DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 38
by Donny Mumford
After Wednesday morning's final exam, I help Rob throw some things in a satchel and then watch him drive off on his way home. He's always at the beck and call of his father, but this alleged business emergency seems silly to me. I'm not angry at Rob, he's just being his normal conscientious self.
It's his father who pisses me off. Imagine the owner/president of a hundred-employee-business needing to pull his son from college during finals week to duplicate a report that Rob completed ninety-percent of six weeks ago, but now it's been misplaced. And not one of the other ninety-nine employees can do what a twenty-one-year-old college student can? Idiotic! Wandering aimlessly around the apartment I'm thinking these thoughts while rubbing what's left of the hickey Robby gave me Monday. Surprisingly it's still visible, so it was a good one. It only stung a little bit when he was doing it. Huh, I can't remember the last hickey I had. We had good sex Monday afternoon and it was very welcome considering it was our first sex in four long fucking days. Obviously we abstained because of Robby's flu and the worry that I'd catch it too. Hell, I expected to catch it anyway because we gave in to our urges Monday when he was probably still contagious, and then had really good sex yesterday too. Now that he's pretty much recovered and we have the rest of today and all day tomorrow to do with what we want, Robby instead needs to run off to save his daddy's ass at work. That blows! Hmmm, it's lunch time so I think again about John Smith's invitation to meet him at Butch's Sports Bar for lunch then a 'smoke' in the supply room.
He never did text me though, which I was sort of hoping he'd do. Screw it, I'll go over there anyway. To do that I'll need wheels so I text Chubby who's with some guys having a few brews at Roth's bar, which doesn't necessarily mean he drove the Jeep there. Other guys have cars here at college; the parking lots are full of them. I text him, 'Chub, do you have the Jeep with you?' He texts right back that he rode over with Jack Clark, whoever he is.
I ask him where he parked the Jeep telling him I'm using it this afternoon. He tells me where it's parked then again tries to talk me into meeting him and his buds at Roth's bar. I give him a definite maybe on that. I love spending time with Chubby but when he's with his friends and I get only a diluted version of him.
With my keys for the Jeep in my pocket I walk through our parking lot and across route 114 onto the campus. It's wet miserably-cold weather today so thankfully I find the Jeep exactly where Chubby told me it would be.
Getting in and firing-up the engine I put my seat belt on and then while waiting for the heater to warm up I feel kinda proud of myself for having the balls to take John Smith up on his offer, especially considering the disaster I experienced with the baby-faced gorilla last weekend. Obviously the safest thing for me to do is simply join Chubby at the local bar downtown that's only a six or seven-minute drive from here as opposed to Butch's bar in Haverhill that's more than twice as far away. Yeah, except I'd be passing up on the opportunity to have what's a mild version of sub/dom sex with John Smith. And I've been missing that this entire semester. I don't really care that John may not even be aware he's doing a mild form of sub/dom sex. And there's no worry that he'll be anything like the gorilla. Wouldn't matter anyway because I'm bigger than John and surely stronger. He's slightly taller than me but I'm heavier and all the free-weight lifting I did last year plus workouts at the fitness center this year I've never been in better shape in my life. Oh fuck, why am I even talking about this? John's no danger to anyone. He's too nice, if anything.
So instead of taking the easy way out of hooking-up with Chubby and his friends for some beers, I'm gonna take the initiative and see if John Smith's for real or if he was just a one-night stand. I've rarely backed-down from a sexual adventure even though there's always the possibility I'll make a total ass of myself. John may have forgotten all about his invitation to join him for lunch. He could have been much drunker than I realized and forgotten all about me by now. Or maybe he asks everyone he has sex with to meet him at the bar for lunch. Any number of things could make me look foolish, and now I'm thinking John probably isn't even at the bar.
Except when I get there, I see him as soon as I open the door. He's sitting at the end of the bar and his eyes glance over as the door closes like he's expecting someone... maybe me. Or maybe not because his eyes meet mine and he does a subtle shake of his head like he doesn't want me to go over to
him. Well fuck! He's with that same scruffy tough-looking guy he was with Friday night. What the fuck did John say the guy's name was? Something unusual. Ha, why the hell would I think I'd remember someone's name? Anyway, the guy looks to be in his late twenties and he's almost certainly a mechanic for the Haverhill Toyota dealership. I make this brilliant deduction because both of them are wearing over-sized mechanic-type shirts with the Toyota logo on one side and their first names above the breast pockets on the other side, although I'm too far away to read the names.
It feels like everybody in this joint is looking at me as I walk straight ahead and take a seat at the middle of the bar. Three stools to my left are two older men hunched over hamburger platters. Their elbows are on the bar, one on either side of their food platter, and they're both taking huge bites from their hamburgers. With bulging cheeks, they hold the burgers in front of them while they chew with their mouths open. Disgusting mouth sounds and when one of then starts talking to the other with his mouth full I slide off the stool and saunter over to the jukebox as if I'm going to play a tune. It's a high- tech jukebox with a touch-screen for browsing hundreds of songs. From a quick scan of the instructions it appears to be a dollar-fifty per song. You gotta be shitting me! I probably read it wrong, and I don't want to play a tune anyway. What I want to do is change seats. I casually saunter all the way to the opposite end of the bar and sit in the same seat I was in Friday night. Is it my imagination or can I still hear those uncouth bozos smacking their lips as they chow-down on those burgers? A woman bartender comes over dropping a cocktail napkin in front of me, asking, "Ya got ID, Hon?" I do, so I show it to her. She hands it back smiling, saying, "That's the best picture I've ever seen on a driver's license.
