is today going to be an extension of yesterday?" and now I'm starting to look at my watch too, asking, "What time does the plane take off, Willie?" He scrummages through a pocket in his luggage and comes up with the airplane tickets. Studying them for a second, he says, "Not for two and a half hours, but we could have traffic problems getting to Logan, and it says we need to be at the gate an hour before take off. That's a stupid rule, but I guess it's because of all the airport security rigmarole."

Ten minutes later he's on his cellphone talking with the car service dispatcher, and after ten seconds, he yawpes, as I cringe. Then he says, loudly, "Tomorrow? I need the ride now, I needed the ride twenty minutes ago." Rolling my eyes I wander into the next room, the library, and busy myself staring at all the books, thinking, "Yes, today is gonna be just like yesterday... oh goody!" Willie comes in, asking, "Where'd you get to, Dylan? Martha's going to drive us to the airport, we can still make out flight." We hump the bags to Martha's car, the one that screwed us royally last night; it's raining so hard I'm soaked by the time I get in the back seat. I can see Willie's dripping wet in the front seat sputtering something about he should have worn his rain gear. Just when I start to relax I notice Martha's driving; it's similar to the way I'd expect Martha Washington to drive, if she somehow came back to life. It's like Mrs. Windell just learned to drive, or maybe it's that I'm used to riding in cars with teenage drivers, but this is ridiculous. Willie's urging her on, "You can easily make this light, Martha!" which she doesn't, and then there's a back-up on the Mass Pike and she sits back in the lane that isn't moving while most of the other cars are pulling out and passing us. I close my eyes wishing I was at the Grand Canyon with Robbie riding a donkey down the slopes of that big hole, or maybe sitting next to Chubby auditing the salesman's expense accounts. Well, maybe not the audit part. By now Willie's given-up and is just laying back, his head on the head rest not saying anything. Martha hunches over the steering wheel muttering, "This gosh darn rain is hard to drive in."

We finally get to Logan airport, but Martha pulls over at the wrong Airline terminal. Willie mutters, "This is fine, Martha, thank you so much for doing this." She leans over and kisses Willie's cheek again, saying, "You're so welcome, Willie. Now you boys can make your plane." But we can't. Willie drags his luggage out, still smiling at Martha like she did good, then we're waving goodbye to her as I'm going, "Thank you, Mrs. Windell," and she looks happy she could help, as she's pulling away from the curb agonizingly slowly and still she almost clips a man running in the rain from a cab. Willie and I go, "Euuu," but she just misses him. I mutter, "That would've left a mark. Willie's resigned to missing our plane. He nods his head to the right, saying, "Our Airline is a couple hundred yards up that way. I didn't have the heart to tell Martha, and of course we missed our flight, but we'll just reschedule for a later one. We can get something to eat while we wait."

Hmmm, I'm impressed he's this calm and was so considerate of Mrs. Windell too... she did her best even though... well, oh hell... I don't care if we get to Key West a couple hours later. Then there's security; huge lines with only half the stations open. From what I gather from listening to people around us, most of them are dealing with school spring break, all the public schools close the same time in Massachusetts and most of these people are families going to Disney World. It's a busy mess with security people seemingly purposely dragging everything out. Perhaps the strip searching of six-year-old girls and grandmothers could be eliminated, that would speed things up a bit. I exaggerate, but not by a hell of a lot. Everyone, except the security people, are aggravated enormously as each of us passes through security in our socks. It's a relief reaching the terminal past the lines of security Gestapo. Okay, now Willie and I run through the terminal, just on the faint hope the plane's delayed, but it left on time twenty minutes ago, so it's not like we just missed it. That's what I say to Willie, who glares back at me, his lips so tightly together they're almost white... guess he's over his calm period. He says nothing, just takes a deep breath and heads up to the desk to tell the American Airline employee behind the counter our problem. I'm thinking, so we'll rebook, big deal.

It not that easy though; after much hassling, the next best available flight is apparently one we'll need to wait two hours for; that's the good part. The not so good part... the flight isn't direct, there's a stopover in Miami. From Miami we'll take a prop plane to Key West. The lady at the counter says, "It's a pretty flight from Miami in the prop plane, you can see water most of the way," Oh, goody! And we'll be flying economy class all the way though, so my vision of experiencing first class is out the window too, and we won't get to Key West until 6:34 pm. Not a good start to our trip, to say the least. Yesterday's black cloud is still hanging over us apparently. Willie mutters to the lady, "Swell, we can see water... heh heh, we had first class seat on a direct flight that got us to Key West in time for a late lunch, and now this alternative arrangement cost almost as much, but isn't quite as good, is it? And to hell with seeing water, pardon my French." The airline lady gets a little snippy herself, "Well, if you'd made arrangements to get to the airport on time..." and she lets that drift off as she spreads her hands, like, "Then you'd be on your big deal first class flight, wouldn't you!" Willie simmers as the lady takes forever to do seventy-eight things on the computer before the stack of tickets are ready to hand to Willie. He's given up; mumbles, "Thanks, you've been swell," then drags his stuff to an empty waiting area across the corridor and slumps into a seat, not talking. I'm back to a silly frame of mind, trying to keep from laughing, because it is preposterous! I mean, every friggin' thing we try to do gets screwed-up? Come on, when's the law of averages gonna kick in? Somethings gotta go right, doesn't it?

Well, not yet apparently, because as Willie's looking at the tickets his face is getting redder and redder, and he finally says, "We're not even sitting together! We're both in middle seats about twenty rows apart! You'd think she'd mention that little thing, wouldn't ya?" Then, without waiting for a reply from me, he sputters, "This is ridiculous!" and with renewed vigor he's back over arguing with the lady at the counter again. I bite my knuckle but can't hold back the giggles. I mean, I feel bad for Willie, but this series of unfortunate events is twilight zone material. After fifteen minutes I gotta admire his persistence, but he comes straggling back hanging his head, still holding the tickets for middle seats twenty rows apart. "She says we can sit together on a six o'clock flight that has two layovers and gets to Key West at three in the morning. It's school vacation time!" and when he says "It's school vacation time" he says it in a mocking imitation of the counter lady's voice. I go, "Sorry it's fucked-up, Willie, but come on... we'll be okay. Sometimes things go like this... shitty." He reaches over and squeezes my arm mumbling, "Thank God for you, you're keeping me sane."

Finished reading a discarded Boston Globe sports page, that I'd found on the seat next to me, I begin one of my favorite past times: boy watching. Jesus Christ, there's enough of them at Logan today! School break, indeed! It's like every family in Massachusetts is going away for the break and bringing their kids with them. Lots of little kids, but they hold no interest for me, and lots of teenage girls, and ditto for them as far as I'm concerned, but lots of teen boys too. They meander past my seat trying to pretend they're not with their families, displaying various expressions of blase, or in some cases outright scowling expressions, like wherever they're going is no big deal, even though secretly it is to them. I smile because almost every one of them has carefully chosen the clothes he's wearing and most of them preened in front of a mirror until they got themselves looking just right; and now they're rocking' the cool 'I don't give a fuck look'. A favorite attitude for most younger teenage boys is to appear as pissed-off about something, as possible... haha. Wonder how many of them are secretly gay; certainly very few are openly gay at this age. What the fuck, I'm nineteen and I'm still not what you would call... openly gay. Just partly at college and with my gay friends. Whatever works. With fake enthusiasm, I exclaim, "I'm gonna get us some coffees, Willie. Be right back." He nods, then mutters, "Thanks," adding, "Extra sugar and cream for me," then he goes back to his pouting. Poor Willie, another bad day.

While looking for a Dunkin' Donuts I continue my boy watching. Most boys parading by have something cute about them, but none are really "cute"... certainly not as cute as most of my gay friends and that makes me think to myself, "lucky me!". Lots of oysters on display here at Logan airport, but no pearls, so to speak. I must have ogled two hundred in the past hour and haven't spotted a single pearl, not one that's really cute; rare species are the really cute ones. The thing is, with a lot of teenage boys, when they allow themselves to smile, that's when you see the cute boyishness in them. Of course, that's rare too 'cause they hate to smile unless they're with their buds. Was I ever like that? Not when Chubby and I were together, but maybe at times we we're apart, yeah I was. I wasn't sure of myself on my own, so I was probably looking pissed about something. Not so much anymore, but I am almost twenty now, fer chrissakes.

There's a Dunkin' Donut logo up ahead and as I spot it, twin boys walk right by me. Okay, kinda cute, but they're both smiling which helps a lot. Too young for me of course, but at least they qualify as "cute" with their identical haircuts of short red hair combed down on top and flipped-up in front, like I cut Chubby's recently. Come to think about it, they're identical twins. No wonder they're smiling; identical twins always have their best bud right there with them... nothing closer than identical twins. Chubby and me were like that for years; we're still kinda like that, just older now. Okay, so I saw two legitimately cute teens at last. Seems to me like there are more cute boys in Wildwood than here at Logan. When I'm doing my boy-watching in Wildwood, especially on the boardwalk, I see a lot of them; wonder why I'm not seeing them here? Maybe because the boys are wearing a lot less clothing at the shore... ha ha. On the other hand, here there I don't need to deal with the grifters and geeks that you find in the booths of carnival game on the boardwalk, so it's a more civilized crowd here, just not as interesting. Ah, the Wildwood boardwalk! Leaving Dunkin' Donuts with one of those odd recycled cardboard containers they gives you when you've got multiple things to carry away, I've got two large coffees and a bag with four glaze donuts, making my way back to Willie. It seems to take longer getting back then it did going; maybe that's because I'm not actively boy watching now, just glancing at one or two when there's something special to see... rare, like I said. Then, there's Willie's, still sitting there like a bump on a log. The old Willie by now would have people around him engaged in conversation, especially if the 'people' were young and or gay. This new Willie has a "Don't fuck with me" puss on his cute face, as opposed to his old time open friendly expression.

