DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR
Chapter 36
by Donny Mumford
After helping Robby shower, being careful not to bump his dislocated shoulder, I shower myself. Then, while he's in the kitchen taking more Motrin, I give in to my urges because I can't help myself really; there's not gonna be any sex with Robby for awhile, so I jerk-off with a soapy hand thinking about Robby fucking me in that crazy upside/down position. We first did it like that in his pickup, and then later recreated the upside/down fuck in our bedroom. Awesome, but there ain't gonna be any more of that, or anything else, until his shoulder heals... and that's a problem. It'd be a problem under normal circumstances, but the last ten days haven't been normal for me. Beginning with Willie fucking me three or four times a day in Key West, then continuing with Robby's and my great sex during our reunion, throw in fucks with Dodger, Connor, and even Chubby, followed by Robby fucking me at least twice a day after our reunion, and... well, my sex drive now is insisting on frequent sexual experiences. To just stop cold turkey after all that is a challenge of the first degree. I mean, it would be for any boy with an active sex life, not just me. Hey, maybe I am a little more sex-crazed than most, but what the hell am I suppose to do about that? I was born this way fer chrissakes; it's not my fault. Before this shower, I haven't jerked-off in months. It's been totally unnecessary because Robby's been a great sex partner, even before spring break we were good with our love making. The turning point though was Willie using his unbelievably dominant, almost constant fucking that's put me into this state of pretty much constant arousal and I sort of need it now, not just love it. And why hasn't Willie called me? That's another thing that bothers me. I'm drying off as I hear Robby groan, then he yells, "Goddammit! I can't even get into bed without pain. This goddamn shoulder!" I walk into the bedroom, saying, "Let me put on some underpants and I'll help you, Robby." He says, "I'm pathetic, Dylan." I go, "It's your first night dealing with this injury, it'll get better. Sit on your side of the bed and I'll help support your back so you don't need to use any muscles that might put pressure on the shoulder." He does that, and I get one arm around low on his back and my other arm under his legs and then almost lift him to get first his feet on the bed, then help him lay back so he's on his good shoulder. He grunts with pain a few times, but now he's on his side. I use my pillow to support his back so his shoulder won't touch the mattress if rolls over in his sleep. Then I ask, "How'd we do this earlier in the afternoon, Robby? It wasn't this difficult then." He goes, "I don't remember, we'll get a system down eventually. Like you said, it'll get better day by day." I nod, then go back into the bathroom to brush my teeth, thinking," Oh fuck! Robby didn't brush his teeth, if we need to go through all that rigamarole getting him up and then getting him down again, I'll scream. But, that's not being a very good friend, is it? So when I'm finished in the bathroom, I ask Robby, "Did you want to brush your teeth?" Robby goes, "How the hell did I forget to do that?" Then, "No, I'll do it in the morning, dammit!" I get in bed then too, but every time I move my body the mattress shakes and Robby does a quiet, "Ow." Neither of us will get any sleep like this, so I mutter, "Ya know what I gonna do, Robby... I'm getting my sleeping bag from the basement storage bin. I'll put it right here on the floor in case ya need me." He does a quiet, "Thank you, Dylan, and I'm sorry you need to go through the trouble, but every time the mattress moves my shoulder moves." "That's alright," I mutter, "Get some sleep." I go downstairs in my boxer short and step into the storage area off the garage. "Burr," the cement floor is cold on my bare feet. Naturally the sleeping bag is behind almost everything in the storage area so I need to move about twenty items before I can get to it. After throwing the sleeping bag through the open door to the finished basement, I put everything back in storage, cursing under my breath, then carry the sleeping bag to our bedroom and toss it on the floor. It takes me five minutes to untie the goddamn straps encircling the roll-up sleeping bag. Unrolling it I'm trying to remember the last time I used it. Turning off the bedside lamp, I crawl inside the sleeping bag, then get out to retrieve an extra pillow from the closet. Positioning the pillow, I get back in the sleeping bag thinking, "That was easy... fuck!"
Nothing wrong with a sleeping bag except it's only about one-tenth as comfortable as a bed and my sleeping bag smells musty, and there's no way to change the sheets in a sleeping bag so it's like using the same sheets for the past ten years. I've had this thing since I was nine years old. But other then those few things, it's almost okay. And how the hell did I end-up being the nurse for Willie, Connor, and now Robby? And all in the last ten days! Nurse Newman, at your fucking service! All this frustration I'm feeling I'll keep to myself because Robby's got enough problems with his shoulder, he doesn't need me to be grumpy to add to his circumstance. It takes awhile for me to fall asleep and when I do Robby wakes me twice during the night, not intentionally, but I hear his moans of pain and get up to bring him Motrin, then help rearrange the pillows so he can get back to sleep. What the hell, everybody moves around a lot while sleeping and Robby sometimes winds-up on his shoulder which isn't good. In the morning he insists on going to college and I'm too groggy to argue with him. It's slow going getting him up and dressed, then through all his bathroom activities, etc.. He brushes his teeth himself, but I need to squeeze the toothpaste on the brush for him... that's a little example of things that slow us down. It's amazing how many things we take for granted that we can't do when we only have one good hand. We're late for class of course, but the lady professor's heard about Robby's triple that led to his separated shoulder, so she just smiles at us when we come in, and then continues her lecture; a number of students rubber-neck to get a look at Robby. I promised Robby to take notes in class; notes that he normally takes for us. What a pain in the ass it is to pay attention for an entire hour and fifteen minute lecture. And I need to do it three times today! Balls! There are many little things I need to do for Robby during the day, but we get through it somehow. He says, "Thanks for all your help, Dylan. You've been amazing, not that I'm surprised by that, but thank you." Then he insists on attending baseball practice too, and that's even though he can't practice! He explains, "I'm a member of the team and I want to be at practice to give morale support to the guys; be a good teammate." What do I know, it sounds a little like overkill, but I say, "Sure, Robby, just text me when you want me to come get you. We've got some homework to do tonight, so I'll try to get some of it done this afternoon. See ya later. Love ya!" At the apartment it's nice to have free time to myself.
What to do first? I give a thought to jerking off again, then check the pantry and find a box of chocolate chip cookies and stand at the kitchen counter eating a half dozen of them, along with a glass of milk. My mind is on the last time Robby and me got laid and I grope myself, then out loud, yell, "Fuck it!" and go into the bedroom to lay on the bed. Unzipping my fly I grab Robby's pillow to smell and jerk-off into a sock. I've jerked off into one of my sweat socks approximately eleven thousand times from the age of twelve until I turned seventeen and fat Carl showed me something better than jerking off. Jerking off is a damn poor substitute for actual gay sex of any kind. Even being jerked-off by another boy would be five times better than jerking myself off; not that I stop doing it even as I'm thinking those thoughts. Robby's scent from the pillow helps a lot and shortly I arch my back off the bed and blow a couple of nice shots of spunk into my sock. The after effects of jerking off isn't anything like the after effect of a climax from a fuck. No, after jerking off it's sort of a flat, dull feeling, not that I stop stroking my cock for a few minutes after my orgasm... just saying. Then, partially satisfied, I strip the bed and put the sheets and the dirty clothes from the corner, including Connor's cum stained boxers, in the laundry basket and take it to the laundry room to do a wash load. I did one Sunday, but that was for dirty clothes from before spring break. Loading the washer I'm thinking that I saw something in the dirty clothes that might be a solution to my sex starved condition. What was it? And then I pick-up Connor's underpants and remembered what is is: it's Connor! Okay, let me analyze this situation we find ourselves in: Robby can't fuck for awhile, Connor says he loves me and I told him it was alright to love me until he finds real love, plus Robby said I was a good friend to Connor and that Connor deserved a good friend and Robby's also said we need a partially open relationship that we don't discuss with each other, so why don't I help out Connor and my run-away sex drive at the same time? I fumble my cell phone out of my pocket and drop it on the floor, then tell myself, "Calm... the... fuck... down!" Picking up the phone I call Connor's cell and find it's on answer machine mode. Damn! Oh yeah, he's still in that late class Tuesdays. I leave a message asking him to call me... maybe we can get together. Well, not this afternoon certainly because it's getting too late; Robby might be popping in at anytime if he can get a ride from someone... someone named Ryan perhaps. Plus I just jerked-off, but maybe tomorrow after bowling Connor and I can mess around a little. I'm not bullshitting myself into thinking I'm doing this just for Connor's benefit; it's equal parts helping him and partially satisfying my sex drive. This is the perfect time for Willie to call of course, but oh no; that would be too convenient for me. Willie will call at a very inconvenient time. If he doesn't call soon I'm going to tell him I'm busy when he does call. That'll show him I'm hardly as sexually destitute as he may think I am just because he's not available. And, I don't know why I'm getting so riled-up. Then I fixate on Willie's brand of dominant sex and now it's all I can think about. He does a number on my boy pussy that's hard to match, so I guess I won't tell him I'm busy when he gets around to calling me. I don't know why I don't call him; maybe it's because I don't think he'd like me calling him. He said he'd call me and to wait for his call. That makes me think about feeling like I'm ten years old when he does certain dominant things with me. Standing in front of the noisy washing machine I'm pulling on my pecker through my jeans and soon I've work-up a good boner, which I keep hard by rubbing it with my thumb while thinking about bossy-Willie fucking me. Lighting a cigarette I think back to our entire adventure in Key West and it seems almost like a fantasy to me now. Will Willie be as dominant when I see him again as he was then, and do I want him to be? Hmmmm?
