DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 41
Donny Mumford
Our Worcester hotel room's bathroom accommodations include an over-sized tub and a shower stall for two. John Smith and I are in the shower stall right now. He was hesitant about taking a shower with me at first, but appears now to be quite comfortable with me shampooing his red, burr-cut hair. I don't suppose most people would notice something like this, but John has a nicely shaped head. It reminds me of Chubby's head which I've always considered the perfect shape for a head. From the boy-watching days of my youth I've noticed there's a surprising variety of head shapes and sizes.
As I'm rubbing my fingers through the shampoo bubbles on his scalp John's eyes naturally close and I take this opportunity to closely observe his naked body. His ass is kinda flat, especially compared to Daryl's almost perfect ass for a guy. As thin as John is there's subtle muscle definition every place it should be. He's skinny but it's not like his ribs are showing. He
has a slender frame meaning his bone structure is smaller, for example, than mine. John's taller than me but my shoulders are a good three-inches wider that his. His hands and feet look large but only because his arms and legs are thin. That's true but his bicep muscle in both arms make me think he's probably fairly strong. No hair on his torso and only short almost invisible hairs on his arms although there are light-red curly hairs on his legs
below his knees. Presently that hair is wet and so flat against his legs.
After guiding his head under the water to rinse off the shampoo I let go of him and he steps back wiping water from his eyes. He looks at me, grinning and mumbling, "That was a pleasant experience and a first for me. I should keep a list of all the firsts in my life since meeting you." I go, "Widening your horizons, huh?" He laughs, "I'm widening something. Um, am I supposed to do your hair now?" I nod, smirking at him. Trying not to grin, he mutters, "Doesn't seem fair since you have a hundred times more hair on your head than I have on mine." I say, "Yeah, but I already put shampoo in my hair so step one is already done." Tentatively rubbing his fingers in my hair, he goes, "Huh, this isn't grossing me out as much as I thought it would," and soon he's got the fingers of both hands moving shampoo suds through my hair. When he's finally holding my head under the water flow he keeps a controlling hand on the back of my neck as he laughs, muttering, "Another first for me."
Wiping my eyes, I go, "Nice job, John." He shrugs, "It was kinda cool getting my fingers in all that hair of yours. I've never had anywhere near that much hair on my head and obviously I've never shampooed anyone's hair before." Even when soaking wet the hairs at the crown of his head still sticks up because they're very short. I cut them like that on purpose because I like the feel of them. His haircut makes John look very young and I have the urge to hug him, but let it pass and instead put bath gel on a washcloth, saying, "Now I'm gonna wash that hunky body of yours." He snorts out a laugh, muttering, "And then I do yours, and again I've gotta do a lot more work than you." I say, "You probably should close your eyes and mouth because I'm washing your face now."
As I'm doing that I'm saying, "Maybe I've got more hair on my head and a wider body, but you're a mechanic so I need to scrub you harder where as I require very little bathing." Barely moving his lips, he grins and sarcastically says, "That doesn't hurt my feelings at all, ya prick." I chuckle and squeeze his nose, "I'm fuckin' teasing you." He mumbles, "No shit." John's definitely different during our 'date' than he is at the bar. I mistakenly thought he was super casual and matter-of-fact with everything. That's how he seemed the couple of times we had sex at the bar but I'm seeing more of his true personality now.
He has nicely shaped ears with no piercings because he told me once that a mechanic and earrings don't go together. I disagree although it's no big deal one way or the other. He's standing here like a good boy as I guide his head under the water flow rinsing the bath gel while glancing at his cock and balls. He was right when he said I'd like it if his cock was four or five inches longer. Currently it's between five and five-and-a-half inches long although it does grow larger as it gets hard. It feels awesome in my ass as it is but who wouldn't want a ten or eleven-inch boner up their ass. He holds his arms out, saying, "Wash me, servant." Huh, he's quickly gotten over his hesitation about showering together. I wash each part of his body methodically expecting scrubbing resistance when I get to his ass but there's none... just a snicker from him.
Kneeling to wash his feet and legs and then working my way up to his privates. I wash his junk with my hands. His hands go to the top of my head as he grunts, then snickers again as his cock begins getting hard. He laughs, "Damn you, Dylan, I've been doing everything I can think of to keep from springing a boner while you're washing me, but now with your hands slipping and sliding on my dick I give up." I'm sliding my bath-gel-slippery-hand up and down his cock grinning to myself as it gets harder and harder. He's gripping my shoulders grunting, "Okay, okay, it's a hard boner! Get on your hands and knees and I'll fuck you bareback."
Sounds good to me. I'm already on my knees so I drop my hands down and lift my ass. John gets behind me with his hands on my hips. He's pushing the head of his boner against my asshole but with the water and no lube he's having a hard time getting it in. Finally, I'm like, "Yeah, it's difficult in the water although most people don't realize that," and I turn around and lift up on my knees to take hold of his boner. Looking up at him, I'm like, "Let's go to plan B," and slip his hard cock into my mouth. Both his hands go to my head as John says, "Oh, Jeeezus, how lucky can I get." I slurp on his cock with him shuffling his feet and then he holds my head down a little forcing his boner into my throat. His precum and my saliva help it slide down my throat tightly with me gagging but he keeps pushing it down my throat. As scary and uncomfortable as it is for a few seconds I'm glad that he ignored my struggling because that's what a dominant sex partner would do.
His boner grows with each inch it goes down and he keeps pushing it until his wet crotch and pubic hairs are squished against my face. He humps against my face a few times before dragging his boner back up with me gagging again. John ignores that while he moans a long, "Ummmm," and then the swollen head of his boner is lying on my tongue and I inhale deeply... ah, oxygen.
He gives me a few seconds then gets a hand on either side my head, his fingers covering my ears and his thumbs on my cheeks adjusting the position of my head. His hands feel strong holding my head at the angle he wants. I'm looking up at him trying to relax my throat muscles and now I'm definitely feeling more than a touch of submissiveness. John's tongue quickly licks across his lips. Then, looking very aroused he pushes his boner into my throat again and when it's all the way down he gets his hands behind my head and pulls my face fully into his crotch and holds it there. I feel dominated now and close my eyes totally relaxing and giving in to him.
John adjust his feet and let's up on the pressure at the back of my head and then begins smooth four-inch thrusts back and forth with the swollen head of his boner pushing my Adam's apple outward as it passes it going down and then coming back up. His hands keep my head where he wants it as his hips move his cock tightly and smoothly to and fro in a semi-fast rhythm. My cock soon feels like it's made of cement it's so hard and heavy. Two, three, four more thrust back and forth in my throat and then my hips hump as I gag trying to squeal with cum spurting from my cock. First a two-foot string of cum and then three little ones. I'm shuddering from climatic sensations even though very little spunk shot out. That's not at all surprising since John drained my nuts when he fucked me a half hour ago. It takes him no more than another ten-seconds of thrusting to shoot his small load down my throat. Pulling out he backs up against the wall of the shower stall gasping and shivering. After a few seconds he murmurs, "Oh my God, I feel weak."
I'm still concentrating on orgasmic after-effects as I get up off my knees and stand leaning against him.
As the water flows down on us we both drop our foreheads onto each other's shoulder and breathe deeply. John murmurs, "That's another first," then he wraps his arms around me and give me a big hug, mumbling, "This feels good." We're like this for a minute or so before he says, "I'll bath you now,"
and he does that with neither of us saying anything until he finishes. The last thing he does is wash my cock and balls with gel on both hands and if I hadn't just climaxed for the second time in thirty minute I'd be sporting an awesome boner about now. As it is it feels really good. When we're both completely rinsed off I turn off the water and we get out grabbing big fluffy hotel bath towels to dry ourselves.
Walking out of the bathroom naked, John says, "I don't know what I like better, climaxing down your throat or doing it up your ass. Do you have a preference, Dylan?" I'm going through my satchel looking for clean underwear, then yell, "Goddammit! I knew I forgot something." He goes, "What?" and I say, "Underwear. I forgot clean underwear. Um, did you by any chance bring extra?" He gives me a 'look' asking, "You want me to lend you my underwear? I can't believe... Oh fuck, this will be another first. Yeah, I usually pack an extra pair in case I have an accident in my shorts." He's going through his satchel, muttering, "I've never needed the extra pair, but...", and he comes up with a pair of jockey shorts. Holding them up, he says, "These have a twenty-eight-inch waistband so they might be too small." Yeah, I take a thirty-inch waist, but mumble, "Thanks, John." He tossing it to me and as I squeeze into it, I'm saying, "Um, about your question. To be honest there's nothing better sexually for me than being fucked up the ass. You deep throating me makes me climax too because it's such a dominant act on your part. Heh heh, on the other hand I can climax just sucking a guy's cock if I do it long enough because I feel submissive doing it." He goes, "Man, that's weird that you can climax sucking my cock." I says, "If my partner is dominant I embrace the submissive role. I'll also climax if I rim a guy's asshole long enough, you know, because, again it's such a submissive act." He goes, "Ick! Rimming is gross." I nod, "I used to think it was too, but the past two years it's somehow become sexy to do it." He mutters, "Well, please don't do it to me. I'd feel terrible knowing you were doing that." I shrug, "Okay, I won't."