His current expression is kinda cool though, actually, and I say, "Hey, dude, ya want some candy, can ya come out and play?" His face lights up when he sees me. "Dylan" he says, like he's surprised to see me here. I rub his hair with my free hand, asking, "Ya want a glazed donut, little boy? Come into the restroom with me, I'll show you something surprising..." He forces a chuckle, then says, "No thanks to the donut, or the surprise in the restroom," and then he works his coffee out of the holder, mumbling, "Thanks for the coffee though." We sit there chatting about, what else, our bad luck. Willie keeps focusing on what's happened instead of what's ahead of us, and I finally say, "Enough, Willie! When did you get so negative? We're going to be on a sunny beach tomorrow, so look at the bright side of things!" then quieter, "Sorry, buddy, but it's getting boring..." He grips by arm and looks down as if embarrassed. He may have been trying to blush but no color is showing. He mutters, "You're right, I'm never like this when I'm with you, but it's just our string of bad luck..." I go, "WILLIE!" and he looks down again, mumbling, "There I go with the same old stuff. I'll get it together on the plane." Putting my arm around his shoulders, I give them a squeeze, saying, "It's going to be fun to get away, right? All new sights and sounds and lots of hot gay boys." He nods, makes a funny face, saying, "From your lips to God's ear," and I go, "Well, certainly not everything that escapes my lips should go there," and Willie goes, "Oh jeez, no! Just that last thing, haha," and he appears to loosen up and he does eventually eat both his glazed donuts, so I'm hoping things are looking up.

The plane miraculously is on time, both Willie and I have middle seats between strangers; he takes the closest seat, forward of my aisle by fifteen rows, not twenty like he said. He'll be sitting between an Army guy in uniform, and a grumpy-looking businessman. But first, the long shot: Willie asks politely if either one of the two seated passengers is willing to change seats with me. He finishes with, "So me and my friend can sit together, please." The businessman glances over with a little shake of his head like, "Don't bother me, kid," while the young Army guy, who's really squared away, looking good, asks, "Is it an aisle seat?" I go, "No, it's a middle seat fifteen rows back, unfortunately... I can understand why you wouldn't want it switch." He looks like he'd wants to help us, but apologizes that he can't, mumbling something about he can't switch because he has claustrophobia and needs an aisle seat. I'm looking at Willie, nodding at the two men, like, "At least they're both normal size guys." Willie pats my shoulder, resigned to the middle seat, with an expression on his face like, "Whaddaya gonna do?" and then he squeezes into the middle seat past the Army guy, who apologizes again for not being able to switch seats. Hey, I don't fuckin' blame the guy. Actually, if it were the old Willie I'd be constantly straining my neck from my seat further back to see how long it takes him to talk the Army guy into joining him in the plane's little restroom, but the current Willie, with his apparent lack of confidence, probably won't even start a conversation with him. I'd committed myself, before hand, to take the seat Willie's in if either one of the other two passengers in that row were bizarre in some way; like overweight, or a lady with a baby... something like that, but it looks safe leaving Willie here; it could have been a lot worse.

Continuing back to my row, I find a girl of about twenty years old sitting next to the window in my row. A pretty little thing who smiles at me, and asks, "Would you mind changing places with my brother, he's got the end seat." Sweet! I give her my seventy-watt smile while nodding my head and cheerfully saying, "Sure, happy to oblige." I didn't dare use a higher watt smile for fear it might have her trying to jump my bones. Sitting in the aisle seat, I'm thinking, "Well, okay!!" The girl's smiling at me, amused about something; perhaps my facial expression is giving me away. She keeps looking at me, making me uncomfortable, then she goes, "Well, thanks for sacrificing your middle seat, good-looking." I feel a blush coming on so I do one of my fake coughs, thinking, "Well obviously she has a lot of self control where 'jumping my bones' is concerned..." she hardly had any reaction to my smile, other than a bemused one. Oh well, thank God for that! Ha ha! Anyway, this is working out great. No introductions from her and no small talk about where she's from or anything, which I'm grateful for! I'm thinking, "Good! We got the seating arrangements taken care of... now, if she'll just go back to reading her book, it'll be perfect." And that's exactly what she does.

Okay, that's cool, now the wait for the brother begins. It's too much to hope he'll be gay and hot, I guess. I'll be satisfied if he's just not a sumo wrestler or fat boy in the circus. Lots of passengers still taking their seat, and then I spot a boy heading my way; one who appears to be about my age and who slightly resembles the girl next to the window: the brother? Surely it must be, and what good fortune to travel with a slim teen sitting next to me, sharing an armrest with me no less... awesome! Sure enough, he stops at my seat, smiles and nods his head at the middle seat, saying, "Thanks for switching seats, dude, my sister hates flying and needs to hold my hand at take offs and landings... dont'cha, sis?" She gives me a tight smile, saying, "He's right... I hate flying, I'm a big baby," then she reaches her hand over for me to shake, saying, "Hi, I'm Carol," and gesturing to the boy, "This is my younger brother, and protector, Sandy." I formally introduce myself as Dylan Newman, then I stupidly add, "I'm from Framingham," as if they'd care about that. Standing, so Sandy can get by me. Before sitting down, he leans over to whisper something to his sister, and I hear her say, "I already took the medication, I'll be conked-out in a half hour." He pats her arm, saying, "Ah ha, a Key West reference! Good one..." When he's buckled in his seat, Sandy asks me, "Ya been to Key West before, Dylan Newman?" I shake my head 'no', saying, "First time, I'm going with a friend who's in row eighteen." He goes, "Ah, it's a shame you can't sit together," and I do a noncommittal shrug, mumbling, "The people on either side of him wouldn't switch with us." He leans towards me, saying, "It's school vacation week for the entire friggin' state, you should have gotten reservations way ahead of time... we should have too," and he does a self deprecating chuckle, then adds, "Okay, it's your first time in Key West; here's a warning: do not order anything to eat that starts, or contains the word, 'conk'. Conk is spelled, 'conch' but pronounced 'conk' by everyone, for some reason. It's a marine snail that the Caribbean is known for, and that includes Key West; and even though conk taste foul, you'll see some form of it on almost every menu in town." Never having heard of a 'conk' or 'conch' before, I mutter, "Oh, um, thanks," thinking, "Eat a snail, ewww!" Sandy nods his head, smiling; then cheerfully says, "Words to the wise, dude." I grin stupidly at him, feeling like a little kid on his first plane ride. Sandy turns his attention to his sister. Man, he's hot!

Carol's put her book away now as Sandy's whispering soothing words to her, telling her to close her eyes and breathe deeply and slowly. She's holding his hand with both of hers in a sort of death grip. This goes on for ten or fifteen minutes with me glancing over every now and then, thinking, "What the fuck...?" Then the plane is taxiing to the run way and Carol starts a low humming, still holding Sandy's hand so tightly it's white. The pilot comes over the address system to say a few words of welcome, then announces, "Folks, we're next in line for takeoff, enjoy the flight." I'm openly staring at Carol now; she's white as a sheet with her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her entire body trembling... it's something to see alright. She lifts up against her seat belt as the plane rumbles down the runway picking up speed until you wonder if we're going all the way to Key West on the ground, and then we're in the air heading up with Carol gasping and moaning with fear. Jesus, I've never seen anything like it, although I have heard of people who are deathly afraid of flying. Curious! When the plane eventually levels out, Carol keeps her eyes loosely closed; sweating and apparently exhausted. She says in a shaky voice, "I'm okay now, Sandy... thanks brother... oh, God that was awful!" Sandy rubs her narrow shoulders still talking quietly to her; so quietly I can't hear him, but I hear her say, "Yes, I know. I'm going to let the pills do their work now, and try to get some sleep... that was scary though." Sandy keeps an eye on her until she seems calm, then he sits back in his seat taking a few long quiet deep breaths himself before turning to me and, with a nod of his head toward his sister, mumbles, "She'll be okay now until the landing," as if he's worried I'm concerned about more dramatics during the flight. I go, "Um, no... ah, I'm glad she's okay; no problem." He smiles his killer smile and then pats me on the shoulder, like he did with his sister, and that strange feeling of being a little kid comes over me again for a few seconds. Why do I get like this? Damn!

It's soon becomes obvious that Sandy's a very chatty fellow, which I don't mind at all because I'm pretty sure he's a member of my species... I'm betting he's gay, and I'm not sure why I think that, but I do. He tells me his family has lived in Key West for only six months now; that he and his sister have been visiting their grandparents in Melrose, Massachusetts, and are now heading home. He lives in Key west, but has an apartment too because he attends Full Sail University in Winter Park, Florida, studying computer game planning, programming, and design, which surprisingly entails a lot of physics, according to him. Sandy's a whiz at physics apparently; he tells me that the smartest kids going to Full Sail are in the program he's in, and then more self deprecating humor, when he adds, "How the hell I got in the program, I can't imagine... haha!" I go, "Huh," and like conch or conk, I never heard of Full Sail University either, but it's apparently one of the premier art, music, and film schools in the world, if I can believe Sandy. He has long sandy hair that is neither blond or brown; so he's well named. He's pretty in a bland way, with brown eyes that are touched with amber, behind old-fashioned round hippy glasses. Beneath everything is an intelligence like a cold, sharp knife, but extremely friendly and outgoing at the same time. The kind of kid I like and kind of admire immediately, and it's fun listening and looking at him. Ten minutes later Carol's fallen asleep, if her steady breathing is anything to go by. Whatever medication she mentioned to Sandy must have worked. With Carol safely asleep, Sandy gives his undivided attention to me telling me about campus life at Full Sail; it's as if that drama with Carol never happened; probably because he's so used to dealing with her fear of flying. Anyway, as he describes Full Sail University it's obvious to me it's quite a unique school, unlike any I've heard of. There's a very different campus life there, different than the one at Merrimack anyway. Some of the Full Sail classes that Sandy's in go on until one o'clock in the morning; something about sharing the top-of-the-line technical equipment they use. He mentions what it is, but I never heard of any of it either. The main things we have in common, so far, is that we both go to college, me a freshman and Sandy a junior, and we both live in an apartment, not a dormitory; him because there are no dormitories at Full sail. I tell him a little about my apartment at Merrimack and notice he has this way about him of making everything I say seem interesting to him.

