DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 1
by Donny Mumford
Waking up Saturday morning I sense a touch of nervous anticipation. The stupid-ass dream I was having when the alarm went off may have something to do with that. It was one of those dreams where I was about to take a final exam realizing I hadn't studied for it. So that combined with the fact today is actually the unofficial first day of my junior year at Merrimack College, may be playing games with my nerves and my brain. As I'm getting out of bed I tell myself everything's okay, you'll be fine. Fuckin' dreams, ya know?
Obviously summer vacation is over though, and a very different summer vacation it was too. Mostly because the first half of it I was living and working in Georgia with Ryan Wilcox. Then the second half was here at home working on Robby's lawn cutting crew, with a greater appreciation than ever about how special Robby is and how lucky I am to have him as my boyfriend. So I'm saying those two significant factors qualify this past summer as very different from any other. Living nine weeks with Ryan was the first time I've ever been away from home for longer then a weekend. This past summer has been the most financially successful summer ever. That's because the job in Georgia paid really well, and then 'Dickers and Son' increased everyone's hourly wage this year, so I'm bucks up for once! It's all been very good.
I can't gloss over my time spent with Ryan, he has a unique place in my heart as someone I admire and appreciate differently than any other friend I can think of. He made it his business to take care of me in Georgia doing it his way, which I didn't always agree with, but he was remarkably effective and kept every promise he made before we left college. That's a very brief summary of my summer as I think of it in my mind and I have no complaints and no legitimate reason to.
That being said, I'm looking forward to my junior year at Merrimack.
Actually I see this as a relocation day. Robby and I are relocating from Framingham to our recently rented apartment in North Andover across the street from the college. This is my third relocation this summer. I relocated with Ryan from North Andover to Marietta, Georgia, last May. Then from Marietta to my home in Framingham and now to North Andover to complete the circle. Oh yeah, another positive result of this summer's activities is I feel I've grown-up some, especially in the area of being more reasonable where buddy-sex is concerned. Discounting Ryan's and my activities in that regard, I've been less frivolous with side-sex and stopped taking advantage of it at every opportunity that presented itself. Sure, I still have occasional buddy sex but I've turned it down at times as well. And that's not bragging so much as it's a fact.
So today's a moving day, and the beginning of another year of college.
Compared to my freshman year, when I was totally consumed with nervous anticipation, this morning I merely have a smidgen of doubt in the back of my brain. Ya know, because I want to do well again this year with my grades and not screw-up the responsibilities that go along with living away from home.
Being on our own, as college students we have frequent temptations to do something stupid that we'll regret later. I want to avoid those temptations, or at least minimize them. It's not like I haven't experienced all this before, but every year is different and this year will surely present unexpected new challenges to deal with in the right way. I guess I'm basically acknowledging to myself I can't blasé my way through junior year.
After showering and getting dressed, I'm trying to do something with my shaggy head of hair. It's grown out enough that it'll lay over on top near the front of my head, but the hairs at the crown are still only about an inch long and still sticking up. The most annoying part is hairs on the sides of my head that are also an inch long and over the tops of my ears. Not a cool look. So it's a fuzzy looking head of hair that'll require another few weeks of growing before I can, for example, have a hair style like the one I gave Chubby the other day. Shaking my head, I finally give up on my hair and put Ryan's Merrimack baseball cap on my head. There, that's better.
Now that I think about it, I'm not at all sure how I came to be in possession of his baseball cap, but possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Something like that, and anyway Ryan will get a new baseball cap this year as a team member or equipment manager. I've encouraged him to try out for the team, and even if he doesn't make the team he'll still get a hat. As for his equipment manager position I think that makes him the players gopher... go for this, go for that and pick up my used towel. That sort of thing. That was alright when Ryan had low self esteem, but that changed in a positive way for him this summer. He's better than that gopher job now and I hope he doesn't take it.
I'm in the kitchen making a mug of coffee when Chubby comes through the front door bringing with him his normal energy, positive vibes bouncing off him. He gives me a big hug and a kiss telling me how awesome I am. Chubby always makes me smile and feel, I don't know, safe I guess. He claps his hands announcing, "Moving day, Dylan. Ya ready for it, bro?" I'm like, "For sure, Chub, but don't make the mistaking of thinking we can blasé our way through junior year." He pulls the bill of my cap halfway down my forehead, mumbling, "Why on earth would you say that? Of course we won't blasé shit.
Well, maybe a little blasé is okay, don't ya think?" Adjusting my hat, I chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, I guess. As long as we don't blasé the shit."
Chubby won't be living with Robby and me in the apartment this year, which is another thing that's different, so that's a bit disconcerting too.
Yeah, that might be part of my smidgen of uneasiness. It's always better having him near me. With our coffee we have some scrambled eggs and toast while rehashing what we need to bring with us to college, then we take the coffee out on the balcony for a smoke.
He holds up a cigarette, saying, "And we're beginning our last two years of smoking these things, Dylan. We probably need to start cutting back this year so we can wean ourselves of this habit slowly and without a lot of drama. That's what I'm going to do starting today. My daily cigarette habit will be no more then, um, let's say fifteen smokes a day, then next month fourteen, and so on. You with me, bro?" He said all that in his fast-talking excited and energetic manner so it'd be impossible for me not to be 'with him'. I go, "Awesome idea, Chubby. We'll quiz each other every day and be truthful about the number of smokes we had." He nods his head, "Of course we'll be truthful, that goes without saying." I'm like, "Fifteen seems like a high number to start with though." Chubby goes, "That's the maximum number taking into account special nights, like when we're partying or whatnot.
You know, you tend to smoke more when you're drinking." I nod my head and he holds his cigarette up again, saying, "This is number one for this day." I go, "Your plan is the perfect long-distant way to quit this noxious habit."
He's like, "Hey, I might even patent this never before thought of method for quitting the evils of nicotine." I go, "Oh for sure, Chub. The cleverness of your plan is a mind-blowing break through."
After our coffee and smokes, it then takes us less then half an hour to finish loading the Jeep with the stuff we're taking to college. We did a lot of it last night, and now that we've finished it's just a matter of waiting for our moms to get up so we can say our temporary 'goodbyes' again.
We're on Chubby's balcony now with him again holding up an unlit cigarette, saying, "See this cigarette, Dylan. If not for my clever plan, I'd undoubtedly light this fuckin' thing from habit, but I'm not going to do that because there might be a time later today when I wish I'd saved this smoke. Like, for example, when we're having a beer tonight celebrating something." I go, "I'm not lighting mine either. In fact I'm not even taking it out of the box, mostly because in my case I don't want a cigarette right now. That's not to say I don't appreciate the deep logic in your thinking." We're chuckling and slowly shaking our heads at our nonsensical ramblings. It's fun being with Chubby.
Putting the cigarette back in the box, Chubby starts a new conversation; this one about the fact we're at the halfway point of college and joining the great America's workforce. Chubby goes, "In a mere two years we'll be just two more working stiffs trying to make ends meet and looking forward to Friday night." I go, "Gloomy outlook, bro. We should get jobs we enjoy," and we try thinking what jobs we'd enjoy doing for our life's work. Chubby decides he'll be a cruise director for a Royal Caribbean cruise ship, saying, "They make up to $7000 a month, plus all their living expenses are free when onboard that luxury liner." That's an occupation I'd never think of in a million years, but it sounds like a cool job. Mine is owning a barbershop that only guys in their twenties or younger would frequent. Both of our pie in the sky ideal career paths have significant stumbling blocks to overcome, and I don't believe Chubby's serious about his in the first place. I mean, I never heard him mentioned cruise director even once before in his life, and that job would mean we wouldn't be together for long periods of time.
I'll assume both our choices are for conversational purposes only.
The moms get up early for them, at ten-thirty. They must have both set their alarms because Tris comes out of her bedroom just as my mom's coming through the front door. It's not a simple goodbye of course, but rather an hour long conversation letting them know our living arrangements, financial situations, and a general discussion of college courses; all of which we've discussed in detail before. They remind us of what's going on in their lives too. There's a wedding for one of the twin's younger brothers that will mean a weekend trip to Pennsylvania, and they have plans for an overnight trip to Foxwoods after that. The major development in the moms' lives is they're finally reducing their workload slightly at the restaurant by taking off two Saturdays a month from now on, which I think is a very good thing.