I stare at the washing machine trying to remember what the hell got me thinking about Willie. I'm not sure, but my cock is like a rock, a six inch long rock in my jeans. Continuing to rub the head of it with my thumb, and try recreating Willie's last dominant fuck on my pussy. Then there's a key in the doorknob from the outside and a lady comes in with her little girl. She stops abruptly as I turn my back to hide my tented jeans as my face turning a bright shade of red. But she already saw my tent 'cause she exclaimed, "Ohh, gawd!" with disgust, as I was turning. She's a stern one too, she says, "Hey you, there's no smoking in the laundry room. Can't you read. Do they allow students to attend Merrimack when they can't read?" With my back to her, I sarcastically ask, "I'm wondering what charm school you graduated from?" She snaps back, "Don't get fresh with me young man or I'll smack your face!" This is a totally no-win situation for me. I turn to my left, so my back's still towards her, and leave the laundry room without another word. If she didn't have her little girl with her I might have gotten nasty, but there wasn't anything I could really do in that situation. My dick went soft quickly, and I'm so pissed-off I could scream, so I do scream, reminding myself of Willie in the borrowed car he drove the night before we left for Key West. Hmmm, now I understand why he screamed! Haha, somehow that makes me chuckle. Then I think, "That old bat!". Well, actually she's about my mom's age so she's not so old, but she acted like an old bat. This hasn't been a good day for me, especially when compared to the wonderful ten day period preceding today. Guess my good luck couldn't go on forever. Thinking of the laundry room; heh heh, in my mind I ask myself, "Where's Scott Tinsdale when I need him?" Then I mumble out loud, "Timing's everything, Scott". God, would I really do something with Scott? I'm not quite that desperate yet, am I? Back in my apartment I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to transfer my clothes from the washer to the dryer with that witch in the laundry room. I decide to wait long enough to be sure she's done her washing and drying before I go back down. It's not that I'm afraid of the bitch, it's simply a situation I can't win or even break even in. 'It's a loser, Dylan,' I tell myself. Am I the only person that kind of shit happens to? Probably. I sit down at the desk in our bedroom and work on the homework; homework I didn't think we'd even have in college. That's dumb in retrospect, but it's what I thought in my senior year of high school, 'At least they'll be no homework in college,'. I don't know why, but homework and college just didn't seem to go together. Sure, cram for test and finals, but homework? Oh well, reality's a bitch. I spend an hour and a half on college work and then go back to the laundry room. She's gone, but she probably spit in my washing machine before she left. I transfer the clothes to the dryer and then go back to the apartment hoping Robby texts me soon from practice. And I'm wondering, where's Chubby? Normally I'm occupied with Robby so I don't wonder about Chubby's whereabouts so much, but now I'd sure like his company. The rest of the semester Robby will be busy with baseball practices and games so I'll have more time like this on my hands and I surely don't want to spend it just doing homework. I used to watch Robby's practices, which was a good use of my free time, but I'm certainly not going to go to practice and sit in the stands watching him watch practice.
I'm back down to the laundry room an hour later folding clothes from the dryer when I get a text from Chubby; it reads, "Need to take another raincheck on dinner, luv ya, C". It's hard for me to get mad at Chubby, I just can't. Anyway, I don't feel like pizza tonight. Robby and I will scrounge something up for dinner, it's no big deal. Then, back in my bedroom putting the clean clothes away, another text: this time from Robby, "Come and get me anytime, Dylan. Thx!" Ten minutes later I drive Robby's pickup to the front door of the gym, but no sign of Robby. Parking, I wait five minutes, then get out of the truck and walk inside the gym where I see Robby huddled with Ryan Wilcocks under one of the basketball backboards. Ryan's got his hand on Robby's hip listening to whatever Robby's saying, his eyes fixed on Robby's eyes with hero worship dipping from the corners. Sickening! Robby finishes, then rubs Ryan's head which causes Ryan's rimless eyeglasses to fog-up. I'm gonna hurl! I shout, "Your slave is here, Mr. Dickers." Robby's head snaps around, a look of guilt on his face. He says something to Ryan out of the side of his mouth and Ryan scurries away into the equipment room. Robby comes slowly over to me as if he's in great pain, pain that apparently has just come over him because he sure didn't look like he was in pain a few seconds ago. Without making eye contact with me, Robby motions with his hand in the direction of where he and Wilcocks were having their intimate conversation, mumbling, "Um, we were just discussing when the MRI results would be available. He's coordinating that. The trainer took me for an MRI earlier this afternoon, during practice. Um, they're worried about ligament damage because I'm still in pain and all..." His sentence drifts off, then I say, in a flat voice, "I hope the results bring good news." He glances at me, muttering, "That's all Ryan and I were talking about, don't look at me that way, okay?" I go, "Yes, sir. You're ride is ready when you are." We walk to the pickup in silence with me churning things over in my brain. Those two looked like lovers when they were talking together, and Robby was doing all the talking so his story about Ryan telling him about the MRI is bull! But, be that as it may, I'll take the high road and give Robby the benefit of the doubt, 'cause that's just the way I roll. Mostly, that's the way I wish I rolled, because it appears I'm giving him the silence treatment on the ride home... and I'm not pouting. I just don't feel like talking, which is what I tell Robby when he quietly asks, "Why so quiet, Dylan?".
