DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 22
by Donny Mumford
It is surprising I'd recognized Markie's voice considering we only spent about an hour and a half together shooting pool, and that was six weeks ago.
He pulls off his Porky Pig full-head mask showing a cute grin, asking, "How the fuck did you know it was me?" I shrug and we do the clasping right-hand-greeting, our other arm doing a fast one arm hug. It's done casually and quickly, taking about one second to complete. There are any number of possible greetings for guys, and you've got like a split second to recognize which one you're going to do. Markie initiated our greeting with his right hand up slightly, palm out towards me. That's either a hand slap or hand clasp; definitely not a conventional hand shake. Then there's the quick two arm hugs for closer friends, or a chest-bump greeting, or a hand shake with a pat on the chest or back, and others. Different guys get a different greeting, and then that's the one you usually get every time you two meet.
After our quick greeting, Mark says, "Imagine meeting you here! I looked for you at the bar every time I was in the place." I'm like, "Yeah, I looked for you too, but I've only been back once since our pool-shooting night.
Did we kick some ass on the pool table that night, or what?" He laughs, "Yeah, especially that one game when we only had five balls left on the table when Driskel sunk the eight ball and won the game. They won that game by the skin of their bucked-teeth." Driskel must be one of the local guys. I don't remember the names of the guys from that night. Chubby organized teams when he sort of took over, but he can get away with stuff like that. Of course it helped a lot that the local guys weren't assholes. Markie and I were partners but didn't win a single game. He goes, "Can I bum a smoke off you?" and I go, "Does the tin man have a sheet-metal cock?" We laugh, remembering the laughing-fits we had at the bar saying shit like that.
I pass him a cigarette and hold my Bic lighter, cupping my hand around it to light the cigarette for him, asking, "Would you like me to smoke it for you too?" He snickers, then mutters, "Thanks." The last time I saw him he had longish light-brown hair, but he's had a recent regular haircut, and by the look of it he got it at Super Cuts. It makes me grin to myself thinking how we both have the same haircut now, and how Markie, like most guys, don't realize what shitty haircuts we have. That's because he's one of this generation's haircut-clueless guys who just assumes this is how we're supposed to look. I'm one of them too now, whoopee! He asks, "Do you mind if I crowd you a little bit in that alcove? It's freakin' freezing when the wind whips up out here." I move back against the wall and he steps in shoulder to shoulder. I'm glancing at his sexy lips, remembering the unexpected drunken-kiss he gave me that night. He wasn't roaring drunk; just drunk enough that his normal inhibitions were reduced considerably. He looks over at me with those big shiny brown eyes, grinning again, saying, "Freddy and I have no fucking idea who's throwing this party; do you know?" I tell him, and he goes, "College guys, huh?" I assume Freddy is the friend he crashed the party with. I ask, "Where is Freddy?" Markie shrugs, "He's a horn dog inside hustling the college chicks, where else?"
When I met Markie at the bar some weeks ago he told me he's lived in Haverhill his whole life and he's been working at the Haverhill Rite Aid drugstore since graduating high school three years ago. He also said he's contemplating enlisting in the Army. He's my size and weight, and I think he has a goofy-cute face, meaning he's only cute now because he's young. Ten years from now he'll just be a goofy looking full grown adult, minus the 'cute' part. Tonight, like that night at the bar, he's rocking a scraggily light-brown beard. I'm thinking it's not a fashion statement so much as an, 'I'm too lazy to shave and I basically don't give a shit' statement. He should have a t-shirt with that motto on the front. Cool skimpy mustache and his curly beard looks soft. The kiss he gave me that night wasn't quick... oh no.
It lasted a few seconds and was kinda hot; our tongues sliding together, sucking lips with our fingers in each other's hair. Totally unexpected kiss, like I said, and we both looked startled when our lips parted. He was all apologetic then: ya know, he doesn't know what made him do that and he's never done that before in his life, so forth and so on. I actually believed him that he's never done it before, but I don't believe he's never wanted to kiss a guy before. Prior to the kiss, while playing pool, Markie was big on hugging. You know, after a good pool shot he'd hug me or give me a shoulder
squeeze, and that kind of general bodily contact. Not that I minded any of
it one bit.
He has sort of a longish head, as opposed to one that's marginally round, like most heads. He reminds me of Willie in that regard, although Willie is smoother looking, even qualifying as handsome the last time I saw him.
Mark is a little rough around the edges. To make small talk, I ask, "Are you any closer to a decision about joining the Army?" He shrugs, "Nah, I'm still too chicken to enlist, but I'm eventually going to. Can't piss away my whole life as a clerk in a fucking drugstore. Wish I could have gone to college like you rich guys." I mumble, "I'm not rich. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs with college loans." He nods, "Yeah, but you needed a cosigner for the loans. Someone with a credit history who can back up the borrowed amount." I shrug, "I don't know about that. My mom is a waitress and my dad died before I was born." He exhales some smoke, wistfully saying, "I gotta talk Freddy into joining the Army with me."
We finish our smokes the same time we finish our beers. We got to laughing again about our altered versions of the, 'Does a bear shit in the woods' retort. I'm like, "I need another beer," and Markie goes, "This beer tastes like piss. We need a couple of shots, Dylan. It's a faster way to a load; faster than this slow torture cup after cup of pissy beer." He's not slurring his words, but I can tell he's had a number of cups of this piss. I shrug and we make our way to the half-keg. As we pour ourselves cups of beers, I tell him, "I hate shots, man. They're gross, especially with the rot gut booze that's on the table over there." He looks at the table, asking, "How do you know it's rot gut?" I'm like, "The bottles are plastic. No respectable brewery sells their liquor in plastic bottles." He makes a face like who cares, and says, "Fuck it. I'm getting us a couple of shots anyway." Balls!
We carry our beers to the hard liquor table and Mark reaches past a guy for the half-gallon of tequila, then snags some plastic shot-cups. I hold the two shot cups in my free hand and he pours approximately an ounce and a half in each cup, puts the half gallon bottle back on the table, and takes one of the cups from my hand. We tap the cups together and throw the tequila into our mouths with both our heads going back. He makes a face swallowing his, then gulps some beer. As he turns around, reaching for the bottle again, I turn my head and spit my tequila out between my lips. It's a short stream like a guy spitting out chewing-tobacco juice. The tequila taste is still horrible because taste receptors are on my tongue, but there's no burn in my throat and no sense I'm going to puke. I didn't hit anyone with the spit tequila, but a couple of girls saw me spit it out and I saw one of them mouth to the other, 'That pussy just spit out his shot'. Imagine a girl saying that!
Markie says, "Here ya go, Dylan," as he holds the bottle of tequila ready to pour me a second shot. I go, "One shot is all I can handle," and he says, "Don't be a pussy! Hold out your cup." When did plastic cup companies start making plastic shot glasses anyway? I hold it out and he over-pours the cup, tequila running over my fingers, as he mumbles, "Oops, sorry." We tap cups and throw it down. This time he gasps, yelling, "Vial shit!" I've still got a mouthful of the vial shit as he puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Let's see if that alcove is still open. This wind sucks." I nod and we start making our way back across the yard as little by little I swallow my mouthful of tequila. It's awful, swallow after ghastly swallow. Less painful to take in one big gulp, but I was hoping to spit it out again.