He pulls on a pair of jockey shorts, saying, "I don't understand the attraction you have for being submissive during sex. What's that all about?" I shrug, "I don't know, John, I really don't. All I know is a certain kind of dominant sex partner gets me off really good." He nods his head but leaves it at that. It's a little after eight-thirty by the time we're dressed in coats and ties. He says, "Damn, you look awesomely handsome, Dylan. I'm starting to like that long, bad-boy hair of yours too. Maybe because I just shampooed it for you," and he laughs, mumbling, "Fuck, I still can't believe our shower together. Holy shit, that was so cool." I ask, "What time does this shindig begin?" He goes, "Supposedly, cocktail hour is from seven-thirty to eight-thirty with dinner following but the cocktail hour always gets extended. If we go down now we can get a drink before dinner, shit... we can get a drink during dinner too. Plus, there will be bottles of wine on the tables. Many ways to get drunk if you want to." As we leave the room, he mumbles, "And I'm gonna need to get drunk for my first time sleeping with someone." I'm like, "Well I'll be sure to shower and brush my teeth so I don't gross you out too much." He goes, "I didn't mean anything negative about you. I've never slept with anyone, that's all I'm saying."
We go down in the elevator and join three hundred east-coast guests at the LGBT Christmas party. John signs us in and we get name tags for our sports jacket's lapel. John asks, "What are you going to drink, Dylan?" I ask, "What are you having?" He makes a 'face' thinking, and then says, "The only mixed drink I kinda like is grapefruit juice and vodka." I nod, "I'll have that too," and he gets us each a drink. We walk through this large crowd looking for his two gay friends. It's quickly obvious to me that each of the four groups making up the LGBT organization are well represented. There looks to be about the same number of male types as female types whatever their gender at birth, and there's a wide range in appearances from conservative, like John and I, to as flamboyant as one can imagine. Good vibe in the room though. Lots of loud voices and laughter to compete with the dance club music that's playing. Everyone seems pleased to be among their peers.
A drag queen grabs John from behind and kisses his cheek. Blushing, John introduces me to Ronald who's about five-and-a-half-feet tall and almost as slim as John. Ronald's wearing a tight purple dress and a string of pearls plus long-hanging earrings and high heels. He's got way too much make-up on
his face with big fake eyelashes and there's a suffocating perfume smell floating off him in all directions. It's like he's purposely taking everything in his, um, costume to a satirical degree. He acts with exaggerated femininity too although his voice is very deep. It's a lot to take in. John goes, "Great to see you, Ronny! Awesome dress and, um, where's your date tonight?" Ronald's sipping Champaign as he says, "Tony's in the hospital; he crashed his motorcycle, the idiot." John introduces me and Ronald exclaims, "Oh Dear Lord! Jesus, Tony would be devastated to be here and be compared to your adorable twinky date." John says, "Dylan's no more a twink than I am. We were born on the same day over twenty-one years ago." Ronald pinches my nose, saying, "It's nice to meet you, princess." I sort of pull my head back, saying, "Same here, um, Ronny." John, being protective, goes, "Don't call him princess!"
Ronald says to me, "Sorry, darling. Um, you're probably wondering how in the world your conservative boyfriend would know a drag queen like me. I mean you two being so, um, normal looking although delicious." I go, "No, I wasn't thinking that," although it's exactly what I was thinking. He gives me a pinch on my cheek, and goes, "You are adorable! Anyway, I dress up for self-expression with just a touch of transvestite fetishism. It's a creative outlet for me and a means of self-exploration." As if anybody asked him/her. John does his laugh, then says, "Ronny is so full of shit," then to Ronald he asks, "Is Alex here?" Ronald says in that disturbingly deep voice of his, "Yes, he's with Candice tonight." Then to me, "Candice is the original fag-hag, sweetie." I nod my head and gulp half my drink, then make a face because I can taste the vodka and was hopeful the grapefruit juice would mask it. John and Ronald are talking and laughing hysterically about something, so I'm looking around amazed at the diversity. There's also something very obvious and it's that a sport jacket and tie is John's personal choice of costume and it's not a popular one in this crowd. Some muscle-bound guys don't even have a shirt on to go with their too-tight pants. Everyone appears to be having a good time though, smiling or laughing.
We adjourn to the ballroom where the buffet is set up. John's friend Alex is there. He's one of the muscle-bound gays guys although he is wearing a shirt. The way I know he's muscle-bound is his shirt and pants appear to be made from some sort of miracle stretch fabric that shows every ripple of muscle when he moves. It also shows a very large package between his legs leaving nothing to the imagination. With him is Candice, a woman who appears to be in her thirties wearing a long dress that reminds me of pictures I've seen of frontier women or maybe hippies in the sixties. She has hair down her back to her waist and no make-up that I can see. None of John's three friends are good looking and I do wonder how they became friends. I mean John's way closer to being like me than any of his three friends. I can't personally imagine forming a friendship with any of the them. And yeah, I admit that's a bit unfair since I don't know them but I'll go out on a limb predicting that even if I knew them I wouldn't be working on establishing a friendship. And, what the hell, they could very easily feel the same way about me.
The food looks excellent and no one is requiring much in the way of conversation from me so it's all good so far. Anyway, assuming I did have something I wanted to interject into the conversation, which I don't, I couldn't because Ronald, Alex, and Candice talk nonstop. At first they go overboard being complimentary of John's date tonight, meaning me. They're assuming John and I are boyfriends and John doesn't correct that misconception so I don't either. Instead of correcting the misconception John puts his arm around my waist for a squeeze, saying, "I told Dylan he'd be a hit and that I'd be a hot-shit for bringing a date as cute and hot as he is." I just grin.
Being John's boyfriend isn't a hard thing to do; I just smile and nod my head. As for the compliments, I've heard compliments about my 'looks' all my life and have never paid much attention to them because I had nothing to do with how I look, or very little to do with it. I'd much prefer that someone say I was a nice person or something along those lines. You know, because I do have something to do with that.
We get plates and begin choosing what we want from the buffet. I begin with large cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, plus a Caesar salad. I follow that up with brown garlic potatoes, skinny green beans, and prime rib of beef that John gets too. He claims to everyone that the prime rib I served at the apartment was superior to this. He's wrong of course, this is better and sliced to order by a chef. There's many other things I'd like to try like French onion soup with lots of cheese melted on top, crab cakes with Remoulade sauce and other gourmet foods like lobster mac and cheese. There's salmon, both cold and blackened and... well, too many dishes to name. I'd like to know what it cost to be here but I'm too polite to ask. I do my best tasting as many food offerings as possible filling-up two plates and then the dessert selections are amazing. I have two different desserts unable to choose between them. Actually I wish I had a larger stomach because everything tastes sooooo good. The five of us share a table with three others individuals who we don't know, and who all eat hardily with their mouths open.
Didn't their parents teach them better than that? Ronald has taken it upon himself to see that I have enough wine constantly saying, "My dear boy, let me pour you some more wine," as he fills up my glass, and then tells John, "Johnny, you need to be more attentive to this darling boyfriend of yours." Then he leans his overly made-up face close to mine, asking, "How long have you love birds been together?" Before I can say anything, John, who's sitting on the other side of me, goes, "Only a few weeks but we're really getting to know one another quickly. Aren't we, honey?" and he laughs his laugh while squeezing the back of my neck like I've done to him. I say, "John's everything a boyfriend should be and I love his freckles." John choke on his wine snorting out a laugh, so everyone laughs too. Hey, they're all really nice. Not my type, but very nice and they're having a good time and what the fuck, so am I.
During dinner, like me, John doesn't do much talking. He mostly responds to the other's comments and laughs a lot. Both Ronny, the drag queen, and Candice, the fag-hag, are very funny with fast talking put-downs of this or that along with their exaggerated funny mannerisms. Alex, the muscle-bound gay guy, buys everyone including the three guys we don't know a round of drinks and then ten minutes later one of the guys no one knows carries to the table a tray with sixteen shots of tequila on it that he immediately passes out to everyone. We toast to names I don't recognize but who are apparently leaders in the organization, or something like that. I've gotta say that of all the horrible hard liquors used for shots, tequila just might be the worst shot of booze of them all. Still, I gag them down along with everyone else. Then another round of drinks from the drag queen and by now everyone's pleasantly drunk. Some of our fellow diners from other tables begin adjourning to the next ballroom where a DJ is pumping out mostly club music and I can see from my seat there's lots of dancing going on. We stay at our table to drink another round while guys take turns telling dirty jokes that mostly make fun of straight people who just don't get it. What 'it' exactly is I'm not sure. Ronny buys another round of drinks then has me change places with him so he can sit between John and me.