Later a male flight attendant comes by asking what we want to drink; I order a Coke, and Sandy, ready with his ID, orders a bloody Mary. I guess he isn't a teen after all... he looks young enough to be one though. The attendant glances at Sandy's drivers license, then drops little bags of tiny pretzels on our tray and hands me my can of Coke and Sandy a small can of bloody Mary mix, a plastic cup of ice, and a tiny bottle of vodka. Sandy gives him a credit card, then pours the little bottle of vodka into the cup and adds the mix, then stirs it with his finger. Sucking that finger, he says, "I turned twenty-one two months ago and feel it's my obligation to have an adult beverage whenever they're available... you know, to prove to everyone that I can... haha. Stupid, I know... I'd rather have your Coke, but I will tell you that some alcoholic drinks are actually good. Like strawberry daiquiris, for example... you should try one of those sometimes." I'm sort of spellbound by him and just stare at his pretty eyes, as he adds, "And cape codders are good too. They're made with vodka and cranberry juice... maybe something else too. I had a lot of them yesterday and I'm a little hung-over, therefore the bloody Mary." I go, "Huh." Carol sleeps on as we drink our drinks and eat our itsy-bitsy little pretzels.

After a minute or so... me not being able to think of anything to say, Sandy tells me, "Don't freak out on me when I tell ya this, Dylan, but I'm gay; and I was, um, wondering about you." I'm startled at that to say the least! I mean, Sandy's the first person who's ever questioned me like that; everyone assumes I'm straight, or almost everyone. But fuck it, I go, "Why, yes... I'm gay too," but it unfortunately comes out in a gasping way, like I'm out of breath. I manage to ask, "How'd you know?" He tells me, "Oh, it's nothing you've said, it's your eyes, the way you look at me, that's all... no big deal, really." Then he smiles and holds his fist out for me to bump with my fist. He says, "Lucky, ain't we?" I chuckle, not sure what he means by that, so I don't know what to say. But, both of us being gay opens up new topics of conversation and he asks if I have a boyfriend. I tell him a little about Robby and some about my traveling companion, Willie, who I describe as my first love, who I'm no longer in love with. I explain we're on a little 'buddy' trip together celebrating his graduation from prep school, to which Sandy raises his eyebrows, mumbling, "This Robby kid, your boyfriend, he must be exceptionally confident of your love for him." I shrug modestly, saying, "Oh yeah, we're good." Sandy tells me about his boyfriend in Key west and how they're drifting apart because Sandy's away at school most of the time. Full Sail is a twelve month university, they don't have summers off, but the good thing is you can get your bachelor degree in between two and three years, instead of four. I'm like, "Cool," although I'm thinking, "That sucks!"

Later, I'm telling Sandy about Chubby and how he and I grew up together, and how we're like the tightest friends in the universe, although Chubby's not gay like me. Sandy listens, then says, "Damn, that's so much like Jersey boy and me, although we both turned-out to be gay... haha. But it's a similar experience to yours, for a few years anyway. Jersey boy and me go back as far as you can go. We were born on the same block in Camden, New Jersey... I was one month older. Birthdays June first and July first. His mother and mine were friends back then, so I guess I first laid eyes on Jersey boy, that's his nickname, when I was five or six weeks old. We totally grew up together." I interrupt to say, "Eerily similar to Chubby and me." He says, "Yeah, for a while, but somewhere along the way, sixth or seventh grade, Jersey boy got interested in math and science and ham radio, in that geeky way some boys do; and I got interested in boys. It's funny too because later in high school I became the acknowledged brainiac in physics, but that was a few years later. Anyway, after the sixth or seventh grade we didn't talk much; still friends though. And, as I said, Jersey boy eventually became interested in boys too, but he was mostly interested in me. We'd talk when I saw him around the block, but not in school... we just didn't; it was some kind of mutual silence pact between us when in school, which is weird now to think of it, but back then... oh, I don't know." He stops and drinks his bloody Mary, like he's composing himself. Sandy's has a kind of a sadness about him all of a sudden, and it's like he doesn't want to say more, but he's going to anyway. I wait for him to go on and when the silence becomes noticeable, he grins self consciously, jesters with his hands, and says, "Back then I became fixated on this uber cute kid in my homeroom, and Jersey boy just wasn't cute in my eyes. I guess I loved him though, just not in the way he wanted. It's sorta your tale twisted around a little." I go, "What happened?" Sandy definitely has kind of a dreamy/sad look to his eyes now as he almost reluctantly says, "Oh hell, Jersey boy got to be...um, I don't know, socially handicapped or something. Walked around with a slide rule in his his belt, his table manners were for shit, he acted weird around other kids... stuff like that. He was sorta ineffectual, nonphysical... a bit feminine I guess. Always really nice to me though; he couldn't have been nicer to me... almost to an awkward degree. Eager... too eager! A dork, a nerd... you know? The kind that gets shredded in high school and I felt really bad for him, really bad, but didn't think I could change him, although I had talks with him and all that." Sandy's shaking his head, remembering... and maybe wishing he'd done more. Frankly, Jersey boy sounds kinda sweet to me.

After another minute, with me getting a bad feeling about this, Sandy looks at me and earnestly says, as if I doubted him, "But we were still friends, we really were! And whenever I needed some help with something, my car breaking down, or I needed to borrow some money, or anything, Jersey boy was right there; he couldn't do enough for me. I'd call him up and he'd drop everything and be there for me. He was always there for me, convenient like. I wish... " and he stops again to gulp down most of the rest of his bloody Mary. Then, thinking about things for a minute, biting his bottom lip, he goes on, "He had this great open smile, completely beautiful really... but, um, he was still geeky, although totally honest and friendly; like when I needed someone to help me over a broken relationship or something, no problem... call Jersey boy. He'd hear my tale of woe and get angry, start yelling at me that I was being taken advantage of, and then he'd start crying, or I expected he would..." Sandy's lips tremble, his hand goes to his mouth, as he looks over past his sister to the nothingness outside the airplane's little window, and is silent for a little while. For reasons unknown, I have tears in my own eyes thinking this isn't going to end well, but wondering what happens next anyway. Sandy wipes at his eyes, mumbling, "Sorry, it's just that..." and he looks away again, but this time he quickly looks right back at me, saying, in a clear voice, "Then one day he killed himself, and I haven't been the same since... I can't forgive myself. I could have, should have, done something... I don't know what, but something more... given him more of myself." Tears roll down my face as I mumble, "I'm so sorry, Sandy... really sorry." He nods his head, then asks, "Can ya let me out, I need to hit the can." I unbuckle my seat belt, then stand-up so he can get by.

When he returns and is buckled in his seat again, he's back to acting more like his original cool self, muttering, "Sorry about that, Dylan! It all happened right after we moved to Key West. I was between classes at Full Sail and my cell phone beeps and I see from the caller ID that it's Jersey boy, but I was in a good mood with friends at the time and I didn't want to hear Jersey boy's complaining about, whatever, so I didn't take the call, so he left a message." Sandy stops, getting emotional again, and again the tears flow from his eyes again; so much for him getting back to his original cool self. Crying openly now, with me holding on to his forearm, he blubbers, "I heard the message later, back in my apartment. Jersey boy just wanted to say goodbye. It was very matter of fact. 'Sorry I missed you, Sandy, I hate this world, but I love you so I want to say goodbye to just you. Hope to see you later... um, somewhere.' And then he hung himself from his closet door with a necktie... the only one he owned." He leaned into me and we hugged awkwardly, with me mumbling, "That's, that's... um, the saddest thing I've ever heard." He cried and so did I; crying for me is contagious. After a minute, that seemed much longer, Sandy sit up straight, muttering, "I'm so sorry to lay this on you, dude... you're the first person I've ever told that to. Jesus, the things you confess to strangers, huh?" I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. Sandy dries his eyes, muttering, "Okay, this might be the most embarrassing thing I've ever done, but Dylan, I needed to say all that to someone, and you seem so nice so I laid it on you, man. Sorry...." He sounds a little pathetic at the moment, and now I'm not feeling like a little boy anymore. He needed to say all that out loud to someone and I'm glad he choose me, it makes me feel helpful and good. But, poor Jersey boy... and how many teens bully other teens who are a little different from the rest of the group. How cruel life can be... so beautiful too, but there's always the bad just waiting to hurt you. That poor lonely Jersey boy.

We both collect ourselves, then Sandy swallows hard shaking his head like he still can't believe he went into all that with me; with anyone maybe. He looks over, asking, "Am I the biggest dork you ever meant? I mean, for telling you all that..." I try bringing down the drama level a little by pretending to consider that question, then say, "Hmmm, maybe not, I once knew a kid who peed his pants in high school, regularly. He may be a bigger dork than you... just saying." Sandy smirks, and says, "I almost peed myself telling you about Jersey boy," then in a serious vein, he says, "I had to get that out, it's been killing me and I'll never get over it; I know that, but at least I finally told someone and maybe I'll be able to talk to Jersey Boy's parents some day too... even his sister, although they probably all hate me. Jersey boy and me, Jesus..." and he chokes-up again! I need a break myself by now, so I excuse myself and make my way up the center aisle to pee out some Coke and say 'hi' to Willie on the way, but he's sleeping... good for him. After my pee I take my time washing my hands and face... killing some time, trying to take it all in. Then, when I get back to my seat Carol's awake and Sandy's talking with her. It's funny, they seem uber close for brother and sister, yet Sandy never told her his intimate feelings about his relationship with Jersey boy. I can hear them recalling something about their trip to wherever he said their grandparents live; so Sandy appears to have himself together again; or at least he's putting up a good front for her. Their conversation goes on for awhile as I sit back in my seat thinking about Jersey boy and Sandy, and how that situation is so moving to me in any number of ways. The general topic of teenagers who can't really cope with dire situations, like the ones Jersey boy faced, is frightening, and how awful some teenagers are to the weaker teens... it's just horrible!