Inside the apartment Robby takes two Motrin, without asking me to get them for him, and then asks, "Is Chubby getting the pizza? Is that where he is?" I go, "No, he's taking another raincheck on that." He asks, "So, he won't be here for dinner?" I go, "Obviously. If he were going to be here for dinner, he'd get the pizza because he's trustworthy!" Robby mumbles, "Oh." Then silence as I busy myself checking the refrigerator and pantry for something to prepare our dinner with. Finally Robby, who's just standing there in the middle of the room watching my bogus busy activities, goes, "Don't pout, Dylan. Ryan and me weren't doing anything wrong." I stop doing my busy work, to look at him and say, "Did I imply that you were doing anything wrong? And, I'm not pouting. I told you I just don't feel like talking." He quietly asks, "Why not?" so I calmly explain, "Because I didn't get much sleep last night and I had a bad experience in the laundry room, doing mostly your wash by the way. Oh, and then I did two hours of homework for us, so I'm a little grumpy, if that's okay with you?" Actually it was closer to a hour and twenty minutes of homework and I brought the situation in the laundry room on myself by smoking illegally in there while playing with my stone-hard dick, but why split hairs. I basically told the truth, especially about not getting a good night's sleep. Robby asks, "I know I've been a burden with this fucked-up shoulder of mine, Dylan, and I'm sorry. You've been wonderful about it too. I'll sleep in the sleeping bag tonight, okay?" I go, "Don't be ridiculous! With that shoulder? Don't make me laugh." By now he's getting a little testy himself, he says, "Okay, then I won't sleep in the sleeping bag! What happened in the laundry room, if you don't mind talking about it?" I give him a version of it that puts most of the blame on the bitchy woman, who I describe as much older then she actually is. Robby listens, frowning, then asks, "Was the little girl the woman's granddaughter?" I go, "How would I know?" He doesn't remind me that there's a huge 'non smoking' sign in the laundry room, two of them actually. Robby goes back to being contrite, and mumbles, "Well, I'm really sorry you're having a bad day, Dylan," and he comes over to hug me with his good arm, adding, "Lets be friends again." I make a childish facial expression, mumbling, "What are you talking about? Of course we're friends, we're best friends, I just wish we could be lovers too." He mutters, "Not as much as I do, I'll bet." That's kind of sweet, and the green monster called jealousy is slipping away from me by now anyway. I turn and kiss Robby quickly on the lips, asking, "You really didn't do anything sexy with that little nerd?" Robby puts on his sincerest facial expression, saying, "Absolutely nothing. If I could do anything remotely sexy, it'd be with you, Dylan." I shrug, mumbling, "Thanks. I guess I got a little jealous seeing you with him and knowing he likes to blow you." Robby quietly says, "Yeah, but you saw how well that went when we tried it last night, remember?" I go, "Oh yeah, not too good, that's right. Guess I forgot about that." He hugs around my neck kissing my cheek, mumbling, "I love the way you smell. I think I'm in love." I go, "You think?" He smirks, and says, "I need to be sure it the real Dylan here, not some imposture who's taken control of your sexy body." I try not to, but I grin anyway, saying, "No, it's me in here," Robby says, "Then I know I'm in love; deeply in love because my heart feels full, the heart that you own." I go, "Okay, we've slipped over the line into cornballville now. Let's get real." and we do a lovers kiss that has my dick turning to stone again. Robby says, "Yep, it's you alright. What's for dinner?" I say, "Yep, it's you alright, too. That 'what's for dinner' question confirms it. How's your shoulder?" Robby says, "It feels better now that you're back." I go, "Ha!" and we kiss a nice sloppy kiss, then I go, "I don't know about dinner yet, I was just pretending to look for dinner stuff. Now I'll look for real." Robby mutters, "God, I love you so much. Never change, Dylan. Please, never change." I go, "Ha!" again, and then check the freezer for real this time.
Robby goes into the bathroom to do some business as I'm discovering we have nothing useful in the freezer so I settle on two items from the pantry: a tin of white meat tuna and a can of Cambells tomato soup. I make tuna salad by adding celery, capers, and mayonnaise to the tuna, then mix it together in a bowl. Well have a trip back to our youth with tuna salad sandwiches and tomato soup. If we had cheese I could have taken us back a couple of more years with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup; ya can't go back in time further than that unless it's peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Robby chuckles when he sees what I've put together for dinner, but he eats it all and after dinner we work together on more stuff for college. We get into a grove with that and spend three hours catching up on everything, plus we do a project that's not even due until the week before finals. Taking a smoke break on the balcony, while sharing a bottle of Snapple, we congratulate ourselves on our conscientiousness, which borders on Connor's level of that enviable trait. Speaking of Connor, he called my cell phone halfway through our three hours of college work, but by then my randiness had temporarily subsided so all I did was remind him that he's coming over here for a pizza dinner tomorrow night, and confirm that he's going bowling with me and Cory Dunlevy. He said he's looking forward to it, so we're all set. Robby runs out of gas just after ten o'clock and we knock-off the school work and get ready for bed. It goes much like it did last night except Robby remembers to brush his teeth this time. Then I help him get in bed. His shoulder isn't any better today than yesterday so he's still swallowing Motrin every three hours or so. He says it doesn't eliminate the pain but brings it down to a dull ache. I ask, "Can't the trainer or a doctor prescribe a stronger pain killer?" Robby tells me he doesn't feel comfortable taking anything stronger just yet. The sleeping goes almost identical to last night, which is to say neither of us has a restful night. I needed to reposition Robby in bed twice during the night, and my sleeping bag sucks just just as much as it did last night. I get up earlier Wednesday morning, so even though things go as slow as they did Tuesday morning, we get to class on time. Tomorrow our first class isn't until eleven o'clock so we'll get to sleep in. Wednesday at Merimack goes about like Tuesday, except today after the last class we're hustling because I need to get Robby to baseball practice, and then drive like a madman to get to work on time. I punch in at Stop & Shop's upstairs office one minute late. Rudy goes, "You're late, Newson," and I go, "It's Newman, and I'm sorry, but the traffic sucked on 114 today, Rudy, and the professor for our last class went past the bell." I'm wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist as I tell him these lies, as if I ran all the way here from college. He goes, "I'm a stickler about you guys being on time. I can't run the floor until I see who's here each day, and I needed to wait for you." I again mumble, "Sorry, Rudy, but it's just a minute, I'll stay at extra minute today, until six-o-one." I say it seriously. Rudy does that bizarre smile of his, then says, "I'm busting your chops, Donny, you're a good worker, don't worry about it. Check the board and get to work, okay?" I go, "Sure," trying to grin, but it doesn't really materialize.
I'm on shopping cart duty in the parking lot for my first hour. It's a decent day for April in New England so I'm glad to be on parking lot duty. For one thing I can sneak a cigarette, which I need just about now. As soon as I'm in the parking lot I collect about ten shopping carts real fast, line them up and then push the whole line in through the automatic doors, making quite a racket doing it. I'm hoping Rudy's at his station in the middle of the floor so he'll see how fast I got this first group of shopping carts rounded-up. He's there alright, and he looks up at the racket, then gives me the thumbs-up sign. So now, I can take it easy. Back outside I go around to the side of the building where no one parks, except on certain rare days like the day before Thanksgiving when it's ridiculously busy. Lighting a Marlboro Light I'm feeling pleased with myself. I lean against the side of the building smoking on duty, and think about this summer. I've had enough of college life for awhile, although I'm sure I'll be happy to return next fall. A summer-break is what I need now though. Then I think about Sandy on the plane to Key West telling me he goes to Full Sail University where there is no summer break; he goes straight through for twenty months, I think he said it was twenty. Man, that sucks! Back to work after my smoke, I go after the half-carriages this time and get a line of them, then push the line into the building and waste some time inside pretending to even off the lines of carriages so there's the same number in each of the eight rows. The hour goes quickly enough and then Cory comes out to relieve me. He says, "Well, look who it is, Donny Newman." I give him a raised-eyebrow expression, asking, "Donny?" Cory keeps a straight face, saying, "Why'd ya let me call you by the wrong name all this time? Rudy, tells me, "Time to replace Donny in the parking lot, Carl." I go, "Carl?" Cory goes, "Yeah, that's my new name I guess. Rudy insist I'm a 'Carl'." I go, "He seems to get the first initial right, so that's a start. Hey, you're looking spiffy today, Cory." Cory's wearing a button-up-the-front dress shirt, pressed to within an inch of it's life, and tan khakis with sharp pressed creases. On his feet are a knock-off brand of Sperry Top-Siders, instead of his usual beat-up sneakers. Cory blushes at the compliment; I haven't seen him blush before. He mutters, "Well, I'm invited out to dinner so I put on my Sunday best for this rare event; rare for me anyway." I hold-out my fist and he looks at it for a moment, then reluctantly bumps it with his fist, saying, "I usually don't engage in the latest dumb fads of the day. Bumping fists is stupid." I go, "Well, I'm honored you got dressed-up for out pizza dinner, dude; and, as for the fist bumping, I'm basically a simple minded lad; whatever everybody else does, I do the same thing. That being said, I agree that it is a little dumb to bump fists. I'm glad you bumped mine though."