As a drag queen Ronny has a huge purse and from it he brings out make-up items like eyeliner and lip gloss while telling John and me, "You two twinky boys are too straight-looking." John again tell Ronald, "We're not fucking twinks, Ronny!" Ignoring that Ronald gets a grip on my chin holding my head steady and then, with his overly-made-up face too close to mine, his large nose precariously close to my much smaller one, he applies eyeliner and something that he smears under my eye. He takes five minutes doing my make-up while everyone is watching and making suggestions, one of which comes from my chuckling date. Yeah, my date and boyfriend for the night, says, "Ronny, draw a beauty mark on his cheek," which I feel Ronny do, saying, "You're next Johnny." Last is some pale pink lipstick that's the same shade he's wearing. Make-up feels yucky on your face and it's hard to imagine that most women wear it every day! Ronny does John's face and includes big false eyelashes on him. Oh my God, do I look like that? Everyone applauds as Ronny stands and bows while spearing his arms. His perfume continues to suffocate those within three feet of him although no one mentions it. After one more round of drinks we all move into the very loud ballroom with the DJ and all the dancing people.
Candice, the-fag-hag, grabs me for the first dance which is mercifully a fast number. She's a terrible, terrible dancer but of course we're both drunk so there's that. Next John and I dance a few slow numbers. After all the wine and hard drinks, plus shots John finally doesn't appear a bit concerned at all about touching. He dances close and kind of dirty but he's as smooth a dancer as I thought he would be when I watched him smoothly moving his hips fucking me. Then we dance a few fast numbers and he does some of the awesome moves Willie makes when dancing. They're both better dancers than me.
It's very hot in here with two to three hundred people dancing and putting out a lot of 98.6 degrees of body heat. By now I'm sort of used to seeing John with the make-up and fake eyelashes so don't give it a thought when we walk off the dance floor and he says, "Let's find where we can get bottled
water." The bar's too crowded so we go to the hotel's Sundry Shop in the lobby attracting quite a bit of attention from strangers who gawk at us while whispering behind their hands. Young children opening point at us while their other hand covers their mouth. I'm frowning as John buys us bottles of cold water. He drinks some, then wipes the pads of his fingers across my forehead, saying, "You're sweating and your mascara is running," and, duh, it hits me that's why people are looking at us. None of the gawkers are with the LBGT group.
Taking our bottles of water, we walk back through the ballroom where we had cocktails and grab a seat at an empty table. John swallows half the bottle of water and asks me, "Having a good time so far?" Nodding, I say. "Yeah, and this is the first time I've been at a LBGT function so I'm having some
firsts on our date too. Everyone seems very nice." He says, "You've been great, Dylan. Do you feel drunk?" I go," Ha ha, yeah, don't you?" He says, "Yeah, but c'mon let get another drink. Being a little drunk isn't drunk enough. We're celebrating the end of your college semester, ya know." No I didn't know.
I get up and follow him, muttering, "I didn't know that." The bar's crowded so we wait for our turn then John orders. "Two shots and beers." I'm like, "Oh no," as he hands me mine. We find a spot against the wall where John taps his shot glass to mine, saying, "To you, Dylan," and we flash down the horrible whiskey. At least it's not tequila. We're both gulping some beer. We put the shot glasses on a tray of dirty glasses and John's sort of staring at me now, then asks, "Do I look as hot as you do with this make-up on?" I nod my head grinning and muttering, "Probably hotter," and somehow we're kissing with my back against the wall and John really getting into it.
Holding our cans of beer out to the side we're doing tongue laps then sucking kisses and it's kinda rough with our free hands in each other's hair and then grabbing asses. A hard boner appears my pants and I mean John's being sexy hot! I totally didn't expect this from him.
Well okay, this must be the hidden side of John because normally he, other than during sex, does as little touching and hugging as possible, and zero kissing. Not now though. We're both breathing hard as he squeezes my ass, saying, "I'm drunk, Dylan, but I want to tell you how awesomely sexy you are and how you're like a dream come true for me." He puts his hand behind my head and pulls it to his. His tongue's in my mouth and then he sucks on my upper lip pulling it away from my teeth and then our teeth scrape together as he's again kissing me hungrily. I feel his boner when he humps against me.
I'm drunk too and very aroused by this strange situation of wearing make-up and getting turned-on by John's alter ego. He breaks the latest kiss, grinning and murmuring, "I almost had a an accident in my pants. I might need those jockey shorts back." I'm running my fingers back through his red burr
haircut feeling attracted to this freckle faced kid who looks about seventeen-years-old. He goes, "I'd never be able to tell you those things I said a minute ago when I'm sober, so I'm glad I could say them to you now." And he licks across my lips, then puts his arm around my waist and starts walking me down a corridor saying, "The lavatory is down here somewhere if I remember correctly."
We walk a way before I say, "Um, this is the wrong way. I took two pisses in the lavatory out front. Didn't you use that one?" He says, "Yeah, I used the closer one like you did but I'm taking you to the one hardly anyone uses. It's around that corner." Yeah, there's a men's room and when we go in it I see three of the five doors closed on the toilet stalls with four feet showing under each closed door. I mutter, "Oh good, no one is using the urinals so we ..." John chuckles pulling me into the last stall and pushing me against the wall. There's an empty stall between us and the next occupied one. John mutters, "We got lucky with this stall," then a foot sides out from under him and I grab him to keep him from falling.
He mutters, "Quick reflexes, Dylan," as he's unbuttoning my pants and then pulls them down. While he's pulling his pants down I pull down the too tight underpants I borrowed from him. Our cocks are still partially hard from our make-out a few minutes ago. John strokes my firm cock a few times and then reaches up grinning at me as he roughly grabs a fistful of my hair, muttering, "Suck my cock but don't get on your knees this time, Dylan, there's some suspicious substance on the floor I slipped in." Bending over I suck on his fairly firm cock and it quickly swells in my mouth as John's feet shuffle a little and he does a low grunt, "Oooh, ummm." He yanks my head away by my hair, and straightens me up. With the fistful of my hair he pulls my head so I'll turn around as he's murmuring, "Bend forward and support yourself with your hands against the wall.
His boner's at my asshole immediately and it's dripping with precum.
Without mentioning anything about a condom he humps his cock in past my sphincter and right off it's fast hard thrusting creating the sounds I hear a lot, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds for two straight minutes with him grunting from the effort near the end. I'm trying to keep my moans quiet, "Aaah, aaah, oooh John, ooh John, aaaah!" He spanks my ass, "Smack smack smack," and then more fast hard thrusting, "Slapslapslap," and now he's moaning, "Umm, umm, umm," with each drive up my ass. It feels so fucking good and then my climax comes roaring up on me and with my hand over my mouth I make a squeaky sound and shoot cum against the wall and then again as I feel John's load of cum splash into my bowels. It's wet and sloppy inside my ass now as John continues thrusting his boner drawing out some cum that splatters on my butt cheeks when he drives his cock back up my ass. His crotch collides with my buttocks hard as he now does deliberate slow hard thrust. I'm going, "Ooh, ooh, ooh John, ooh," until he sighs and slows down. Two hard humps finish it off and then with me fucked really well he pulls his cock out.
John's taking gasping deep breaths for maybe thirty seconds before getting his second wind. With a fistful of my hair he pulls my head back and spanks my ass hard, "Smack smack smack smack," and I'm like, "John no, John no, not here, "Smack, smack, smack," and when my buttocks are red and hot he slides his new boner up my ass again and it, "Slapslapslapslapslap," sounds for another minute with me calling out his name along with sounds of arousal. We can't work up another orgasm though so his thrusting peters-out and his cock comes out of my ass again as he's gasps for air. I've got a little smile on my face because that was good sub/dom sex whether he realizes it or not. I got submissively docile during the spanking and second hard fucking. Plus, it was unexpected. It felt damn good! I'm only now realizing that I'm up against the stall's door, not a wall and the latch that locks the door is barely engaged. This door could have swung open at any time. John's pressing toilet paper against my asshole soaking up his cum as it drools out of my ass. His forehead is against the back of my shoulder while he breaths deeply. I'm telling myself, 'No more drinking tonight!' as I watch my cum drool down the door quickly losing its creamy white consistency. No more drinking because I'd like to be fairly sober during our next sex act and enjoy it to the max. John is really awesome with some booze in him. He lifts his head off the back of my shoulder, murmuring, "Wow, that was so fucking hot..." then he wipes my ass one last time and puts fresh toilet paper in his jockey shorts, that I'm wearing, and pulls the underwear and toilet paper up tight. Patting my ass, he says, "I want these shorts back. I'll sleep with it under my pillow." I chuckle and pull up my khaki pants. John asks, "Ready?" and I go, "Sure," and undo the rest of the latch.
Stepping out of the stall I'm startled to see four guys leaning against the sinks clapping their hands. An older man with long gray hair, asks, "Which one of you boys is John? The one doing the 'topping'?" Blushing deeply, I point at John and the guy says, "I'd like to take lessons from you, son."