Sucking in air after the last few drops go down my throat, then gulping some of my beer as perspiration breaks out on my forehead, and my mouth waters like I'm going to hurl. I bend over gagging, but no vomit comes up. "What's wrong, Dylan? Did it go down the wrong pipe or something?" I straighten up shaking my head, "No, Markie, I just can't handle shots very well." Mumbling, "Pussy," he's grinning again, pulling on my arm getting us past a group of hysterically laughing muppets. We snuggle back in our alcove. I'd have gone inside to warm up if I didn't need a cigarette after that horrendous shot of tequila.
Passing Mark another smoke, then lighting my own, I take a drag while lighting Mark's cigarette, asking him, "Do you ever, um, buy your own cigarettes?" He drags on his cigarette and, as he's exhaling and shaking his head, he says, "Trying hard to quit, but I can't resist begging a smoke when a bud of mine lights one up." So now we're buds, I guess. I'm noticing there's something different about his demeanor tonight. I mean as compared to the only other time I was with him. Can't put my finger on it though. Something about the way he looks at me, like he knows something I don't.
When he grins I see little spaces between each of his smallish very white front teeth. That's a cute look right there, for a young guy I mean. Most middle class families would have taken Mark to an orthodontist as soon as he
lost his twelve year molars, but Mark doesn't come from a middle income family. I mumble, "Quitting cigarettes is a good idea," and he nods, then grins, saying, "My other nickname, besides, Markie, is Moocher," and he laughs, adding, "Fuckin' ball-busting friends of mine!" Like the other time I was with him, I think there's something very likable about Mark. There's something rough about him too, but something sweet as well. He's got a tough guy swagger in his walk, and yet there's a gentleness in his eyes.
We smoke and drink and shiver a little, until Markie says, "We need to share some warmth, dude." He steps in front of me and sort of lays against me, chest to chest, pushing my back against the outside of the house. When he lifts his arm to take a drag off his cigarette the back of his hand rubs against the back of my hand as I pull it away from my face. Exhaling smoke in his face, grinning at him, I mumble, "Cozy, huh?" Waving his hand at my exhaled smoke, he looks down, mumbling, "Remember what happened outside the bar?" I go, "Yeah, you kissed me," and he says, "And I'm going to do it again." His head moves to mine and our lips meet. He exhales the last of the drag off his cigarette into my mouth as his tongue slides against mine. Our teeth scrape together, then our lips kiss. It's quite a kiss with us holding our cigarettes and cups of beer in one hand to the side. While kissing we're rubbing the back of each other's neck with our free hand. After ten seconds he pulls his head back and does a nervous giggle, muttering, "I didn't think I've have the balls to do that again." He isn't at all upset or trying to explain himself liked the other time.
I'm trying for cool too, like the kiss was no big deal, as I mumble, "Kissing isn't usually the way a novice gay guy starts out. Mostly it's the last thing they try." I'm thinking about Lawyer Ross who, without any gay experience, tried kissing another guy as his first slightly-gay action, and I was the other guy. Mark chuckles and says, "You're an extremely sexy young man, and so fucking good looking it almost doesn't count as kissing a guy."
I go, "Bull shit!" He shrugs, "You said you liked it last time, so that's why I did it again. That, plus the fact I just had two shots of whiskey." I go, "Well, I did like it last time, and this time was better, but then I'm gay. What's your story?" He smirks, "I knew you were gay. That's the third reason I blatantly kissed you just now. To give you a thrill, you know?"
Naturally I ask, "How'd you know I was gay?" He chuckles, exhaling smoke, then asks, "Do you know Tyler Ramsey?" I shake my head, muttering, "No, I don't think so. Why?" He's smiling, "I can tell you want another kiss, don'cha?" The fucking nerve! Yeah, but he's a cute fucker, so I put my hand on the back of his head and we do a sloppy kiss with me keeping my eyes open looking over his shoulder at the crowd of drunks and pot heads; primarily the ones to the left of the alcove. Even this close to them, I don't believe anyone can see us. The outdoor lights don't reach this alcove.
It's a damn good kiss and I would have continued it except Mark pulls his head away, muttering, "Jesus! You gave me a fuckin' boner in my shorts, dude." I say, "Kissing isn't your last foray into gay experimentation, is it, Mark? It's the last thing you've tried." He laughs, "Yeah, I never said otherwise. You're a hottie, Dylan, so who better to do my first gay kiss with?" I ask, "Who is Reilly? what's-his-name, that knows I'm gay?" He goes, "It's Tyler Ramsey, and he's a senior on Merrimack's baseball team as the fourth option out of the bullpen, and he's my cousin, twice removed." I'm like, "Oh yeah?" Obviously, I see where this is going. Markie reaches to my forehead and brushes my bangs over with his fingers, smirking and saying, "You're the gay boyfriend of the team's starting shortstop." I go, "Yeah, I know that," and he says, "And now, so do I. After that night with you shooting pool, and then kissing you, I had like this major fucking crush on you. I Googled your name thinking of stalking you, went to the bar almost every night just to look in and see if you were there. I had no luck learning anything about you until, lo and behold, I overheard Tyler talking to my brother just this past week. He was saying how the team's shortstop is gay, and has a boyfriend named, Dylan! Ha!" I go, "There are a dozen guys' named Dylan currently attending Merrimack College." He goes, "Well, I butted into their conversation mentioning I played pool with someone name, Dylan, and he checked it out. Then just yesterday he texted me that the shortstop's boyfriend is Dylan Newman, which you told me that night is your name." Jesus, Rob and I are becoming fodder for the college rumor mill. Markie pats my cheek, saying, "And then I run into you here. Life's funny, ain't it, dude?"
Smelling the back of my hand, shaking my head slowly, I take a last drag off my smoke and drop the butt on the ground, saying, "That sounds like a preposterous coincidence, Mark." He shrugs, "And yet it's true." I'm like, "Yeah, so you say. Um, are you 'out' as a gay twenty-one-year old? Your family knows you're gay, right?" He shakes his head, muttering, "Jesus, I hope not. No, no one knows except you." I go, "I'm telling everybody I run into," and he laughs, "Don't do that or I won't kiss you anymore." We make our way to the half-keg again, as I ask, "Wasn't your cousin curious why you were so interested in this Dylan guy?" He says, "No, because naturally I lied. I told him about shooting pool with a guy named, Dylan, and I wanted to be sure I wasn't (not out) hanging out with a fag." I go, "Oh, that's nice!" When he said the word 'fag' two guys looked over, frowning. I'm not sure if they're PC police, or maybe gays who don't care for the pejorative term, fag. Words don't bother me like they used to, although I know they're hurtful to others.
It's funny that I never gave a thought that Mark might be gay; even after the kiss outside the bar. I mean, I thought he was maybe submerging his gay tendencies, but not that he'd accepted and admitted to himself he's gay.
It's a weird feeling knowing something about someone, Markie in this case, that no one else in the world knows. Very weird feeling, but sometimes people find it's easier to tell strangers the most personal things about themselves. Like my plane ride to Key West that time when Willie and I were sitting in different sections of the plane. The guy sitting next to me told me an incredibly personal experience of his that he'd never told another soul, and he cried telling me about it. He had this friend since kindergarten who turned into a nerd in seventh grade, so they started hanging with different groups. Even so, the nerd was always there when his long-time friend needed anything. They were both in college when the nerd texted this guy asking him to text back, but the guy ignored it and the next day his friend was dead. He hung himself. If only the guy on the plane had answered the text maybe he could have talked his friend out of offing himself. The guy with the guilty conscience, and me, are the only two people on earth who knew that story. The plane guy wanted to confess to someone, and I was it. So yeah, it makes me feel funny to be chosen to know these secrets.