Chubby asks the moms if there are any other weddings in the foreseeable future that we should know about, meaning their weddings obviously. And that's gets discussed without a date being chosen. In other words we're telling each other as much as we know about our plans for the next couple of months. Finally there isn't much more to say and we begin the hugging and kissing part of our temporary goodbyes. It's not like we're going off to war after all, and we'll probably be home for a weekend in a couple of weeks; but still, each goodbye is one goodbye closer to leaving the nest for good. When that time comes it's a major comfort to Chubby and me knowing the moms have their awesome fiancés to keep them company. Sometimes things actually do work out well. Good to remember that.
The moms get misty eyes as they walk with us out back where the Jeep's parked. More hugs and then we're finally in the Jeep waving as I back the Jeep out of the driveway, and then we're heading down the road to whatever comes next. Chubby says, "The moms never disappoint, do they?" I go, "Nope, they always give off that loving feeling. It's a mom thing." He goes, "I'm glad they're cutting back on their work schedule a little. It's not like they'll need the money once they're married," and that's pretty much ends of our conversation. The drive to North Andover, which we've made maybe thirty times by now, takes about an hour from Framingham. During the ride we're mostly thinking our own thoughts and listening to 98.5 FM, one of the two sports talk radio stations out of Boston. I drive past Merrimack College on the way to the Royal Crown Estates, which is the pretentious name of the apartment complex Robby's and my apartment is in.
After I park illegally next to the back door, Chubby and I carry my stuff to the second floor apartment. Inside Chubby's like, "Oh fuck, this is really nice! It looks new." I always feel good when Chubby gives his approval for, well for anything involving me. Of course if he went in with us on the apartment this year we couldn't have this one bedroom renovated apartment, and none of the two bedroom apartments were renovated this past year. So the fact everything is new in this place softens the blow of not having Chubby living with me.
When we've humped all my stuff up the steps to the apartment, including the gas grille from my balcony at home, we drive to Chubby's dormitory. His dorm room is unfortunately not in one of the two new dormitories. Getting into one of the new dorms was a lottery situation and neither Chubby nor John Beverly's name was picked out of the hat, so to speak. As we drive up to the building we see John Beverly sitting on the dorm's steps waiting to greet us. After one arm hugs and smiling greetings, the three of us unload Chubby's stuff. Their dormitory room looks small compared to the apartment, but both guys seem happy enough with it. Ryan texted me a couple of days ago that he's on the second floor of the same dormitory as Chubby's. I know the number of Ryan's dorm room, so while John Beverly and Chubby set up their room I walk upstairs to see exactly where Ryan's room is located.
Ryan's driving himself from Georgia, which brings to mind that trip he and I had driving down there right from here, which seems a long time ago now.
Sometimes it's as if I can hardly believe I actually lived those nine weeks away from home. Some strange shit happened there, but through the highs and lows of it I really bonded with Ryan in a good way. As I alluded to earlier, I discovered there's a lot more to him than I previously thought, and I liked him even before discovering this other side of him. He had a very agreeable manner being my boss on the job as well as pretty much being my boss after work too. It was relaxing for me following Ryan's lead through what could have been an awkward situation. Meaning living under his parent's roof. Awkward because it was totally uncharted territory for me, plus his parents are a bit odd. With Ryan in charge though I didn't need to concern myself too much with his parents. Hell, just about everything was Ryan's concern, and not mine... I kinda liked it that way. Over all it was surprisingly stress free for me and, as I said, Ryan was very good at being in-charge of us.
Hell, I already admired Ryan for overcoming the obstacles he faced growing up. All that master/slave shit he fought his way through. It was caused mostly by his poor self-image in his younger years. He had to completely turn that around, and he's done it very successfully. I've come to think he's, um, special, and during my time in Marietta I became very attracted to him. It's not love; I know that much, but it's something. He's smaller and shorter than me, but stronger and at times I feel like there's a kind of magnetism about him that gives me a gooey submissive sense, one I've never felt with anyone else. I In one of Ryan's texts he told me he's having a lot of his stuff delivered by UPS and at his room I see some of it's already arrived. There are some boxes addressed to him sitting outside his dorm room. Huh, I try the door and it's unlocked so I carry the four boxes inside. His dorm room looks exactly like Chubby's, not that that's a news flash or anything. Ryan won't get
here until sometime Sunday and his roommate won't be arriving until Monday or Tuesday. They've been communicating for a couple of weeks now after connecting online from the 'roommate wanted' list for Merrimack. Orientation is on Tuesday and classes begin Wednesday. That's basically it, and I'm kind of anxious to get started. This year we were able, as juniors, to do all our registering online, and we bought our books the same way. The books are part of the 'stuff' we brought with us from home. This semester I'm not sure how many courses the three of us we'll have together. I know Robby and I have three out of four courses together. And I'm pretty sure Ryan didn't enroll on the management course Robby's in; i know I didn't. Instead I decided on a History of Motion Pictures' course, which the online scuttlebutt calls 'Ridiculously easy'. I assume Ryan's taking it too.
Locking the door to Ryan's dorm room, I go down to Chubby's and sit in a desk chair watching them unpack their stuff. Chubby and John Beverly are telling stories about the funny shit they got into last year. I chuckle along with them, but the realization hits home that Chubby's life is being lived while I'm living mine, separately more and more. I mean, I knew that, but hearing these two talk about their escapes last year, escapades that I didn't even know about, is a little jarring. Chubby, who's always tuned-in to me, must be sensing I'm thinking something along these lines so he leans over smiling at me squeezing the back of my neck, saying to John Beverly, "Dylan and I will have to tell you our adventures sometime; not that you'll believe half of them, huh bro?" I snort out a laugh, "Probably not, Chub," and I grin back at him, feeling better now that he included me in the conversation. John Beverly goes, "Ya know, I don't think I'll ever get used to that nickname Dylan insists on calling you, Jeff." Chubby gives John a 'look', saying, "Try harder," and pats my shoulder.
It's probably not good that I'm so possessive of Chubby, especially at my advanced age, but I am anyway. If I told Chubby I don't like John Beverly, I wouldn't hear his name ever again. Not that I'd do that, but knowing that's the case is my selfish little secret that John Beverly couldn't even imagine. Fact is though, I like John okay and I'm happy Chubby has a good friend like him.
We decide to have lunch at Fuddruckers. Finished with their dorm room, we're walking to the Jeep when I stop to say hello to Jarod Mellincamp. He's smoking a cigarette leaning up against a car while reading something. He doesn't see me so I bat at the paper he's reading, asking, "You ready for a rematch, punk?" He glances up, then his face breaks out in a smile, "Oh, fuck no, I'm not ready for a rematch, ever. Not with you, Dylan. I don't want to get my ass kicked again."
We do the one arm hug with a couple of pats on the back, asking each other, "How ya doing?" Jarod and I had an immature fight early in our freshman year, and later we became friends. We exchange a few brief comments about our summers, then I say, "I gotta catch up with my brother. We're going to Fuddruckers. Wanna join us?" He goes, "No thanks, I'm waiting for my girlfriend. Hey, we need to that double date. Are you still going with that guy, Rob's his name, right?" I nod, "Yeah, how 'bout you?" and he laughs, "Christ no! I'm working on girlfriend number five since freshman year."
Chubby's waving at me as he gets in the Jeep, so I go, "I gotta run, Jarod. We'll do that double date though. See ya," and I jog over to the Jeep.