John mutters, "What...?" as we walk along the wall towards the door. With a wave of my hand, like I'm stupidly acknowledging the applause, we go out the door followed closely by the smirking/smiling audience to our sex act.
I'm still feeling a touch of submissiveness to John and it makes me smile to myself as a zipping electric buzzing runs around my dick. There's a couple of catty remarks from the peanut gallery, then a tall guy makes a pass at
me asking if I ever go for older men and then he kissing my cheek with his gray speckled beard scratchy. I'm like, "Hey! Can't you see I'm with my boyfriend here." John gets between us and tells the old bearded guy, "Keep your hands off him," then puts his arm around the back of my waist walking me away from the man. Ha ha, John's my protector.
As they walk with us they're questioning if we're eighteen. I assume to be sure we're legal age as if we'd have sex with any of them. These guys are from the LGBT group obviously and walk with us back to the party without further interaction. John whispers, "Don't worry about these guys. I won't let any of these old-timers bother you again," and now he takes my hand and holds it as we walk! What's next in John's unexpected bag of tricks I wonder? I almost laugh out loud thinking he's joking with his protective manner, but turn the laugh into a couple of fake coughs realizing he has a serious expression on his face. Well, him sticking up for me is kinda sweet actually and I'm liking this hand-holding. John's gonna protect me.
There's only a scattering of people still in the buffet ballroom with many
hotel workers dismantling everything. We walk through to the ballroom were the music never stops. Our randiness taken care of for the present John and I dance every number for the next forty-five minutes and then during a few slow numbers he does his dirty dancing routine with one of his leg between mine and him humping lightly against my junk while rubbing a hand up the back of my head and all the while keeping perfect time with the music.
He's a little taller than me and every once in a while he'll pull his head back a little to lean down slightly and deliberately lick across my lips staring down into my eyes and grinning. It's all fine by me because I'm nursing a submissive trance feeling dreamy and well taken care of by my taller and older date for the night. It's one of those dreamy trances where I feel much younger than John. Somewhere in my brain I know it's all bull-shit but for now it feels good nurturing this fantasy. We're both quite drunk of course but I'm enjoying being the object of John's lust while he protects me.
We've been dancing together without talking for so long that when the music stops John and I look around, like, "What the fuck happened?" A man in a suit begins a speech that we listen to for a minute, me personally not understanding a word the guy's saying. John takes my hand again and pulls me toward an exit, saying, C'mon, we'll miss this part." That plays brilliantly into my concept that John's the man in-charge. We go out to the main bar hand-in-hand. Reality hits me hard when at the hotel's main bar, the bartender asks us for ID and then questions us about the authenticity of what we show him. I'm totally out of my little trance now, snapping at the guy, "Call the manager if this is too hard of a decision for you to make." He shakes his head then, like nothing's happened, asking, "What'll it be gentlemen?"
John buys us each a beer.
We sit at the bar with other hotel guest, ones not with the LGBT group, many of whom are sneaking looks at us and nudging their friend to check us out like when we went to the hotel's Sundry Shop. We've forgotten we have make-up on even though we can see it on each other. That should be a clue to us that we're totally hammered, but instead we're frowning at each other, like: What's up with these assholes and all the staring. As we drink our beers John's expression while staring into my eyes is like someone in love. I understand how he feels with all the booze we've drunk and our sexy dancing in each other's arms plus the actual sex we've had together tonight. All that, but mainly the booze can make you think funny things. Things that when sober you'll be embarrassed about when you remember it. I can't help but like John and I want him to have a great time so I go along with his loopy look of love and the hand-holding sitting here at the main bar. Ha ha, and in front of all these straight people. I hear whispers above the music; words like, 'LGBT' and 'gays' whispered behind hands. John is oblivious which makes me grin to myself.
After a while the novelty of us two diminishes allowing John and I to fully enjoy our contended goofy states of mind without being snickered at.
After ordering a second beer John leans over putting his hand on the back of my
neck, saying, "Didn't I promise you you'd have a good time?" I nod my head
and smell the back of my hand as we look into each other's eyes. I'm grinning to myself until I take my hand away seeing a smear of pink lipstick on the back of my hand. That make me laugh while looking at John's face realizing we both look like clowns. Somehow our brains rationalized in our altered-drunken state of mind that there's nothing unusual about us wearing make-up tonight.
It's after one o'clock by the time we've almost finished our second beers.
Without any sort of recent in-charge action or words from John my trance has mostly drifted away. I ask, "How late do these parties go?" He says, "Usually until two o'clock or so, but do you wanna go back to the room. I'll fuck you again if you'd like." Okay, there's a little bit of a dominant move on his part. The way he said he'll fuck me again inferring it's for mostly my benefit. He's merely taking care of his much younger and inexperienced 'date'. Ha ha, sometimes I need to stretch the circumstances a bit to help a submissive trance along. I nod, "Yeah, if you say so, Johnny." He gets a serious expression on his youthful face, saying, "Then finish the last of your beer and we'll go." I drain my glass and he takes my hand again.
We walk like that through all the straight people to our ballroom full of gay people. John wants to say goodbye to his friends before we adjourn to our room for more sex. When we find them they insist we have another drink with them and in our current inebriated condition we can't say 'no'. Then somehow I'm slow dancing with Ronald and mostly trying to get oxygen through his suffocating perfume. Ronald is fondling me a bit too much so I purposely step on his ankle. He yelps as I apologize profusely looking over at John and nodding my head. He comes over and saves me, ha ha, as the three of us join the others for yet another round of drinks. I don't even know what I'm drinking by now. It's a very sweet drink though so it's some kind of after dinner booze.
We drink our drinks and the beverage slides down my throat easily by now.
Instead of leaving after that drink John and I do another dirty-dancing slow song with him getting his hand down the back of my pants goosing my bare ass and pushing the tip of his finger past my sphincter muscle. I lean against him, the side of my face against his neck going up on my toes and hugging his skinny torso. He whispers in my ear, "I'm being dominant for you, Dylan, because I like you so much and I want you like me too." Then he kisses the side of my face leaving a wet saliva spot there. I go, "Yeah, you're really being awesome." The word 'awesome' sounds in my ear like, 'oostsum'.
Mostly I'm surprised he's been consciously trying to be in-charge, dominant, or whatever he felt he was doing tonight. I didn't realize he was doing it on purpose. Pulling his finger out of my asshole, he wipes it off in the back pocket of his khakis but now the toilet paper he put there is in a bunch and feels uncomfortable. I've got both hands on the outside of my pants at my ass trying to smooth-out the ball of toilet paper.
Ya know, when we left the hotel's main bar to say goodnight to John's friends it was one o'clock in the morning and now as we finally get in an elevator taking us to our floor it's two-fifteen. That was some long goodbye to his friends. At our door John drunkenly fiddles with the card key for twenty seconds or so before he gets the blink of a green light and we hear the click of the lock. Inside he pushes me up against the closet's sliding doors and does an open mouth kiss that's a pretty good one considering our condition. After a quick two or three kisses he just stops as if he's surprised he's doing this, or maybe he forgets why he started. He takes my hand, saying, "I gotta piss like a race horse," pulling me with him into the bathroom with him.
We both take a long piss standing side my side at the toilet. Then we look at ourselves in the mirror and snicker. The snickers turn into drunken laughing out loud at the make-up that smeared all over our faces. When the laughing stops almost as abruptly as it started, John says, "Get undressed."
We both do that dropping our clothes in a pile. There's still an ounce of common sense left in my brain so I pick our clothes off the bathroom floor and put them on a chair in the bedroom. I hear John turns on the shower so I go back in the bathroom thinking a shower is the most brilliant idea of the night. Our eyes are closing quickly as we do the best we can shampooing and washing each other in a half-ass imitation of how we did it when we were sober. Washing John's package with my hand gets no response from him.
Done washing and barely awake we hold on to each other under the flow of water for a minute. I turn it off and we sort of dry ourselves. Trying to think what comes next, John finally says, "Toothbrush," and we stand at the twin-sinks brushing our teeth with way too much toothpaste and then realize we're using each other's electric toothbrush. Frowning and with the toothbrushes still running and spattering drops of toothpaste on the mirror we stupidly switch the buzzing toothbrushes and finish brushing our teeth. After rinsing with mouthwash we get into bed cuddling together and fall asleep almost immediately.
I wake up seemingly ten seconds after falling asleep hearing John throwing up in the bathroom. It's almost four o'clock. We only got in bed an hour-and-a-half ago. His throwing up goes on for four-or-five-minutes and I should probably go in to see if he needs help, but I can't get out of bed. The rooms spinning on me as I hear an electric toothbrush again, either his or mine, running for a minute and then a lot of gargling. John walks like a zombie back into the bedroom leaving the bathroom light on. He gets in bed smelling like minty mouthwash and cuddles against me without saying a word. I put my arms around him and the next thing I know the room is full of sunlight.