About two hours into the trip, Carol dozes off again and Sandy turns his attention back to me, but now our conversation is very general, more a conversation you'd expect of strangers sitting next to each other on an airplane... even gay strangers. Mostly we talk about the music groups we like, and my love of sports, which Sandy isn't particularly a fan of; except, as he said, "But when it's playoff time for major sports, I can get into that. There's too much time commitment to be an every day fan though." He's very easy to talk with once I got over my initial awe of him, and before I know it the pilot's announcing our approach to the Miami International airport. Sandy puts his finger to his lips, going, "Shhhh," nodding at his sister, who's sleeping again. Obviously he hopes we land before she wakes up. And that's what happens. Soon we're standing, getting our luggage from the overhead bins and there's lots of movement in the tight quarters in the aisle. Sandy's sister is groggy and complaining about the pills she took, with Sandy going, "Uh huh," as he gets her carry-on luggage for her. He says to me, "We didn't check anything, did you?" and I go, "No, but my friend did, although it should be transferred to our next flight." Sandy holds out his hand, saying, "Well, I hope to see you in Key West one of these days; we'll be in Miami for two days, then we'll head home. You're my instant best friend," and we hug in the aisle bumping into passengers trying to get their stuff out of the overhead compartments. Letting go of each other, Sandy says, "Hey, you gotta be at one of the art festivals at sunset. Beautiful sunsets at the Mallory Square dock... ya gotta see it one of these nights. Hell, they have it every night, you should make them all, I'll be looking for you. So awesome meeting you, Dylan, and um, thanks for listening, man!" I say, "No problem, thanks for sharing, and, ya know, you couldn't have changed anything, Sandy... you know that don't ya?" He's biting his lip again, doing little shakes of his head, muttering, "I shoulda done something... I mean, he's the Jersey boy, fer chrissakes. If I couldn't do something for him, then who..?" I pat his arm as people in the front of the plane begin deplaning. "You're awesome, Dylan," is his last word on the matter. I say, "It's been great meeting you too, Sandy. I'll look for you at that sunset place," and Carol mumbles, "Yes, nice meeting you, Donny," and pats my back as I mutter, "It's, Dylan," but she's still a little out of it from the medication. She holds onto Sandy's arm going up the aisle in front of me. Outside the plane Sandy looks back and smiles; I wave as he and his sister go up the tunnel, and then I look for Willie.

Willie's waiting for me halfway up the tunnel, saying, "I slept half the time, Dylan. It wasn't a bad plane ride. You were right, things are looking up." Jeez, I'm happy to hear that from him. We make our way to the tram that takes us to the main airport where we look for something to eat. Our layover is an hour and twenty minutes. Things go smoothly though and the time drifts by easily with Willie getting excited about Key West now. Looking out the huge windows of the Miami airport we see sunshine and palm trees and people scurrying around in shorts... nice change from the sometimes cold springs of Massachusetts. The prop plane leaves on time and a nice lady switches seat with me so Willie and I get to sit together for the hour plane ride into Key West. The plane ride is kind of rough though and clouds prevent us from looking at the ocean most of the way there, but we arrive safely and make our way through the smallish Key West International airport to the luggage carrousel and await the suitcase Willie's checked at logan. I've got my fingers crossed that it appears, and miraculously it does. Our luck's changed! We pull our luggage to the car rental booths and then things turn bad again. I'm standing next to Willie as he hands the guy at the booth the confirmation papers for a rental car; the paperwork Mr. Windell arranged through the hotel. The guy at the rental counter just shakes his head as he looks at it; looking at it like it's a dog turd. Then he sarcastically asks, as he drops the papers on the counter, "Christ, are you even old enough to drive, son?" Then looking at me, he adds, "Either of you?" Willie and I exchange glances, like, "What planet's is this idiot from?" The guy, realizing we're not going to dignify that question with a reply, adds, "Anyway, we don't rent cars to anyone, and I mean anyone, who's not at least twenty-five years old." Willie sputters, "What are you talking about... this confirmation I have right here says differently," and the argument begins as I drift away.

For one thing, it doesn't help that Mr. Plum, the man behind the counter, his ID tag indicating that's his name, is man with a very bad attitude. Another very disconcerting thing is Mr. Plum's face. His face looks as if it had been slowly and incompletely formed with a ball peen hammer. There's rough pour-less skin under his eyes, scar tissue perhaps from being punched quite a few times, which is understandable considering his rude behavior. He has small round ears that seemed to be fitted into slots in his head, and his teeth, when he smiles his smug obsequious smile, are small and chipped. I'm pretty sure it is not an advantageous having an appearance like his, for a man dealing with the public, especially... it's altogether quite disturbing! Willie's still arguing as I notice a pile of forms next to a sign, asking, "HOW WE DOING?" and it's for the rental car company. Hmmm? Ballsy of them, so I wander back and take a form asking Mr. Plum, "May I borrow a pen, please?" Willie and Mr. Plum stop arguing and look at me, Willie red-faced and Mr. Plum smugly looking like he's having a good time. He looks at the form in my hand, and says, "Sure," handing me a pen. I go, "Thanks," and write on the form, "Just a suggestion, but you may want to consider sensitivity training for Mr. Plum. He's, um... obnoxious, and scary looking too. Wonder where 'DOLLAR RENT A CAR' is located." Handing the pen back to Mr. Plum, I slip the form through the slot, with quite a few others, and say to Willie, "Could I have a word with you, Willie," and nod my head indicating, 'Over there'.

Willie, who's breathing hard, a vein pulsing in his damp forehead, looks puzzled, but follows me over a few steps. I get close to him, and say, "You and me, buddy, are going to grab our luggage and go outside right now, to get a cab. If you go back to arguing with that strange person, I'll buy myself a ticket back to Boston and that will be the end of this trip for me." He's stunned, I pat his cheek, saying, "I love ya, but you're driving me nuts. We'll argue with the hotel manager about the rental car when we get there. Okay?" I'm calm, not pissed, and Willie goes, "Ah, but..." and I say, "Get your fucking luggage, don't even look back at Mr. Plum. Come on now, dude..." and he grabs his luggage mumbling, "A cab's a good idea at this point," and with me watching him, Willie doesn't look back even when Mr. Plum shouts out, "Have a nice day, kids!" What a enormous asshole! But we're on our way with Willie now chuckling, saying, "You wouldn't really do that, would you?" I go, "No way..." and he chuckles some more. I'm feeling good about myself until we go through the sliding doors and discover that it's raining like I've never seen rain before. Each rain drop is as big as a gumdrop. We both exclaim, at the same time, "FUCKKKK!" The line for taxis isn't too bad though, and we're out of the rain under an overhang waiting our turn as we watch the Key West rain pour down, we're fascinated by the volume. In about ten minutes we're in a cab, getting soaked during the fifteen seconds it takes us to accomplish that. Willie's amazingly okay with it, maintaining his chuckle, mumbling to no one in particular, "Maybe Key West wasn't such a good idea." Then he gives our destination to the driver, "Casa Marina Resort," to which the cab driver says something in what he probably thinks is English... Willie and I exchange shrugs, and off we go. The rain is coming down in sheets so the traffic's crawling down the streets, but we get to the Casa Marina safely. Willie pays and a doorman comes over with a cart for our luggage and a huge umbrella to keep the rain off of us. We're already soaked from getting from the curb to the cab at the airport, but we huddle under the umbrella anyway. The night is dark and muggy, quite a contrast to what we expected. "This will pass by in a few hours," says the doorman, meaning the rain.

Inside it's air conditioned-cool, and ritzy looking. Nice! Willie's nodding his head, maybe congratulating himself on choosing this resort, but that soon fades as the very cordial and apologetic woman at the desk explains that since Willie hadn't specified "late arrival", and it's now close to eight o'clock at night, they gave our room away to another party. Willie's stunned, it's been one hit after another, so I take charge asking the lady, "What do you suggest?" The lady holds up a finger, saying, "I'll call our sister hotel, 'Reach Beach Resort', see what they can do for us. Then in a confidential aside, "Between you and me, I think it's nicer than the Casa anyway, it was renovated just two years ago. You won't be disappointed." Willie's looking eager, optimistic for once, and not shouting. And it pays off; the nice lady hangs up the phone beaming, "They have a very nice room on the forth floor, it's a suite like you reserved here... a late cancellation. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience though." Then she waves at a porter, and says, "Edwardo, please take these gentleman and their luggage to the Reach using the van under the portico so you all don't drown," and to Willlie and me, "Have a wonderful stay." then to me, "I've transferred your deposit to credit the Reach Resort, Mr. Worthington." I go, "Why, thank you so much, you've been a wonderful help." Big smile from her, and I get a rye tongue-in-cheek one from Willie. I say to Willie, "Shall we go, Dylan?" and he says, "Why certainly, Mr. Worthington," and off we go.