John Beverly's in the shotgun seat so I get in the back, telling Chubby, "That's the kid I had a fight with my first week at Merrimack." John Beverly mutters, "Bad ass, Dylan!" and Chubby says, "It was also your last fight, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I can't remember any others." It's a short ride to Fuddruckers; like a quarter mile, but on the other side of route 114 from the college. The restaurant is at the end of a strip mall next to a dry cleaners, then there's the package store with overpriced beer, wine, and hard liquor, and lastly a Starbucks that I've never been in 'cause their coffee's too bitter and expensive for my taste. They have free Wi-Fi though, so there are usually pretentious assholes sitting at little tables sipping a bitter coffee and tapping away at their laptop. Like: 'Hey, look at me! Aren't I cool and sophisticated?!' Getting out of the Jeep, I go, "Oh no, Chub! Is that Harry Black sitting on the curb?" He looks, and goes, "Ha ha, yeah, it's Harry. He's drunk already." I ask, "Does that boy ever get his haircut? He looks like a porcupine." We go inside without attracting Harry's attention, as John asks, "Is that guy a student?" We tell him about Harry always being at least slightly drunk at all times and yet his GPA is close to 4.0. Something like 3.8 the last time I checked. Hard to believe, which is why I checked in the first place. Inside the restaurant there's a line of people, some of whom are students, placing their orders, paying for it, and then taking one of those buzzer things that'll go off when their order's ready. Everything is cooked to order at Fuddruckers.
Glancing around at the tables I see Ears Henderson, and when you see him you see Scott Tinsdale too. Inseparable straight guys, although Scott was trying to find someone that was willing to do some gay sex with him last year. He said it's because he's curious. I politely declined his offer to blow me, and don't know if he ever succeeded in experiencing gay sex. That's the last thing in the world I'd ask him about for fear he'd start up again on me. Ears' first name is Walter, by the way; therefore his nickname, not that his ears look all that unusual to me. Sitting with those two is Mike Mananski, who was Jasper's roommate freshman year. Jasper dropped out of college last year for reasons unknown.
We place our orders and sit at an empty table to wait for our buzzer to buzz. John Beverly says, "Gordon Babcock told me that Tracy finally got a liquor license for his speakeasy. His old man pulled some strings I hear. The grand opening is at seven o'clock tonight." Chubby asks, "Do you guys want to check it out after dinner?" I go, "Sure, except we're twenty-one now and we can drink any place we want." John goes, "Yeah, but I'd like to check Tracy's place out at least once. I heard he had permanent club built on like three quarters of the deck, plus extended it. Now there's inside and outside drinking areas. And get this: since he's got the license now, he can't serve underage students anymore." I go, "Serving underage guys was the whole purpose of the speakeasy." John shrugs, and Chubby says, "Well, I'd like to check it out too. Ya wanna come with me, bro." I go, "Yeah, of course,"
and John's like, "Count me in too."
Our food's ready and, as I'm getting mine, I'm thinking about the three or four times Tracy's fucked me real fast and hard in the storage room. He usually has a girlfriend but says he likes to fuck really cute guys too.
Modesty prevents me from dwelling on other things he's said about me in that regard. I like the guy, plus he makes me feel special. Last year he told the bouncer to always let me in without paying the cover charge at the door; during off hours too. I tried not to abuse the privilege, although it came in handy a few times last year when we needed a case of beer for the apartment on Sundays.
After lunch the three of us hang out at the Quad where we meet and greet guys we had classes with, or met at parties, or at Tracy's speak easy during the past two years. I'm at the Coke machine getting a soda when Felix Jonnas taps me on the shoulder. He's Ryan's friend; I met him through Ryan.
Anyway, I turn around and we do the one arm hug thing, asking each other, "Wassup?" Then he asks, "Do you know when Ryan is showing up?" I tell him and he goes, "We gotta get together at my parent's place and shoot some pool."
I nod, mumbling, "Definitely, Felix, and you need to finish teaching me how to shoot pool with English." He's with a girl who he doesn't introduce me to, and I drift back to the table seeing that Danny Monday has joined Chubby and John Beverly. Chubby asks me, "When's Rob making an appearance? Danny
just asked me and I don't remember when you said he'd be here." Danny holds out his fist, smiling a little, saying, "Hi, Dylan. Wish you'd have played soft ball with us last Sunday. We could'a used you." I bump his fist, "Yo, Danny, how's it going?" He nods, and I say, "Yeah, um, how many guys played in that softball game?" He says, "We had fourteen guys, but Rob left after two innings saying he felt like shit, so that left us with an odd number." Chubby asks, "What'd you do with the odd guy out?" He goes, "We had Fat Dennis Finch pitch for both sides." Huh, that confirms that Robby and Danny didn't do anything sexy together. Not that I thought they did.
I choose not to inform Danny about Robby's hospital stay. Instead I answer Chubby's question, "Rob's driving up tomorrow afternoon, and that reminds me, I need to use the Jeep, Chub. I want to fill up the apartment refrigerator to surprise him." Danny asks, "You guys have an apartment again this year?" I mumble, "Uh huh," then say, "Let me use your keys, Chub. Mine are somewhere among all the stuff at the apartment." He gives me his keys and when I finish my Coke, I'm like, "When I'm done grocery shopping, I'll text you, Chub." He goes, "Sure, bro. What do you wanna do about dinner?" I shrug, "I don't know. Can't you guys eat on campus in the dining hall?" John Beverly says, "Not until Wednesday," and Chubby says, "We'll figure something out. Text me."
Driving to Stop & Shop, which is about a mile up route114 from Merrimack, I'm thinking about Robby and Danny Monday. They obviously didn't do anything unless Danny's lying about Robby levying the game after two innings.
Plus, I know now Robby was sick so I'm positive they didn't do anything. Okay, but I'll bet anything in the world Danny wanted to have sex with my boyfriend. Then I give a passing thought to the time I did it with Danny, although I pass by that thought quickly. That was during my frivolous side-sex days of yore.
In Stop & Shop I get the basic needs for an apartment like coffee K-cups, sugar, milk, cereal, sodas, bread, eggs, anti-acid tablets and Advil; things like that. Then snack foods, gum, and some candy bars. Jesus, the total comes to $98.78 for basic stuff only! In the future I really need to go a little out of the way and shop at Market Basket where everything is cheaper; in some case a lot chapter. Next stop is McGloon's package store where I see a big sign that reads: 'Merrimack freshmen! Don't even try it because we'll just hold onto your fake ID and call the cops. Our license is our livelihood.' That makes me smile, the part about 'Don't even try it!' The warning notice is addressed to freshman because sophomores and above already know not to try fake ID in this liquor store. Anyone with a brain in their head goes to Salem, New Hampshire for booze and cigarettes anyway. I'm making an exception today for the beer because that's one item where the prices aren't a lot cheaper in New Hampshire, and I don't feel like taking the time to drive there anyway.
I buy a case of Bud because it's on sale, then drive to our apartment and put everything away in either the refrigerator or kitchen cabinets. Next I try the bed and it's new too, and nice! The whole place is awesome, um, except for the view from our balcony. It looks out over the parking lot. If it looked out the other side of this building we'd see the really nice landscaping they've done in front, plus we'd need to pay an extra hundred dollars a month for the privilege. The landscaping in front makes this apartment complex look classy. After making up the bed, I walk slowly around the apartment, very pleased with everything. Sitting on the sofa I text Robby, but no reply from him so he's probably in a meeting. I text Chubby and he text back saying he's still at the Quad, so I drive back there.
Inside I find Chubby and John Beverly putting the 'make' on two big buxom babes. I don't know where Danny Monday got to; not that I care. After a couple of minutes I'm feeling like a fifth wheel at the table. Passing the Jeep's keys to him, I tell Chubby, "I'm going to walk around the campus and see what improvements they've made during the summer." He nods, saying, "Okay, bro." One of the girl, the one named, Judy, says, "Don't leave on our account, Dylan. Madison and I would rather look at you than these two duds."
Ah yes, I remember her now. She's Judy Rinker who Chubby dated last year. I tell her, "It's perfectly understandable why you'd feel that way, Judy."
Chubby laughs as we slap hands, then I make my escape. Girls calling each other by their last name, trying to be like guys, annoys me. Calling her girlfriend, 'Madison' sounds phony to me, an affectation. The girl's name is Sue Madison, and I like Judy even though she uses her friend's last name. When I met her last year she was sort of coming on to me, which has a lot to do with why I like her. Flattering ya know, but I had to confess my sin, then she moved on to Chubby.