John's in the bathroom again as I lie here analyzing my condition; am I still drunk? Yes, I believe I am a little drunk even after eight hours sleep.
It's twenty-of-eleven so we had a good night's sleep but there is residual booze in our systems that hasn't been processed yet; consequently, the hangovers that ultimately will hit us haven't materialized fully yet. I've got a minor headache but feel better than I should and better than I'm going to feel in a couple of hours. John comes out of the bathroom grinning at me, "How ya feeling this morning, Dylan?" I go, "Okay, how 'bout you?" He shrugs, mumbling, "The same, but we'll be hurting later. I think we're still drunk." As he's saying that he's going through the pockets of his sports coat. His hand comes out with a condom packet in his fingers that he holds up and then comes over and gets under the covers with me, asking, "Do you remember everything about last night? I'm not sure I do. Let's compare notes."
We're both still naked from last night's shower.
I rub my fingers through his red burr-cut hair thinking fond thoughts of him. In fact, I'm moving him up to the 'goofy cute' category in my mind. I like his hair and his grin and his youthful appearance. He has creamy white skin in between his freckles and super bright white teeth. I tasted his pink tongue a lot last night and over-all I had a good, although unusual time with him. I recall him telling me he was trying to be dominant to please me, but I wonder if he remembers. Flopping over on my side I mumble, "I think I remember everything from last night. I had a very good time with you."
He nods his head trying to be serious, but a big smile breaks out on his face. He says, "Oh shit, you telling me that makes me feel good, Dylan. I was in the bathroom just now thinking I made an ass of myself last night.
Actually I know I did with a few things I said and did. But you thought I was a good boyfriend-date, right?" Jeez, last night he was working so hard trying to please me while I don't think I gave much of a thought about pleasing him. But wait, I remember thinking once that I wanted him to have a good time. I say, "I don't think you did anything wrong last night, John, and I hope I didn't disappoint you.
He says, "Not hardly! Everyone was jealous of me for having you as my boyfriend, um, even though we aren't boyfriends." I go, "Whatever, we were boyfriends last night and you were a great date! And your friends are, um, a little far-out-there in a weird-world kind of way, but very nice too." He goes, "That was mostly acting for the party on their part. It's like a, um, costume party or like a gay parade. In regular life they're more normal and not so flamboyant." I nod my head, asking, "What are your plans for that condom you've got in your hand?" He opens his hand and looks at it, then looks back at me, saying, "I'm planning on using it to fuck you again. I've never had sex in a bed before." I go, "Huh, and what if I don't feel like doing that right now?" He shrugs, "Then too bad for you because I'm doing it anyway." Chuckling, I ask, "Are you still on your kick of being dominant?" He snorts out a laugh, "Oh fuck! You remember me saying that last night, huh? Well you're god-dammed right I'm still on my dominant kick. By the way, how
am I doing with that?" I rub his burr haircut again liking the feel of the
bristles at the crown of his head, "Well you really shouldn't snort out a laugh before saying 'you're god-dammed right I am'." He snorts out another laugh, then looks serious, asking, "I way over-did the making-out with you, didn't I? I swear to you I've never even kissed another guy, never mind making-out like I did with you last night."
Thinking about that for second, I mumble, "I liked it, and you were very good at it too so I don't know whether to believe you that you've never done it before." He looks pleased at the compliment, but says, "It's true, you're my first make-out and I liked it when we were doing it too, but I need to be drunk to do it. I couldn't do it now." I mutter, "That's too bad," and he says, "Plus, I cut the inside of my lip on your teeth. Look," and he pulls his bottom lip down showing me the cut. It looks sore. I say, "Sorry about that, John and, um, you've got a very pink mouth." Letting go of his lip, he asks, "Doesn't everyone?" I shake my head, "Nope, not like yours." He opens his mouth wide sticking out his tongue and then closing it, he says,
"From now on I'm going to be looking at everybody's mouth because of you."
I go, "Do you know what else I find sexy about you?" Shaking his head, he goes, "I'm shocked you find anything sexy about me." I go, "Your hairy calves, that's what." He laughs, then mutters, "Jeee-zuss, that's hard to believe." I go, "Yeah, it's weird, but true."
He pushes the covers down and pulls his right leg on top of the cover, asking. "You think that skinny leg is sexy?" I nod my head and reach my hand over to lightly rub up and down his calf through the curly red hairs. I'm like, "Are you aware there are people who have a fetish for feet?" He's like, "Yeah, of course I'm aware of it, but I'm not one of them." I go, "Me neither, but your leg is sexy." He says, "Enough with the chit-chat. Turnover and I'll do a good spanking on your really awesome ass." I'm like, "Um, I'm not feeling a spanking this morning, John. Let's skip that and get right down to the fucking part that you do so well." He's pushing the covers further down toward the foot of the bed, saying, "We're not skipping anything.
You and I have established a repeatable series of activities that sexually arouses both of us and gets both our cocks hard and our rocks off, so to speak, and so... turn over!" Grinning, he smacks the side of my hip. Hmmm, if he only hadn't grinned I might sense a drop of submissiveness. Oh what the hell, I mutter, "Okay then," and flop over.
John mumbles, "That's better," and relocates himself on his knees facing away from me and smacks my ass once, saying, "Push your ass up and accept your spanking the proper way." When I do that, I finally feel a for real tingling in my balls. John spanks my ass hard for a minute or so and when I'm just about to put my hand back there he stops, then snickers as he mumbles, "That gave me half a hard-on," and he whacks my ass three more times. It's not a big problem but my ass feels like maybe a few bumblebees stung each butt cheek. It's only a noticeably stinging for a couple of minutes and then doesn't feel too bad. He only using the palm of his hand after all and not a paddle or whatever. He gets himself turned around, telling me, "I wanted to get both your ass cheeks the same shade of red," and he smacks my left butt cheek two more times, "Smack, smack!" My heads turns looking at him as I mumble, "Are you done because that stings, ya know." He smirks, "You are so awesome, Dylan! I can hardly believe it." He's ripping open the condom
packet but leaving the condom inside. Scooting over close to me he sits back on his heels and reaches over to grab a fistful of my hair jerking my head over near his half-hard cock. He has a nice-looking penis. It's pale like his skin except for the pink head.
Yanking on my hair he says, "I want a good cock sucking from you." Sucking his cock's head into my mouth I tongue it and suck on it as he hunches over a little pushing a few inches of shaft inside my mouth. I'm bathing the shaft with my warm saliva and then pushing it around with my tongue that gets a grunt from John and some squirming. He lifts up and humps his hips poking the back of my mouth with the hard head of his cock but because of the position we're in he can't get it into my throat. I feel his cock swelling in my mouth though and when he pulls it out it's a hard boner sticking straight out from his red/orange pubic hairs. John lets out a long exhale, then murmurs, "I almost lost my load in your mouth. Damn, that felt good."
He pats my smacked ass again, saying, "Stay like that," then gets between my knees. Sucking John's cock got mine fairly hard and feeling good. I'm also sensing a real touch of submissiveness towards John because of the way he doing and saying everything. Looking back at him reinforces in my mind that he qualifies as goofy cute. And even though he's not yet good at being a dominant sex partner I like having sex with him. There's definitely some dominance although he wouldn't have called it that if I hadn't. This is simply the way he has sex. He's always the top, not that he has had a ton of sex. And he just sort of fell into the hair pulling habit because of my long hair.
Let's face it, a spanking is a dominant thing to do to someone plus this time he insisted on doing it. And he continues doing the hair pulling getting me to suck his cock so that's another legitimate reasons for feeling he's being dominant. As usual though, John inadvertently ruins any submissiveness I've managed to conjure up. This time as he's rolling the condom on his hard cock, he's smiling at me, saying, "Damn, I'm glad I didn't chicke n-out that night in the bar when I asked you to be my pool partner! Ever since then it's been the best time ever for me." I can't help but grin back at his enthusiasm. I mutter, "Yeah, me too, John," but his enthusiastic compliment blew away any sense of him being dominant for the moment. He gets between my legs, saying, "Push your ass up more," and when I do he swats it, "Smack!" and mutters, "Keep it up," which makes my cock vibrate a little.
Pushing my ass up makes it more convenient for him to fuck me but it also gives the head of my hard pecker room away from the mattress. He murmurs, "This never gets old," and then plugs the condom covered head of his cock in past my sphincter, "Ummm," he goes. I muffle a grunt but it feels good...
really good. John leans forward putting his hands lightly on either of my spanked butt cheeks, both still stinging a little as his hard cock goes all the way up my ass with John up on his knees a little and his hands now at my waist. He humps against my buttocks with buzzing coming from the stretched lips of my anus. There's some pleasant pulsing from my prostate too and only a small hurting from inside my rectum. The hurting fades before he even pulls his cock back. He's fucked me so often on this date my anus never gets the chance to fully regain its tightness.
