Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS JUNIOR COLLEGE YEAR

Chapter 1

by Donny Mumford

It's Thursday, May 16th, and all the pop-quizzes, reports and papers, study guides and exams for our junior year at college have been navigated successfully. Nothing more to do here so Chubby and I are in the Jeep heading home for summer break. We don't do a lot of talking and we don't even have the radio on. Silence doesn't bother me at all when I'm with Chubby. Maybe he's doing what I'm doing which is thinking back to some of the trials and tribulations I ran into during junior year at Merrimack. And sure, I realize 'trials and tribulations' is redundant but it's a saying so, ya know.

There were some experiences this past semester that tested my patience and endurance, but mostly during my junior year there were many more good times than bad. In the future we'll probably reminisce about those good times but for now I'm glad to be done with all of it, at least for the summer.

There's a very old song by Paul Simon with lyrics that go something like, 'When I think back to all the shit I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all,' which pretty much sums-up my feelings about college at

the moment. Hell, I felt this same way after freshman and sophomore years too, so it's nothing new. And like past years... come September I'll probably be looking forward to another year of college life.

An hour after leaving North Andover I drive off route 128 onto route 9 getting close to our hometown of Framingham, Massachusetts. Chubby sighs and breaks the silence, "Home sweet home, huh bro?" I go, "Yeah, Chub, everything is familiar and yet it seems new too." He goes, "I was thinking how this is likely the last summer break we'll ever have in our lives." I mutter, "Well, next summer, right?" He's like, "Afraid not Dylan. Instead of a summer break after senior year we'll be starting our lives as working stiffs which will likely last for forty-some years at which time we'll retire wondering... what the fuck was that all about?" I'm like, "Shit happens and then you die." He snorts out a laugh, "Uh huh, that too." I'm like, "We may be getting ahead of ourselves a little bit though."

Idling at a red light Chubby looks over at the car next to our Jeep, saying, "That's us, Dylan, many years from now." I look over and see a man about

eighty-years-old behind the wheel of a late model Mercedes. He's alone in the car with his mouth moving, apparently talking to himself. I mumble, "Huh, well I hope we can afford the Mercedes at least." He laughs, "Yeah, but certainly not a white one like this old fellow has." The old guy does a jack-rabbit start when the light turns green and almost rear-ends a car doing a slow right-hand turn into a strip mall. Tires squeal as he slams on the brakes. He's yelling and red in the face blaming the other driver. We chuckle and Chub goes, "I'm thinking we'll probably be cooler than that when we're eighty-four."

Passing the Natick Mall, Chub goes, "Seriously though, after this summer we're never going to have another summer off until we retire." I mumble, "Yeah I guess, unless we become school teachers." He goes, "Actually, when you think about it, we don't have this summer off either... we'll be working."

Nodding, I mumble, "The last summer we actually had off was after our sophomore year of high school. Damn, and we didn't even realize it would be our

last carefree summer for like fifty years." Chub goes, "That's the sad truth, we started working during the summer after junior year in high school and we've been going to school or working ever since. Wow, that blows!" I chuckle, "Poor us." As I'm driving around behind our condos, Chub's like, "I've never felt 'poor us' in my life," and I go, "Me neither, Chub."

While I'm parking at the garage our Moms come down to greet us. They must have been watching for us to turn into the alley. We get out of the Jeep smiling and then there's all the normal hugs and kisses. Our moms are like identical twin sisters and I say that even though one is tall and the other short, one light-complexed and the other olive-complexed. Differences in appearance yes, but they're twins personality-wise with their enthusiasm and always with a positive outlook about everything; bubbly and excitable as if they're loving life... and Chub and me. It's almost impossible to be pensive or 'down' around our Moms. They make us feel very special and their excitable energy is contagious. While the Moms talk at the same time telling us about having dinner together tonight we all get our arms full of stuff and take it up the basement steps to drop everything on the sofa. Then it's downstairs again for another load with Chubby and me trying to get the Moms to relax, "We'll unload the Jeep. You guys don't need to help." No use telling the Moms that though.

Finally everything is out of the Jeep piled either on the sofa or on living room chairs. We're sorting out what's Chub's and what's mine so we can take Chub's up to his and Tris' condo. Most of this stuff is Chubby's because a lot of my things are in Rob's pickup. The unloading and sorting is only a ten-minutes activity and then we all settle down with sodas for us guys and cups of coffee for the Moms. Sitting around the kitchen table we're exchanging recent experiences and having a few laughs along the way until the Moms need to get ready for their waitressing jobs. It's only three o'clock but it takes the Moms up to an hour-and-a-half to get ready for work.