With full cups of beer we go inside to warm-up. It's really jumping in here now and almost everyone is dancing, so we find a spot in a corner and I ask him, "So, do you have a secret boyfriend?" Swallowing some beer, he goes, "Hell no, nothing like that. Kissing you is the closest thing to sex I've had in over a year. Last sex for me was random sex on the beach during a vacation in Falmouth last summer. On the beach after dark, no less." I mutter, "Shitty beach in Falmouth," and Markie says, "I didn't notice. At the time I was being fucked by an overweight stranger. What happened was: I was smoking a joint walking the beach when I see this guy. He nodded and one thing led to another and we walked together shooting the shit. He said he just graduated from some prep school, so I assumed he was eighteen. I wasn't even thinking about sex with the guy. Not even a passing thought. Anyway we smoked two joints and all of a sudden he's kissing me. I was so out of it by then I went with the flow. That was some good shit; the weed I mean, not the overweight kid." I nod, telling Mark, "Yeah, I've had a couple of bad pot experiences myself." He shrugs, "Actually I didn't consider it all that bad of an experience. The guy fucked me really good. I was walking bowlegged afterward. A fat kid three years younger than me, totally dominated my ass. Awesome climax too, but it was unexpected." I'm like, "Sounds like you prefer being a 'bottom', huh?" He nods, "Yeah, it's okay. Myron, that's the kid's name, had a condom and he showed it to me. I didn't say 'no', so he tells he'll fuck me if I sucked his dick first. Here I was the older guy but he just sort of took the fuck over. Heh heh, smacked my bare ass too.
Spanked me and I loved it." Rubbing my nose, I'm really interested in hearing a little more, but don't press it. It's sort of like Daryl's previous sex prior to meeting me. I feel bad for guys like Pony and Mark; gay guys who haven't been lucky enough to hook-up with a steady sex buddy and so need to depend on random encounters with strangers.
We drink in silence for a minute, then he points out guys who are just jumping on the dance floor, totally out of it and thinking they're dancing. We laugh about it and do a little jumping ourselves mocking the dancers and laughing pretty hard. Then Mark, maybe relieved to have me to talk to about his gayness, brings it up again, saying, "My other gay experience was years earlier, when I was in high school. There was this openly gay kid who kept whispering to me about his excellent gaydar, and how he knew I was secretly gay. How he knew I couldn't tell you; nobody else ever accused me of being queer. Anyway he tells me he won't 'out' me if I'd meet him after school." I say, "Let me guess, Mark. You met him after school and beat the shit out of him." Markie goes, "Nooo! What do you think I am? I met him and we walked and talked. He was in one of my junior classes, and an alright looking kid. Of course if anyone saw us talking they'd probably assume I was queer too, but I didn't care. I was so hungry, so desperate to do something with another guy. His name was Sam." To say something, I go, "Yeah, my junior year of high school was my first gay sex too. With a senior." He says, "Well, Sam, was my age, but like I said, he was openly queer." I go, "So that was a turn-off, huh?" He shrugs, shaking his head. I'm not sure what the head-shake means.
We drink our beer for a minute with me wondering why I don't have a stronger urge to do something sexy with Mark. What the fuck's wrong with me? Even a year ago I would have already found some place for us to fuck. Of course it'd be nice if he were a little more forward with some signal that he wanted to do it with me. Mostly though, I feel bad for him. Mark takes a deep breath, and says, "No, strangely, Sam being openly queer wasn't a turn-off. Actually I fell in love with the kid everyone knew was queer. He was such a good kid and, while not cute compared to you, he was kinda cute and he had the prettiest fucking eyes and the sexiest mouth. I wanted to make out with him so much my stomach hurt, but I never did." Mark looks at me, doing his cute grin, saying, "I saved my first kiss for you." I go, "How sweet!"
He goes, "Yeah, but Sam... Jesus, I fantasized about him while jerking off about fifty times. Man, I loved him with a passion! Then finally he asked me, after like two weeks of secretly meeting and hanging-out together, if he could blow me. It was my first gay orgasm. I was so scared too, but it felt so fucking good! We started sucking each other cocks and he finally fucked me. He did it so gently at first. I loved him even more for being gentle.
Later he was fucking me four or five times a week, and I mean that guy was fucking me hard! That's still the best three months of my life. Then summer vacation came and I didn't see him. Then senior year I was shocked to see he'd gotten wicked swishy wearing eyeliner and was all gay-pride, yada yada yada. During the summer he became radicalized or something. I don't know what happened, but he was like a different person. He told me our fling was over and he hoped I wouldn't be broken-hearted, but he just couldn't abide gays in the closet, and I was deep in the closet. Then, instead of loving him with a passion, I hated him as much as I used to love him." He laughs, but there's tears in his eyes. Balls!!
It's an awkward moment or two, and I don't know what the right thing to do or say is except pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Love hurts, Mark." He shrugs, "Hate seemed to hurt more. Anyway, I've just confessed to you the entire extent of my gay sex life." I'm rubbing my nose with the back of my hand, then exhaling noisily, commiserating with him, like... 'Yeah, life's a bitch,' or something like that. He goes, "Lets get another beer and I'll tell you about flunking my first driver's test." Assuming he's being self-deprecating, I laugh, muttering, "Can't wait for that." It'd be too obvious of me now to say I'd be happy to fuck him. Or, I don't know, it might seem to him like I'm taking advantage of him. He'll need to give some indication he'd like to do it with me; that's if he even wants to do it with me.
Outside, while filling our cups, Daryl comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. I look around and he goes, "No matter how well you try to hide from me, Dylan, I'll still find you. Ha ha, where ya been, dude?" Then he realizes I know the guy next to me and he blushes. I'm not sure why except maybe he's blushing because he thinks what he said sounded too gay.
Whatever, I introduce Daryl and Markie and the three of us share a joint Pony got from one of his sophomore buddies. It'd be more accurate to say Mark and Pony shared the joint because I had almost none of it, which was still more than I wanted. We find out Mark was on the swim team in high school like Pony, so those two have something in common to talk about, which means I can relax. They're both gay, but don't know the other guy is, so I'm wondering, 'How can I suggest, without being obvious about it, that these two guys get together?' As I'm thinking about that, Daryl asks me, "Hey, Dylan, Markie tells me he's a poker player. Think he could join one of our Friday poker games?" I'm like, "Sure, why not?" and Mark asks, "Is it okay if my bud, Freddy, comes too?" I nod, "Of course," and Markie's face lights up as he looks over my shoulder, saying, "Speaking of the devil." Then he does the same hand-clasping, one arm quick-hug greeting with a thuggish looking guy who walked up behind me. Mark says, "This is my main man, Freddy Sloan." Pony and I bump fist with Freddy, mumbling our first names along with, "Wassup?" There's nothing the slightest bit gay about Freddy. Markie asks, "Where ya been, Freddy?" and Freddy points towards the table with the half-gallon plastic bottles of liquor, saying, "I ran into Chicken Boy and Ralphie over there doing shots." Mark's like, "Chicken Boy's here?" Freddy mutters, "Yeah, with Ralph, like I just fuckin' told you. They snuck in about forty minutes ago without paying, obviously, and they're already hammered." Time for me to slip away, but Mark wants to tell Freddy about him and I shooting pool.