Still humping gently against my buttocks he reaches up and gets his signature fistful of hair from the front of my head pulling my head up off the pillow and then he begins smoothly moving those hips of his in the same smooth way he moved while dancing last night and it's, "Slapslapslapslap,"
sounds again. They continue with me in an ocean of sexual pleasure for like the next four or five minutes. John and I do quiet moaning that gets more pronounced the longer his boner moves back and forth in my ass. John pulling my head back by my hair while fucking me brings on a very nice submissive trance that I grovel in it thinking about nothing except being fucked up the ass awesomely. This could never happen when my hair was short for most of my life, so obviously it's new and I like it a lot.
I'm experiencing the pleasure of nerve ending being significantly stimulated in my rectum along with the almost unbearable pleasure pumping off my prostate gland and the deliciously stretched lips of my asshole. It's what I've come to expect will happen during anal sex which is why I love getting fucked up the ass, and somehow it always feels new too. It always is new and I'm writhing on the mattress with my orgasm getting ready to blow and then it does blow before I expect it to. I squeal and cum shoots straight down. One good stream of cum that gets me shuddering and then three more scintillated streaks as John is humping against my butt cheeks filling his condom with spunk from his nuts. We always climax within ten seconds of each other which is a little freaky. It's also a first for any repeat sex partner I've ever had. Occasionally I'll climax with my sex partner but that's kinda rare and never every time like with John.
He'd let go of my hair some time during the sex act although I don't recall when it was. Now, as happens quite often, I'm lying in my own cum shaking slightly as the last zipping sensations of orgasm fly through and around my groin. John doesn't lie on my back this time but instead pulls his cock from my ass and flops over on his back next to me. He's breathing deeply while pulling off the condom. Shaking his head a little, he mutters, "Unbelievably wonderful. Oh God, I loved spanking and then fucking your ass. It's, um, I can't even describe how it makes me feel funny all over my body."
Turning his head to look at me, he adds, "But it only happens with you, Dylan."
Then he pats my head, mumbling, "Sorry about pulling your hair like that.
When I get to fucking you hard I forget I'm pulling your hair, heh heh.
You're not pissed at me are you?" I shake my head, "I hardly noticed it. That was a damn good fucking, John. They all are." He nods his head looking very contented. I roll away from him leaving my splash of cum on the sheet in between us, saying, "I'm gonna take a quick shower." He holds the condom towards me, asking, "Would you flush this, please." I take it from his fingers, mumbling, "Sure," and pad into the bathroom.
We take separate five-minute showers. I put on the boxer shorts underwear I wore during the drive here last night. I only had it on for a few hours before changing after a shower to John's too-small jockey shorts. I have clean jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie sweatshirt to wear. I'm noticing a headache building-up some steam, but I deserve a hangover after grossly over-imbibing last night. It's like one of those things: don't do the crime if you can't do the time. Without the booze though, according to John Smith, most of the buddy-sex and foreplay during the last fifteen hours or so wouldn't have been possible. When sober he only feels comfortable 'topping' or getting his Johnson sucked. He's still not totally accepting of his sexuality, but in time he's likely to get over his hang-up in that regard... or not.
Actually, between Pony and John Smith I'm catching-up on missed buddy-sex from the second half of last summer. It's Saturday morning and we're both clean and sexually satisfied as we take our satchels and clothes on-hangers down to the Jeep. I retrieve my bottle of Advil from my backpack and we then go back into the hotel. In the restaurant we order breakfast and when our orange juice and coffee arrive we both take three Advil with the OJ.
There's not a lot of talking during breakfast because we're in the clutches of the hangovers we knew were coming. Finished breakfast we haggle a little over who should pay, both of us wanting to. John wins out claiming our date isn't over until we're back at my apartment. There isn't much talking during the ride back and the radio isn't even on as I drive seventy-miles-an-hour mostly on route 495 north.
At the apartment I help John carry his stuff to his car where we bump fist, and he asks, "When will you be back from Christmas break?" I'm like, "Don't know the exact date, John, but it'll be during the first week of January." He holds out his fist, I bump it again, saying, "Great date," and he grins, "I'll miss you, Dylan. So, Butch's bar for lunch that first week of January?" I say, "Can't wait." He gives a wave and drives off. As I'm carrying my stuff up to the apartment it's almost like I can hardly believe the past eighteen hours. Nothing bad happened but it was a bit surreal. Maybe seeing the three hundred different individuals there; a variety of gay people doing their own thing and harming no one is the surreal part. No, John was a surreal version of himself... a good version from my perspective. Sure, the group as a whole had some odd affectations and most of them stray from what's considered normal by the majority, but then so do I so who am I to judge? I don't judge so there's no need to ponder my own rhetorical question.
Inside the apartment it feels like I've been away longer than I was.
Dropping my satchel, I examine my sports jacket and khaki pants deciding they need to be dry cleaned before I can wear them again. That means today or tomorrow I'll need to buy another sports jacket and slacks to wear while working for Rob on Monday. Following my normal put-it-off-till-tomorrow philosophy I decide to go to the Natick Mall on Sunday and get a new work outfit.
After work Monday I'll drop off my blue blazer and khaki pants at the 24 hour cleaners, or maybe the cleaners are open on Sunday. With the new clothes I won't need to wear the same thing every day. I should have two sports jackets anyway now that I'm getting older. My hangover is in full bloom now so I'm feeling less than spunky, but it's manageable. I take a deep breath and figure I might as well get my haircut out of the way. It's only twelve-thirty so I've plenty of time.
Parking on campus and then when getting out of the Jeep I see Ryan's roommate, Steve Church. He's getting out of a new BMW. No way to avoid him.
There's no reason to avoid except I'm not in the mood for small talk as I deal with my hangover. Oh yeah, and I just remembered that ugly scene in Ryan's and Steve's dorm room. So maybe that is a reason to avoid Steve, as I hear, "Yo, Dylan, wait up." Balls! Okay, I just won't bring that ugly scene subject up. Forcing a smile, I go, "Hey, Steve, nice ride you got there, dude." He looks back at the BMW, "Oh yeah, thanks. That's my mother's car. I just drove from home because I forgot a few things in the dorm. Christmas presents to be exact. I forgot the damn things." I ask, "Jesus, you're coming from home you say? Where the fuck is home?" He goes, "Oh, it's close. Salem, New Hampshire. I could have commuted to Merrimack I guess, but I wanted the full college experience." I mumble, "Huh." For something to say, I ass, "I'm here on campus for Golden Summers to..," and he interrupts, "Golden summers? What's that?" I chuckle, "It's not a thing, it's a person who gives haircuts, and..." he interrupts again taking off his hat, saying, "Speaking of haircuts. Look at this shitty one your ex-boyfriend gave me. It's a fuckin' disgrace!" I go, "Yeah, it is, but just so you know Ryan has never been my boyfriend."
Since he brought up the subject, I go, "He gave you that disgrace of a haircut and yet you're going to subject yourself to another one during spring break?" He looks at me like I'm crazy, "No fuckin' way, dude! Jesus, do you think I'm insane?" I look a little surprised considering what Ryan told me. Steve adds, "And anyway he never said anything to me about doing spring break in Daytona Beach." I'm like, "Daytona Beach? Whaddaya mean?"
We're walking towards dormitory row now, as he says, "Bill Spears and I already made our reservations there for spring break. That's what I mean."
I'm like, "I thought you were spending spring break in Georgia with Ryan." He gives me another look like I'm crazy, asking, "Why in the fuck would I do that, Dylan?" I shrug, "I don't know except that's what Ryan told me." He goes, "What else did that lying sack-of-shit tell you?" I go, "Hey, fuck you. I'm not getting in between any plans you two have." He stops and hold my arm so I'll stop walking, "No, seriously, Dylan, what'd he tell you? I mean he and I don't have any further plans together at all!" I say, "Um, really? He told me you were looking forward to another haircut experience in Georgia. You know, like in your dorm room when he let you suck his cock after you got his ridiculous haircut." He goes, "What...?" I shrug, "Didn't you run right out to buy that cheap set of home barber clippers so he'd have the clippers to do your haircut." He looks flabbergasted trying to say something but he's just moving his mouth with nothing coming out.
I light a cigarette waiting for him to regain the use of his vocal chords.
His face is red and he looks pissed. I'm like, "What is it, Steve?" and then I take a drag off the cigarette and immediately drop it on the ground and step on it telling myself there's no smoking with a hangover, dummy! Steve takes a deep breath, regains his composure and says, "That asshole told you complete bullshit! What happened is he told me that if I let him give me the same haircut he was giving you and half a dozen other guys back home, he'd suck my cock, not the other way around. And he'd already bought the damn clippers; I didn't buy a fucking thing!" Wow, he's pissed! Steve goes, "Remember when I asked you to blow me and you nicely said, 'no'." I go, "Yeah, that time I was giving you a haircut." He says, "Yes, a very nice haircut; not like this shit," and he takes his hat off again, almost shouting, "And I told him, 'NO!'." I go, chill out, bro." He nods his head and says in his normal voice, "I turned him down initially." I'm like, "Yeah, okay, I believe you. You don't need to yell. I'm hungover, dude. Please... Calm the fuck down." He says, "I'm so pissed off he's spreading lies about me I could ring his fucking neck!"