While the Moms start doing that Chub and I are on the balcony smoking a cigarette feeling good that the hassle of moving back home is mostly over.

Taking a deep breath, looking down at the alley, I ask, "Do you have any idea what you'll be doing next year at this time?" He goes, "You mean what kind of job I'll be looking for?" Nodding, I say, "Yeah, or maybe you'll take some time off before looking for a job." He shakes his head, "Nah, I don't know what I'll be doing and, while it's getting closer to the time I'll need to give that some serious thought, that time isn't here yet. Not for me anyway." I go, "Good, it's nice to know I'm not the only one who doesn't know what I'll be doing."

After our smokes, Chubby goes up to his place to put things away and I do the same in my bedroom. Hell, I'm thinking: never mind what I'll be doing next summer at this time, I don't know yet what I'll be doing this summer since it's not a foregone conclusion I'll work for Dickers & Son even though that would be my easiest path to a summer job. I'm already basically hired there and if I want the job all I need to do is fill out some papers online. Rob and I discussed this subject yesterday and I suppose we'll be discussing it some more.

When Mom leaves for work, I take a call from Rob who tells me he's coming over with my stuff. When he gets here Chub helps Rob and me bring the rest of my belongings to my bedroom where we pile it on my bed. I'll sort through it later but I already know most of the clothes are heading for the washing machine. The three of us decide we need a beer so Chub drives us to Cody's Bar in downtown Framingham. We've passed this bar many times in our lives but this is the first time we've ever ventured inside. The bar qualifies as a dive I suppose as it's old and smells of beer, hot dogs, and spicy mustard. Hot dogs are pretty much the extent of the cuisine offered at Cody's. After we pass the 'carding' ritual we order draft beers and click glasses toasting, "The end of our junior year." We talk about that instead of what we're going to do this summer. That's mostly because Rob and Chub know I haven't decided what I'm going to do for work and it could be awkward for Chubby if Rob and I discussed that situation contentiously.

During our second beers two friends of Chubby's from high school, Chris Johnson and Matt Barnes, come through the door. There's some back slapping and one arm hugs between Chubby and the two guys and then Chub introduces me and Rob. I've met both guys before but neither of them remembers me. Matt didn't go to college and instead works for his father's auto dealership.

Chris is a nice-looking black guy who's going to a college in New York. Chubby dated one of Chris's younger sister a few times. They exchange outlandish tales from high school and then one of Chub's friends buys a round. Well okay! As Chub and his friends continue catching up on each other's lives, Robby asks me, "Do you want to get together tonight?" I go, "I'm not sure, I mean I'd like to except I've got dinner with Chub and our Moms tonight," and then, looking at my watch, I mumble, "In about an hour actually, if you can believe that. We need to eat early because of the Moms work schedule. After dinner I'm not sure what Chub has in mind." Rob says, "Huh, my folks and I are going out to dinner too, but maybe afterward we can hook-up." I ask, "Your 'rents won't mind if you dine and dash on them?" Rob makes a 'face', muttering, "You're right, I probably should spend time with them tonight but how about if I come over to your place tomorrow morning. Would that be okay?" I go, "Of course it's okay. Wait a second, I thought you were getting right into your work schedule." Rob makes another 'face', saying, "Yeah, Dad wants me at the office tomorrow, but not until after lunch." I give him a grin, mumbling, "Well then, we'll have the morning together," and Rob goes, "And tomorrow night we're going to the movies, right?" I nod, "Tomorrow night, the nine o'clock show. Absolutely."

A little later Chub pats my shoulder, saying, "We better get going, Dylan.

I need to shower before dinner." I nod and get the bartender's attention so I can buy a round for Chris and Matt. We bump fists all around and the three of us leave. Chub wants to drive again so I share the passenger seat with Rob getting goosed in the process. Back at the condos Rob gets in his pickup, "See you tomorrow morning, Dylan," and I'm like, "Yo, wait a second,"

and go over to him, "Give me a kiss, boyfriend." Rob glances at Chub who's punching in the code for the back door. I go, "He doesn't care if we kiss," and we do a sweet kiss on the lips. I say, "Ooooh, that was nice, Rob,"

and he smiles, "Right back at you, babe," and then he drives off with a smile on his handsome face. Ever since my 'talk' with Rob things have been really good between us, not that they weren't pretty good before the 'talk'.

Our boyfriend relationship is as strong as ever but now it's without timetables to worry about. It feels to me like we have a fresher, more stress-free

relationship and I think Rob agrees.