What can I get ya?" I order a Miller Light draft, then steal a glance down the other end of the bar at John Smith. He and Scruffy both have a draft beer in front of them but no food, so I'm wondering if John's finished his lunch or maybe he hasn't ordered it yet. Looking at my cellphone I see it's ten-minutes of one, so it could be either option. I've got my cellphone out as a prop because I'm self-conscious about sitting here by myself. The bartender brings my beer, asking, "Would you care to see a lunch menu?" Her name tag reads, 'Judy'. I shake my head giving her a little smile, mumbling, "No thanks," so she goes off to replenish drinks for three youngish-looking women who probably work in one off the many office buildings in this area of
Haverhill.
I've got this irrational notion, one I always get when I'm doing something by myself, that everyone in here is watching me and thinking what a shame it is I have no friends. Then it occurs to me that this is the first time in my life I've ordered a drink in a bar alone and I find that I don't like it any better than I like eating out on my own. I'm paranoid in that regard
and I know it's insane, but nevertheless I'm almost chug-a-lugging this beer so I can get the hell out of here. I've got John's cellphone number so I'll text him later asking him what the fuck's up? But wait a minute! A waitress has just come up behind John and set a platter of food in front of him. He smiles and says something to the waitress, who grins and takes one of John's French fries, eating it she walks away. Huh. John's father and uncle own this bar so maybe John knows everyone who works here.
I'm just about done my beer when the scruffy-looking tough guys gets up, bumps fists with John, and then walks out the door. When the door closes John looks down the bar at me and does that wiggly 'come here' thing with his forefinger. Okay, I won't need to text him to find out what the fuck's going on. Bringing what's left of my beer I walk the length of the bar and sit on the other side of John; not in the scruffy guy's seat. I have this thing about sitting on a seat someone's just vacated because it still retains the heat from that person's ass. Yeah, I have a thing about not sitting on an ass-warmed seat. Obviously hundreds of people have previously sat on the seat I'm sitting on, but not recently. John says, "So you finally showed up, huh?" I'm like, "Yep, it appears so. We're taking final exams this week at Merrimack so this is the first..." and he interrupts, "Yeah, I know. My sister's a freshman there. She commutes." I go, "Oh yeah? Um, why didn't you want me coming over when that guy was here?" He goes, "He wouldn't like you, and I knew he had to leave soon." He wouldn't like me? That's not much of an explanation. Well I didn't want to meet the guy anyway.
John holds his hand up to get the lady bartender's attention. She looks over, and John says, "Two beers when you get a chance, Jude." I ask, "How ya been, John?" He goes, "Good! How 'bout you?" Shrugging, I mumble, "Okay, I've been better I guess." No sense in telling him how the abortion is still a cloud over our heads and how Rob been sick with the flu and I had to nurse him like forever. Plus I still can't get over that bitch, Beth, trying to scam Robby out of $200. It's like those two girls switched personalities and Frankie became the sensible cooperative one while Beth turned into a conniving bitch. Those reasons are basically why I gave John that half-ass answer about how I'm feeling. I should have just said a generic, 'Good, I'm good' because now he looks at me with concern, asking, "What's wrong?" I shake my head, "It's something my friend's dealing with. I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind." He nods his head, and eats a French fry, then looks me in the eyes, asking, "Who gave you the hickey?" My hand goes to the hickey as my face gets red. I mumble, "Oh, um, my boyfriend, why?" John says, "They're kinda faggy, don't ya think? Hickeys I mean." I shrug, "No, it's not faggy, it's.... um, I don't know. It's almost gone anyway." He grins at me showing his super white teeth and his pink gums.
As I continue thinking this was probably a bad idea, John asks, "Have you had lunch yet?" I go, "No, I'm good though," and he goes, "C'mon, have something to eat. Share mine," and he picks up half his BLT and holds it out to me. His hands and especially his fingernails are dirty. Well, he did just come from changing a car's oil or tire, or fixing an engine, or whatever the fuck a mechanic does. He sees me hesitate staring at his hand so he chuckles, then says, "I washed my hands." When, yesterday? Oh fuck it, I take the half sandwich, saying, "Ha, no, um, I wasn't..." He grins shaking his head, then takes a bite from his half of the sandwich. The sandwich was cut on the diagonal so each half is shaped like a ninety-degree triangle. He's still grinning at me while chewing with his mouth closed, thank God. Judy puts two draft beers in front of us, saying, "One Miller Light for your friend, and a Coors for you, Johnny." He says, "Thanks," as I'm willing myself not to look at his hands.
A waitress walks by and John leans back from the bar tapping her shoulder, saying, "Sis, I need a plate for my friend, and, um, I guess a fork too."
She takes a plate and a fork from one of the unoccupied tables against the wall and puts both on the bar in front of me. Flustered, I mutter, "Oh, no I'm not um, but thanks." John picks up half his pile of French fries and puts them on my plate using the same dirty hand he used passing me half his sandwich, that I'm still holding. I look at him, "You didn't need to do that, John." He points at the half sandwich he gave me and mutters, "Eat that.