This is unbelievable. I quietly asks, "You wanted someone to blow you though, right? If he said he would why'd you tell him, 'no'?" He says, "Because he was acting really creepy." I shrug, "But you did go through with it in the end." He goes, " Well later we shared a joint I happened to have, and then he had some joints laced with cocaine but he didn't tell me about the dope. So I didn't know about the cocaine and I got high as the sky. Then he somehow talked me into the haircut. He was very persuasive and promised I could fuck him too, which I did." I'm nodding in disbelief, and he goes, "Wait a minute! You were there! You stopped in..." Holding up my hand, I interrupt him, "Yeah, I stopped in for a minute. Saw an ugly scene unfolding and frankly I didn't want to get involved, so I left."
We start walking again as he's shaking his head, then he goes, "Plus, Ryan swore on a stack of Bibles he wouldn't tell anyone and the very next morning he couldn't wait to tell you those lies." We walk without talking for ten-seconds, then I ask, "What'd your girlfriend say when she saw your hair?"
He shrugs, "She said to shave my fuckin' head. I told her the whole story because she's the one who dared me to have sex with a guy. She wanted me to tell her about it. Heh heh, she can be a sick bitch at times." Then he goes, "All I did in that regard was ask you if you'd blow me. That's all the trying for sex with a guy I did until Ryan got me high with those cocaine joints." I go, "Um, how was it. Ya know, him sucking your cock and you fucking him." He excitedly goes, "Oh, let me tell you, dude, you gay guys are missing the fucking boat! First off, my girlfriend sucks cock much better than your ex-boyfriend. Plus, heterosexual fucking is ten times hotter than anal sex. I was so high though I fucked the shit out of him, ha ha ha."
I have nothing to say to that, then he's recalling more of that night, saying, "Oh man he was high too. I'm slamming my cock up his ass and he's doing all this whimpering and jerking on his cock. After he had this big climax he wanted seconds, but we were coming down off our high and I never got around to fucking him again." I'm frowning at him, finding it all hard to believe. He looks at me, "Dylan, he was acting so weird asking permission if he could go to the lavatory to take a piss, or asking if I wanted him to suck my cock again. He freaked me out even though I was so high I didn't know where we were! And another thing... I had to close my eyes and not look down and see Ryan sucking my cock. I had to think of a girl sucking my dick before I could even get hard. Sex with Ryan blew! Jeez, ha ha ha, I just remembered I put on two condoms, one on top of the other before sticking my dick up his nasty asshole. Heh heh, the outside condom got pulled off in his ass and he had a hell of a time getting it out... ha ha! I almost fainted laughing my ass off so hard. With the pot I couldn't stop fuckin' laughing. Jesus!" Then he blows out a long exhale, and says, "Yeah, I'm laughing now too, but believe me I shudder with embarrassment thinking about it.
Knowing I'd never see him again was my saving grace, and then he goes and tells you." Wow, that's quite a story and I believe every word of it. Steve's well known for having no filter between his thoughts and what comes out of his mouth. Ryan... you sick-fuck liar! Steve stops walking, mumbling, "Oh, here's where I need to turn off, Dylan. We part company for now but for real, would you do me a major solid. I'll always be grateful if you'll keep this Ryan shit between just the two of us, please!" Patting his shoulder, I'm like, "Sure, I promise, Steve, but you'll owe me one." He grins, "Yeah, I'll owe you one, but nothing sexual, right?" I say, "You're very safe there, Stevie-boy. Believe it or not I have less than zero sexual interest in you." He laughs, muttering, "Hard to believe," then, "Thanks, Dylan!" He walks off as I marvel at the depth of depravity Ryan's sunk to. What a liar! Hey, I wonder if he's lying about Jeff too. Maybe Jeff isn't moving in with him at that apartment and maybe he's not even enrolled at that Georgia University. Maybe Ryan doesn't even have an apartment. Oh man, he's worse off than I thought. Yeah, but fuck him; he told me to never text him again.
I'm at Golden's dormitory now trying to think of a way to describe how I'd like my hair cut. Nothing radical obviously. After saying that the fact is I haven't had a haircut in over ten weeks so it does need cutting and my last haircut wasn't much and it was from Golden. I could ask for a regular trim except everyone has a different vision of what that means. Walking inside the dormitory I can't help but notice the lack of noise that's present in any dorm I've ever been in. The reason for the lack of noise obviously is that most students have already left for Christmas break. Golden's room is two doors down on the first floor. I knock and hear, "C'mon in." Inside I see a squat-shaped guy lying on one of the unmade beds and a tall guy getting his dark-brown hair cut. I'm pretty sure they're both freshman. Golden says, "Hey, Dylan. Thanks for coming early. I wanna get on the road as soon as I can." I mumble, "How ya doing, Golden," and sit in the vacant desk chair. The other desk chair is being used as the barber chair.
I watch Golden run the clippers too far up the tall kid's head with an inch-and-a-half of dark brown hair tumbling off the clipper's blade. Jesus, that makes my dick quiver. The squat kid on the bed finishes a joke he was telling as I came in. The tall kid groans at the punch line, and sarcastically says, "You're gonna make me pee my pants if ya tell any more of those dip-shit jokes, Tucker." Tucker is one of those geeks who think you need to open your mouth wide when you smile or laugh, which is what he's doing now, saying, "That was funny, ya faggot!" Jesus, that big open mouth is so creepy
and from here I could see that thingie that hangs down at the back of his throat; I think it's called a uvula. Things like that bother me when I'm hungover. Hell, they bother me when I'm sober. Golden finishes butchering the tall guy's hair and says, "You're up next, Tucker." Tucker gets off the bed smiling again with his mouth wide open, then he says to the tall guy with the shitty haircut, "See ya next year, Sullivan." The tall kid says, "Not if I see you first," which might be the oldest and by far lamest retort in history. I look down to avoid seeing the geek's open-mouth smile again.
Even with my hangover I still get a buzz in my nuts watching Golden casually give this guy's unruly black hair a tight buzz cut. Wow, Golden shows no mercy but when it's finished Tucker seems pleased saying, "Thanks, Golden," and appears to mean it. Now it's just Golden and me. I sit in the barber chair with Golden draping the barber cape around me. Some of the squat guy's black hairs are still on the cape so I hit the cape from underneath fluffy it up so the hairs slide off. Golden asks, "Just a trim, Dylan?" I'm not sure what 'a trim' means to him, but it sounds safe enough so I reply, "Yeah, thanks" and then I do a little brown-nosing because it can't hurt. I go, "And I don't think you get enough credit for doing these haircuts for us guys, Golden. It's wicked convenient getting haircuts on campus and, um, well-priced ones too." He chuckles, "Yep, nothing's much better-priced than free," and he starts using the trimming clippers to do the number-one thing I don't want him to do, which is block off the hair at the back of my head.
I feel him using the clippers in an even line across my neck and probably doing it too fucking high up from the hairline. Dammit! He does it three times making sure it's straight across the back leaving a blunt half-inch deep line of hair across the back of my head. Turning off the trimmer clippers, he asks, "You guys hear anything from the twin bitches: Frankie, and the queen of bitches, Beth?" He used to date Beth.
I can picture my long hairs at the back of my head coming to an abrupt halt above my hairline at the neck. Neck shaved clean as a whistle and then BANG there's a squared-off block of hair. Golden chuckles, "Yo, Dylan, you hungover like a mother-fucker or what? I asked if you or Rob have heard anything from the girls?" Stupidly, I ask, "Um, do you mean Beth and Frankie?"
He laughs, "What other girls hooked-up with you gay guys?" I go, "Ha, yeah, just them. Um, no, we haven't seen them for like a month or so, but Frankie and Rob talk on the phone once in a while." He combs up the hairs covering most of my left ear and runs the clippers down the comb cutting off the hair and exposing my ear, which is a good thing. Remembering Beth accusing me of telling Golden about the abortion and her thinking that was the reason Golden dumped her, so I'm like, "You stopped going out with Beth, right?"
Golden says, "Yeah, I dumped that cunt because she had a weird and abrupt personality change. She got bitchy, like she hated guys and I finally told her to get lost. A shame actually because she was damn good in the sack, but her attitude sucked! It wasn't worth it."