He now returns to form, and rudely says, "Don't patronize me, Newman. I know I'm eccentric, especially for my age. I just don't like to go along with the crowd, it makes me feel like a dork." Well, he is a bit of a dork whether he thinks he is or not, but no point in saying that, so I ignore his comment completely; instead I keep it light, and say, "I thought pizza would be just right for a bowling night, but I'm an awesome chef as any of my homeboys will tell ya, so you must come over for one of my regular dinners some time too. You'll see!" He makes a face, like he's disgusted, and says, "Homeboys? You said that before a couple of times; what's it even mean?" He's a delightful conversationalist, but the urge to use my back-up comment, of, 'Go fuck yourself' rears it's ugly head anyway. Not an uncommon occurrence when interacting with the personable Cory Dunlevy. Also, I happen to know the origin of the term he finds so annoying, and I can thank one of Chubby's factoids for this knowledge. I go, "Cory, my friend, the term 'homeboy' originated way the fuck back during the Viet Nam war. It went like this: when two soldiers, previously strangers, discover that their actually from the same hometown, they referred to each other as 'Homeboys'. It was shortened sometimes to 'Homie'. That's the origin of the term and then gang members picked-up on it later, and later still it's used to refer to any guy who's participating in the same activity you're in, like going to college together. That's what it means." The unpredictable Cory changes his tone of voice to one of admiration, "Well, alright, Dylan. I didn't know that. That's interesting and I can see how it applies. You and me are homeboys because we're both part-timers working here, doing the same things. Damn, you're smart!" I take a chance and put my arm across his shoulders, saying, "Yes, I am smart, Cory, but most guys I know haven't picked-up on that fact yet. You're extraordinary in that regard." He actually almost chuckles, giving me a small grin, before saying, "So, you're saying your homeboys at college aren't too bright." I go, "Exactly!" He mumbles, "You're an original, I'll say that for you, Dylan. Okay, homie, you're officially relieved from parking lot duties. I'll hunt you down after work 'cause like everybody else, I love me some pizza." I drop my act to simply say, "I'll hook up with ya later, Cory. Damn, he's actually kinda cute with those two front teeth a little longer than his other top ones; uber white teeth too. He looks younger then his age too; another lucky kid like that. Oh well, Rudy's probably wondering where I am." Cory mutters, "Later, homeboy," and then he begins gathering stray carriages from the parking lot. I walk inside, thinking, 'See, Dylan, that worked a little better than the 'Go fuck yourself' comment would have.'
Remembering today's schedule, I head for the stock room. When I get there Rita's giving instruction to one of the girl part-timers who's grousing about needing to stock shelves as she's asking Rita, "Do you think it's fair that that twerp Rudy is making us girls stock shelves?" Rita goes, "What am I, chopped liver? I'm a girl, Nancy... I'm an older girl obviously, but I've always worked in the stock room, so yeah, why shouldn't girls pitch-in and do their fair share. It's not exactly heavy lifting, ya pick-up one can of soup at a time." Nancy whines, "It's undignified, I'm not butch." Rita says, "Yeah, yeah, there's your flatbed cart which I've loaded with specialty waters. Roll it out on the floor and get these Smart Waters and Gatorades on the shelves in isle three. Fill-in the empty spaces on the shelves and neaten up the ones already there. Rudy's assigned a time of forty minutes so you should be back here for another cart in forty minutes." Nancy asks, "I have to pull this heavy cart myself?" Rita says, "No, you don't have to do anything, not unless you want to keep you're job; the carts on wheels, ya know." The girl snatches at the handle of the cart, then screams, "I broke my goddamn nail. Look at this!" Rita turns away, and says to me, "There's the cart you were working on yesterday, Dylan." I go, "Rudy said my replacement would take over where I left off." Rita goes, "You kids are a pain in my ass, all you do is complain. If you don't like your assignment tell Rudy, not me; I'm just doing my job!" I mutter, "Sorry, I just thought..." and my sentence trails off as I push the cart out onto the main floor and begin redistributing items that stupid customers brought to the cash register, but at check-out changed their minds and just leave them with the cashier. It's a tedious job, and after twenty minutes I can't resist taking a break to check-out the complainer, Nancy, in isle three. Hee hee, there she is putting quart bottles of Smart Water on the shelves with a puss on her face like she's shoveling shit. Love that Rudy. Then, in produce I'm looking for Matthew, but he's apparently on a different shift today. Like yesterday, Rudy comes up to me after I've been doing this for forty-five minutes, and says, "Donny, take your break now, then relieve the redheaded boy who's bagging at cash register nine. I forget his name. I say, "It's Alex." Rudy checks his list and goes, "Ah ha, Alex Mathers. Okay, I thought it was him." Then Rudy's off, moving fast again. I kinda like him. I suppose, like Cory, I gotta change my name though, in my case to 'Donny'. Wonder how one does that?
Naturally I go outside for a cigarette during break, and who should I find on the bench but my new friend, Shaun Sullivan, I go, "Sully, whassup?" Looking up, he gives me a grin, asking, "How'd ya know my nickname?" I chuckle, and go, "I just took a wild guess, dude, heh heh... with a last name of Sullivan, what else would you're nickname be?" He's like, "Oh yeah, I see what you mean. It's good to know my future hair stylist is a clever fellow. Which reminds me, could I bring my little brother along for a haircut too? I mean, if it's still okay with you giving free haircuts. Lets say, in about three or four weeks." I say, "Yeah, sure, it's fine with me except I'll be gone in four weeks. Ya better make it three. I'll be back for the fall semester though, if you're going to be around." He says, "Yeah, I'll be around; that's my senior year. A whole year of free haircuts, that's how I'll be rolling." I laugh, then ask, "How old's your brother?" He goes, "A year behind me," and then we talk about our school experiences a little, as I'm thinking, 'Hmmm, Shaun will be eighteen next year. He don't appear to be gay, but I'll put him on my list of "long shots" just the same. He's real likable.' The rest of the day went by okay, I bagged for a kid on the cash register who's good to look at, but who isn't into chit chat all that much. His name tag reads, "George". Ya don't see many 'Georges' around. I've seen him any number of times, but never struck up a conversation with him and now I know why; he doesn't communicate well at all. His only real comments are, "Have a good one," which he says to each customer when he gives them change and the receipt for their order; plus, he says either 'yes', or 'no', or 'none of your business' to any question or conversation-starter I try. At the end of my shift I drop off my Stop & Stop apron, the one we all need to wear, and sign out as 6:01. It's more like 6:05 but maybe it'll get a smile from Rudy, if he even remembers who I am. Then on my way down the steps, Cory's coming up. "I'll be right down, Dylan," I go, "Dude!" and wait for him at the front door thinking he seems nervous about something. He comes down two minutes later with a nice sweater over his dress shirt. Damn, I feel bad for him again. He got dressed-up to come over to a college kid's apartment for dinner. We'll all be wearing sweatpants or worse. I mean, we're only eating pizza and then going bowling! This dressing-up thing of Cory's reminds me of something Connor would do. I say to Cory, "I'm driving my friend's pickup today. My best friend and I share a Jeep together, but he's got it today. Well, heh heh, we shared the price of it together, at least; I don't get to use it too much." He asks, "Why not if you paid for half of it?" I explain, "Because he needs it more than me. Like I said, I got the use of the pickup, or my boy, er, my friend drives me places I need to be. So I've got a ride, so ta speak." He frowns, "So ta speak? What's that mean?" I say, "I don't know, something like, 'that sort of thing', I guess." He holds up his hand, palm out, like, 'never mind ', saying, "I'm sorry I asked that. It's just the way you talk; my bad." Man, I can't figure him out.