Um, you want some ketchup for the fries?" I do a fake cough, then mutter, "No thanks," although I always dip French fries in ketchup. Damn, I'm discombobulated. Taking a bite of my triangle of BLT and, huh, it's very good with only a faint taste of motor oil. John's clothes smell like tires. Yeah, like when I got new tires for the Jeep at Sears. The building smelled like the tires that were stacked all over the place. It's not an unpleasant smell though.
As we eat in silence I'm thinking that the baggy mechanic's shirt John's wearing hides how skinny I know he is. I mean I saw him in a small t-shirt Friday and this boy is rail-thin. He looked stronger than a rake handle though, and he definitely sexier. There's a grease smudge on his forehead and another one on the side of his chin, plus he's not clean shaven like he was Friday night. He has a sparse beard pattern of pale reddish whiskers on his
upper lip and chin. There's a baseball-style cap pushed back on his head with the word 'NAPA' on the front just above the bill. I know from the other night that his red hair is in a longish burr-style haircut, one that's strangely very uneven on top. His hair's grown over the tops of his ears too so it's obviously been some time since he's been to the barbers.
I'm stealing sideway glances at him hoping he'll be better looking than I remembered but I'm not able to convince myself that he is. He's not ugly or funny looking, I'm not saying that. His facial features just aren't special. He has a prominent nose and wide mouth, although not outlandishly so in either case. He's average-looking I guess you could say, with freckles.
What isn't average though are those beautiful blue eyes of his. They're very bright and shiny in various shades of blue. And he has thin eyebrows too, like Robby's. So there are a couple of things special about John's 'looks', and his mouth is uber clean looking. He has those very white teeth with a small space between the top ones. Also a pink tongue and pink gums. And while he does have many freckles on his face they're smallish freckles, which are better than large ones I suppose. He's got a long-sleeve-shirt on so I can't see his arms but I know they're covered with freckles too. The skin color in between his freckles is very pale like most redheads' complexion...
it's a creamy white color.
There's also a disconcerting calmness about him that makes me feel fidgety. He appears perfectly comfortable sitting next to and sharing his lunch with basically a total stranger. I'm the opposite of calm and comfortable, so for something to say, I ask, "Was that guy a coworker? The guy who was sitting with you." John says, "Chester? Yeah, well, he's not a coworker so much as he's my boss." Damn, I was hoping that question would be a conversation-starter but I guess I'll need to try again, "Heh heh, why wouldn't Chester like me?" John looks at me and, in a matter-of-fact manner, says, "He'd think I'm fucking you and he'd take it out on you. Give you a lecture or something. Chester's religious." Frowning, I absently pick up a French fry and eat it as I'm contemplating that response. Does it mean Chester is John's boyfriend? What else could it mean? I go, "He's a jealous boyfriend, huh?"
Finished the last of his half sandwich, John grins, muttering, "Christ no! Ha ha, no way." And that's all he's going to say about it? No other explanation? I finish my half sandwich determined not to say anything else until he says something.
John doesn't say anything though, not until he's eaten everything on his plate except the cole slaw. There's a paper cup filled with cole slaw that he picks up and then forks some crispy cole slaw into his mouth. Holding the cup towards me, "Have some cole slaw, Dylan. My aunt makes the best cole slaw you've ever eaten." He wants me to eat out of the same cup? Well, I don't want to be insulting so I use my fork to taste the cole slaw and it is good. He takes some more while still holding the cup towards me so we end-up taking turns eating forkfuls of cole slaw until John scrapes the last of it. He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, then says, "Judy," and when the bartender turns to him he nods his head toward the hallway that leads to the supply room. She says, "Why don't you give up your smoking habit, Johnny?" He says, "I'm thinking about doing just that, Jude. Keep on top of me about it, okay?" then to me, he says, "C'mon," and he gets up. My dick moves in my pants and my heart beats faster. A shiver slides all over me as I get up and follow him. He's an inch or an inch-and-a-half taller than me, but with those work boots he's wearing it seems more like he's three inches taller.
Last Friday when we went for our second 'smoke' he guided me back to the storage room with a hand on my shoulder. Today he has a grip on the back of my neck walking me back there with me slightly in front of him. I get this strange feeling that I'm being taken to the principal's office after I got caught smoking in the boy's room again. There's no real reason for it, but I feel this gooey submissive sense towards John and it makes me shudder. I really like how it feels. There's a swinging door at the beginning of the hallway that we go through, then we walk by the two lavatories, male and female, and then at the door to the storage room, John says, "It's not locked," so I open it and we go inside past the sign that says, 'Private'. He takes his hand from my neck and turns around to close and lock the door. I'm taking my pack of Marlboro out of my pants pocket. Then it hits me: I didn't get the condoms I was supposed to buy. Oh fuck! It's like I have this feeling I'm in trouble now.
Nervously I'm just about to light my cigarette when John says, "Sorry, Dylan, but we don't have time for a smoke. I got here late and my lunch hour is almost over." Putting the cigarette back in the box, I'm like, "I fucked-up! Um, I forgot to bring the condoms with me." He shakes his head, then chuckles muttering, "Air head. Now you owe me three," as he takes a condom packet from his back pocket and hands it to me, saying, "Drop your pants and I'll do you fast. Tomorrow why don'cha get here by twelve-thirty." I nod, "Yeah, okay, I'll try." He pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees, and then pulls his shirt up. He reaches over and gets a fistful of my hair and pulls my head down, murmuring, "Go ahead," so I bend over and pick up his limp penis. Surprisingly his body smells fresher this afternoon than it did Friday night. I lick the head of his cock a few times before sliding it into my mouth on my tongue while my lips are sucking on the shaft. I'm moving my tongue all around the head as my lips make slurping sounds sucking his cock.