Apparently we were shooting pool with guys Freddy knows, but whose names I've forgotten.
So we talk a little bit about that, then Freddy asks me about Merrimack.
He looks thuggish, but hearing him talk for a bit I get the distinct impression he's quite intelligent. He's majoring in computer engineering, which Freddy explains, "Encompasses disciplines that integrates several fields of electrical and computer science. You know, to develop computer hardware and software." Pony and I nod our heads, not sure what that means as Markie says to us, "I don't understand half the things he's talking about either. I need to carry a pocket dictionary around with me to look up words Freddy uses." They chuckle bumping against each other, the way goods friends do, then Freddy goes, "Stop busting my balls, Moocher, you know what computer software is." Then he looks at his cellphone, saying to Mark, "Jesus! We gotta get going, Mooch. I've got an eight-thirty class tomorrow morning." Mark pats my shoulder, saying, "See you at the bar, Dylan. We'll partner-up and kick some ass shooting pool," then, "Hey, can I get your cell number. I'll give you a call about the next poker night." We do that, then everyone says, "Good ta meet you," and those two walk around the side of house to where Freddie's car is parked on the street.
Pony says, "Good guy, that Markie kid. The other guy was scary," and he leans against me with an arm around my waist, saying, "You need to protect me from scary looking guys, Dylan." I go, "You big pussy, you're the same size I am." He goes, "Yeah, but you seem so much more mature and smarter than me." I go, "Bull shit alert!" and he asks, "Can I bum a smoke?" I laugh because if it's not Mark, it's Daryl bumming cigarettes off me. I give him one, saying, "Hey, I'll bet you don't even know how much these things cost?"
He goes, "Do ya got a light?" I laugh again lighting his cigarette. Looking at his buzzed head I'm thinking how I'd like to fuck him tonight, but why didn't I feel that way about Mark? Daryl says, "I don't need to know what cigarettes cost. I only have a cigarette when drinking, which I don't like to do in the first place, and I only smoke if I'm with someone who's nice enough to give me one... like you." I mutter, "Happy to oblige, Pony," and he goes, "Wasn't that weed we just had some good shit?" Shrugging, "I guess,"
then, "I'm sick of this Halloween party." He looks down at his costume, mumbling, "What the fuck, Batman, don't ya think I look cool as Robin." I snort out a laugh, "You're adorable, Robin."
Careful not to get it on anyone, Pony pours out a half cup of beer, asking, "Can we do it someplace?" The 'it' meaning sex, obviously. Looking around quickly, I go, "Sure, buddy, but probably not here. Do you have a condom?"
He shakes his head, "No, I'm out, but we don't need one." I go, "We at least need lubricant." He mumbles, "Not really," and I'm like, "Yes, really!
It's much rougher without a lubed condom, or at least lube. I wouldn't try barebacking with you. You've never experienced it." He groans, "I can take it," and I just shake my head, "Not from me you won't," then I ask, "Do you have your roommate's car?" He goes, "No, I came with you, remember?" I snort a laugh, "Oh yeah, you did, didn't ya?" He looks around, mumbling, "My roomie drove himself and two girls here before you and I left from your place." Oh great, we don't have a car... again. We go inside and wander around among the overheated dancers with Pony whining, "Let's get outta here, Dylan."
I snap at him, "We don't have a fucking car!" He goes, "Well you don't have to yell at me." Nodding, I give the back of his neck a squeeze, muttering, "Sorry."
We're making our way around the outskirts of the dancing throng looking for Chubby, then I see him with a girl. Huh, that girl doesn't look very cute to me. They're in a corner wrestling, or doing something like that.
Grinning, I make my way over, asking, "Are you two supposed to be dancing?"
Chubby looks at me with a big smile, saying, "Hey, Bro! Dancing? No, I'm trying to get Becka's bra unhooked." She says, "Don't believe a word he says."
Then, looking at me, she goes, "Oh, you're his brother, aren't you?" I go, "How'd you know?" She goes, "Jeff showed me every picture on his cellphone trying to prove he's trustworthy." I go, "Oh, he's trustworthy alright.
Probably the most trustworthy person here." She goes, "Yeah, one of the brother lies and the other one swears to it." I ask Chubby, "Can you get a ride, Chub? I'd like to use the Jeep. I wanna get outta here before they pass out the prize for best costume. I don't have an acceptance speech prepared." He goes, "Hee hee, yeah, I can get a ride," and, as he's handing me the keys, he asks the girl, "You'll give me a ride back to campus, won't ya, Rebecca?" She goes, "Yeah, if you'll drive. I'm smashed." I go, "Text me, bro, if you need a ride. I'll come back for you." He hugs me, then kisses my cheek, saying, "I won't need a ride. If Becka lets me down, John Beverly's with Stoney Barns somewhere hustling the Davidson twins. I'll get a ride with him." Whoever Stoney Barns and the Davidson twins might be. I pat his shoulder, "Thanks, Chub."
Daryl and I make our way outside again. I get one more cup of beer for the ride, then text Rob that I'm taking off. Frankie, not Rob, texts me back, 'Hi Dylan! I'm holding Rob's cellphone for him. He's in the little boy's room. We're waiting for the prizes to be announced.' I text, 'Let him see my message, so he'll know I left.' Fuckin' Frankie! Why does she have Rob's cellphone? Is she afraid he'll drop it in the toilet? Pony and I walk around the side of the house, and up onto the sidewalk. I know the Jeep's parked three blocks away because we had a three-car convoy coming here over here a few hours ago.
As we walk toward the Jeep, Pony's bumping into my side every few steps. I glance at him, saying, "Don't pretend you're drunk, Daryl, you probably didn't have three cups of beer." He says, "I didn't finish any of them, and I'm not pretending I'm drunk. I'm trying to annoy you to see that cool look you have when you're irritated." I mumble, "I have no idea what to say to that." He bumps my side again and I snort out a laugh. When we've walked three blocks, Pony points, saying, "There's the Jeep, Dylan." I force myself not to say, 'No shit', then chuckle that I'd even think of saying that to Pony Boy. It's about a twenty-minute drive back to the apartment and during the ride I try counting the beers I had tonight. And, thankfully, only that one disgusting peer-pressure shot of tequila. Consuming two beers an hour is about right, so six or seven beers during the last three-plus hours, and the tequila shot. Huh, that'd be okay except I had two or three beers before we left the apartment. I'm drunker than I think I am, and certainly way over the legal limit for driving. Halfway to the apartment I ask Pony, "How's my driving?" He goes, 'Whaddaya mean?" I say, "You're sober, so do you think I'm driving like a sober person?" He's like, "Oh yeah, you're fine."
Good to know. I mumble, "You should be driving," and he goes, "I never drive other people's cars." I ask, "Oh, so you have your own car?" and he says, "Well, no." I just shake my head.
Parking in a no parking zone near the apartment building's back door, I turn off the engine figuring I'll take a chance that no one will mind me parking illegally. It won't be too long before I'll be back out to give Daryl a ride to his dorm. I'm kinda up for this buddy sex because the chance of Rob and I doing anything sexy later is pretty much zero. He's doesn't handle drinking real well. Pony's jabbering about sex toys again, so I tell him I'll ask someone if I can borrow one or two, meaning from Ryan, of course. Of course I probably won't see him until Friday. We go in through the back door with Daryl asking, "Can we try something different tonight, Dylan?"