As he does the same cutting of the hair covering my other ear, I ask, "When did you tell her to get lost?" He cuts a small amount of hair off above one ear and then the other ear, saying, "Um, I dumped her sometime after the Halloween party. No, it was closer to Thanksgiving now that I think about it. Why?" I mutter, "No reason." Huh, that's around the time Rob and Frankie had sex with a faulty condom. Golden picks up thinning shears and a comb, saying, "I think Beth got pissed-off because a guy she was hustling ended up going out with Frankie. It was about the same time she got pissed-off at me because, um, because I'm a guy I guess" He lifts some hair over my ear with a comb and closes the thinning scissors a few times with a small scattering of hairs falling on my shoulder. I ask tentatively, "Are you saying Frankie had a serious boyfriend around the time of the Halloween party?" He goes, "Maybe a couple of weeks after Halloween. Beth didn't want me to say anything about it to Rob though, but fuck he's gay so why would he care, ya know?" He thins out the hairs minimally over my other ear and then uses the trimmer clippers to outline around my ears and behind them. He takes off the cape and shakes off the few hairs he cut from my head. That's my entire haircut? Golden says, "Anyway I dumped Beth for good and it was definitely a couple of weeks after that. I'd had enough of her pissy attitude." He goes on to tell me about the freshman girl he's seeing now, but I'm only half listening. I'm thinking that Frankie was going out with this boyfriend that she stole from Beth much before her and Rob tried that pathetic heterosexual sex using a tampered-with condom. What the fuck? Frankie was going out with a guy so why did she still insist going through with the sex that Rob was reluctant to do in the first place? Then both girls stopped coming around after that, so was it all about the bet she had with Beth? Damn, poor Robby! "Is something wrong, Dylan?" I'm like, "What? Oh, um, no. Whaddaya mean?"
He laughs, "Well you looked like you were really pissed off at something there for a minute." He passes me the hand-held mirror as I mumble, "Oh, I've got a world class hangover, that's all." He mutters, "I've been there, dude. Whaddaya think about the haircut?" I look at my reflection in the mirror and can't tell I've had a haircut because the hairs that he cut off over my ears I was combing back with the help of some hair gel, so it basically looks almost exactly the way it looked when first I sat in the barber chair.
I go, "It's perfect, Golden... thanks." What else am I gonna say? He goes, "Can you give me a hand sweeping up the hairs?" Well 99.9 percent of the hair on the floor aren't mine, but I helped him anyway, asking, "Did Beth mention anything to you about Frankie and Rob?" He goes, "No, not really.
What was there to say? Frankie and Beth were a couple of snatches who wanted to hang out with some gay guys. Hey, no offense intended. I think you and Rob are some of the coolest dudes at Merrimack." I mutter, "No offense taken, Golden." I wanted to add, 'and thanks for the free non-haircut' but I don't. Why would I? He did what he thinks a trim is.
We've got most of the cut hairs from earlier haircuts in the trash when a guy with a severely over-grown buzz-cut sticks his head in the door. Golden says, "Oh, now the Merrimack baseball team's back-up catcher appears, late as usual." The back-up catcher says, "Summers, honest to God I'll be back in like twenty minutes. Dude, I need a haircut before going home so please wait for me. I gotta talk real quickly to Professor dick-head about the grade he gave me on the Lit final. I'll be right back." Golden shakes his head slowly, mumbling, "Why'd I ever start this?" I go, "We all appreciate it, Golden," but I don't mention that I'm never coming back. He pats my shoulder, saying seriously, "Hey, you're a good barber, right?" I say modestly, "I've been told that a couple of hundred times, yeah." He laughs, then says, "Well I'm thinking of finally giving up this ponytail and I was hoping you'd give it some thought for after the break. You know about what haircut would look cool. On me I mean." I nod, "I'd be honored, Golden."
As I'm putting my coat on, he says, "Nothing definite yet but I'm really getting sick of this fucking ponytail and Rob claims you're a better barber than me, so I trust you." I nod, wanting to get out of here and lie down for a nap before checking out how Chubby's doing. I say, "You and I will come up with something, Golden, and thanks for the haircut." Walking back to the Jeep I'm thinking that I still need a haircut. Perhaps I have greatly over-estimated Golden's haircutting ability. Maybe that first good haircut from him was a fluke. I'm telling Robby that not only am I not availing myself of Golden's free haircut massacrers in the future, but he isn't either.
I'm taking over Robby's haircuts and he can take over mine. He actually got half-ass good at it during freshman year so I think I can talk him through it for hopefully better results than I've been getting from Golden. I mean Rob's not really mentoring Golden anymore and Golden will be happy to have two less guys bumming free haircut from him. It's not like he enjoys doing it, unlike myself.
Driving back to the apartment I can't stop feeling the back of my head.
The back of my neck is shaved and then I feel a pile of hair. From nothing to about a half-inch thick pile of hair. Why can't anyone see how wrong that is? Finally, I'm telling myself: STOP IT! It simply isn't that important.
I'm looking forward to a nap to help get rid of this hangover. And I'd also like to get home before mom leaves for work at four o'clock. At the apartment, to torture myself, I hold a hand-held mirror in front of my face while I have my back to the mirror over the bathroom sink and gawk at the squared off hair across my neck. It's not as terrible as I thought so maybe something can be done with it after all. Yeah, although I don't know what that might be at this moment because I need some sleep.
After taking three more Advil I lie on the bed thinking about Robby. That calms me down and I drift off to sleep for almost two hours. Getting up groggy I stagger into the bathroom, take a piss and then wash my face and hands. Back in the kitchen I'm drinking a Coke thinking it's past the time I should have called Chubby but he can probably use the extra sleep. I was going to wait until two o'clock but I slept until almost three. Of course now I can't get home before mom leaves for work so I text mom saying I'm sorry but I'm behind schedule and won't get there in time to see her this afternoon. She texts right back telling me not to worry about it because we'll have over a month together before the second semester begins. Moms can almost always be counted on to understand things.
Finishing the Coke, I happily realize I'm feeling okay now. The hangover is under control. The extra Advil and that nap were the perfect remedy. I hit Chubby's name on my cellphone and immediately hear, "Hello? Um, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, Chub, ya ready to go home?" He's laughing, then saying, "Bro, I picked up my cellphone to call 911 and you were on the line." I go, "911? What's the emergency?" He says, "There isn't any. I just felt like calling 911." Shaking my head, I get it now... he's ballooned. He's still hammered.
Taking a deep breath to be calm when I ask, "How much sleep did you get last night, Chubby?" He laughs again, "That would be, um, none. I just got in twenty minutes ago. Hey, bro, I lost a shot-drinking competition to four freshmen. It was humiliating, Dylan! When we going home?" He's slurring his words and stringing them all together. I say, "I'm coming over to get you right now. And Chubby, listen to me... do not fucking go to sleep until I get there. Ten minutes!" He says, "You're awesome," which sounded like 'awshousum'.
Fuck! Grabbing my satchel and the clothes I want to take to the cleaners, I hustle down to the Jeep. If I don't get there quickly and he falls asleep it'll be almost impossible to get him in the Jeep. Disregarding all the rules of driving on campus, I drive down dormitory row in broad daylight and park on the sidewalk in front of Chubby's dormitory, then run up to his room. Opening the door, I see Chubby is still on his cellphone, saying to someone, "See, I promised to call you, Barb, and I'm doing it. Um, where did I meet you anyway, your number was..." Then he yells, "No I don't know any fucking body named Carol Ann....." Then he stops talking because he sees me and goes, "Dylan!" Then he slurs in the phone, "No, fuck that! I know your name is Barb! I was talking to my brother and oh my God you should see how beautiful he is... what?" I stop listening to his meandering conversation with whoever and glance at Chub's roommate, John Beverly, who is dead to the world lying fully dressed half on and half off his unmade bed.
I get Chubby's satchel out of the closet, the satchel he never thinks to use and start taking clothes out of his bureau drawers realizing most of his clothes are on the floor where he dropped them getting undressed the past week or so. There's a combination of John Beverly's clothes and Chubby's so
I'm sorting through them picking up ones I recognize as Chubby's. When the
satchel's full I run it out to the Jeep and then get right back to get his
toiletry kit off the bureau. I need to pick up everything off the bureau top and put it in the kit. For all I know half the stuff I'm taking is John Beverly's. Chubby is still talking to someone on his cellphone, saying in slurred words, "Are you sure you didn't fuckin' call me because why am I talking to you unless..." I take the phone from his fingers, saying into it, "Jeff fell asleep. Merry Christmas," and hit 'end' then put the phone in my pocket, telling Chubby, "Come on, Chub, we're going home." He looks confused, then mumbles, "Did that bitch hang-up on me?" I'm lifting him with a hand under each armpit, muttering, "No, she wished you a Merry Christmas."
I've got him on his feet and he looks over at John Beverly, slurring, "John Beverly just can't do shots, Dylan. I told him fifty times...." I'm like, "C'mon, Chub," and he puts a finger to his lips going, "Shhhh, don't wake John."
We stumble out the door and over to the Jeep. I get him in the passenger seat and click his seatbelt. Closing the door, I let out a big exhale, saying out-loud, "That went pretty well." By the time I walk around the Jeep to get in the driver's seat, Chub's deep asleep. Okay then, our Christmas break is officially on...
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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