My cock is tightening-up along with John's. When his is fairly firm he lets go of my hair and puts his hands on either side of my head holding it in place and begins moving his hips fucking my mouth by sliding his cock back and forth on my tongue as I struggle to keep my teeth covered. He does that
for maybe thirty seconds before moving my head, then tightly sliding his cock into my throat. Not expecting it I'm gagging like mad. Ignoring my gagging he does a deep thrust all the way down my throat with my nose squished against his orange/red pubic hairs that are surrounding my nose and mouth.
His boner goes deep in my throat, then pulls back, then down deep in my throat again. I stop gagging when his hard boner is smoothly sliding in and back. Oh, the dreamy submissive curtain that slides over my mind is so awesome. My cock gets as hard as stone and pulls away from my belly to stick straight out. It gets ridiculously hard. Oh God, it feels so good! It's dreamily sexy but John only deep throats me for maybe forty-five-seconds more and, in my delicious submissive trance, I'm on the brink of climaxing already. That'd be really embarrassing so I'm half relieved and half disappointed when he pulls his cock entirely out. It's sticking straight out like mine.
He ruffles my hair, saying, "I didn't know whether you could do that or not. Really nice job, Dylan!" Incongruously I feel so proud of being complimented by John Smith. He doesn't suck my cock like last time and it's a good thing too because I would have cum in his mouth in five seconds. Instead, he puts his fist around my boner, saying, "Jezz-usss, that baby's really hard. Damn, that's awesome!" I shrug, not sure I need to explain that I get aroused sucking a young guys' cock. He goes, "How 'bout you getting down on your hands and knees now," as he's leaning over pulling my pants down to my ankles. I start getting on all fours and John gives my ass a hard, "SMACK!"
It caught me by surprise and I yelp out, "Oh!"
When I'm on my hands and knees he walks in front of me and puts his hand under my chin lifting my head. His other hand guides his hard cock to my mouth again, as he murmurs, "Just a little more," and he slides his boner inside on my tongue again. I hungrily suck and lick it and almost immediately my tongue is coated with his precum. He grunts, moving his feet as he pulls it out and says, "Whoa! Go ahead and roll the condom on my cock now." I've been holding the condom packet in my hand ever since he handed it to me.
Ripping it open between my teeth, I roll it out on his cock and he ruffles my hair again, muttering, "Your hair's so fucking long I can't resist pulling it," and he gets another fistful and yanks on it, saying, "Turn around now," and I do that awkwardly because he doesn't let go of my hair.
I feeling a thick submissive sense building as I submissively push my ass up for him to mount. Instead John spanks me, "Smack smack smack," about a dozen smacks and then he pushes the head of his cock at my asshole with a hard hump. It goes inside me a couple of inches with my back arching and me grunting, "Aaah!" Cupping my shoulders, he basically pulls me the rest of the way back onto his boner with my rectum burning and for the second time in
the last minute I almost cum. Considering the short period of time we've been in here he has me ridiculously aroused and almost floating in a submissive trance.
Oh God, there's something about this random sex with someone I don't know that's thrilling. Meanwhile he's so relaxed about everything, it's like we've been fuck-buddies for years. There's no meanness in John at all, but something about him that makes me feel like I'm inexperienced in sexual matters and he's teaching me while I'm trying hard to do good. He's most definitely in-charge if nothing else. Everything John does is like there's nothing unusual about it, but this is unusual. Maybe that's it; maybe that's the reason I feel submissive to him. It's like he knows what he's doing and I don't. No, it's more like he's doing exactly what he wants without the slightest doubt that I'll do what he wants too. He's nice enough about it, but he never feels the need to asks anything like, 'Do I mind smacks on my ass?' or 'What do I think about him fucking me doggy style?' In a normal conversational voice, he merely told me to get down on all fours and then smacks my ass hard while I'm obeying him. He said for me to get on all fours the same way he'd tell his apprentice at work, 'Pass me that monkey wrench'. I've got no problem with any of it though; it's absolutely awesome! His hands cupping my shoulders pulls me tight against his orange/red pubic hairs and then he grinds his hips while exhaling and making a "Swoooch"
sound. He humps against my buttocks as I feel his cock growing inside me, then two hard, "SMACK! SMACK!" on my ass and more grinding of his hips against my buttocks. His hands slide from my shoulders down my sides to grip my hips and lift me so now I'm more or less on my hands and toes with my knees still bent. Another "SMACK! SMACK!" on my ass and now my right butt cheeks is stinging and hot. My submissive trance feels so good and I'm so aroused there's copious precum drooling from my quivering piss slit making a quiet, "Plip" sound as it drips drop by drop onto the cement floor. Still holding my hips up, he does six full thrusts with his boner spreading the walls of my rectum and stimulating the nerve ending around my anus and over my prostate until I can't catch my breath. Two more hard thrusts and I try muffling my squeal as my hips hump and a long stream of cum shoots from my boner with my body shaking. I moan and hump forward as another stream of cum flies out, followed by three little spurts. Oh man that felt so good but my face is on fire with embarrassment for climaxing so fast like I'm a novice doing sex for the first time.