Going up the steps, I'm like, 'What do you have in mind?" and he's like, "I don't know. You're my sex mentor, what do you suggest?" Stopping on the steps, I look at him and say seriously. "I'm not your mentor, or anything like that. We're buddies doing buddy sex." Starting up the steps again, he goes, "You told me fat Carl called himself your sex mentor," and I say, "That's why I'm not your mentor. I don't want to do anything the way he did it with me."
Inside the apartment, he tells me, "Well I feel safe with you." He's joking I think, but maybe he's remembering the older man in the lavatory who fucked him that time, and only realized later how lucky he was that the guy used a condom and only spanked him. So yeah, compared to that man, Daryl would feel safe with me. The lavatory man could have been one of those real sickos Ryan's run into at times. We go in the bedroom where I grab Rob's tube of lubricant, then head right for the bathroom. First order of business: we both take a long piss, going, "Aaaaah, yeaaaah." Nothing like a good piss. At the party it was almost impossible to get in the bathroom. Girls were lined up against the wall waiting their turn while the guys mostly watered the hedges. Well, Pony and I did have a piss on evergreen bushes about two hours ago, but felt it was too cold out to do it again. So this piss is awesome relief.
We both wash our face and hands, which always feels refreshing. I turn around and Pony's already got his pants down. I go, "So you want a little something different, huh. Kick off your jeans and underwear." He pulls them off over his sneakers, as I drop my pants to my ankles and sit on the toilet seat's lid. "Come over here and I'll return the favor you so obligingly do for me. I'll suck that cute cock of yours." He shuffles over, mumbling, "I'll probably shoot off in your mouth in thirty seconds." Picking up his penis, I mutter, "Try not to," and lean forward to lick from his nuts up to the head of his cock, then suck the head in on my tongue. He goes, "Oooh, ooh," and grabs hold of my shoulders, a hand on each side, pushing his crotch forward and lightly humping his hips. That's almost an involuntary reaction when your penis is being stimulated. Sucking and licking it slowly, I feel my own cock getting aroused, like it always does when I'm sucking a young guy's cock. I don't know why I included the words 'young guy's cock' when they're the only cocks I ever suck. Young, meaning around my age, give or take a couple of years.
Nice clean scent coming off Pony, but I guess his pheromones aren't the type that register in my subconscious mind because I'm not sensing extra arousal, other than having his cock in my mouth. He's never mentioned my bodily scent so our pheromones aren't especially compatible. Obviously all of us are wired differently; probably more differently then we can imagine. So many different social, economic, and happenstance of environmental influences, and such. Those factors all combine to mold us from birth into who we are without us even realizing it. How's that for a random deep thought while sucking a five-inch cock, or almost five inches anyway. Ha ha.
In short order Pony's cock gets really hard, while mine is just firm. I'm tasting precum and Pony's grunting and groaning, moving his feet and squeezing my shoulders, so I take his cock out of my mouth before he blows his load. A long string of precum hangs off the head. He gasps, "I willed myself not to spunk in your mouth, Dylan." I mutter, "Awesome display of willpower, Daryl." He nods, "Whoa, but that felt so fuckin' good! Oh my God!" I go, "I'm glad it felt good for you, Pony. Um, now how about if you lean over and do some magic on my pecker. Little Dylan isn't as quick to action as yours." He smirks as if i just gave him a compliment. Bending down, then getting on his knees between my legs, he slides my firm cock into his mouth scrapping the underside on his sharp incisors. I do his hissing sound by inhaling air between closed teeth. He grins around my cock, takes it out and holds it in his fingers to look up at me, saying, "You love to make fun of me, don't you?" He's not upset, plus I wasn't making fun of him in the first place. I say, "Daryl, I wasn't imitating your hissing sound on purpose; it just happened." He goes, "Hey, it's okay, I like you kidding around with me.
Don't be so sensitive." I'm sensitive?! Puffing my cheeks out, I exhale, then says, "Good advice, Daryl." He puts my cock back in his mouth, missing most of his lower teeth this time, and I'm actually a little disappointed.
He's doing some good sucking and licking, so in short order I'm pushing on his head, saying, "That's good, I'm good. Okay, Pony, that's enough." He pulls his head back with a string of my precum stretching from his lips to my cock. It breaks off to slide down his chin making me grin. Heh heh, that usually happens to me. Pony says, "I got you hard pretty fast this time.
Guess I'm getting the knack of it." I mutter, "For sure." He's stands-up in front of me, both of us with a nice looking boner. I'm stroking some slippery shiny lubricant on my boner, as Pony asks, "What now, Dylan?" I wiggle my fingers like, move closer to me, saying, "Come here and put your legs on either side of the toilet seat." I should do this sitting in a chair, but we're here now so we'll make the best of it. He shuffles forward, asking, "Why, aren't you gonna try making-out with me?" I go, "No! Although I'd enjoy it, but since you wouldn't, we won't do it. It's all about you, Pony. I'm here to make you happy." He grins saying what he's heard me say a few times, "Bull-shit alert."
I'm like, "You're going to basically fuck yourself, in only the nicest way of course, on my boner by sitting up and down on my lap. I need you facing me so I can see your cute face get all scrunched-up as your orgasm comes rushing on you." He asks, "Will this really work?" I nod, "Yes, it will really work for both of us. You'll be in-charge though. In-charge of how hard and fast you want to fuck yourself," and I can't help but laugh at that, so he laughs too. I'm like, "This is the only time that when someone says go fuck yourself, it's meant in a nice way." He mutters, "You're crazy, you know that? Um, do you really think I'm cute?" I go, "Yes, very. Now get closer," and he shuffles forward until his cock, that's now very hard and tight up against his belly, is close to my face. It's just about the right height, so I fight off the urge to take it in my mouth again.
I take hold of his boner, pulling it away from his stomach... precum rolling down the outside of my fingers. Pulling him two inches closer to me, I tell him, "I'll guide my boner to your anus and you sit on it a little at a time, or as fast as you want. Like I said, you're in-charge." He grins, "Oh boy! This sounds weird, but very cool too." I say, "Steady yourself by holding onto my massive shoulders." He laughs again because his shoulders are noticeably more developed than mine. I say, "With all the running you do, your legs shouldn't get tired lifting and lowering yourself on my slippery pole." He nods with a smirk on his face, putting his hands on my shoulders.
I pull on his cock getting him another inch closer, the head of his cock in my fist is now almost touching my chin. When I let go of it, it flops tightly back up against his belly. I've got my cock in my fist now, saying, "Squat down, um, that is lower your ass until it touches something." Another nod as he rests his forehead on mine while lowering his hips. His left butt cheek makes contact with the head of my cock. I'm sliding the head of my boner across his butt cheek until it hits his anus, and Pony goes, "Ooh!"
He very slowly drops down on my boner, and I say, "Go ahead, Pony, sit down a tiny bit more." My boner's head has just spread the lips of his asshole slightly. He's docked though, so everything is go, Houston. He drops his ass maybe two inches, blasting past my sphincter muscle and we both make his a hissing sound, then he laughs, yelling, "Stop that!" then, "That hurt a little, but whoa, it feels good now!" We must have similar asses because I know exactly what he means. It hurt, but that makes the pleasure more intense. Pony asks, "Should I continue?" I mumble, "It's up to you," and he sits down on my boner another three inches making a louder hissing sound as I'm holding my breath because the sensations coming off my penis are intense.