Walking through the campus in the general direction of the Royal Crown Estates, I notice some nice landscaping improvements here too. They've spiffed
up the grounds nicely. The apartment complex isn't far from the end of the
college campus, but then there's the challenge of crossing a normally busy
four lane highway known as route 114. It requires patience and when opportunity presents itself I cross the street and walk up the entrance of the Royal Crown Estates. We're in the third buildings on the left, and it's only taken me ten minutes to walk here after leaving the Quad, and now I'm home, so to speak.
In the apartment I lie on the couch and surf the TV finally settling on one of the twenty college football games on at the same time. I doze off and have a nice nap until my cellphone buzzing wakes me up. I know I was dreaming about something, but it was earlier in my nap and now I can't remember what it was. The caller ID of my buzzing cellphone shows, Jeff Romero. "Hey Chub, I dozed off." He says, "I'm on my way to pick you up. Lets have dinner at Burtons while we can still afford it," and that's what we do, just Chubby and me. We'll meet John Beverly at Tracy's later. He's apparently gonna try to get in Madison's pants. Chubby tells me that bit of information like it's the most logical reason in the world to skip dinner.
Burton's is a pricey restaurant, but mostly worth it. We have two Jack and
Coke cocktails before dinner, then Caesar salads, and after that melt-in-our-mouths steaks cooked medium rare with scalloped potatoes and seasonal mixed vegetables that we actually eat. Some vegetable are tasty I'm discovering. After dinner we share a slice of warm double chocolate cake for dessert. Really good dinner that takes the better part of two hours from beginning to end. Next stop the new and improved Tracy's speakeasy.
Chubby parks two blocks away, which is the closet parking spot we can find, so the word is out about Tracy's already. We drove by the place when looking for a parking spot and I see that Tracy had a hell of a lot done to this place over the summer. It's like he's added a big room with a cathedral ceiling off his kitchen. It looks very cool with the neon-lighted beer signs in the windows and the wood carved sign, 'TRACY'S SPEAKEASY', and in smaller letter, 'Private Club'. Oh, so if it's a private club now and that gives him a little wiggle room for serving under aged drinkers... maybe.
As we're going up the steps I see Tracy's standing with the bouncer at the top. Behind them is what's left of the deck's open air section, and it's bigger than I expected. Tracy gives me a cool grin as we say hello doing the normal one arm hug routine. Before we can say more a girl, who I assume is Tracy's latest girlfriend, walks over to say something in Tracy's ear. He says, "Yeah, sure, but first meet my friend, Dylan Newman." We nod at each other as Tracy says to me, "The is without doubt the best girlfriend I've ever had the luck to know. Meet Linda Brady." We do a sort of fingers-only handshake as I ask, jokingly, "Any relation to Tom?" She frowns cutely, asking, "Who's Tom?" Tracy chuckles, "No, she's not Tom's sister." Linda says, "So I'll catch you later, okay, Trace?" He goes, "Sure," and she goes down the steps, with Tracy saying to me, "Look at the ass on that girl."
Blowing out my cheeks, I look around and see there's a real bar replacing the table used as a bar last year. The open deck is about twenty by twenty feet while the enclosed part of the club has been extended sideways over the yard. The nightclub building forms an 'L' shape to the left, away from the street next to us. There are double doors at the entrance to the nightclub and another bouncer type guy standing there shooing away people wanting to get a look inside. The new section will have it's grand opening the first day of the semester. Tracy tells me he's here greeting potential club members, but only after the bouncer, Rex, checks ID. Rex is turning away those who are too young, but being polite about it. Rex is definitely the preppiest looking bouncer I've ever seen, but he has all the bulk and muscles you'd expect a bouncer to have.
Tracy spreads his arms, asking, "Well, Dylan, how do you like the changes around here?" I shrug, "It's all, um, basically unbelievable, Trace.
Totally awesome, dude!" He's passing out pamphlets that list the particulars of the new speakeasy: membership fee, and the normal rules he had last year about no fighting and no abusive language, and so forth. Rules very few paid any attention to. He goes, "One dollar drafts beers today, Dylan." Chubby pats Tracy's shoulder on the way by me, saying, "Nice set up, Trace." I see John Beverly's at a round table for six, so he's been here for a while. He motions to Chubby, who tells me, "I'm getting a beer and joining John Beverly, bro; we'll be over there," as he points at John's table where three girls have joined him, one of them being Judy Rinker. I nod, "I'll be over in a few minutes."
Tracy asks me, "He's your brother, right?" I go, "Yeah, the good looking guy, not the guy at the table with the girls." Tracy nods, then says, "Wednesday I'm letting everyone see the new speakeasy and, as a promotion, we're selling the one dollar beers then too. They'll be membership cards when the guys and girls turn in the short application with twenty bucks. No more cover charge after that except for special events." I say, "It looks and sounds really cool, but right now I'm gonna get one of those dollar beers," but he grabs my arm. "No, wait, Dylan, I have VIP membership cards and I want you to have one. Follow me." I'm a little leery, but then Tracy couldn't possibly expect us to do that quick fuck the first friggin' day. We walk into the enclosed 'nightclub' section, and it looks just like a bar... duh, what else would it look like? The cathedral ceiling has three ceiling fans hanging six feet above us and they're lazily spinning, but it quite warm in here. Tracy says, "No air conditioning, but we'll have heat all winter."
There's a short hall next to the bar that leads to the back door of his house.
Through the door is his kitchen that I'm quite familiar with.
Inside the kitchen, I ask, "Is your sister here?" I vaguely remember meeting her once. He goes, "Gawd no! She might spend a week here with some toad, but not until after the first of the year, and that's not even certain. My sister and I are not what you'd call close." He says that last part talking over his shoulder as he's taking a bottle of booze off a shelf. I say, "Um, no. Ah, no shot for me today, Trace." He pours two anyway, pushing one over to me, saying, "It's our tradition, Dylan." Oh balls! Peer pressure blows. I pick up the shot of bourbon as he's telling me, "You'll like this.
It's Old Maple Hill bourbon. Sixteen years old, made in small batches." I nod, glancing at the liquor store sticker that's still on the top of the cap.
The bottle cost $125. Tapping his shot glass to mine, he mumbles, "To old friends," and we flash it down. It's an ounce and a half of straight liquor so there's no way it could be good, but it's the least offensive of any shot I've ever had. I don't even feel like throwing up. He asks, "How was that?" I shrug, "Smooth. It was definitely smooth, Tracy."
When he pours himself another one I put my hand on top of my shot glass.
He looks startled, asking, "Just one?" I shrug, "Yeah, I'm a pussy when he comes to shots of liquor." He flashes his down, then takes my arm saying, "C'mon, I've thought about this on and off all fucking summer." His arm's across my shoulders now as he walks me directly to the dining room that he's turned into a supply room. I can tell it was a dining room originally because there a chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. In the room are many cases of beer, half kegs of beer, and a shelf full of different kinds of liquors; some expensive, but most are recognizable names in a reasonable price range. There's cartons containing plastic cups, stirrers, bar wear, and whatever.
Tracy asks, "Can I have a kiss first. Believe it or not, I haven't done it with a guy since the last time I saw you." See, like a few other guys I have buddy sex with, Tracy has that natural over-confident matter-of-fact manner about him, and that's very appealing to me. He just assumes I want to do what he wants, and so he just goes for it without giving it much thought.
I don't want to be a prude, and I like the special treatment Tracy gives me, so we lean our heads over and kiss. Tracy's a very sexy guy and I'm sure girls find him very attractive and sexy and most guys would agree, although they'd probably only admit it to themselves. No straight guy would admit it in any kind of definitive way out loud. Tracy's lips are sexy and he has a sexy scent. The quick kiss is followed by Tracy's putting his arm around the back of my neck holding my face against his as his tongue and lips devour my mouth and soon have me concentrating hard on smothering the embarrassing moan of arousal I'm already feeling. He's let his hair grow all summer and it slides across my face clean, dry, and soft.