John left his boner up my ass as I was bucking and shooting my load. I'm gasping, feeling very foolish as he quietly asks, "You okay?" I flip a hand backwards at him like no problem and he resumes hammering his hard cock back and forth in my ass. I'm a limp rag-doll now flopping forward at his hard thrusts. My body's swaying back when he pulls back and then I slide forward when he thrust his cock hard up my ass. My body's in constant motion as the sensations in my rectum soar into the upper stratosphere. Two, three minutes of hard fast fucking and my cock begins firming up again, but John's tight against my buttocks now humping against me. Grunting quietly, he fills the condom with his load of spunk. He gasps, humps against my ass again and I look back to see his freckled face scrunched-up and red, his eyes and mouth tightly closed. Another hump against me and then his grip on my hips loosens. Opening his eyes, he takes a big deep breath while backing-up pulling his cock out of my ass. I feel opened-up back there as I stare at his cock that looks longer than my initial estimate of five inches. There a nice size ball of cum at the end of the condom. He looks me in the eyes and smiles, nodding his head in approval. Then he murmurs, "Nice! That was good, but you were pretty quick on the trigger there, buddy." I nod, "Yeah, that surprised me but it felt awesome."
Pulling off the condom, he says, "You can stand up now if you'd like,"
with another grin he adds, "Do you wait for me to tell you what to do?" I'm still feeling some buzzing around my groin and shocked I climaxed so fast.
Standing, I'm like, "What? Asking you what?" My shoulders do another little shudder. Looking at him I feel this sense of closeness with him, plus some kind of admiration that he's somehow able to get me submissive and extremely aroused. He goes, "No, it's was like you we're waiting for me to tell you it's okay to get up, or something." Shaking my head, I'm like, "Hey, that was a good fuck, John, but I don't need your okay to stand up." He pats my shoulder, "Of course you don't."
We're pulling up our pants as he goes, "Let me ask you something. How do you think I'd look with extenders in my earlobes? Or is it expanders?" Ha, that's buddy sex for you! Climax, take a couple of deep breaths, then go on to another subject. We're walking out of the supply room, and then into the men's room as I'm like, "Jesus, no! Extenders, expanders, whatever...
they're freakish looking. They disfigure you for life." Flushing the condom he goes, "Yeah? I've got mixed emotions about them. Sometimes I think they look cool and sometimes not so much. Depends." I'm washing my hands, saying, "Ya don't even have an earring and you want to jump into earlobe extenders? Don't do it. That's my advice." Drying his hands he goes, "Yeah, you're probably right. I just needed someone cool, like you, to talk me out of doing it." He seemed sincere when he said that, but then everything is matter-of-fact with him.
As we walk out of the bathroom I go, "Why not get an earring. That'd be cool on you." He says, "Do earrings seem right for an auto mechanic?" I shrug, "Don't see why not." Both of us had our coats on the entire time we ate and fucked. As we walk past the bar toward the front door John says to the bartender and waitress, "Be good, ladies!" and they go, "See ya tomorrow, Johnny." Outside he says, "Get here earlier tomorrow, Dylan. I can do you before lunch and maybe after, if you want." I nod, and he gets in a pickup truck with 'HAVERHILL TOYOTA' stenciled on the door. Backing the truck up, and off he goes. Getting in the Jeep I'm shaking my head and thinking this is my oddest connection yet and that's really saying something considering I've had a few odd ones over the years. I feel really good about John though and he reaffirms my belief in sex with the right stranger, but be sure to only do it with one of the right ones. John brings on the strangest kind of submissive trance in me; like one I've never experienced before. And literally there's no major reason I should feel a sense of submission to him in the first place. Sure, he dictates mostly what we do, and he's in control of our sex but it's so fast and except for four or five smacks on the ass, it's fairly routine fucking. I don't get it, but I like it, and I like him too, grease and all.
Driving back to the apartment I'm thinking about Robby again, thinking there's always a silver lining and maybe this business thingie he needs to deal with back home will get him back to his normal self. The pregnancy and abortion rattled him quite a bit, and I see that; I get it too, but there's nothing he can do about it now. He's talked with Frankie a few times on the phone. She likes talking to him but doesn't want to see him although I think Robby would like to remain friends. He's such a good guy, so conscientious about everything but I can't see how Frankie and Beth could possibly have anywhere near the relationship with us they used to have. Robby needs to let it go, and with time he'll see that too... I hope.
In the apartment I'm not sure what to do with myself and I already miss Robby. Lying on the sofa I think about John Smith again and how I'm definitely going to Butch's Bar for lunch again tomorrow. He fucks good although I still don't get why I felt that degree of submissiveness towards him during our quick sex. It's probably all in my head. I mean we're really not doing any kind of noticeable sub/dom sex that I'm familiar with. Huh, did he say he'd 'do me' before and after lunch. Hmmm? Damn, that sex today was unusual in that I climaxed way too quickly but oh my God it felt good. That's how desperate for sub/dom sex I am. That's probably the answer... me being desperate for sub/dom sex so I'm mostly imagining it with John. I mean there's nothing really coming from John in the way of pronounced dominance although
there's always something inherently dominant in 'topping' and deep throating. He's just doing his normal thing though, and if I said no, he wouldn't do whatever I said 'no' to. Yeah, but I like everything he does and his cluelessness kinda makes it even better in a weird way.