At our new hotel I give Edwardo a five dollar bill as a tip, probably not enough, but what do I know. He seems happy enough with it though, and smilingly brings our bags into the lobby for us. The lobby of the Reach Beach Resort isn't as elegant as The Casa Marina's lobby, although it's pretty damn nice; and then, when we get to our suite, Willie and I break out with big smiles of approval... classy suite, and large too. I'm drawn to the front of the living room, which opens to a wide balcony running the width of the room. It overlooks the Atlantic ocean, which is only two hundred yards away... the waves incessantly pounding the sand in they're never-ending cycle. Tonight the waves are quite large, crashing onto the beach only to have the undertow take back the water that had just recently been a wave. Before the ocean, directly below our balcony, is a large, sand-colored ceramic deck with two shuffleboard games inlaid in smaller, colored-tiles. The two games are side by side, and next to each is a rack, neatly containing the game's long-handled paddles and the colored pucks that are used in shuffleboard. Then, a little further over, also inlaid in the ceramic deck, is a huge chest board with the chest pieces, all about thirty inches tall, correctly situated for the next game of chest. Awesome! A little further down are comfortable looking teak deck chairs neatly arranged around a large swimming pool, and a beautiful one it is, although just visible through the downpour. We couldn't have seen it or the ocean if it weren't so well lighted. In between the swimming pool area and the ocean is a small beach, about a hundred yards deep.

I'm gawking at the view as Willie tips the porter. "C'mere, Willie, look at this sweet set-up." He comes over and puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Yeah, it'll be even more awesome once the rain stops. Hey, didn't I tell you everything would be fine if we just persevered through a few unfortunate screw-ups?" I go, "Hmmm, seems I did hear that somewhere, was that from you?" He laughs, going, "Of course it wasn't me; you're the one with the positive outlook on life, I'm Mr. Negative... at least I've been that way lately." I ask, "Why is that, Willie?" and he mutters, "Oh, a lot of things; I can't go to college where I want to for one thing, but lets look forward, like you're always saying." That sounds good to me, then Willie mutters, "I better call for dinner reservations... see what's available." While he does that I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and find they're still dry enough, so I step out on the balcony under the roof that covers the first half of it, and light a smoke watching the rain; unbelievable amount of rain. Someone at the desk downstairs said it's the end of a hurricane; one that just missed Key west. Willie joins me, saying, "Guess we need to smoke outside, it's a no smoking suite," as he's lighting his cigarette with a cool looking lighter. I go, "Duh, is there any other kind of hotel room other than non-smoking?", and he says, "Guess not... oh, the first dinner reservation we can get is at nine-fifteen, so we have almost an hour to kill." I exhale smoke watching the wind grab it, and disperse it almost instantly; certainly not the kind of weather I ever expected in Key West. Willie nudges my ass, asking, "Wanna get naked and mess around a little?" Well I'm usually up for that, but today's been a bit of a struggle, and a long one too, so.... but Willie's in a much better mood now and I don't want to put a wet blanket on that, as the rain blows in towards us. Forcing enthusiasm, I say, "You betcha, Willie!". He hugs my neck to pull my head next to his, saying right against my ear, "My turn to be the top!" I like the sound of that for two reasons: one, I like being a bottom, and two, because it looks like Willie's already committed to the concept of taking turns; quite a different Willie I'm dealing with here.

We take last drags on our cigarettes, then snub them out in an elaborate three foot high marble vase that's been filled with sand for this exact purpose, and then we go inside, quickly pulling off our wet tops. "First a fast, hot shower, whaddaya say, Dylan?" I'm all for that, so we go through the living room into the bedroom, which is located so that when we're laying in bed we can still look out at the ocean rolling in towards us... and then we both eagerly check out the bathroom. Hotel bathrooms are always important and ordinarily I'd say, "Wow!" about this one except I've recently been in Willie's bathroom, and his is even more elaborate than this, but not by much. As expected the resort supplied us with top-of-the-line soaps, shampoos, body lotions, mouthwash and much more; plus the plush towels and washcloths. How come you can't buy these kind of towels in department stores? We pass the mouthwash bottle back and forth, gargling for sparkling clean breath, then strip off the rest of our clothes. Naked now, Willie turns on the water to get it the right temperature; then, standing there naked side by side, Willie adjust a few knobs that gets water pouring out three different shower heads. Smiling at me, he takes my hand and leads me through the opened glass door into a shower that's probably six foot square; plenty of room. We're instantly soaked, but this time it's not rain water and is so much warmer, and therefore much more pleasant

Willie hugs me to him under the water and we start gently kissing; quickly forgetting the bizarre mishaps of the last two days. Willie's a wonderful kisser and his hands never stop caressing my body, creating a wonderful world of pleasure. The hot water rinses away the rain and makes our bodies slick so our hands slide over each other, finally settling on four handfuls of buttocks from which we pull ourselves tightly together. Our cocks quickly stiffen up 'cause Willie and I are equally into the feel of a boy's body, and the impending boy on boy sex sends pleasant vibrations to the head of my dick. I'm soon gasping for breath, so I move my face to the side and lean on his shoulder... he kisses my neck, then begins building one of his hickeys, and as incongruous as it sounds, this makes me think, not of all the times Willie done this same thing, Willie started the hickey thing, but I think of Robby doing it to me. Robby started doing it to show me he could do better hickeys than Willie... Robby likes to be the best at everything. Thinking of Robby gets me momentarily homesick for him, but as Willie and me rub our boners against each other's bellies the excitement of the moment wins my mind back to the present and I murmur Willie's name, which encourages him to lick and suck more at the growing, now stinging, bump on my neck. Soon satisfied with the hickey, Willie takes my chin in his hand and gently pulls my face to his; this time to suck my tongue into his mouth. It scrapes against his bottom teeth making my dick vibrate even more... oh, the sexiness of it all. Soon I feel my balls churning spunk once again. My hips begin doing little humps against Willie's crotch; we're both probably dripping precum but it's impossible to tell in all this water. The lips at my pee slit feel like they're moving, and I pull my head away, again murmuring, "Willie," and this time I add, "Fuck me." He kisses my lips with a long luscious kiss, then sucks on my top lip before slowly turning me around with a hand on each of my shoulders. He's out of breath, saying, "Lean over, Dylan." I lean forward, my arms outstretched with the palms against the wet granite wall, and I feel his hard wet cock head at my bum hole. Gripping my hips with both hands Willie makes a grunting sound and pops the head of his cock inside me, burning my anus like always when there's no slippery lubricant involved. The water helps and the noise of the shower drowns out my quiet, "Ow..." Willie's normal initial little sounds of pleasure are also lost to the sound of the shower, but then I hear a louder grunt of pleasure from him, as a big thrust from his hips pushes his long cock up my ass a good five inches. After I make another low "Owww," complaint, Willie steadily forces the rest of his boner way up my rectum, pulling me back to him as he does it. Then I do hear Willie let out a clear, "Oooohhh!" above the noise of the shower as he's steadily withdrawing his boner, and then another, louder "Ahhh, oooh fuck," as he immediately pushes it back up my ass. He leaves it there then, and slowly leans his body over my back forcing his cock head a tiny bit further into me. Another, "Ooooh," from Willie as now I too begin experiencing the pleasure sensations, my rectum muscles quickly adjusting for this long extraterrestrial intrusion. I love it so!

Then it starts feeling awesomely good and I tighten my sphincter pulling forward; I do it to feel his cock move inside me. Willie accommodates by withdrawing and then pushing back in four quick times; he's got me now and he knows it. His cocks sliding in and out smoothly and I push my ass at him as he starts fucking me steadily, and it's the most wonderful feeling one can ever hope to feel. Each fuck I experience is like a new exciting trip into a world of sexual pleasure, they're all different, even while being primarily the same. I need to stroke my own boner now. It's sticking straight out from my shaved groin again, throbbing, as I wrap my fist around it and double my pleasure. That's the great aspect of bottoming, ecstasy in my ass and cock at the same time! As I stroke my hard cock, Willie fucks my ass with his extra long tool, and my balls are growing hard with their load of cream. With water cascading down on us, I'm making my typical little noises of pleasure, "Eee, ahh, ahhh, oh, oh... yes Willie, faster, harder!" From here on out I let myself go limp as Willie pounds his long cock up my ass jerking my body roughly, his hands gripping my hips. I'm getting that indescribably fantastic, yet almost painful piercing feeling on either side of my cock, on the inside of my thighs. After a luscious five or six minutes of this I feel my nuts getting ready to unload, but before they do Willie makes a desperate final hump up my ass, lets go of my hips to cups my shoulders, riding me almost and, with his head close to mine, he grunts, "Uhh, uhh oooooh," and I feel the hard stream of his teen boy sperm fly from the head of his cock to hit against the inside my bowels, feeling almost like it's a thin solid object. The sharp stream of cum splatter against my insides and is followed immediately by spurts of additional creamy, slippery cum. That's it, I'm there now, it's lift off time as I tighten every muscle in my pelvic area and shoot a strong, impressive strand of cum that splits through the water to splatter against the wall that I'm once again leaning on. I'm stroking myself like mad now, getting three or four more spurts to fly from my pulsating boner. It's feeling so wonderful I squeeze my eyes closed and grit my teeth loving the sensations that explode all over me. Each shot of spunk shoots out about a foot into the downpour of water, then drop to the shower floor mixing with the water to swirl around before disappearing into the drain at my feet... cum, I hardly knew ya.