In the pickup, he says, "You're a good guy, Dylan, and I'm the asshole, but still... I shouldn't have agreed to come over for dinner. I'm not good at this kind of thing, I'm socially challenged is how I guess a psychiatrist would put it." I say, "We're all socially challenged, Cory, some of us just hide it better, that's all." He goes, "No, I mean I have a touch of Asberger syndrome, in addition to my CF. I'm not a lucky person." I go "Assburger? What's that?" He goes, "Not assburger, it's pronounced, As-ber-gers. It's a mild form of autism, there's all levels of it and thankfully mine is limited to being socially inapt, I guess you could say, so ta speak. Plus, certain food textures revolt me." I don't know what autism is either, but this could go from one word I don't know to the next indefinitely. So I merely say, "I'm real sorry, Cory. It's something you're born with, huh?" He mumbles, "Yeah, aren't I a real treat; a barrel of monkeys worth-of-fun." I go, "Nobody but you cares about that, Cory; it might make you uncomfortable, but I like you and so will the other dudes too." He mutters, "I doubt it, but I'm sticking close to you. I'll be like gum on your shoe." I go, "Sure Cory, feel free, dude; that's cool." He fidgets during the drive, looking pale so I guess it's a hard thing for him to do; meeting new guys. Jeez, the demons some people silently battle, things that most of us can't even imagine. Cory's probably under extreme pressure about this evening, but he's showing courage in trying to work through it. Yeah, that's probably it; this is a courageous step for him. I'll try to make it as easy for him as I can, but I'm worried about Chubby. Robby and Connor are a little shy around people they don't know, although once they know them they're fine; well, Robby is at least. Probably not that easy for Cory; as a matter of fact, being Cory doesn't seem easy at all. Chubby doesn't know what the word 'shy' even means, he totally can't relate to it; it's an incomprehensible concept to him. I say to Cory, "Oh, we're picking-up another friend of mine, Connor Neary. He's a little shy, so don't mistake that for him being aloof or something. He's about as far from aloof as you can get. He's just quiet." Cory speaks in a tight voice, maybe from nerves, saying, "Ah, a kindred spirit. Of mine, I mean, not yours. I wish I had your personality, Dylan. And, I wasn't taking a shot at you with that remark." I go, "Thanks, but I'm shy at times too, just not always. It's funny with me; sometimes I can be outgoing and then other times I can't. Like if someone's really loud or pushy, I'm not good with that kind of situation. I usually wind-up in a fight with the guy, actually. But that's only after I've been pushed over the edge and I snap, ya know?" He mutters, "No, not really; I've never been in a fight in my life." Well, that surprises me; I mean, considering his rather negative and outspoken outlook on so many things you'd think he might get in a fight or two every other day. But, as usual, I don't say anything; what good would that do. I'll take him at his word.
Connor's waiting outside his dorm when I pull-up. I'd have been shocked if he weren't waiting outside, and that's because he's so freakin' considerate about everything. I take hold of Cory's arm, and his whole body stiffens. I quietly say, "Can you move over closer to me so Connor can get in?" Cory looks at me quickly, then he goes, "Yeah I can do that. Sorry I flinched there for a second when you grabbed my arm, I'm not used to being touched my anyone." I say, "That's a shame." He looks at me again, quickly, with a look on his face like, 'Why's it a shame?', but Connor's climbing in so Cory now needs to deal with that, I suppose. When Connor shuts the door, he holds his hand out to Cory, quietly saying, "Hi, I'm Connor Neary. You must be Cory, nice to meet ya. Dylan said it'd be okay if I joined him and you bowling tonight. I hope you don't mind." Cory sort of does a quick handshake, asking, "Why would I mind?" defensively. Pure Cory Dunlevy stuff right there. I say, "Yo, Connor, looking good, dude!" He goes, "Look who's talking," and Cory now takes a look at Connor, then at me, but he doesn't comment. I carry the conversation on from there, jabbering about Cory's skill at candlepins and how Connor and I went candlepin bowling long ago and that it won't surprise you, Cory, that Connor's better than me. Hahaha. Like that. It's a short ride mercifully. Robby texted me at work that he's got a ride, so he'll see us at the apartment. I didn't ask who was given him the ride because I'm afraid it'd be Ryan, and I don't want to think about that. I know Ryan has his mother's car at Merrimack for the last four weeks of this semester, so he's got a car at his disposal now too. Too bad Robby's got the dislocated shoulder, Ryan! No hanky panky in your mom's car, ya turd. In the apartment Robby's at the kitchen bar, looking a little better. I introduce Cory and Robby to each other, and Robby holds his fist out instead of his hand. Cory smirks at me, with a little grin, and then bumps fists with Robby. That smirk and grin are encouraging. Robby tells us about the MRI images; they're all positive, meaning there's no ligament damage in the shoulder, although it isn't much better today. The trainer told Robby that in a day or two he should be feeling noticeably less pain. Connor, Robby, and I are all dressed in the same uniform; sweat shirts with hoods and sweatpants in colors ranging only from blue to black to gray. No one comments on Cory's outfit, thank God. He hasn't said anything since the introductions, which is probably a good thing because Cory spends a little too much time criticizing some of the things I say, but he's apparently not comfortable enough to do it to Robby or Connor... yet. I ask, "Where the fuck is Chubby?" Robby shrugs, "Didn't he text you, Dylan?" I go, "No, but he'd better be getting pizzas!" Robby says, "Connor, ya got a joke for us? Connor shrugs, then says, "I do have a couple," and he asks: "Does anyone know how many evolutionist it take to screw in a lightbulb?" We all go, "How many?" Connor says, "Well, it only takes one, but it takes him nine million years to do it." We roll our eyes, and Robby asks, "That's it Connor? That's your joke?" Connor blushes, mumbling, "I knew that one would be a bomb. How 'bout this one":
"Two priest are in the shower together when they realize there's no soap. One of the priests says, 'There's soap in my room. I'll get us a couple of bars.' Without dressing, he walks to his room and grabs a bar of soap in each hand and walks back toward the shower. In the hall he's shocked to see three nuns visiting unexpectedly. With no place to hide, he stands with his back against the wall and freezes, like he's a statue. The nuns approach him, very curious about the naked statue. They comment to each other how real it looks. One nuns grins, then reaches over and pulls on the priest's dick, which startles him and he drops a bar of soap. A nun says, 'Oh, it's a life-like soap dispenser'. The next nun frowns, saying, "How strange,' and she pulls on his cock too. Sure enough he drops the other bar of soap. The third nun mutters, 'I may as well get a bar too,' and she pulls on his dick, but no soap. She says, 'I think it's stuck,' and she yanks on the priest dick five or six more times, then exclaims, 'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it's a hand cream dispenser too!'