With a wet mouth-sound, his mouth sucks off of mine, and he exclaims, "Jesus, you're so fucking hot!" Then he laughs, saying, "I'm serious! I've been thinking about you." As he's saying that he pulls my cargo shorts down, stokes my cock a few times, telling me, "All summer I'm humping Linda like a sex-crazed maniac, and she can never get enough so we're perfect for each other, but occasionally while we're doing it I'm thinking about how hot sex with you was." Letting go of my cock, he goes, "And by the way I know Linda is fucking other guys too, the nymphomaniac." He's saying all this as if it's perfectly normal to be taking a condom out of his pocket as he talks.
Handing me the condom, he's still talking while pulling his shorts down.
"She's wild in the sack, let me tell ya. So sex with her is a wild adventure every time. Oh, and here's the best part; there's no talk of love between us whatsoever. It's the perfect relationship. Oh sure, she likes that I spend money on her at Foxwoods, or a weekend in New York, ya know, down the Cape, shit like that. Wherever we go we mostly fuck in the room anyway, barely getting out for a few hours at night. She's not into sightseeing so I don't know why I take her anyplace."
I'm standing here with my shorts around my ankles in a bit of a daze as Tracy's taking the condom back from my fingers, rips it open, grinning at me, saying, "And you still owe me that overnight date, remember?" He's so animated and nice looking, I nod, "Yeah, I remember, but I'm deeply involved with my boyfriend and shouldn't really be doing this." He stops, "Oh, you don't want to do it with me?" I shrug noncommittally while realizing I do want to do it with him. I haven't been having sex with anyone but Robby lately and then only two or three nights a week, so yeah, I'd like to do it with Tracy. He goes, "I was thinking of just a two-minute hard fun fuck, the way I thought you liked it." I go, "No, um, I mean, yeah we can do it. I was hesitating about the overnight thing you mentioned."
As if he's noticing for the first, he reaches over and take my baseball cap off, saying, "Oh no, I liked that macho bristly short haircut you've had as long as I've known you. Loved feeling that. Huh, you're letting your hair grow out, huh?" Like he's disappointed. I shrug, mumbling, "Yeah, I've never had hair long enough to comb and I want to see how I like it." He goes, "Well, either way you're the best looking person I've ever met so, ha ha, whatever. Um, just so I'm sure: you do want to do it now, right? I wouldn't feel right if I thought you were just doing it as a pity fuck or something like that. Of course if you say no you'll disappoint the shit out of me,"
and he does a nervous laugh, then says, "No, seriously." I go, "Since you put it that way, let's do it." He nods, and turns me around, asking, "Do you want me to spank you first?" I ask, "Would you like to do that?" and he goes, "Not really, unless you want me to." I go, "Okay, just a little spanking to give you a guilty conscience." He laughs, then gets a grip on my shoulder and smacks the living hell out of my ass, "SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!"
I'm soon hopping up and down putting my hands behind me to ward off the smacks." He asks, "Is that enough?" and I yell, "Hell yeah, that's enough!" My butt cheeks sting and feel hot, but it got my cock further firming up.
It's all fun and games to Tracy, who chuckles, mumbling, "Jesus, your ass is bright red. I can see my white hand print. Wait, now it's fading." Only during recreationally sex do I like an occasional hard spanking. It's all about the contrast. My stinging smacked ass is contrasting with how good it feels having a hard cock up there. Not for everyone obviously, but it works for me. Ryan really is the best at that, but he won't do it anymore.
Tracy spreads by butt cheeks, muttering, "Ah yes, that pretty rosebud asshole of yours. Ya know, I've been missing this more than I even thought I would. A guy's asshole is so different than a vagina. Different feel, and you're prettier than the girls I date anyway. Ha ha, I'm serious, Dylan." His cock is slightly firm from our short make-out, and maybe from spanking my ass, but that's only a guess on my part. Tracy's rubbing the head of his cock up and down my ass crack, saying, "Someone should do a portrait of your ass, ya know? It's perfect." I mutter, "Thanks, but I had nothing to do with it being perfect or otherwise." He chuckles, mumbling, "Guess you didn't at that."
I feel his cock getting harder as he rubs it across my ass cheeks. With his fingers gripping the back of my neck he roughly plugs the head of his cock in past my sphincter muscles doing a quiet, "Ahhhh." I grunt, then let out a quiet, Oooh, mmm." I'm thinking I could have let him spank my ass longer and increased the contrast between pain and pleasure. Tracy has a good-sized cock for fucking; when the head was spreading the lips of my anus it felt really good. The normal sizzling sensations are spiraling out from the millions of nerve endings around the anus making my shoulders do a little shudder. His boner's not fat, but there's some heft to it, and it's a nice length.
As he puts pressure on the back of my neck, he says, "Would you mind bending over and, um, holding onto that box of plastic cups." When I lean over the head of his cock slides out, and Tracy mutters, "Dammit." My hands hold onto the edge of the waist high box, then I push my ass up. With the palm of his hand on my back, Tracy uses his other hand to guide the head of his cock to my asshole again, and, "Umpth," from me as he pushes it in harder this time. Both his palms are on my back now as he thrust his hips and about two inches of boner squeezes up inside me, the head spreading the walls of my rectum. He moves his hands to cup my hips and does a hard thrust pushing the rest of his boner up my ass and my back arches and shooting pains makes me gasp, but only initially, then it's, "Aaaah, ummm. That's nice and tight, Trace." He leans against my buttocks, his pubic hairs flattened against his belly. He goes, "Oooh, wow, this feels really good. Better than I remember. Jesus, mmmm," and he grinds his hips, "Oooh, Dylan, this is so fucking hot."
Being filled up back there like this is such a great feeling for me too.
Damn, but I love a hard cock up my ass. I haven't had enough of it lately, but I'll be living with Robby starting tomorrow and he happens to have my favorite penis of all time swinging stubbly between his hot legs. Tracy humps against my buttock a few more times, murmuring, "I'm enjoying the hell out of this." A shiver of pleasure skips up my spine as I squirm a little, anxious for him to start fucking me. He's rubbing his hand down my sides, saying, "What a body. Love your body, Dylan," and then a few more humps against my ass, still without pulling his boner back. He leans over and runs his fingers through my hair, murmuring, "Miss that crisp feeling of your normally really short haircut though. Like I said, that short hair was very macho, dude."
I'm just about ready to whine for him to start. My dick has boned-up really hard by now, and with my rectum full of hard cock I'm really aroused by the thought of a hard fucking. Before I can say anything he starts up fast, and it's, "Slap,slap,slap,slap," sounds of our bodies slapping together with his piston-like fast moving cock slamming to and fro, back and forth in my ass. Oooh, the sensations are enormous and so delicious I'm licking my lips and moaning with pleasure. I really shouldn't go two or three days without sex because I get ridiculously turned-on when I finally get it. I'm trying not to make a total dork of myself by moaning like it's my first time, but oh my god, this feels good!
Tracy says he hasn't fucked a guy since the last time he fucked me but he seems very skilled at it. Nice long thrusts, rhythmically slamming his condom covered rock hard cock up my ass until I could scream with the pleasure of it all. My prostate's going crazy sending sexual pleasure signals to my brain that makes little electric stings that tingle from nerve endings all over my body. My hard cock throbs and moves away from my belly; all the muscles in my body begin contracting as my orgasm builds. Tracy's gasping from the energy of his hard fast thrusting and I hold my breath now; my orgasm right on the brink. My back arches as my eyes close and I squeal too loudly
thrusting my hips as a long awesomely hot stream of hot creamy cum shoots from my cock splattering on the box of plastic cups. "Aaaah," as another good stream of cum flies out. I shake and shudder feeling weak now, streaks of pleasure shooting out from my rectum and then I go limp as Tracy's leaning against me and doing his humping against my buttocks and this time filling the condom with his spunk. A strangling sound from his throat as he humps
again hard, then a weaker hump with Tracy letting out a long breathy exhale before laying against me.