Willie's feet are off the floor now as he rides my back, his cock still impaling me... he's yelling that he loves fucking me. I'm trying to keep from toppling both of us over as I stagger around the shower until he slides off my back and his cock pulls free of me with both of us going, "Oh, oh, oh," then we both say at once, "Awesome!" and I straighten up to hug with Willie... a few urgent kisses, and then he's saying, "I almost passed the fuck out when I climaxed! That was a really, really good one, baby!" Then, with water still pouring down on us from the shower heads, he puts his lips to my ear, and whispers, "Don't get mad at me, but I love you more than ever..." a kiss on my cheek then, and he turns me around with a hand on each shoulder, and slides his hard boner back up my ass to fuck me for two more minutes. Sparklers go off behind my eyeballs and a buzzing all around my groin, but I don't come close to a second orgasm this time; it's too short of a fuck. Willie pulls out of my ass again, blowing his cheeks out and letting the air escape from his lips slowly. Then, "Oh, my God, Dylan... no one turns me on like you. Taking another few deep breaths while stroking his cock, Willie goes, "Well, now for the shower part of the evening. I'm grinning at how much pleasure we can generate together with our sex. Willie grabs a washcloth, saying, "I'll soap you up first," as I think about his proclamation, the "I love you more than ever". I let it go for now, to be addressed at another time. I'm determined to convince him during this trip that, while I really like doing buddy sex with him, I'm so in love with Robby, it's sick! It's forever too, and that's never going to change! I'll be sure he knows that, but why ruin this nice experience we're having tonight, particularly since he seems to be out of the earlier funk he was in... and surely he noticed my lack of a similar sentiment back to him just now; so that's a start. I do love him, but as a really good friend, and ex-first-lover. After all, we got five more nights of this; or is it four... well, four at least, so why make waves now... let's have fun and let the serious stuff wait for later in the week.

We take turns soaping each other's body and then shampooing each other's short hair. To rinse, we direct the two handheld shower heads at one another rinsing the suds off. Then those great fluffy, thick towels are used to dry each other. Right outside the bathroom is a dressing area with a vanity table and mirror. Willie has me sit there so he can brush my fucked-up flattop, trying to get it standing up like it should. It's a little too short at the back part of my head, and slightly too long from my forehead halfway back. "That lady barber sucks!" Willie yells. He does a good job with the brush though, getting my hair to look like a slightly long flattop when looking at it head-on, but looking from the side it looks like half a flattop and half a buzz cut. I'm sitting here looking in the mirror with Willie standing behind me bending over, messin' with my hair. He looks up and our eyes meet, he smiles and says, "You have the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. Has anyone ever told you that before?" I go, "Heh heh, yeah, my mom," as I'm thinking of her blue eyes, which are nothing like mine. I add, "She says my light coloring, my hair, and and my eyes are exactly like her mom's. Grandmother died early in life and I never met her, but that's where my eyes and stuff are from. Mom says my eyes skipped a generation, heh heh, and same for my complexion and hair color." Willie brushes up the front of my hair again, muttering, "Yeah, you got beautiful hair too..."

Then we change places so I can brush his hair, not because he needs it brushed; his flattop is cut very well and pretty much sticks up straight like it should, but because he likes me doing stuff with him. I say, "Ya know, this hair brushing thing we're doing for each other... it's, um, wicked girlie! Not manly at all." He says, "Baloney! How 'bout men hair stylist doing it for other men." I counter with, "That's their friggin' job! No guy would say to his brother-in-law, for example, "Sit here and I'll brush your hair for you." Willie says, "They might if they're gay; we're gay in case you don't know!" Giving-up, I go ahead with brushing his flattop, both of us naked. It's not that I mind this hair brushing though, I also like touching and being touched, if the right person is doing the touching. As I'm doing it for Willie, I'm thinking how it's different making love with Robby, especially afterwards. Robby and me are madly in love and after sex all we want to do is cuddle and talk about how much we love each other. That's awesome, that's the best by a million miles, but with buddy sex you get a lot of the fantastic sexual stimulation you'd get from sex with your lover, and then you can go on to argue about brushing hair if you want. There's little obligation when the heat of sexual relations abates... talk about your car if you want to, or say, "See ya later," and take off... whatever. The cuddling and talking about how much you love someone is the fun part about being in love. You always want to be skin to skin, talking into your lovers face with his nose rubbing against yours as you talk, and then make out for a while or spend ten minutes licking his ear lobe. Ooooh, I love being in love, but some hot buddy sex with a friend isn't all that bad as a temporary substitute.

When satisfied both our flattops are as good as they're going to get, Willie says, "This was so awesome, Dylan... one of the best showers I've ever had, how 'bout you?" He's looking for me to reciprocate his enthusiasm for something we do together, anything we do together. Maybe he figures he can build on that and eventually get me to say the word 'love' in connection with him... that's a long, long journey though, and love ain't gonna happen; that ship has left the dock. It's sad in a way because, in the past, I never felt Willie was, um... I don't know, needy, I guess is the word for it. He seems needy for acceptance now, and certainly needy for love, but yet it doesn't seem to be enough for him that I tell him I love him as a friend. Something has destroyed his self confidence, something more than not being able to go to the college he wanted to go to; which, if I remember correctly is University of Pennsylvania, although that choice may have changed during the past nine months. Anyway, to Willie's question about how great our shower was, I give a generic answer, "It was really something, dude... hey, how 'bout we grab a smoke outside?" He does something with his lips, twist them wanting a different repines to his "Love you more than ever", then he does a small shake of his head, like, "Oh, never mind for now," and mutters, "Have a smoke, naked?" and I go, "Why not? Nobody can see us if we stand under the covered side of the balcony, and the rain's kinda cool." He goes, "Yeah, when we're not in it." I grab my cigarettes and we go outside to smoke, naked... it is a cool feeling being naked in public; well, sorta in public. We smoke our cigarettes talking about what we're going to order for dinner; I'm dying for a big fat juicy cheeseburger with French fries, and Willie wants a lobster with French fries; the mention of lobster causes a very bad memory to flash through my head: which would be that total cluster fuck at Carl's... or more accurately, the cluster fuck that didn't happen. What a piece of, what did Willie call Carl, a piece of human offal?

After getting dressed, both of us in the Nike stuff Willie bought for us, making us look like unlikely twins dressed by our mother; the only thing different in our clothing is the colors. Willie insists it's cool to dress alike, and I don't really care. I'm wearing my David Yarmen necklace and the sport watch I returned to Willie when we broke-up. I look at it thinking that I might keep it this time. Then down the elevator four floors to the fancy restaurant. Willie wanted to hold hands, but I refused, saying, "Not in public, Willie. I don't have enough self-confidence to do that. He gives me a look, but shrugs, saying, "Maybe later I'll be able to change your mind. We walk into the restaurant, where Willie announces to the man at the desk, "Reservations for Worthington," and I hold my breath half expecting some kind of screw-up, but the guy says, "Your table's ready for you, gentleman," and he leads us there through a rather crowded room; crowded for this late at night. It's an intimate place though, not that large... mostly adults, so I guess people with kids ate earlier. As soon as we're seated a nice looking lady in a black and white uniform asks, "Can I get you a drink before dinner?" She reminds me of my mom a little, except on second glance our waitress has one of those bee-stung lower lips, and what straight guys might consider an erotic overbite. For me it's more like an unfortunate deformity in an otherwise good looking woman. I glance around and notice a young male waiter and wish he was assigned to our table instead of bee-stung lip. He's slim and sleek with nice hair and a great tan. Willie says to the waitress, "Yes, I'd like a Grey Goose martini, stirred, not shaken." The waitress deadpans, "Sure thing, James," then looking at me, "And for you, cutie?" Thinking of Sandy from the plane, I say, "A strawberry daiquiri, will be fine for me." She laughs pleasantly, and asks, "Will ice teas do for you both?" Willie and I mumble, "I guess so..." She goes off to get our 'drinks' as Willie utters, "Humph!" and we open our menus. No cheeseburger, but there is lobster for $70.00. I look at Willie expecting some kind of exclamation at the price, but he's nonplus. So I look for something besides a cheeseburger for myself. I'm still undecided when the waitress is back with our drinks, and now she's ready to take our order. Willie asks, "Can I have French fries with the lobster instead of the parsley potatoes?" She says, "Sure, honey. It comes with seasonal vegetables too," to which Willie mumbles, "Whatever." And then she's asking me, "And what would you like, Justin?" I look up, saying, "Justin?" She's enjoying herself with us two and it's a bit annoying. I mean, I get the Bieber and James Bond references, they just caught me off guard at first. Remembering Sandy again, and just to be a smart ass, I go, "Um, how about the conk chowder?" She says, "You don't want that, honey... conk is a snail, and it taste like what you might imagine a snail would taste like." I go, "Oh, well then, how 'bout a big fat juicy cheeseburger and fries?" She chuckles, saying, "That's not on the menu the last time I checked, but I'll get my friend in the kitchen to make one, just for you." She takes the menus, smiling nicely. Willie and I exchange looks, and when she's out of ear shot I say, "Do you suppose she talks like that to regular adults?" Willie shrugs, mumbling, "Who knows, we teenagers never get the respect we deserve." Well, that's certainly true enough.

After some obtuse mutterings from Willie about prep school, I take the opportunity to ask him about his old boyfriend, Andy, "What's up with him?" Willie makes a face, "We had an unfortunate chicken-shit misunderstanding that kinda blew up in my face. I don't wanna talk about it." Then he does talk about it, telling me how Andy became a total bore and how immature he is, and how he was just going out with him to get Willie to spend money... to treat Andy to everything, a total mooch. Willie stops when the food comes, and after thanking the waitress, goes on with, "Andy never has anything to say that's even vaguely interesting; he's blissfully oblivious of everything, period! And worse than that, prep suspended me for a week which screwed-up my grades a little, although I still ended up with a B+ four year average." I say, "That's an awesome GPA," and he goes, "Yeah, but they sent a letter to father explaining why I was suspended and he got very agitated. He was the valedictorian of his class when he went there, and he's been on some sort of board there forever, mostly an honorarium position, probably because he donates so much to the school. Anyway he usually couldn't give a rat's ass about me, but now he goes nuclear and withdraws my option to go to the University of Pennsylvania. He said I'd besmirch his name there too... big fight about three weeks ago. I calmly say, "That's really a tough break, Willie, I'm sorry. But, ya know, calm down, lets enjoy our dinner." He's like, I'm over it really, I don't give a shit anyway. Now I'm going to Cornell University in New York, I visited it after graduation. It's fine, so fuck him."