We groan, and Connor blushes, mumbling, "They can't all be laugh-out-loud jokes. Some are groaners, ya know?" Then there's a key in the door and in burst Chubby, energy bouncing off him. He looks at us standing there, as he says, "What the fuck, the band's all back together again, I see! How you boys, doing?" Then, pointing to Cory, "Who's this?" I go, "Chubby, meet my friend from Stop & Shop, Cory Dunlevy. Cory this is Jeffrey Romero, also known by his friends as 'Chubby'." Chubby gets Cory around the shoulders, saying, "Dude, it's good to meet ya, but whaddya all dressed-up for, you going to church?" I go, "Chubby!" Then I make-up a lie, saying, "I mislead Cory; I told him I was fixing a big dinner, sorta, and he was polite enough to dress-up for it, which I think is very flattering." Chubby goes, "Oh! Well, no offense Cory, ya look good, dude!" Then to me, "Whatcha tell him that for, Dylan. Embarrass the kid like that." I go, "Me embarrass him? I didn't purposely mislead him, did I, Cory? I shoulda told ya it was pizza." Cory frowns, saying, "I'm not embarrassed," which leaves unanswered why he's blushing, but I leave that alone, and ask Chubby," Where's the pizza?" He says, "I'm considerate, Dylan. That's how I roll! I came here first to find out what everyone wants on their pizza." Robby says, "How 'bout mushrooms?" Chubby says, "I'll be picking-up three large pizzas, ya thing that'll be enough?" I go, "To be safe, get three large and one small. If there's any left over we'll have pizza for breakfast!" Chubby says, "You're a fuckin' genius! Okay, mushroom on one of the halves, what else?" I give my choice, "Pepperoni for me. How 'bout you Connor?" Connor says, "Whatever there's the most of is fine with me." Chubby comes over to put his arm around Connor's shoulders, like he did with Cory, and says, "Yes, of course it would be, Connor, but if you had to pick an ingredient for your last slice of pizza ever, what would you want on it, dude?" Connor gulps, blushing slightly 'cause we're all looking at him. He's thinking, then gulps, "Would Italian sausage be okay with everyone?" Chubby lets go of Connor, muttering, "Not for me, Connor, but it's just right for you. Okay, we got mushrooms on one half, sausage on another half, and Dylan's half gets pepperoni. What's your choice Cory?" He mumbles, "Anchovies," and Chubby says, "Um, stop jobbing me, dude; nobody ever gets anchovies on anything. Whaddaya really want?" I say, "He just told ya what he wants, what are you getting on your half, that's the question?" Chubby goes, "Hmmm, the pressures on I see." Then he says an aside to Cory, "Guess you know by now from working with him, that Dylan's a bit of a prick sometimes." I go, "Chubby! Be good, for once." Cory's looking at Chubby like he's an alien from outer space. Chubby says, enjoying being the center of attention, "I like to roll a little on the wild side where pizza's concerned, so I'm going with double cheese. It's brash of me, I know... but double cheese pizza, while not unheard of, is a tad unusual and to be even more adventurous, I sprinkle hot pepper flakes on each slice before eating it. Crazy huh?" I'm rolling my eyes, then say, "Okay, that concludes his performance for this evening, and if there's a God in heaven, Elvis, er, Chubby, has left the building." Chubby goes, "Not so fast, Dylan. I need a wing man on this trip. I can't handle all these pizzas, plus my surprise ingredient by myself. Look at my size fer chrissakes!" I go, "Well don't look at me, I made dinner three nights in a row." Connor surprises me with his hot shit remark, saying, "And I told two killer jokes, so I'm exhausted." Robby just nods at his arm in the sling, mumbling, "Don't look at me." Chubby's grinning, looking at us, then turns on Cory, his arm going around Cory's neck pulling Cory's head over to bump Chubby's, as he's saying, "Looks like it's you and me, dude!" Cory gets red in the face, looking extremely uncomfortable, so I say, "I'll go with you, Chubby. Cory's our guest." Then Cory surprises me by saying, "No, Dylan, I want to go with Jeffrey. I wanna do my part like everyone else." Chubby says, "It's Chubby, if ya don't mind, Cory. Let's saddle up partner, we're the perfect team." Perfect odd couple would be more like it, but I keep that thought to myself.
Then Chubby goes looking for his car keys, which is strange even for Chubby, because he just came in with the keys ten minutes ago. I give Cory a look, asking, "Really? I don't mind going." He says, "I need to go, Dylan. I'm good with it," I nod, but say no more. It probably takes a lot of guts for Cory to go with Chubby, but good for him! Chubby's back out of his bedroom, saying, "Ah ha, the elusive keys," as he plucks them off the kitchen bar where he threw them when he came in. He gets a hand behind Cory's neck to give a squeeze, saying, "Let's roll, amigo," and out the door they go, with Chubby telling Cory some bullshit story about the time he and I were in Mexico and we ordered pizza at a.... but that's all I hear before the door closes behind them. I glance at Robby, who gives me a smirk, like, "Whaddaya gonna do? It's Chubby..." I ask, "How's the shoulder?" He says, "The same. I'm trying to block it from my mind, but it ain't easy. I'll never slide into third base like that again. Good lesson learned." I'm nodding, impressed at his attitude, but that's Robby for ya. A day of feeling sorry for his bad luck, then he turns it into a good lesson learned. Of course, that ain't helping our sex life any, but ya can't have everything. Connor, Robby and I go out on the balcony for a cigarette. I tell them about not smoking around Cory, and the reason for that. Then ask if anyone knows what Asperger's Syndrome is? No one's ever heard of it. Nobody knows what autism is either, although Robby thinks it has something to do with "idiot savants", like Dustin Hoffman portrayed in the movie "Rain Man". Connor says, "I never heard of that movie," I go, "Neither have I," and Robby explains he and Dodger were surfing channels for something to watch on cable TV and they caught a scene where Dustin Hoffman was spouting off mathematic solutions off the top of his head, but was kinda unable to even take care of himself otherwise. They watched the rest of the movie thinking it was suppose to be funny. "I think it was Tom Cruise too, although he looked very young, not like he looks in the "Mission: Impossible" series." We talk about how odd it is for someone to be a freaky-genius in one area and incompetent in all the other aspects of life. It must be rare. Robby ask, "Hey, Dylan, I don't have anything to do tonight, do ya mind if I come with you guys to watch ya bowl?" I rub his back, saying, "Are you crazy? Do I mind, I'd love it," and I give him a kiss, as Connor does one of my fake coughs, pretending he dropped his cigarette. Robby squeezes the back of Connor's neck, something we all do to each other to show affection, as he's saying, "Hope we don't embarrass you too much, Connor, but we're in L-O-V-E, love, dude." Connor shrugs, mumbling, "It doesn't embarrass me; more like it makes me jealous." Robby gives me a questing look, which I return with a questioning look of my own, like "I don't know!" I guess Connor doesn't feel he needs to be in the closet with two gay boys like Robby and me, but he hasn't come right out and told Robby he's gay, so I'm not gonna out him; that's his business.
A half hour later Robby, Connor, and me are kibitzing in the kitchen when Chubby and Cory come bounding in the room. Cory's laughing about something. He looks calm, so he's survived his adventure with Chubby quite well. I knew Chubby would gain Cory's trust, but I didn't want to force it on Cory. He said he wanted to go with Chubby though... and it's turned-out okay. Cory's carrying three big boxes of pizzas, with a smaller box on top of the big ones. Chubby's got a cooler, he goes, "We stopped at Tracy's to buy some beer; pizza and beer, what could be better!" We all go, "Way to roll, Chubby!" but for myself, I'd rather have a soda. Not that I'm an individual enough to buck the group though; I drink beer with the pizza like everyone else. We open the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and they just fit. Everyone grabs a slice of their favorite and the eating and ball busting begins. At one point Cory even chirps in with, "Here's how dumb I am; because of the familiar way Chubby talked with the guys making the pizzas and the other customers in the store, I thought, 'Jesus, he knows everybody!' and then he tells me in the Jeep, 'Nah, I never met any of them before in my life!' Man, I wish I had the confidence to roll like that." We chuckle, with Connor saying, "Me too, Cory." Chubby wants to know, "What the fuck ya talking about? All I did was kill some time BSin' with some stranger dudes. It passes the time and ya find out some stuff once in a while too. Hey, I'm outgoing, it's the way I roll." I noticed Cory used that phrase too, when he said, "roll like that" which is exactly the kind of thing he's always complaining about when I say something similar. So that's progress. We eat the three large pizzas and then force ourselves to all have a piece of the small one, which still leaves a couple of pieces for tomorrow's breakfast. Done eating, I burp, then announce, "We got a problem, Houston," which is a line in the mission-to-the-moon movie. I explain, "We got four guys going to the bowling alley in a pickup that can only handle three. Whadda we going do about that?" Chubby says, "Somebody sits on somebodies' lap. There, I solved your problem, now I gotta hit the road. Many girls await my arrival." I go, "Oh brother! You going out with her again tonight?" He goes, "Yep! I'm on my lucky streak; gotta run out the streak. Hope my pecker holds up!" Connor laughs nervously and Cory looks at Chubby, like, "He's the man!". Humph! I go, "Good luck with your mission, Chubby, and thanks for the pizza and beer, dude... you outdid yourself tonight! I'm proud of ya." He's headed to his bedroom to change, muttering, "Ya sound like I don't do this kinda thing regularly." I yell after him, "Maybe that's because ya don't!" Cory goes, "Oh, Chubby said he does this once a week; I was wicked impressed by that." Robby laughs, "Um, no, I'm his roommate and I gotta back Dylan on this point. It's a first for Chubby. He's usually borrowing money, but we wouldn't want him any other way. Right, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, you got that right. But enough about my bro. I'm driving, who's sitting on who's lap?" Robby says, "Not me, not with my shoulder." Connor says, "I'll sit on Cory," but Cory contradicts, "No Connor, I'm the smallest one here, I'll, gulp, sit on your lap if it's okay with you." I'm thinking, "Hmmmm, could this be the start of something big?"