Taking a deep breath, he stands up and backs away pulling out his cock that's now getting soft. I straighten up; my asshole feeling slippery with the lubricant off the condom. Jeez, that felt good! Turning around, I say, "Nice fuck, Trace! I guess I needed that." He's pulling off the condom, sort of shuddering and mumbling, "I guess I needed it too. There's just something special about your asshole. Some freakish muscles up there gripping my boner. It's almost scary, but oh fuck it feels phenomenal! " I snort a chuckle, and he goes, "I'm serous! Jesus, that was a violent climax I just had.
Really something." I'm looking around for something to use for wiping the lube off my asshole when Tracy goes, "Here," and passes me a box of tissue. I wipe my asshole with a handful of tissue, then look around for someplace to throw them. He points at a box with thrash in it and I drop the tissues in with the other trash as he dumps the condom on top of the tissue.
Pulling my underwear and cargo shorts up I'm feeling pretty damn good.
Tracy's doing the same, saying, "Don't let me forget your VIP card." I ask, "Are you going to let underage students in the speakeasy this year?" He says, "Yeah, but I gotta be smart about it. Dad still has a lot of clout with the cops in this town, but he told me to be smart about the underage drinking. That was my initial mandate; to have a place for underage drinking, but that's when we were all under age. So now under age guys and girls will need to be sponsored by a member and then he or she will be responsible for the underage individual." The sex is over and pretty much forgotten as we walk back to the kitchen, until he says, "We need to toast that sex act, my friend, it was special."
Well I enjoyed that climax so much I figure the least I can do is join him
for another shot of that smooth bourbon. He gets the bottle and shot glasses and we go past the supply/dining room to a room he's set-up as his office. Sitting behind the desk he motions at a chair in front and I sit in it looking around the room. There's a whole wall of bookshelves filled with books. I ask, "How many of those books have you read, Trace?" He goes, "A surprisingly large number of them. I love to read almost as much as I love to fuck." We do a shot, toasting, "Sex!" then he gets a pack of laminated membership cards from a drawer and plops them on the desk top. Pouring us another shot, he asks, "What do you think the chances are of the Patriots making the Super Bowl this year?" We do another shot and talk sports for fifteen minutes. Then he tells me about his and Linda's trip to Hawaii last May after college.
We have a few more shots while shooting the breeze with me telling him about my adventure in Georgia. Between Tracy and me, we mutually enjoy the sexual pleasure of anal intercourse, with him always the 'top' of course, plus we like each other. That's as far as that goes though. Tracy's not falling in love with me, and he doesn't want us to live together or anything like that. Just quick sex and then it's over with minimal discussion about it other than, "That was hot, dude!'. We may have some conversation afterwards like we're doing today, and there's usually Tracey's favorite way of drinking to deal with, meaning shots. Other times we'll both go about our business right after the quick sex. He's the perfect buddy sex partner with near zero commitment. It's about as harmless a buddy sex situation as I've ever been involved in, and the four or five times we've done it together I think the longest it's taken to climax is around three minutes, tops. From the time we go into the supply room until we walk out is never longer then five or six minutes. Fast hard fucking with good climaxes, and then that's it.
The VIP membership card has my name on it and my picture. It's a cool looking card, but I ask, "How'd you get my picture?" He goes, "How do you think I got it?" I go, "Oh, my college ID picture, right?" and he goes, "Duh."
We laugh and talk a little more before I say, "I gotta get back to my boys,"
and he's like, "Yeah, and I gotta see how Rex is doing out there. Don't be a stranger, Dylan. Just because you're twenty-one don't think you're too good for my local speakeasy." I go, "Never happen, Trace," and when I stand I realize I'm dizzy and getting drunk. Those fucking shots of bourbon sneak up on you. We walk out onto the open deck, then bump fists, mumbling, "Later, dude," and he goes to the front of the deck to talk with the bouncer.
I glance over at the table Chubby's at with John Beverly and the three girls. The girls are all giggling or laughing their asses off. Not wanting to squeeze into that group I make eye contact with Travis Hunter.
Travis gives me a big smile and excuses himself from the little group he's with and come over to give me a big hello and a two arm hug. I've known Travis since freshman year of high school, not that we hung out together.
Mostly just said 'Hi' when we passed each other in the hall, and once in a while we'd talked sports for a minute or two. I always had a feeling he was gay, or maybe he was just interested in me. If so he has a great cover because he's been going with the same girl for years. He's very friendly today, but not drunk so he doesn't do his usual failed suggestions that we do something sexy together. When he's had a few pops he's full of innuendoes about gay sex. Today we talk about our summers a little bit, then we're joined by Rolly North and some guy I don't know, who turns out to be Travis' roommate, Tony something. I'm terrible with names. I just was told Tony's last name and forgot it immediately.
A couple of other guys I don't know join the group and we all get beers and start playing liars poker for dollar bills. I had maybe five or six shots of bourbon and the two Coke and Jacks with Chubby, so the beers are going down easily. Hell, after bourbon, the beer taste almost like water. The liar's poker game goes on like forever and the beer keeps flowing. When drinking booze I always smoke too many cigarettes, so I'm a mess when Chubby finally comes over and asks, "How ya doing, bro?" I'm blinking my eyes, stepping away from the liars poker group, slurring, "I'm drunk, Chub, that's how I'm doing, but look," and I show him my VIP membership. Chubby laughs, "VIP! You hot shit," as he steers me toward the steps, saying, "I'm taking you to your brand new apartment." I'm like, "Let me get a roadie for the drive," and he laughs, "A roadie is the last thing you need, big brother." I rarely argue with Chubby about anything, plus I know someplace in my brain he's right this time too, and that what I need is to get in bed.
Chubby's driving with me babbling about how cool Tracy's speakeasy is, and even though I know I'm babbling I can't seem to stop. I like being a little 'high' on booze, but I hate being drunk. Chubby drives to my apartment building and insist on walking up with me. When we're almost to the front door of the apartment building I throw up, then almost slip in my own vomit.
Disgusting! Chubby makes a joke out of it, but now I feel like shit and don't say anything while concentrating on walking up the steps that seem to be spinning. In the apartment Chubby watches me get undressed, then leans on the bathroom's doorjamb watching me brush my teeth and gargle with cinnamon mouthwash, that almost makes me hurl again. Chubby says, "Mint mouthwash is
better." I nod at that and we both take a piss standing next to each other. I'm swaying by now, unsteady on my feet. Chubby makes me take three Advil with a large glass of water, then he gets me in bed and I go out like a light.
Sunday morning I can barely get up to take the wicked piss I absolutely need to take or I'll pee the bed. Staggering out of bed and into the bathroom I manage to get most of the piss in the toilet, but still feel really bad, and hate on myself for doing all those shots last night. Then I burp up the bourbon taste and rinse out my mouth again. Will I ever fucking learn?
The shots seemed like the cool thing to do while having a conversation with Tracy. Back in bed I remember Tracy and me fucking and try to figure out if I feel guilty about that, but fall back to sleep before reaching a conclusion.
Chubby wakes me with Dunkin' Donut coffee, a breakfast sandwich, OJ and three Advil, saying, "C'mon, Dylan, take the Advil and try eating something."
I groan sitting up, and he says, "There's a two-hand touch football game at one o'clock." I drink the whole bottle of OJ taking the Advil, then sip some coffee, mumbling, "I can't eat anything, Chub. What time is it?" He picks up my arm and looks at my wristwatch, as I mutter, "Oh, yeah, I forgot I had that on." He grins, "It's five after twelve." Sitting on the side of the bed, I sigh, then mumble, "I'm taking a shower and lying around the apartment until Robby gets here." Chubby tries one more time to get me to play in the football game, but I just can't. He says, "I thought the fresh air might revive you, but laying around on a Sunday is a good thing too, especially with a hangover. Text me if you need anything at all," then he leans down to where I'm sitting and hugs me, then a kiss on my cheek. The only thing I feel capable of doing is pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Thanks, Chub."