For something to do I'm texting Daryl, who texts back that he's staying in for the rest of the day studying for a final he has tomorrow. Good for him! Hmmm, it's too late to hook-up with Chubby. Anyway those guys will be too far ahead, drinking-wise. It's no fun being sober with guys who are not.
I found that out a couple of times. So, for a change I stay in for the rest of Wednesday. Robby calls after he's finished his dinner saying it looks like he'll be working all day tomorrow and won't be back until Friday around noon, just in time to make his last final exam. Then he needs to go back to
Framingham and work. He says, "You'll need to get a ride home with your brother, Dylan." I mumble, "Sure, Rob, but I sure miss you. Um, are you going to make your deadline for the state of Massachusetts report thingie." He goes, "No, but today I filed a form for the state for an extension until next Tuesday. Can you believe my original one was lost and I need to do the whole fucking thing all over again. I'm so pissed-off I got into a shouting match with Dad." Wow, that's a first! Checking my watch I see it's ten-after-seven so I ask, "What are you doing tonight, Rob?" He says, "I'm in my bedroom getting dressed to go out and have a couple of beers with this guy, Greg Peters. I ran into him coming home from work. Just a coincidence that I was driving down his street on the way home and he was outside cutting the grass so I stopped. I can sure go for a few beers after today, and then it's work all day tomorrow." I go, "Un huh, you mentioned that you'd be working all day tomorrow already. Who's Greg what's-his-name?" Rob mumbles, "Um, Greg Peters. Ah, he's just an old neighborhood friend. He lives one street over from mine on Summers Street. I don't think you know him." I go, "Hmmm, that name might sound familiar."
Rob says, "He and I were buds in high school then he joined the Navy after graduation. He's home on Christmas leave or something." Hmmm? Then Rob quickly adds, "Oh, probably next week, our first full week of Christmas break would be the best one for you to work with me, babe. Same pay and all." I nod, not that he can see me nodding, as I'm mumbling, "Sure, Rob. We'll talk about that when I see you Friday. Say hi to Greg for me." Rob goes, "Yeah okay, but like I said, I don't think you know him. See you Friday around noon." I go, "I miss you," and he goes, "I love you," and we end the call.
Greg Peters, huh? Should I go online and see what I can find out about this character? This guy I don't know who lives one street over from the Dickers. Funny I've never seen in at any of the pool parties the Dickers have thrown over the years. I don't recall seeing the guy in high school either.
Yeah, but maybe he wasn't at any of the pool parties because he's in the Navy. No, I'm not that petty to go searching for info on the guy. Hell, I'm hooking-up with John Smith again tomorrow so I've no room to be jealous or suspicious of Rob getting it on with someone. One thing I know: Robby isn't the kind of guy who just runs into someone he hasn't seen in almost four years and then goes out for a few beers with him. I might do that, but only for the same reason Robby would, meaning there's some kind of sexual history to maybe be revisited. Otherwise he'd need to have been very close friends to the guy to hook-up for a couple of beers after four years. To a high school chum you haven't seen for years, you'd say, "Hey, whassup, dude?"
Exchange a few comments and move on... unless, like I said, there was some sexual history way back when.
What the hell, Rob's alone and so am I so our side-sex 'arrangement' comes into play. We've both acknowledged we're basically too sex-craved for our own good, but that's what we're dealing with so whaddaya gonna do? I dwell on Rob's phone call for another twenty minutes fighting with myself about going on Facebook and looking-up Greg Peters. Yeah, I can picture in my head Robby, Dodger and this Greg Peters character fucking each other's brains out in the pool house as thirteen or fourteen-year-old kids. The lucky bastards.
Finally giving up on daydreaming about pool house fucking, I order a pizza for dinner, watch a movie on HBO, and get to bed before ten o'clock. After not sleeping well without Robby to hold onto, I wake-up Thursday morning and lie in bed staring at an entire day ahead of me without one single thing I need to do. Checking myself out I'm delighted to discover I don't have a single flu symptom. I'm apparently not going to get Robby's flu because I'd surely know by now. Heh heh, that makes me feel good. It has to be the flu shot I had in September that saved me.
Getting out of bed and walking around wearing jockey shorts and Rob's raggedy-ass old bathrobe, I finally make a couple of scrambled eggs to have with toast and coffee for breakfast then lie on the sofa wondering if I really should go to Butch's Sports bar for lunch. Maybe I'd seem too eager or something and John might start losing interest. That's how it works sometimes.
If something's too easy to get, then it doesn't seem as desirable. But then he's the one who asked me to have lunch with him again and he even reminded me twice to be there by twelve-thirty. I hop up off the sofa and text Chubby: 'Bro, do you mind that I need the Jeep again today?' I don't get a text back until I'm drying myself after a shower. Chubby's text says, 'Absolutely no problem, Dylan. Bro, I'm so hungover!' I text that he needs his roommate to take care of him, and he text back that he think's John Beverly may have passed away because he won't wake-up. I text, 'Ha ha. Good luck, Chub. I feel awesome because I can control my drinking!' Hee hee, poor Chubby.
I finish getting dressed and then stare in the mirror at my head of hair.