My shoulders do a little shudder, and Pony, who has a hand on each side of my shoulders, says, "How'd you do that?" Letting my held-breath out quietly, I go, "It's your rectum, Daryl, it squeezes my boner and my shoulders shudder on their own." He lifts his feet off the floor and plops all the way down on my lap with his eyes opening wide. We look into each other's eyes and he says a quiet, "Ow." I grin and squirm a little on the toilet seat's lid, then a moan slips out, and I murmur, "Mmmm, yeah, feels good, don't it?"
Pony goes, "Yeah, it does, ummm, oooh. It's insane how good this feels.
Jesus!" and he wiggles his ass and leans against me with him forehand on my right shoulder, his arms around the back of my neck. Nice! He grunts, "Is this okay?" I nod, "Uh huh. Now ride it up and down a few times." He murmurs, "Wait. I think I'm gonna cum." So he sits on my legs, sort of hugging around my neck for fifteen seconds or so, then mumbles, "You smell good." Huh, I was thinking about our scents just a couple of minutes ago. Still in the same position; his forehead on my shoulder and his arms around the back of my neck, he lifts his ass five or six inches and gasps, his moist breath against my sweatshirt, then dropping down again, and lifting right up as we both go, "Aaah, aaah," and he does it five more times creating immense sensations coming off my cock. I already feel the beginnings of a climax.
Three more ups and downs gets his body stiff, his arms tighten around my neck, hugging like crazy. After a pause, he does little four inch lifts and sits, then he gasps as his hips hump and his cock, now sticking straight out from his stomach, shoots a fast flying string of cum that splatters on my chest. He goes, "Awwwww, ooh," and another stream of cum goes 'Splat' on my shirt as the first shot begins wetting through to my skin. I'm holding my breath, almost climaxing myself.
My arms loosely around his back, Pony sits on my legs again moaning quietly, and hugging my neck. I let out my held-breath again and hump my hips moving my boner inside him. The tightness all around my throbbing boner feels incredibly good, and I give him a hug. His body is shaking a little as he moves his head so his face is against the side of my neck. He murmurs, "Too fast. Sorry I climaxed so fast," then a sigh and his body relaxes. I rub my hand up and down his shirt in back, and he sighs again, very relaxed and laying against me taking a few deep breaths. After a minute or so, I gently push him up with a hand on each of his upper arms, saying, "How about lifting off me and I'll fuck you standing up. See if you can have another little orgasm." Nodding his head, his feet on the floor, he lifts his ass off my boner making a face and going, "Ooooh, mmm," as my cock pops out of his ass. I bite my bottom lip at the intense sensations coming off the head on my boned-up penis.
My boner is really hard and throbbing as I stand up and turn him around, then guide my cock to his opened-up asshole and slide it tightly back up inside him. We both go, "Aaaah." With both my arms around his stomach, I start moving my hips humping my boner back and forth in his ass fast and hard.
My eyes close as sensations fly off my cock's head. The tightness of his rectum all around my hard shaft feels so good I'm gritting my teeth. Oh God this feels good and I go faster driving my cock back and forth in his ass, not really caring if he cums again or not. My cock has taken over my brain and it's, "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds dinging off the walls of the bathroom along with my desperate sounding, "Umpt!" with each 'Slap' sound of my crotch
smacking against his firm buttocks. It's a rush to the finish line and it's coming up fast. Pony's making a whining sound with each thrust up his ass as he strokes his latest boner. Lightning is flashing inside my head as my climax is on me awesomely now. I join in with Daryl's whining moans for five seconds before, "Eeeeee, aaah," humping against his butt cheeks, firing a long stream of cum into his bowels, then another good streak and I'm gasping for air with millions of delicious nerve endings doing their job. Then another deep gasp and I slowly thrust back and forth in his spunk-filled slippery rectum while resting my forehead on the back of his head. Thrust...
thrust.. thrust with a quiet sigh as the sensations of climax fizzle out.
I wasn't aware of what Daryl was doing or saying for the last thirty seconds, but his words register now. Something, something I don't process, then, ".... I think it was anyway. Maybe another minute or so." Whatever, that was a damn good climax. I move my hips back dragging my cock from his ass, then look at how open his anus is as I watch my jism drooling out of him.
It's fascinating to see and I feel some bonding with Daryl, sharing our bodies like this tends to do some bonding. I can't imagine hetero sex being is as good. Ha, that's a one-side prejudiced opinion if there ever was one.
Pony turns around, "I loved that, Dylan, and like I said, I think I'd have cum again in another minute. Ya know, if you could have just..." I put my fingers to my lips, "Shhh, I'm coming down off my high." He looks serious, "Oh, okay, I didn't know." Snorting out a laugh, I say, "I'm just being selfish. So, you say you could have had a second orgasm if I fucked you another minute?" He's trying to look behind him, mumbling, "Yeah, but look at your cum drooling down the back of my legs." I go, "Well don't run out of condoms next time and this sort of thing can be avoided." Grabbing a hand towel, I swipe at his ass, then hand the towel to him. I'm feeling tired all of a sudden. Tired, but there's still that wonderful after climax sense about me. I feel good all over my body after an orgasm.
With warm water and a washcloth I wash my dick, then help Pony clean his ass, saying, "A drawback to going in bareback is it's a little messy for the bottom guy." He goes, "Ya know, I think I felt you shoot off. I definitely felt the extra wetness and it felt good! This felt more like real fucking. Without a condom I mean." Nothing better than a satisfied sex buddy. I tell him again, "Never do it without a condom except with me." He goes, "Okay," and I add, "You've got a special rectum for sex, Daryl. You'll make some boyfriend a very grateful and satisfied young man." He gives up on the drooling cum coming out of his ass and dumps the towel in the hamper, saying, "How do I find this mysterious boyfriend then? It's frustrating." We're pulling up our underwear, but I stop him until I can put some tissues in his jockey short, say, "Jeezus, it's hard to believe a good looking fellow like yourself, who likes to 'bottom', doesn't have a boyfriend already. Any chance Freddy might be interested." He goes, "Absolutely none."
We've got ourselves put back together and I check the time: it's almost one o'clock. I mumble, "Let's get our coats and I'll give you a ride back to your dorm." As we're going down to the parking lot level, he says, "So, any suggestions how I find a boyfriend?" I shrug, "It's extra hard when you're deep in the closet, Pony. Mostly you need to depend on luck. Some happenstance or situation where you get a vibe, like someone giving you a 'look' or maybe a smile when you don't expect one. You need to check guys out more carefully; the guys you know I mean. They say one out of ten guys are gay, and I believe it's higher than that, so someone you know is probably secretly the 'one'. Make the first move by striking up a conversation. Like the guys at poker night, for example. Um, like what's-his-name, Markie. I mean you mentioned to me was a good guy. Chat him up and see if maybe he returns your interest. Shit like that. Be proactive in other words." In the Jeep he asks, "You think Markie might be gay?" I do an elaborate shrug, "How the fuck would I know? I've already got a boyfriend so I wasn't paying a lot of attention to Mark. You should pay attention to him though." He nods, "He isn't very cute. Do ya think?" I go, "Huh, now that you mention it, yeah, I do think he's cute, but in a kind of goofy way. That counts as cute though, so yeah I do."