Fighting the urge to go back to sleep, I stagger into the bathroom again to sit on the john this time, my head pounding away. Done that I get under a hot shower and stand there for a long time before shampooing and grinning to myself about actually having hair on my head to shampoo, then wash myself, and finally stand under the flowing water again until it starts losing it's warmth. Getting out and drying myself, I try talking myself into believing I feel better. I brush my teeth again and then put on flimsy, baggy basketball shorts that hang below my knees, then pull on an old too-large soft t-shirt. Bare foot I wander into the kitchen feeling I probably should put something in my stomach. I look at the breakfast sandwich Chubby left here on the counter, but reject that idea. Instead I get a recently purchased box of Lipton dry chicken soup mix. Perfect for a hangover because it's ninety percent watery chicken broth with some tiny little noodles that are so soft you don't even need to chew them.
A quart of boiling water, and in goes the dry soup mix. When it simmers for five minutes it's done. I have the choice of watching playoff baseball, which the Red Sox are not a part of, or preseason Pats football. Easy fucking choice. Watching the Pats' game I devour the soup and a Coke, then lay on the sofa pulling a smallish car blanket over me against the chill of the air conditioning. I don't see much of the game before falling asleep on the sofa. I also don't know how long I slept before, in the deepest part of my brain, I hear my cell phone ringing in the bedroom. Almost sleep walking I go in and answer it. It's Ryan who's just arrived and says it's important I come see him. I check myself out and conclude I'm feeling a little better, so I say, "Okay, sure, I'd like to see you too."
I'm at the bottom of the steps before remembering I don't have a ride.
Looking up the steps, I say out loud, "Screw it, I'll walk and get Ryan to drive me back." As I'm walking, sort of in a fog, I'm wondering why Ryan was so emphatic I meet him in his dorm room this afternoon. I mean, he just fuckin' got here, so what's the rush? And I had a rough night and he's gotta be wicked tired from the drive. I know he didn't drive straight through, but he made the trip with only one night in a motel, and that's a long-ass drive, especially alone. But he says he's anxious to see me, and I lived with him and his family for almost two months so I guess I can accommodate his little request. He sounded very mysterious with his weird whispery voice on the phone. Maybe he's depressed or upset. Maybe about him and Mike not working out. I feel bad about that because it started out so promising the last week I was there.
I'm thinking way back to when we first met; it was an odd circumstance orchestrated by Robby. He insisted Ryan and I have lunch together and we were supposed to sort out our differences. Our differences consisted of us both being jealous of the other for Robby's affection. We settled on lunch at my freshman apartment and we were actually getting along so well together that Ryan, who was supposedly submissively shy, asked me if he could fuck me; to put it bluntly. I don't think there's ever been anything in my life that surprised me more than that.
Anyway, the result of that luncheon is Ryan and me have been serious fuck buddies from that day until my last day in Georgia. That's all old news by now of course. Oh man though, I sure recognized that authoritative tone of his voice on the phone, and it still gives my dick a tingle. I sincerely hope he's not pissed-off at me for some dumb paranoid reason of his own. I mean I did almost everything I promised I'd do this summer with him, plus I helped him tremendously as far as his image in his home town goes, and in that regard changed his life. And fuck, that's no small thing! Thinking those thoughts I almost stumble over the curb to route 114 with cars zooming by at fifty miles an hour. Jesus!
Oh fuck whatever! I figure I owe Ryan a little something even though I feel oddly foggy and I'm not sure why I even feel this way. Fuck, heh heh, I made it across the four lane highway in one piece, so that's all good, but I feel like I'm a slow motion walking a zombie. Coming up to his building I all of a sudden feel self-conscious about what I'm wearing. Oh Christ!
Why did I put on flip flops to walk here? And I should have changed out of my
fucking basketball shorts. These things are strictly for lying around the apartment. This is so fucking stupid! I should have said I'll see you sometime later, Ryan. Yeah, but I didn't want Ryan to think I don't appreciate all the good times we had together in the south. Ha! His parents, while kooky, were basically nice to me and I don't want to seem like an ingrate, or
whatever.
Not seeing each other for almost two months, after living and working together 24/7 makes for a weird situation, ya know? During my time there it became second nature for Ryan to be in-charge, which maybe he's carrying over in his mind and feels he's still in-charge and entitled to sort of order me to come over like this. Well, we're both at Merrimack College now, and not Marietta, Georgia, so there are changes in circumstances. Ryan's back in my life for real now, and while I'm glad about that, I gotta do something about correcting whatever misconception he has about bossing me around. In his house, and working for him, that's one thing, but being equals here at college is a very different thing. Robby and I are in a really good place right now and I'm not letting Ryan or anyone else fuck that up.
Walking in the front door of Ryan's dormitory building, I know exactly where to go. Up the steps and to the right and there's his door. I tentatively knock as the buzzing in my stomach picks up... dammit! Ryan opens the door and gives me a big smile and a hug. He says, "Let me look at you," then he gets this serious expression on his face, and not knowing how else to react, I smile. Then I notice his hair is curly all over his head and his beard's curly too. I can't stop staring at his curly head of hair. He sees where my eyes are looking, and goes, "Oh yeah, I got a permanent for my hair to try a different look." I murmur, "Oh, um, they go together, um, your hair and your curly beard." He slowly runs his fingers across his chin ruffling his curly whiskers, saying, "Well, come in, Dylan, don't stand there like a dummy, fer Christ's sakes." There's that voice of authority he used on the phone. My dick buzzes annoyingly, but feels good too.
Going inside I look around and not seeing anyone else here. Ryan's standing close to me, his eyes staring at my hair as he slowly shakes his head, mumbling, "Just look at you. You haven't had a haircut since the last one I gave you almost two months ago." Running my fingers through my hair, feeling self-conscious, I mumble, "Robby said I probably should get a, you know, um, a trim, ah, at a barbershop or even SuperCuts...." Ryan's frowning and acting grumpy using both hands to roughly rub my head, saying, "At least your hair is clean, but you look like a fucking ragamuffin." He spoke real low after that and I couldn't quite hear what he said, so I ask, "What?
What'd you say after ragamuffin? I'm not sure...?" He puts his arms around me and hugs me, murmuring something I still can't hear. Letting go of me he whispers, "Just look at yourself," and I look away feeling as though I've let him down by disappointed him somehow.
I'm standing here with Ryan looking right into my eyes making me squint because light is reflecting off his contacts. I want to tell him to quit fucking around and tell me why he needed to see me so urgently, except I don't want to hurt his feelings. And I'm starting to feel that familiar submissive sense I remember so well when he was in charge during the summer. Maybe he's feeling as funny as I do about our first time together after all we went through early last summer. We were always together in Marietta, and all that hot sex we had with Ryan being my boss and dom and all that. And me liking most of it. Ryan was the best at being dominant in an almost perfect way as far as I was concerned. He knows me very well and right now I almost wish he'd boss me around a little. It's all coming back to me quickly. I'm biting my lip and need to avert my eyes, looking down. Ryan snickers, grabs my arm and pulls me toward one of the twin beds. Jesus, I'm having trouble catching my breath.
Breathing difficulties just from thinking back to Ryan's dominance and the hot climaxes, and the wicked short haircuts with Ryan's right in front of me pointing at something in his normal authoritative manner. He's so intense and acting arrogantly confident like only he can. He knows how to make me submissive to him and knows it turns me on to be that way with him. That needs to change obviously, especially now that Robby and I are tighter and more in love than ever. Ryan's so, um... so something. He taps my chin so I look up and his eyes go to his arm that's pointing at something. I turn my head slowly almost afraid to see what he's pointing, and there's the toiletry kit containing my second hand professional barber clippers, scissors and stuff. I bought those things off Ebay when I was like eleven and left them in Georgia with Ryan so he could continuing giving Jeff and Timmy his specialty haircuts. Of course I had to buy new clippers at a drugstore for like seventy dollars so I'd have them to bring home with me. The drugstore clippers work pretty well and the scissors are as sharp as those I left with Ryan.
I'm staring at the toiletry kit now, waiting for Ryan to say something. So far he's just pointing, so I finally mumble, "Um, thanks for bringing that with you, Ryan." He whispers, "Set the barber equipment up right now, and do it the way I taught you." My dick starts firming up, but I'm not in Marietta anymore, so I stammer, "Nah, no, I mean... I don't think Robby meant for you to give me a trim around the ears, he..." and Ryan sternly says, "Just do what you're told, Danny." Danny? What the fuck?