Wow! I pick up a few strands from my bangs and when I pull them up straight they're like four inches long. When I let go the hairs go back to being wavy again. Who knew I had wavy hair? Robby's hair is straight so I guess we're not the Bobbsey Twins anymore, not hair-wise anyway. And, huh, John Smith doesn't like my long hair which is a little odd. Why should he care? Anyway, I need to put some gel in my hair and comb it back on the sides or else it hangs over my ears and looks like I badly need a haircut, which I do and will get one from Golden on Saturday.
What about Robby though? He won't be here Saturday. Yeah, I'm sure he said he'll be going back home right after his final tomorrow and therefore he won't be here for Golden's Saturday barbering day. Wonder what he'll do about that? Will he wait another month for a haircut? Not likely considering he needs to look professional for work. I'll bet anything his father ragged on Rob about his hair needing a haircut as soon as he saw him yesterday.
I'll cut it for Rob tomorrow and go to Golden myself on Saturday. Looking in the mirror again I'm like, so this is what it's like having long hair.
Yeah, ya always need to fuss with it. I fix a sort of curl hanging down on my forehead and grin. I look like a bad-ass kid from the fifties. I'd look like a tough guy back then. In this century however, a curl on my forehead makes me look like a fruit, as they used to say back in the day. Then I get a premonition: Robby didn't say it, but I'll bet anything he got a haircut before even going to the office yesterday. Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! I would have loved giving him a haircut. Of course my premonition could be wrong.
I've got enough time, so I text Daryl hoping he can come over for a quickie before I go to Butch's bar for a quickie. I'm thinking that this is what it'd be like every day if I were single. I'd never be sure when my next chance for sex might happen. Single guys can go on droughts without sex lasting months. Oh, the horror! Poor bastards. Daryl doesn't answer my text, probably because he didn't charge his cellphone again. For something to do before lunch, I drive on campus to see if anyone's in the Quad. Huh, there are a lot fewer of my fellow students wandering around. Some of them have finished their finals and have taken off for home, wherever that may be. Daryl's leaving tomorrow after his last exam. Gee, I really need to make a point of seeing him before he goes. Oh hell, I'm betting Daryl will make sure that happens. Then I'm thinking that tomorrow might be the last time I ever see Ryan Wilcox. After our exam he's probably flying out to Georgia to maybe never return to this state as long as he lives. That could be an awkward farewell, or it could be a bumped fist and, 'See ya around someday'... like that. With Ryan ya never know.
Hey, I could go see him right now if I want to. I'm here on campus.
Parking the Jeep I walk down to Ryan's dorm, then hesitate. What will I say? Oh fuck it, I'll think of something. At the door to his dorm I take a deep breath, then knock and hear something muttered from the other side of the door, but nothing happens for like fifteen seconds. I'm just about to knock again when the door opens and Ryan's roommate, Steve Church, is there. He startles the shit out of me because half his head is a wickedly-short burr haircut, unprofessionally done. Looking guilty, he goes, "Dylan! We, I, um, didn't expect it to be you." I'm gawking at his head so he blushes, mumbling, "Oh, Ryan's giving me a haircut." Steve reeks with the smell of pot. He goes, "Ryan's not quite finished yet as you can see." He sticks his head out the door looking up and down the corridor, so I ask, "Who'd you think it was knocking on your door?" He goes, "Oh, nobody," then he looks inside the room, saying, "It's Dylan."
I get the distinct impression he is stalling about letting me enter. I go, "I can come back some other time. It's just I thought, um, you know...
Ryan's transferring and I thought..." Now Ryan's at the door looking uncomfortable and reeking of weed. "Dylan? Hi, c'mon in." He and Steve grin at each other, then Ryan grips the back of Steve's neck and pushing him inside. The room, as always, is neat as a pin, but there's a haze of pot smoke floating near the ceiling. They have a newspaper spread out under the desk chair with lots of Steve's cut hairs on it. I gave Steve his last haircut very recently so he didn't need a haircut. This is bizarre! Ryan says, "Sorry we can't share a joint with you, Dylan. I know how much you like pot, but too bad because we just finished the last one. Didn't we Stevie?" Steve looks totally cooked. I look at Ryan's latest SuperCuts haircut for the trip home, to impress his father I suppose. It looks like shit, by the way, but it definitely was not done by Steve. It's look horribly authentic as a SuperCuts job. I wish I'd hadn't come to see this. That fucker, Ryan, knows I like giving him haircuts but he's intent on sticking it to me right up to the bitter end.