I'm in the driver's seat, Robby needs the shotgun seat so he's near the door and there's only half the chance someone will accidentally bump him there as compared to sitting in the middle. That leaves Connor in the middle with Cory, who doesn't like to be touched, sitting on Connor's lap. Naturally there's nervous giggling from the two in the middle, but I'm thinking that at least one of them is enjoying himself quite a bit. It's probably too much to hope that they both are. Cory's surprising me by being as outgoing as he's been thus far, and then at the bowling alley he actually appears to be having a lot of fun. It of course helps that he's by far the best bowler in our group. In his third string he bowls a one-twenty-four which he's thrilled about, and shows it. No false modesty, he's excited. Connor bowls two strings in the seventies with Cory giving him constant tips, and then Connor makes Cory proud by bowling an eighty-eight in the last frame. I tried my ass off, probably tried too hard, but never got out of the sixties for a score. I'm bitchin' that there's something wrong with the rental shoes I'm wearing. Robby, who obviously can't bowl because of his shoulder, rubs my back, whispering, "Forget the shoes, you suck, dude; you're embarrassing me." But he's just bustin' my chops, and he laughs after he says it. All night Connor and Cory hang together with a lot to say to each other. Robby and me talk quietly and then get the giggles because we're finding different ways to accidentally-on-purpose touch each other without announcing outright that we're gay lovers. Cory doesn't pay too much attention to us, thankfully. I don't think he picked-up on the vibes. It was a fun night and a smashing success were Cory's concerned, so I'm feeling really good about this whole deal. In hindsight it was Chubby who brought Cory out of his shell, as only Chubby can; and I'm grateful for that. Cory asked to be dropped off first; his high school begins with homeroom at eight o'clock in the morning. He doesn't say anything to me about dropping him off away from his run-down apartment complex, which is another thing that makes be feel good for him. On the ride there he's relaxed in Connors lap, laying back against Connor's chest, building my hopes that maybe something will develop between them although it's a very slight chance. For one thing Cory's only seventeen and for another he's proclaimed to me, the first time I met him, that he's got a problem with homosexuals, whatever that's worth. And, of course, Connor's going in the Army in a month, so the chances are slim and none. In any case, it was a good night for all of us. At Cory's apartment Connor murmurs, "Your apartment is a lot like the one my mother and I live in back home." Cory goes, "Really?" Connor goes, "Yep, yours is better actually. We all aren't lucky like Robby and Dylan." I go, "Robby, anyway." There's some chuckling when Cory's crawling off Connor's lap. Robby gets out 'cause he doesn't want to get jostled. Connor smack Cory on the ass as he's getting out of the pickup, which is unexpected. Cory laughs, doing a fake, 'Ow!' so that went okay. We say goodbye, and Cory goes, "Thanks a million, Dylan. You were right, it didn't suck! Thanks guys, see ya!" He's a happy camper, damn I feel good about that!. After we drop Connor at his dorm and he gets done thanking us for everything from the pizza to the oxygen he's breathed tonight, and I'm driving away, Robby says, "I don't care how much pain it causes, I gotta fuck you tonight, Dylan, I just gotta." I say, "You won't get an argument from me about that, Robby," and I pat his thigh near his dick making him chuckle, then say, "No way can I do it in here though; it's gotta be our bedroom." I go, "I'm good with that!"
We have a cigarette on the balcony when we get back to our apartment. It's only the second one I've had since the one I snuck during parking lot duty at work. Cory keeps the smoking to a minimum. Robby says, "I'll probably be bitching about my shoulder, Dylan, but we're going to keep going. I'm missing out intimate times together; it's brutal not having a sexy time with you, ya know?" I go, "Tell me about it, I resorted to straggling my snake. That sucks in comparison to you doing my ass up right." Robby drags on his cigarette, then talks as the smoke drifts out of his nose and mouth, "Especially when we got in a rhythm of doing it regularly twice a day." I exhale some smoke, saying, "When your shoulder heals we could even take it up a notch, say three times a day." Robby barks out a laugh, coughing because smoke got caught in his throat with his abrupt laugh. He wipes his mouth with the back of the hand he's holding the cigarette with, and says, "You say stuff like that three fucks a day thing, with such a straight face, dude. Ya got me there, I thought you were serious for a second. Jesus! Three fucks a day! That'd qualify us for pervert consideration, ya know." I'm like, "Nah, not really. I didn't mean every day, just when the mood hit us. I mean, you're in charge anyway, but I'm just saying if you get the mood I'd go along with whatever you say. I'm serious about you being in charge because you've got leadership qualities coming out the yin yang." He nods his head, saying, "You're thinking about the way I was on last year's baseball team. I was infield captain, so yeah, I needed to be a leader. With you though, it isn't all that easy." I flick my cigarette butt off one of the rungs in the railing and it bounces back at me, so I swat it with my hand and it goes over the railing. "A single up the middle," Robby says. I chuckle, then go, "You do great leading our relationship too, Robby. I'm happy to follow your lead." He takes a last drag of his cigarette, then shows-off flicking his butt high into the night. We watch the red ashes trailing off the butt like a small firecracker. Then he says, "I just might want to fuck you three times a day sometime, so you be ready for it." I go, "Yes, sir!" It's easy to put ideas in Robby's head, and then he takes ownership of them, which is okay with me. Three fucks a day, hot damn!!