Oh man, I feel so weird as I glance at him and he gives me a wry grin, nodding his head, 'yes'. Like, you're getting a haircut. I'm frozen in place, my mind fizzing up. Ryan quietly says, "Did you forget everything I taught you already?" and he hugs my shoulders, whispering, "After your haircut we'll visit our old hot sexual times, huh?" Oh my God, it's like I'm back in Georgia. Fuck, but my main problem is I actually do want to do it all so badly with him, just like we did it nine times in Georgia; the haircut followed by a dominant hard fucking up my ass. Maybe a spanking first.
I sincerely mean everything I'm thinking, but at the same time I don't want to do any of it. My cock is trying to run over my brain again. That damn Ryan knows how to push all my buttons. The back of my hand comes up so I scan smell the back of my wrist trying to make sense of this. Ryan gently takes my wrist pulling my arm away from my face and lays it on the toiletry kit, saying, "Go ahead, Danny, do what you're told! Don't make me tell you three times." Just like that I need to hold my breath to keep from shooting off in my pants. In the back of my mind I was afraid something like this would happen. Ryan has some kind of power over me. The thing is I'm feeling that wonderful submissive trance again and it feels just as good as I remember. So dreamy and sexy. Ryan was really very nice to me during my time with him in the South, and damn he made me feel some awesome sexual sensations.
Fuck, right now my groin is buzzing like old times.
Okay, I'll let this be a lesson to me. I can't be in Ryan's company alone, certainly not in his dorm room. I need to totally get over him somehow, and now I realize that's going to take a concerted effort. Sure, I could say, "No thank, Ryan, I'm not doing this," but that wouldn't do any fucking good. It's been established during my time in Marietta that he doesn't take no for an answer, and he's only doing what we both agreed to last May. So for now, one last time, I'll do all of it with him again. If I'm honest with myself, I want to do it all with him again. I feel totally powerless anyway, but this will be the last time. And anyway, nobody seems to like my longer hair. Tracy didn't.
Oh fuck, while thinking about all that, I've been laying out the barber stuff on the bureau the way Ryan's wants it. Actually, I don't even remember doing it. Turning around, I'm looking at him... for praise maybe? He nods, "Yeah, good, Danny. Now pull that desk chair over here and plug in the clippers." Okay, I'm doing it, but this will be the last time like I said, although I almost giggle now because I'm so excited as a strong buzzing is concentrated all around my cock. Oooh, man that feels good. Why lie to myself, he's got me sexually aroused and he hasn't hardly done or said anything yet.
He doesn't need to after getting me in the habit of doing what he said for almost two month earlier this summer. Being with him now brings back everything and I remember how contented I felt with him running the show for the both of us.
I'm staring at him again, and he gets this concerned expression on his face, asking, "Are you alright, Danny?" I go, "Ha, Danny! That's a good one, Albert." He says, "Stop the nonsense. Get your shirt off and sit down,"
then he swats my ass. I nod and do what I'm told, feeling chastised. I'm sitting on the chair holding my shirt. He comes over and stands behind me with a hand on each of my bare shoulders making me hunch my shoulders as shivers run down my spine. Leaning his head down so his lips are on my ear, he whispers, "Relax, boy. You're doing okay so far," and he rubs his hand from my forehead back over my head making my hairs ruffle up and backwards. He does it again and another shiver skitters down my spine.
Ryan drags a barber comb through my hair from my forehead to the back of my head. He does it a number of times, quietly explaining, "So the clippers don't get stuck. I want them to run through your hair easily." My shoulders do another little shudder as I croak out, "Um, is it okay if you just maybe trim around my ears?" He does a soft laugh, then pushes my head roughly,
saying, "No talking," and then in a commanding voice, "And sit up straight, goddammit!" Then a light smack on the back of my head. I feel my cock tighten as I sit up ridiculously straight. Ryan murmurs, "Good boy," and picks up the clippers, then attaches a guide. I'm staring at it so he shows it to me, saying, "Yes, it's the quarter inch guide. I'll run it through the hair all over your head and then finish with the eight inch guide on the sides and back. And yes, I'm taking the clippers over the crown of your head just like I always do it." He adds, "You know the drill by now. It's the same specialty haircut I gave you back home and the same one I've been giving you at Merrimack since last Easter, and the same one you'll be getting every week here at Merrimack this year." I grab my crotch and he smacks my hand away, asking, "Do you have any objections to continuing our arrangement of weekly haircuts for you?" I gulp, then mutter, "No, Ryan."
He says, "Alright then, Danny, good boy. During your haircut sit up straight; no sloughing, and keep your head still!" Then he gives me another smack on the back of my head as a squirt of cum shoots out in my shorts. Turning on the clippers, Ryan lifts my bangs off my forehead and runs the clippers
from front to back over my head and I feel lots of clean blond hairs drifting down my back. He murmurs, "Well okay, I'll have you looking like my boy again in no time," and the clippers run over my head again as another pile of hair slide down my back. Then again and again and my submissive trance is so deep and so gooey and dreamy now that all my cares about everything leaves my mind and I concentrate on stroking my throbbing boner, and I don't even remember dropping my shorts.
He's gently shaking my shoulder, saying, "Dylan, Dylan, are you okay?" My eyes blink open, then I take my hand off my boner, mumbling, "Robby? Oh God! What," and I look around at our new apartment and grin, the sputter, "Um, what time is it?" He says, "It's almost five o'clock. You don't look well.
You're perspiring, and you were breathing funny, mumbling in your sleep.
It kinda scared me," and he wipes his fingers across my damp forehead. I go, "I had a wicked hangover this morning, Rob," as I using the fingers of both my hands to ruffle through my hair. I grin, then chuckle with relief. He asks, "What are you laughing about?" and I shrug, tossing the little blanket off me, "Oh, a dumb dream is all." Then, glancing at my basketball shorts I see a big precum spot so I casually pull the blanket back across my lap as I'm sitting up on the sofa, asking, "How was the drive up, Rob?" He sits next to me on the sofa and rubs my back, saying, "No problem driving here, but what about you just now? Did you have a nightmare, or what?" Taking a couple of deep breaths, I mumble, "It's nothing. Um, oh man, heh heh, I'm so glad to see you. I really missed you too."
Robby's slowly shaking his head, "It must have been something, that dream, I mean." and he hugs my shoulders as I lean in against him. He goes, "I was thinking maybe you needed an exorcism the way you were talking in some mysterious language." Oh fuck, I'm so relieved that was only a dream... so happy I feel giddy." Robby pinches the hairs growing over the top of my right ear, saying, "Seriously though, you need to get a trim, babe. I've never seen you so, um, ragamuffin like, hair-wise anyway." Ragamuffin! That was a word in my dream. I say, "Yeah, you're right. Good idea. I'm gonna do that.
Maybe I'll go to the SuperCuts on route 114." After having the nightmare-scare I just had, even SuperCuts seems preferable. Robby shrugs, "Where ever you want, but yeah, that place is the closest barbershop and they're open on Sundays, but it's probably too late to go now." Then he hugs my shoulders and I lay against him snuggling, as he says, "Oh yeah, Ryan texted me that he's arriving about seven o'clock and he asked if the three of us could have dinner together." I go, "Huh, he texted you? Um, there's probably a text on my cellphone too."
Rubbing's hand is on my cheek, "Um, I don't really feel like having dinner with him. Would you mind if we didn't. I could text some BS back to him about us eating in tonight or say we already ate." I go, "Gee that would be mean, Rob." He shrugs, "Yeah, I know." His body feels so good and he smells good, I feel so safe with Robby. He says, "Okay we'll have dinner with him, but we've got two hours before meeting him, so I'm wondering if you feel like messing around with a little recreational sex here in the privacy of our apartment?" I put an arm around the back of his neck and lay my head on his chest, the top of my head against his cheek, as I murmur, "Yes, I believe I'd like that, Rob."
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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