We're sorts of just standing here with those two grinning like they just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, or maybe like I almost caught Ryan's dick in Steve's mouth. I ask Ryan, "So, ya stopped taking the meds, huh?" Ryan goes, "Yeah, I told you that a couple of Fridays ago." I mutter, "No, you didn't." He's like, "Whatever, the 'rents have taken a two-year lease out for the apartment I want, so no need for the meds anymore. Jeff's ready to move in with me January first." Well it's interesting he's been off the meds for three weeks and never once suggested we get together for some buddy sex. Ryan says to Steve, "Why are you still standing there? Sit the fuck down and I'll finish your haircut." Steve sits on the desk chair, saying, "You're gonna continue my haircut with Dylan here?" Ryan makes a face,
"What'd I just tell you?" Steve nods his head muttering, "Sorry," and sits down. I'm shaking my head picturing me acting the same way towards Ryan in
Georgia. What magic does he have to get guys kissing his ass? I must have an incredulous expression on my face because Ryan goes, "What's with that look, Dylan? You disapprove? For your information Steve's agreed to my specialty haircut. Heh heh, unfortunately the barber clippers are for shit and it's been tough going." Why is he acting pissed off at me? I frown at him like, 'What's your problem? and he grabs the back of Steve's neck again and roughly pulls his head over so far it bumps Ryan's hip, then he holds it there as Ryan asks, "Aren't you happy to get this haircut, Stevie?" Steve blushes, "Well, I didn't really need a haircut, but considering the circumstances I...." Ryan says, "Never mind the circumstances," and he keeps Steve's head in that awkward position, saying to me, "So what can I do for you. Um, why are you here?" I go, "Just to say 'hi'," then I point at Steve's butchered hair asking, "How could you do that to him? Steve's been a
good roommate to you." Letting go of Steve's neck, Ryan rubs Steve's butchered hair, saying, "What I did to him? Steve and I have an agreement," and Steve goes, "No Ryan! It our secret! Jesus, I'll be coming back here after the break." Ryan swats the back of Steve's head, mumbling, "Shut up," and Steve frowns, but he does shut up.
This whole scene disgusts me! I ask, "What the fuck happened to your, Ryan? Why would you treat him like this?" He mutters, "Fuck you. What do you care?" I'm like, "Well, yeah, why would I care you're being horrible to your roommate? Maybe because there's something seriously wrong with you and you need to get help." He smirks at me, "You miss me and you know it." Blowing out a noisy exhale, I go, "Okay, you two are busy so I'll leave you to it,"
and Ryan turns on the cheap clippers, saying, "Yeah, I'll see you at the final exam tomorrow, unless you wanna stay and I'll do your haircut next."
He turns to smirk at me, "I know you'd love that, but you no longer have the balls to follow your true nature." I go, "An enticing offer for sure, but I'll pass. Steve, don't worry, you'll be fine next semester. This will be between us and no one else." Ryan runs the bare clippers up the back of Steve's head with lots of brown hair tumbling off the head of the clippers.
Looking at me, Ryan mumbles, "Is there something else?" I shake my head looking disgusted, and he says, "You know where the door is," and Steve says a pathetic, "Thank you, Dylan." I go out the door feeling a little sick to my stomach.
Ryan can be such a sick mean prick! Poor Steve. He'll go home with that abomination of a haircut and not only freak out his parents and friends, but his girlfriend too. Fucking sicko Ryan! I recall now that Steve was hinting around how he'd like to experiment with gay sex. It was the first haircut I did for him when he asked me to blow him. I had no interest in that, but told him he could suck my cock. Ha ha, but that was of no interest to him.
Ryan though, he has that mysterious something that apparently got through to Steve. He put Steve under his spell somehow so that Steve's not even complaining about the butcher-job of a haircut he's getting, plus he may have already sucked Ryan off and is probably getting fucked up the ass later.
It's unbelievable! There's some mysterious magnetism that Ryan has for certain guys, and I admit that I used to be one of those certain guys. Jeff too, and now poor Steve. Well, now I won't have any problem saying goodbye to Ryan tomorrow; none at all. I haven't seen him much these past three months because of his depressed personality and now I don't want to see him in his manic one.
Lighting a cigarette, I can't believe how fucked-up he's become. Or was he always fucked-up and I refused to see it because of the sex? Hardly anyone else I know likes Ryan, except his friend, Felix, and Felix seems like a good guy; a straight regular guy with no apparent fetishes or anything out of the norm. Of course Ryan has different acts, different personalities he can dial up and be that guy for a while. I don't even know who the real Ryan Wilcox is.
Thinking again about that scene in their dorm room and, damn, as bad as that was my goddamn haircut fetish was buzzing a little seeing the hair Ryan cut off poor Steve's head. I was glad to get out of there though. Leaning against the Jeep to finish my smoke I still can't get my head around how much Ryan has changed. Thinking back I can remember times when he had a schizoid personality, shunning almost everyone except me, and then other times he's this confident bossy guy dominating the likes of me, and Jeff from Georgia, and apparently Steve now too. It's scary, is what it is.
Damn, that was unsettling! I feel shaky and yet I still remember how sexually aroused Ryan could get me and, oh my God, the climaxes I had with him.
It's impossible that he's that same person now though. The meds or maybe some new chemical in his brain has changed him. It has to be something like that. I couldn't have been so wrong about him all this time; could I? He seemed like a different person from the very first day he arrived here at Merrimack this year. Still, I could cry thinking about the good times we've had together, and will never have again. I loved him in a way there in Georgia, but he was much different than this current Ryan. This version of Ryan wouldn't interest me at all. Damn, I wish I could save Steve's haircut for him, but there won't be a thing I can do for him because he'll have hardy any hair left on his head. Shit, what am I talking about? I wore that haircut for months! Did Ryan hypnotize me somehow? Everyone was so used to my goofy short haircuts, and I mean going all the way back to my days with Willie, that they'd just roll their eyes at my latest ridiculously short haircut.
Fuck though, I feel so stupid now!
That visit to Ryan's dorm put me in a gloomy frame of mind. Depressed, I get in the Jeep and start the engine figuring I'll skip Butch's Sports bar for now. I'm not in the mood, but then my cellphone beeps and it's a text from John Smith, 'I'm leaving work now. Meet me at the bar, I have a favor to ask of you.' A favor? I barely know him...
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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