He squirms on the seat, mumbling, "Your cum is still coming out of my ass." I go, "Yeah, that's what cum does when someone shoots it up your ass. It eventually comes out. It's called gravity." As he's getting out of the Jeep in front of this dorm, he asks, "Um, when's the next poker night? I think you're right about Markie being cute. Wouldn't it be fantastic if he were gay?" I go, "Jeez, yeah, you two would make a cute couple." He stands there nodding his head, thinking about that, then asks, "How old is he?" I go, "He's gotta be twenty-one because we met one night shooting pool in a bar."
Pony's thinking, getting his hopes up maybe. I go, "I've gotta get going Pony, but it was a nice night, buddy." He grins, "Right back at you, buddy."
Backing the Jeep up, I wave at him and then get moving forward, thinking, 'I hope this doesn't backfire on me. Matchmaking is a perilous endeavor.' Then back at the parking lot I find a close parking spot near the back door. Miracles do happen! Feeling tired but good, I go inside half expecting Robby to be there, but he's not. That fucking Frankie is a night owl. I wish they'd try getting fucked so Rob will find out he doesn't like it, or better yet, he can't even do it. Then Frankie can go off looking for a straight boyfriend and leave mind the fuck alone.
After taking three Advil, I do all the bathroom stuff and, too tired for a shower, get in bed and fall asleep so soundly I never knew when Rob got in bed. He's there when I wake up though, and not looking well at all. I need to wake him though, quietly saying, "We better get moving, Rob, or we'll be late for class." He moans, "I'm sick, Dylan. Those fucking shots of tequila." I get this pissed-off feeling! That cunt Frankie peer-pressuring Rob into doing shots again. Trying to sound calm, I say, "You shouldn't do shots, Rob. Neither of us should." His eyes close, as he mumbles, "I know. I know, Dylan. Please don't lecture me. Oh fuck, I'm staying in bed today." The dumb-ass! That's what he gets hanging around with that bitch! I ask, 'What can I get you that might help?" He sighs, "Help me up, I gotta take a wicked piss." I help him up and as he's pissing, I get a glass of OJ and three Advil for him. Back in the bedroom he sits on the edge of the bed, on my old side of the bed. I switched sides with him last week. He drinks the OJ and takes the pills, then hands me the half glass of juice, and says, "I need a lot more sleep. I'm cutting classes today." Mister Responsibility is cutting classes? I say, "I'll take good notes, Rob." He waves his hand a little while getting under the covers, murmuring, "Thanks, Dylan," and closes his eyes. Serves him right! That damn Frankie!
Driving the Jeep to campus means I'll need to walk back this afternoon after last class. No biggie, I can handle that. I text Chub the exact location of where the Jeep is parked, telling him the keys are on top of the left front wheel. Looking around to be sure I'm unobserved I reach under the fender and place the keys where I told Chubby they'd be. Putting on my backpack, I head for first class. The two morning classes go as expected. Huh, time goes by seemingly quicker when I'm taking copious notes. I text Chub and eat lunch with him and John Beverly in their favorite dining hall. John borrowed a meal card for me from a friend. They assured me the cashiers never checks for matching Merrimack ID. Still, I was nervous until we're sitting down with our trays of food. Meatloaf, browned potatoes, a salad, plus a big slice of chocolate cake and a large fountain Coke. Sounds like dinner, don't it? After all that beer last night I have a bit of a hangover myself and this solid food seems like a good idea. It's not all that tasty though. I keep that opinion to myself as Chub and John Beverly are trying to convince themselves this is an awesome dining hall. Not!
The three of us are low-keying it during lunch, all of us nursing various degrees of a hangover; not an uncommon condition for college students.
After lunch I have my final class of the day and then walk to the apartment.
Later I'll change into running attire and drive the pickup to Pony's dorm for our run, which should run the rest of my hangover off. Inside I find Robby's on the sofa watching ESPN and looking a little better. After a quick kiss on the lips, without noticing lipstick, I ask, "Did you eat anything, Rob?" He shrugs, "Yeah, I had coffee and a pack of Hostess Twinkie's." I'm like, "Uh huh, and are you hungry?" He says, "I was hoping you'd make the boxed Lipton Chicken soup for me." I go, "Sure," and while making it I'm thinking to myself, 'Difficult preparation: empty the package into a three cups of water and bring to a boil.' But actually I like that Rob's so dependent on me. I serve him the soup in a big bowl with a soup spoon and some Saltine crackers, plus a big glass of ice and Coke. Putting it on a tray, then setting the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Rob's acting extra weak and pathetic, quietly mumbling, "Thank you, Dylan." He's hoping this hungover sickly-act will keep me from quizzing him on various topics like what time he got in last night, how many shots did that witch make him drink, and questions of that nature. And it works too. I lean down and hug him around the shoulders, kissing the side of his forehead. He looks as forlorn as possible, so I asks, "Can I get you anything else?" He shakes his head, "No, I'm going back to bed after I eat." I almost laugh, but instead stifle a grin, saying, "Feel better. I'm off to run three miles backwards at seven minutes a mile." He looks up frowning, 'What..?" I rub his head, "Just kidding. I'm gonna do my regular run with, Daryl." I'll check in with you after that. Text me in case of emergency." He murmurs, "Thanks, babe. The soup is good," as if I made it from scratch. Grinning, I go down the steps happy it's not me with the big hangover.
During the drive to Daryl's I'm thinking about last night with Markie; specifically about our two kisses. He initiates the first kiss, but never took it beyond that even though he openly admits he's a closeted gay with some sexual history. Not a very extensive history, the last incident being last summer on vacation, a one-timer with a stranger. Interesting that he likes being a 'bottom' too, like Pony... and me too for that matter. I'm getting my kicks topping Pony though, and I gotta wonder if maybe Mark is waiting for me to suggest he and I do it. Then a different concern: I hope I didn't break Markie's trust by hinting that Pony strike up a conversation with him. That's if Markie plays poker with us some Friday. Don't know why I'm stressing over this since I'm actually trying to do both of them a favor.
Pony and I do our run with minimal conversation and when we do talk it's about the Halloween party, but not about our sex afterwards. It's Wednesday so after working out at the fitness center we've got no good place to finish our workout with buddy sex, so we slap hands and go our separate ways. I stay in with Rob on Wednesday night, both of us having a light dinner of tomato soup and egg salad sandwiches with iced tea. Thursday morning Rob's feeling a lot better. Our classes go as expected and we do our homework at the apartment, then Rob drops me off at Daryl's for the run and exercise.
Rob, Golden, Beth, and Frankie are bowling this afternoon, and who knows what else.
After Pony and I finish our workout today, we do our buddy sex in his dorm room since his roommate has a late class Tuesdays and Thursdays. Pony wants to try our lap fuck again, but asks for a hard bare-ass spanking first.
My hand stings by the time Pony's yelling, "That's enough! Stop, okay?" I get a kick out of him yelping during the spanking, and afterwards him laughing at himself and claiming it turns him on getting a spanking from me. He asked for it; it's never my idea. Then he wants to suck my cock and scrape it
with his teeth, before riding my boner for almost three minutes. We both get off really good! He shot me close range with his load, but this time it landed on a hand-towel I was smart enough to lay across my stomach. We screw around talking about why he doesn't like making out, and I get him to agree to doing a short make-out. Afterwards he goes, "Not bad at all." Later he rides my cock, for four minutes this time getting another boner that he
stroked, hoping for a follow up climax that never happened for either of us. Before I leave his dorm he asked about sex toys again, which reminds me to check with Ryan tomorrow after our morning class together.