Ignoring that, I bite into my cheeseburger, and it's awesome. Juice runs down my chin, it's perfectly cooked over a charcoal fire, medium rare and yummy. I go, "Huh," in case Willie was waiting for me to comment on the, "fuck him" comment. Willie cracks one of the lobster's claws and uses a tiny fork to extract some meat. He dips it in butter and plops it in his mouth, going, "Mmmm!" I say, "Let me try that. I've never had lobster," and Willie's digs out some more meat, dips it in his melted butter and feeds it to me. I go, "Yum!" We share his lobster and my cheeseburger, Willie mumbling, "Surf and turf..." smiling happily. It's quite a nice meal but we both get full before getting around to the seasonal vegetables, although we do manage to eat the entire two pound lobster and every drop of the cheeseburger and all the fries. The good natured waitress laughs when she sees our plates with just the vegetables on Willie's; then she asks if we want dessert. Willie and I look at each other, shrug, and he says to me, "You wanna share a dessert with coffees?" I go, "Great idea," then I ask the waitress, "Do you have white cake?" They do not, so we settle for chocolate, and two coffees." I'm really tired by the time we finish that, but the rain has finally stopped so we take a walk and after a couple of blocks we see a couple of young guys holding hand so Willie immediately takes mine. I pull it away, I'm not playing all of Willies games anymore. He makes a face at me and we walk about ten blocks like that in silence. Willie breaks the silence, apparently he isn't over the fact he can't go to Penn; out of the blue, he says, "Ya know, my grades were good enough for Penn, and I'd be a legacy applicant too, which assures me of acceptance, but, oh no! Father wants to be a prick about it. I don't give a shit though!" Me thinks he protests too much, but I just say, "What an asshole," without exactly making it clear who I'm referring to. Then feel bad for Willie, and squeeze his hand like Chubby does to me, saying, "Cornell's a great Ivy League school." He shrugs, and says, "You should read the email I sent father just before picking you up... oh my God, did I have some things to say about his parental support. He's never cared about me and I told him so!" I'm thinking, "That's probably gonna come back to bite Willie," but I keep that thought to myself.

On our way back we're sharing a Marlboro light and Willie seems to be over his rant about colleges, as he says, with smoke drifting from his nose and mouth, "I'm so tired I could sleep in that doorway," motioning to a doorway with a person sleeping in it. I go, "Me too, except not that doorway." Everything has been perfect since we arrived at the Reach Resort hotel and things are looking up. Back in our rooms Willie sheepishly ask me if I'll sleep in girlie's panties, which I nod okay to. I'm so tired he could have asked me to sleep in scuba gear and I might have okayed that too. We kiss goodnight and I'm out so fast I don't even know if Willie was hugging me; he probably was, but I don't remember it. Next morning we're awake laying in bed looking at the ocean. "This is so great, Dylan; this day is exactly what I had in mind when I decided on Key west. I can't wait to get down there on the beach," and he hops out of bed and jogs out on the balcony in his girlie panties, leaving me behind, holding the boner I woke up with it. Oh well, the beach sure sounds inviting so I slip out of my panties, initially throwing them in a corner; then, think better of it, and hide them in my suitcase so the maid won't see them when she comes in to clean the room. Pulling on my new bathing suit, compliments of Willie, I join him on the balcony. He's leaning on the railing for anyone to see, who happens to looks up. I go, "Dude, you're wearing girl's panties," and he mutters, "So? I don't care who sees me, we're in Key West. Half the people here are gay." I doubt very much that half the people here are gay, but I gotta admire how Willie is who he is, and how he don't care who knows about it either.

It's beautiful from up here; lots of people around the pool, but it's not particularly crowded either, and the beach looks amazingly clean, not like Wildwood's beach which can be dirty at times with that rough sand we have there. This sand looks fine and soft and almost pink. A thing I read on-line about how Key West need to import every drop of sand on it's beaches from another part of Florida, but mostly from the Bahamas. Sweet! For some reason there isn't any natural sand here. Then I gaze at the ocean, which goes on as far as you can see; it doesn't look like the ocean in Wildwood either. It's the Atlantic alright, but here the water's various shades of aqua, and it goes out to the horizon where the sky meets the ocean. "Let's brush our teeth and get down there," Willie excitedly exclaims. And that's what we do. On the way out of the hotel we grab a "take-out" cup of complimentary coffee, and then cross the wide ceramic deck, past the pool, and stop at the edge of the sand to gawk at the splendid view, wondering how we can get a couple of those beach chairs that everyone's sitting on. Ten seconds later, a beach boy, about twenty-five years old and not particularly 'hot', comes running over to say, "Good morning, I'm Chi Chi, where would you like to sit? I'll set up some beach chairs for you." Willie says, "Close to the ocean, facing the sun," and off goes Chi Chi to grab a bunch of fresh towels, then a beach chair; the kind of beach chair with the extension in front for your legs. He drags those thing to a good spot and drops the towels on the chair before running back for another chair. Willie and I watch him go, not because he's hot... he's not, as I said, but because he's so eager to please. As Chi Chi drags another chair next to the first one, he asks, "Would you like a small table for your drinks, and how about an umbrella?" Willie's taking a ten dollar bill from his wallet, saying, "Yeah, that'd be great..." Chi Chi's busy using a unique technique covering the chairs with the towels, tucking in the edges of the towels between the canvas slats of the beach chairs. I guess he does that so the towels won't blow off away when we're not sitting in them. Willie hands Chi Chi the ten dollar tip, mumbling,"Thank you." Chi Chi acts like this tip is the best thing that ever happened to him, thanks Willie profusely for it, then runs off, saying, "I'll get your table and umbrella." As we sit in our chairs, Willie nods at Chi Chi saying, "That's what I'm talkin' about! A little respect. This is the life!"

The little table Chi Chi brings us is placed between the chairs and then he works the umbrella into the sand... then shows us how we can position the umbrella to block the sun, or move it so we're getting the sun, then he's off to take care of another resort guest. We're listening to some tunes on Willie's iPad, drinking our coffees and smoking cigarettes, congratulating ourselves on being us, and being here at this swanky resort on this beautiful day. Willie's not much of a boy-watcher; certainly not to the degree I am, but he does comment on the lack of 'talent' on the beach. This isn't like Wildwood where there's lots of boys wandering up and down the beach to gawk at. Here the beach is maybe three hundred yards wide, with no boardwalk; this beach is strictly for clients of this resort so the pickings are slim to none. There's about a dozen teenagers on the beach, but most of them are girls. The few boys lounging around, with their parents close by, aren't much to look at. One has shoulders weirdly wide for his body, and another is pudgy with that unfortunate roll of baby fat around the middle; same for his little, look-alike brother... ugh! For that matter, their parents have a roll of fat around their waist too, but it ain't baby fat at their age. It's just regular fat. I guess some people have a metabolism problem that runs in the family. Then there's a couple of other nondescript younger teens which rounds out the lot of them. I glance over at Willie who looks cute and cool with his taut body and long almost hairless legs. His body's athletic looking, quite a hot bod actually. I say, "I guess we're stuck ogling each other," and Willie goes, "I can handle that," and he reaches over to squeeze my cheeks together between his thumb and forefinger, mumbling, "You're so fuckin' cute...". I go, "You too, Willie," which he seemed to like hearing. We're quiet, just enjoying the view and the breeze off the ocean. I'm thinking, "Hmmm, there were more teen boys around the pool than here on the beach, maybe the pool's the place to be." It's too nice here to think about moving now though, but maybe tomorrow, or the day after for sure.

Later we go in for a swim; the waters warm and seems softer than the waters of New Jersey. How the hell can that be; it's the same friggin' ocean? After swimming we're hungry so I flag down one of the waiters who wanders the beach taking drink and food orders, and we order lunch: me a BLT on toast with extra mayo, a Coke, and fries... Willie wants two grilled cheese sandwiches on white, with potato chips on the side, and a lemonade. When the waiter leave, I'm like, "Grilled cheese and lemonade? what are you, nine years old?" He goes, "I love grilled cheese," and I bust his balls about that for awhile. The food comes, and Willie signs with our suite number. It's took a half hour for it to arrive so we're starved by now and devour our very tasty lunch. The temperature is in the middle eighties with the aforementioned breeze from the ocean is making it very pleasant. We have an after lunch cigarette, using the plastic lunch plates as an ashtray, then Willie asks, "Do ya mind if I check the iPad for my emails? There's a group of guys going into freshman year at Cornell who have started a web site where us freshman can exchange ideas. It's a way to sorta get to know each other, and maybe I'll even find a roommate." I go, "No problem, I'll make a couple of calls while you're doing that, and see whassup with my buds." Willie starts typing on the iPad, which is a miracle devise, and I take my cell phone out, another miracle devise.