Three fucks is just a dream at this point. Doing even one will be problematic with his shoulder susceptible to aching at any sudden motion in his body. We strip to our underpants in the bedroom, then do our bathroom routines. Robby says, "We'll shower afterwards, Dylan. I missed the shower last night." I mutter, "Okay," feeling anxious anticipation of our upcoming sex. "How should we try it, Robby?" He goes, "Well, it's gonna hurt my GD shoulder anyway we do it, but maybe if you just bend over and grab your knees, that might work best. And, Dylan, don't push your ass back against me, okay? I'll try to just move my hips and keep my torso stiff." I go, "Whatever you say, Robby. Should we take off our boxer shorts?" He goes, "Oh yeah, maybe we should," and he chuckles. Then goes, "I'm excited and a little nervous 'cause it might hurt like a real bitch, but I'm gonna do it!" I step out of my boxers and help Robby step out of his. Then I grab his cock and one of his nuts to just hold, not squeeze, as I kiss his lips. We do a really nice French kiss, but without having each other in our arms it loses something, although it's still nice. Robby has a few "Ow" moments when he begins moving his head during the kiss so he pulls his head away, saying, "Maybe you should just suck my dick into a boner, Dylan." I mutter, "Oh, sure..." getting on my knees and sucking his four inch cock with tongue and lips, while lapping at the head and that gets him hard fast, so the boy is horny; guess he and Ryan haven't done anything together. Robby's doing deep breathing, muffling some grunts when his shoulders shudder, or they flinch from the stimulation on his dick. He takes a big breath, pushing at my forehead, mumbling, "I need a break, Dylan. I'm sorry." I look up and see his face is red from him holding his breath when the pain is shooting through his shoulder. His free hand is gently rubbing his upper arm, so maybe that hurts too. Not a real sexy situation, but I desperately want to feel his cock up my ass, so I ask, "How 'bout KY jelly so it goes smoother going in?" "Good idea," he says, and I get some from the night stand. We hardly ever use it anymore, but it is a treat sometimes to get that slippery feeling of easy penetration and all that. Squeezing some on my fingers I stroke his cock with it and it gets harder still. Then I reach behind me and push some up my ass, fingering myself a bit, but stop when I'm about to moan. Robby says, "We're so horny it's sick. You ready, Dylan?" I wipe my finger on my leg and then bend over with my hands on my knees, saying, "Ready, willing, and anxious." Robby goes, "Me too," and guides his cock to my ass, then pushes it in. Oh it feels so good! "All the way, Robby," I gasp. He grunts and humps his cock up my ass four inches, then goes, "Ahh, ow!" He immediately follows that with, "I'm alright, I forgot and moved my shoulder." I'm biting my lip, waiting impatiently. Then his hips start moving and it feels kinda like a regular fuck in that it feels good, but without the zing of our normal sex. It kinda reminds me of when I jerk-off, so I start stoking myself. No way am I not having a climax. In between grunts of pain, Robby fucks my ass steadily, but this whole thing seems more like a chore for him then anything else. He's awesome to do this, but it's not really hot. That's not to say I tell him to forget it; no, it's not great, but it's better than just jerking off, which I'm also doing. And I know it's Robby's cock in my ass, so it helps knowing it's his boner and not a dildo I'm sticking up there while I jerk off. Not that I've ever actually seen a real dildo, never mind own one.
It takes about ten minutes of, 'stop and rest his shoulder' fucking before I feel my climax coming on. After awhile Robby's muffled protest of pain in his arm and shoulder just blend in with the sucking sound of his slippery cock plowing my ass and my grunts of pleasure. Not pleasure on nearly the scale of our regular sex, but a hell of a lot better than nothing. When cum shoots from my cock, my hand stroking my foreskin to and fro, the immediate shot feels great, much better than my jerk-off climax, but it's way down from a normal fuck climax. Robby sounds exhausted when he slows down and says, "Oh good, Dylan. I was able to get you off. I feel so good about that, but I've jerked around too much and I'm just not feeling it." As for me, I got some decent buzzing going around my balls, not toe-curling stuff, but it felt pretty good overall. Robby pulls out of me as I'm stroking the last drips of cum from my cock. I feel better, but then I think about Robby, and say, "Robby, let me get you situated in bed, on your side like last night, and I'll suck you off. Maybe that'll work this time if you're laying down. It's not fair you don't get off and I do." Robby quickly says, "Oh, okay. Yeah, the way you wedged the pillow at my back stabilizes my shoulders. If you're willing to try it, I'd appreciate it." I go, "Appreciate it? Robby, we're lovers in love! I want to do it for you." He mutters, "I love you so much. What do I do first, I forget." I go, "Just sit at the edge of the bed," which he does, and I do the same thing as last night: one arm low around his back and the other under his leg and get him sitting on top of the mattress with his legs stretched out in front of him, then lower him to his good side. Then the pillow goes behind him, securing his back. Climbing on the bed from the other side I'm careful not to make any abrupt moves. On my elbows and knees, my head's at his crotch and my ass is pointing away at ninety degrees to his body. I bury my face in his crotch and take the jelly coated cock, coated with my ass juices, and suck his cock clean. It stayed hard when he pulled it out of my ass. Nothing fancy, just constant sucking and licking and while he does start involuntarily to jerk his body as he gets near climax, he perseveres and with a yelp of pain, he thrust this hips forward and a lot of creamy-boy-cum floods my mouth. In this position I couldn't get my throat the right way to take him in my throat, which means I get all his spunk in my mouth. A lot of cum from Robby; first the misty spray, then the long stream, followed by three smaller ones. I try swallowing some, but it's drooling our both side of my mouth and down my chin. I suck until, Robby says, "No more, Dylan. That was great." But he doesn't sound too enthusiastic because the shoulder pain may have outweighed the climax thrill. All in all, easily the worse sexual experience we've ever had together, but still pretty good; from my viewpoint anyhow, but I gotta feel bad for Robby. He mostly went through this for me. He's unusually quiet as I help him shower. The plastic cover for his arm in a sling is cumbersome and he can't move the arm and it's a bit of a pain in the ass bathing him. Not the fun I usually have in the shower with a boy.
After drying both of us and getting some pajama bottom on Robby, I help him get in bed again. To say something, I go, "I changed the sheets for you yesterday, Robby. Did you notice?" He says, "I did, and thank you. Nice crisp, clean sheets are great to sleep in." I come around to my side of the bed, my side that I won't be sleeping in, and gently lean over to kiss his lips, then say, "I didn't get clean when helping you with your shower, so I'm going to jump back in the shower now. See if you can get to sleep." He says, "Just a second, Dylan. Um, I've kinda been considering something all day, and I need to bring it up to you. Ah, I can't do this with you again until my shoulder heals because it hurts too much, and I'm doing a shitty job as your lover and sex partner anyway. Too bad whats-his-name isn't around, I guess. I wouldn't even mind if you did it with him. I'm letting you down and I hate that!" Robby's got this need to be the best at anything he's doing so I know it's killing him that he can't fuck me good at the moment. I go, "No, you're not doing a shitty job, Robby. That was great for me, both your fuck and sucking you off. I loved it." He says, "It wasn't great at all; you're just being sweet. Here's my crazy idea, and I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but... um, remember when I was sick with my cold and my brother pulled that bogus 'Helping my brother service his lover' routine. Remember?" I give a cautious, "Un huh," and he goes, "Well we all got a big kick out of it then, and I liked hearing about it. I mean, it was my brother so I didn't feel threatened that someone was stealing you away from me. So, simply put, I know you're going home Friday night and I'll be with the team for an away game on Saturday, so how 'bout we recruit Dodger to fill-in for me this weekend. By next week I should be much better. Is it a crazy idea?" He looks concerned. I say, "Damn, I'm touched, Robby. I swear to God I am, you're just thinking about me and my sexual appetite. That's like so awesome of you! You already know Dodgers' attacked me twice, and.." Robby says, "Three times actually, he tells me about it and because it's him I don't mind too much. This time he'd be doing me a favor for real. Keeping you from straying off the ranch, keeping it in the family and saving me some pain as well as a guilty conscience that I'm letting you down." I go, "You know I think Dodger's awesome, but it don't seem right, you know, me doing it with him and all. He usually waylays me and is bossy as hell... heh heh, it's fun actually." Robby asks, "You think it's a good idea then, for both of us... and hell, for my brother too. He thinks you're awesome. Whaddaya think, Dylan, should I call him tomorrow?" I go, "Yeah I guess, and I might as well go along willingly because if you call him it won't make any difference if I go along willingly or not, he'd get me anyway, somehow!" We have a laugh, muttering, "That little fucker, Dodger..." Robby says, "I'm surprising myself, but I feel relieved we're taking care of this dicey situation." I go, "Huh!" 'cause it's taken me totally by surprise. The thought to do this never crossed my mind, although calling Elliot's brother, Ray, has crossed my mind. So, Robby's being clever enough to, as he says, keep it in the family where he can hear every detail from Dodger. Oh man! This is nuts, but cool too.
In the shower I don't know if I'm elated, or what. I should be, I guess, but it is such an odd arrangement... even for me.
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
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