Rob and I have lover's sex before going to sleep Thursday night, and the difference between that and buddy sex with Pony is so different I can't think of what to compare it to. Maybe a hotdog at the ballpark as compared to a gourmet dinner at the Ritz Carlton. There's a big difference which isn't to say a ballpark hotdog isn't good in its place. Then it's Friday morning and I'm on my way to Ryan's dorm, again forty-five minutes before our class. He lets me in wearing only a towel around his waist and his hair is still wet from a shower he just returned from. He gives me a kiss, saying, "Steve's taking a shower." I plop on his bed, asking, "Do you have any sex toys with you here at college?" He looks at me smirking, and I say, "Not for me. There's this gay sophomore kid I jog with who asked if I had any. I guess he's into kinky sex or something." Ryan folds the towel neatly, saying, "Do you expect me to believe you and this kinky sophomore aren't fucking each other?" I say, "No, of course not; we've had buddy sex a few times. You should get out more and find a sophomore for some buddy sex yourself." He's got boxer shorts on now, and is rubbing deodorant under his arms, muttering, "It all seems like too much trouble. I'll stick with you here once or twice a week, and then Jeff mucho times every week after I transfer."
Whoop-dee-do for you, Ryan!
Laying back on his pillow, I go, "By the way, I've gotta break my word about getting your specialty haircut before you leave. I'm in this stupid deal with Rob about not hurting his freshman's feelings; the kid he mentors on the baseball team is our barber," and I make a face like it's all such a drag, but I gotta do it. Nothing from Ryan so, pointing at my head, I mutter, "And you see what that's got me." I'm shocked he isn't protesting. He merely mumbles, "You mean that haircut? That's what it got you?" I say, "Yeah, this haircut that's the exact style I've been ridiculing for years, and now it's my fate to wear it. At least as long as Rob's mentoring the kid."
Ryan's dressed, saying, "Well you're an asshole for backing-out on your word, but I've sort of lost interest in doing it anyway." He points at the haircutting toiletry kit, saying, "Put that in your backpack." I nod, "Sure,"
and he sternly says, "Now!" What an asshole! I get off the bed and grab the toiletry kit to put in my backpack, saying, "You're taking this very well, Ryan." He mutters, "Yeah, well I'm taking my meds again. I started last Friday after you left." I frown at him, but don't say anything. What medication would that be, I wonder? He adds, "I've given up fighting it. I feel dull when I take that shit, but overall it does make things seem more rational and manageable. I should have been taking them all along, but I thought I knew better." I'm trying for casual, asking. "Oh yeah, what medication is that?" He goes, "It's not important."
Hmmm, this is something new to me. Meds, huh? Ryan has a pleasant expression on his face, asking, "What was that you said about sex toys?" I go, "Oh yeah, this kid would like to borrow a couple, if you don't mind." He shrugs, "Hell, I'm not using them. They're ones I used with Jeff, who, heh heh, wasn't all that crazy about them." He goes in his closet and lugs out a sports satchel from which he pulls out a ball-gag, saying, "Let me put this on you, and then you can borrow it for the sophomore." I'm like, "Nah, that's okay. I don't need to try it out. In the past I've wore a ball gag, butt plugs, penis guard, you name it. Between you and Worthington I've had them all on. Not that I minded most of them, I must say." He goes, "Worthington. Yeah, your boy Willie, right?" I go, "He was my first boyfriend, yeah."
Ryan brings the ball gag over, "C'mon, Dylan, try it on. Open wide." I'm st aring at the ball gag, and with an incredulously expression on my face, I'm like, "There's dried stuff on that thing. Didn't you clean it after Jeff used it?" He shrugs, "Nah, you don't clean sex toys." I go, "Yes you do! Of all the things in the world, you clean sex toys." He says, "For chissakes, it's only Jeff's saliva, mostly; with well I don't know what the red stuff is. You and Jeff fucked plenty anyway, so what's wrong with a little of his saliva?" I go, "I've told you before, we only fucked once. We fucked while we were both drunker than shit! Once!" He chuckles, "Just checking.
That's what Jeffy says too. Open wide!" Oh balls! I open my mouth wide and he pushes the ball in past my teeth, but just barely. As long as it's Jeff I won't hurl having it in my mouth. I like that guy. The ball presses down on my tongue and it's pressed tightly to the roof of my mouth. Ryan tightly secures the Velcro straps around the back of my head, muttering, "I don't see what's so wrong with your haircut." Another clueless haircut observer.
There's a bigger ball on this gag then I'm used to, and I'm trying uselessly to tell Ryan to take it out, while pointing at it. Ryan says, "I can't understand you," and now I feel a touch of claustrophobia sliding over my brain so I reach behind my head and pull the straps apart with Ryan trying to redo them. He's too late as, with some difficulty, I get the ball out, yelling, "This fucking ball is too big." Ryan goes, "Yeah, it is the large size. Heh heh, I've got to get Jeff in handcuffs before I can force it in his mouth." I go, "That a tad sadistic don't ya think?" He says, "He gets a boner as he's bitching about it. Anyway we only use the fucking toys when he suggests it." That's a lie right there, but why bother to argue? And, weirdly, there's no emotion behind Ryan's protests. It's like he doesn't care that much to start with. I'm like, "Well, no thanks, I don't want to borrow this thing." He shrugs, "There's a couple other toys you can fuck around with after class, but I gotta take a piss right now. We'll walk over to class when I get back, and you can get us a couple of coffees to drink on the way." I nod as he leaves the room.
What's with him? I plop down on his desk chair and tap the space bar on his computer. The screen lights up, but it's password protected. Then the word, meds flashes in my head. He said he's taking his meds again. Meds as in pills? Hmmm, I look in his desk drawer, then see his toiletry kit on the closet shelf. First, opening the door and looking down the corridor, no Ryan in sight, then I take the five steps to the closet and pull the toiletry kit off the shelve and unzip it. Regular stuff; toothpaste, toothbrush in a case, deodorant, razor and some other stuff, plus three pill bottles.
Jesus, I can't even pronounce the names on these bottle.: Librium, Risperidone, and Benzodiazepines for Albert Ryan Wilcox. Huh. I'll never remember the names of all three. The first one though, Librium; it almost sounds familiar. I spell it in my head twice, then zip up the kit and place it back where I found it.
I'm lying on his bed with his scent off the pillow in my head. It's sexy, but am I losing a little of the aphrodisiac effect his scent has had on me in the past? Things change, I know that, but do I want it to change where Ryan's concerned? Maybe I do and maybe I'm already in the process of changing without realizing it. He comes in, saying, "The fucking childish horseplay in the lavatory is getting old! I'll have an apartment at the Georgia University so I won't need to put up with this sophomoric shit." He's grumpily putting on his back pack, as I'm thinking, 'Well what is it Ryan, childish or sophomoric shit? Seems one would be more advanced then the other. No?' Ryan looks at me as he does a breathy exhale of annoyance, like he read my mind, then says, "You're lying on my bed after I made it up." I get off the bed patting the bedspread, muttering, "I didn't ruin it." He says, "Lets go. I'll redo it after class." Yeah, it's his meds med's. Kinda creepy.
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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