First a call to my number one homeboy of all time, Chubby. Let's me see what's up with him. He answers with, "Dylan, you didn't forget me after all." I go, "Hi to you too. Hey, dude, I've only been away two days and the phones work both ways, ya know." He's like, "I know, Dylan... I'm teasing you, fer chrissakes." I say, "I knew that," and he goes, "I just love me some Dylan all the time, that's all, and I miss you bad, dude. This fuckin' job bites the big one too! I'm working like ten hours a day in this little room, all alone. I've got to establish patterns for all these fucking expense accounts, with all these little flimsy credit card slips attached. They're barley legible." I'm chuckling, then say, "Awww, what a shame, but I don't have it so easy either. Just now some sand blew on my foot. Hey, did I tell you about the sand here in Key West..." and we went on like that... for every boring thing Chubby described, I describe something fantastic, that I pretend is a pain in the ass; like, "We need to walk all the way past the pool to get to this beautiful beach!" Chubby's laughing before long, and then he tells me he called Connor and they're going to get together on Sunday; that's the only day either of them has off, and they're just gonna hang-out together." I asks how Connor's holding up, and Chubby says, "He seems fine, but he's all set to join the Army Monday morning before he goes to work. He sounded real glad I called though." Chubby adds, "He told me a joke on the phone and he wants me to tell it to you. By the way, dude, give him a call, okay... we gotta keep Connor in our thoughts." I sarcastically say, "Oh, thanks for reminding me, Chubby... I'm only his best friend! He's in my thoughts, dude!" Chubby says, "Easy, don't be so sensitive, I know you two are buds... just saying. Anyway, here's the joke, if I remember it correctly"

"Teacher asks her 3rd grade class to name things that end with the letters 'tor', that eat other things. Yeah that's it... things that end with 'tor' that eat other things. Anyway, the first little boy, Andrew, says, 'alligator' and the teachers goes, 'Oh, very good!'. The next kid says, 'predator'. The teacher claps and says, 'Well done'. Little Johnny's next, and he says, 'vibrator'. The teacher nearly falls out of her seat, saying, 'That's a big word, Johnny, but it doesn't eat anything,' and Johnny says, 'Oh, they don't? My sister says it eats fucking batteries like there's no tomorrow'.

I go, "Oh man, that sucks... are you sure Connor told you that?" but I'm chuckling away. Chubby says, "Maybe I left something out, anyway Connor tells jokes better than me. We talk a little more and finally end kinda mushy-like, with me starting it, "Seriously Chubby, I miss you man, and I can't wait to do spring break with you next year... just you and me." Chubby says, "This is so corny, Dylan, but when you're not around everything seems boring... I'm serious, dude. Plus, when you're not here who am I gonna borrow money from for my fuckin' lunch? Love you, Dylan!" When I disconnect I get this lump in my throat thinking about Chubby, and I know it's weird, but I just get emotional when Chubby's involved. Without Chubby as my touchstone, my life would be empty. Jesus, it's almost scary to think about... not 'almost', it is scary to think about. Letting a lot of air out, and then gazing out at the ocean, I get restless, so say to Willie, "I'm gonna wander around up by the pool a little, be back soon." He just looks up from the iPad briefly, to say, "Yeah, sure, I got more emails to answer, you don't mind do ya?" and I'm like, "Nah, not at all." Lighting a cigarette, I'm wondering what the boy situation is around the pool, but when I'm walking around the pool area I'm not paying attention to the boys, I'm thinking about me and Chubby. Then I start thinking about Robby and how different my love for Chubby is as compared to my love for Robby, my true-love boyfriend. It's hard to sort out, it really is. There's no other love like my love for those two, and that's not to say I don't love my mom and some of my other friends, it's just that the love I have for Chubby and Robby is in a special place in my heart, an elevated place above all others and it's a comfort to have that love for them there too. Still, even that elevated love is different; my love for Chubby is a different love than I have for Robby, and I don't want to think about which one is more important because I already know the answer to that, and thinking about it will only confuse me more.

I stroll back to the beach chairs and Willie looks up with a sweet smile when I sit down. After a bit, I look at my sport watch, wondering what Robby's doing in Arizona right now, and then remember he left a message for me yesterday that I never answered because of the terrible travel day we had. I say to Willie, "Ya know, I'm still restless... think I'll check out the beach down towards the Casa resort, see what's up there." He goes, "Uh huh, I'll be a little while with this, and then how about we go in for another swim?" I'm like, "Good idea, see ya soon," and begin walking up the beach. This beach connects both sister resorts, it's not a long distance from end to end, so it's not like walking the Wildwood beach. Truth is, I didn't want to call Robby while sitting next to Willie; that would be rude. A few few away I hit the speed dial for Robby's cell and feel a squeezing sensation in my nuts... oh man, I got it bad for Robby! He answers on the first ring, "Dylan, you finally stopped ignoring me. I was just..." Interrupting him, I go, "Robby, I know you called yesterday and I didn't call you back, but I got a good excuse." Then I laid out all the troubles we had getting here!" And some of the highlights from the nightmare of screw-ups from Thursday, slipping in that I got this dumb flattop from a terrible barber. I wanted to mention the bad haircut so Robby can get over it by the time I see him. As I'm telling my tale of woe about all the horrendous luck Willie and I have had, I hear snickering coming from Robby, and after the third snicker I ask him if he's laughing at my misfortune. He pretends to get serious, and says, "What? Laughing at all the terrible things that happened to you and what's-his-name? NO! I wouldn't do that," then he laughs out loud, but not in a mean way, just the way us guys bust each other's chops. To be funny, he adds, "Ah, that's a shame." He says that in the same insincere way the guys on the Steinfeld show say it when they really don't care if it's a shame or not.

I end up laughing with him, then he stops laughing, and asks, "Whoa, what was that about a flattop?" Out of all the horrors I've been through these last forty-eight hours he picks out that one thing. I don't want to tell him it was Willie's idea to get the flattops, as a matter of fact I haven't even uttered the name "Willie" once so far... I've use "we" instead of saying his name. Anyway, I try brushing it off, "Oh yeah, I thought since I was coming here, where it's so hot, I'd get a flattop. You know, like you and me always used to get?" He's hesitant, "Yeah, and what happened?" I tell him about the terrible woman barber who asked if I meant "buzzcut" when I asked for a flattop, and how she tells me she doesn't get much call for flattops, but "she'll do her best". Then, to draw Robby into it, on my side, I add, "Can you believe a barber would say that to someone sitting in her barber chair?" Robby's silent, so I add, "Hey, maybe you can fix it for me when I get home." That did it, he liked hearing that, but first he lectures, "Man, you should have had me give you the flattop in the first place. I told you you needed a haircut. You know we always cut each others hair! And yeah, I'll fix it for you, and even though I'm not perfect the last haircut I gave you was pretty good... you said so yourself, right?" He's talking about the butcher job he did on my hair giving me a so-called "trim"... oh brother! I say, "Oh yeah, absolutely," then to get off the subject, I ask, "How's the grand canyon working out for ya?"

Robby has something else in mind first. He says, "I'll tell you about it in a second, first I gotta tell you how much I love you, and how terrible it is not sleeping with you, and..." in the back ground I hear Dodger yell, "Ewww, I'm gonna puke if you keep up with that sappy stuff!" and Robby yells back at him, "You, shut up!" but he's chuckling, adding, "I just rode Dodger's hot ass all over our room," then to Dodger, "Didn't I, ya little hot shit?" To me, he says, "I pretended it was you I was fucking, Dylan. Dodger's ass is..." and another yell from Dodger, "Liar! You were moaning my name the whole time!" Ha ha... those two; I love thinking about the Dickers brothers doing it together, it's so hot. But, a thought occurs, "Um, Robby, where are your parents?" He tells me they're at a cowboy museum; Dodger refused to go with them so they let Robby stay back too. I ask, incredulously, "They let you stay back? How the fuck old are you anyway?" and he mumbles, "Ah, they still think we're ten years old and that the family should do everything together. Dodger and I are in our own room this time, at least; all four of us used to share the same room on family trip up till a couple years ago... which sucked!" He goes on to tell me some of the trouble Dodger's gotten into already. The abbreviated version is that Dodge lost a coin flip with Robby and had to sit between two men on the plane across the aisle from Robby and their parents. Neither of the men would switch seats with Robby so the brothers couldn't sit together, and then halfway to Arizona Dodger gets air sick and barfs on his pull down tray spraying the man on either side of him. After an elaborate clean-up, disrupting that entire section of the plane, with the distinct odor still hanging in the air, Robby hears Dodger giggling and asking the men on either side of him if they weren't sorry now they didn't switch seats like he asked them to.

If looks could kill, Dodger would be dead meat now.

Robby goes, "Oh wait'll you hear this," and he says that later that same day, the day they arrived, they're around the pool and hear a commotion. It turns out Dodger and a kid he just met were caught smoking pot near the volley ball court and were ordered off the pool premises. Mr. Dickers blamed the hotel for allowing someone to bring that evil drug to the pool... Dodger's like Teflon, everything slides off him. And, yesterday during the mule ride that goes twelve miles into the grand canyon, Dodger got into trouble again. He'd insisted on getting a sixty dollar cowboy-type floppy hat for the mule ride and was waving it around to show off for his new pot-smoking friend, who was also on the mule ride. Dodger's waving the hat, yelling "Yahoo, ride 'em faster, wrangler!" Dodger and the other kid were giggling like a couple of girls and the wrangler, which is what they call the guide, screamed at Dodger which startled him and he dropped the hat over the side of the narrow trail; the hat drifted lazily down, down, down.... maybe all the way to the Colorado River at the bottom of the canyon. This was fifteen minutes into the ride. Dodger's screaming, "I loved that hat, you made me drop it!" The wrangler was about to send Dodger, Robby, and their parents back until Mr. Dickers talked with him and it was agreed they could continue, but Dodger had to ride right behind the wrangler, who was a tough old guy with a face like a fist, according to Robby. Later, Dodger got on the phone and told me his side of things, which came out much different that the version I heard from Robby.

Robby got back on the phone when Dodger went out to buy a Coke and we talked lovey/dovey until Dodger came back. We ended the call finally and I realized I was playing with myself right there on the beach... Robby can do that to me. Can't wait to see him again, but right now I'm feeling good. Back at the beach chairs I find Willie laying back sunbathing, done with his emailing. We go in for a long swim, then we both do some more sunbathing and it's a beautiful thing on that private beach, with perfect weather in Key West, Florida! Around five we wander back to the room. Willie goes in our suite first, saying, "Let's take a shower together," and I start to say, "It's my turn to..." but my foot slips on something. I look down and see a FedEx envelope that was forwarded over from The Casa Marina Resort, where we were suppose to stay. It's addressed to William Worthington, from his father. I go, "Willie...."

to be continued....

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com