Chub and I take showers and get dressed for our dinner 'out' with our Moms. He comes down and lets himself in my place and we both laugh at each other because we're wearing the same super-preppy outfits. Light-tan khakis with light blue dress-shirts and sleeveless dark blue sweaters with polished oxblood-colored loafers on our feet. I mutter, "Always copying me, huh Chub?" He says, "What the hell ya talking about? I was dressed first."

As we walk down to the basement to go out through the back door to the Jeep we're talking about how we bought the clothes we're wearing last fall to take to college for when we wanted to dress-up. For us this is pretty much the maximum we ever 'dress-up'. I go, "Wait Chub, we should wear a tie.

It'll freak-out the Moms." He says, "While you're getting your tie I'll get the Jeep warmed up." I go, "No tie, huh?" He shakes his head grinning at me, "No tie, big brother." I get in the passenger seat mumbling, "It'd be cool." I don't know what made me think of a tie unless maybe I'm thinking I'll need to wear a tie if I'm working for Rob. Yeah, except I won't actually be working for Rob, not directly anyway. No, it wouldn't be like last winter when I worked for him a couple of times. Huh, that's something I probably need to consider: tie or no tie, and working for someone other than Rob.

Huh, I need to think about that.

At the restaurant, Chub and I endure a lot of well-meaning comments and fuss from the waitresses working with our Moms. Some of them have watched us grow-up from our preteen years. There's a little too much touching from the older waitresses to suit me, but like I said it's all well-meaning and sincere. Chubby remembers all their names and charms the shit out of them, which takes the pressure off me. Mostly I'm trying to glance at their name tags in case one of them says something that's directed at me. I'm doing a lot of smiling and nodding my head. And, what makes it worse most of the diners in the half-filled restaurant are gawking at us and probably wondering...

what the fuck? Things settle down and we get seated. We're eating at five-fifteen, because the Moms need to get to waitressing immediately after dinner. They usually start working before this to accommodate the retirees who take advantage of the early-bird specials. Renny, the owner of the restaurant, was nice enough to let the Moms start later today so they could eat with us. No alcoholic beverages because the Moms will be working and we don't have the time for drinks anyway. We place our dinner orders and while waiting for our meal s the Moms exchange glances as they hem-and-haw a little before telling us they'll be spending tonight with their fiancés. It's a sleep over I guess you could say. There's a party of some sort at the guys' club that's supposed to run late. The Moms feel awful they'll be away our first night home which is a ridiculous concern on their part. For one thing, we don't see them after they get off work and then they sleep late in the morning. Chub and I are usually out by the time they get up.

Anyway, the Moms sleeping with their fiancés is a perfectly normal thing for them to do and we have no problem with it whatsoever. We like the twins and don't mind that they're sleeping with our Moms. It takes some convincing that we're perfectly fine with it but I think we finally put their minds at ease. Plus, they've slept over with their fiancés before and Chub and I totally get it! Jeez, we're not ten-years-old any more. We know how that goes, probably better than we should. With that settled the Moms are free to do their normal chatter about all matters under the sun. It's fun seeing them so happy about, well about everything apparently.

The food is good like it usually is here and the Moms are good company.

They're so sweet although somehow they seem naively innocent at times. It's enough to bring a tear to my eyes. Anyway it's an awesome first dinner of summer break; a nice way to reconnect and begin the summer. After our goodbyes, Chub and I are outside mugging to each other and going, "Whew, we made it." We light cigarettes and then, leaning against the Jeep, we get a little maudlin talking about how wonderful our Mom are, which leads us into talking about how incredible it is that we're half-brothers. Brothers with different mothers. We haven't ever actually spoken about how it had to have happened for us to be half-brothers born two days apart. I mean the Moms told us, but Chub and I have never spoken about it among ourselves because it's, well to say it's an unlikely scenario is to greatly understate the situation. We're quite happy about it though.

It's still early so we do what you do when you're twenty-one... we stop at a bar for a couple of beers. At the bar we mostly reminisce about our early lives growing-up here in Framingham. Feeling really good about everything we surprise ourselves by being sensible enough to make an early night of it. I'm in bed before ten o'clock. It's been a busy Thursday and then after a wonderful night's sleep in my own bed I wake-up Friday morning feeling pretty damn good.

By nine-thirty I'm washed, dressed, and out on my balcony alongside Robby drinking Dunkin Donuts coffees and eating breakfast sandwiches. Rob surprised me with a Dunkin' Donut's breakfast this morning. He bought three bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches on English muffins with three side-orders of hash brown potatoes, and the coffees. Okay, that's a nice treat but I wonder if it's a bride to help me made up my mind to work for Dickers & Son. It's like this though, after my 'talk' some weeks ago about no predetermined aspects to our relationship I now feel obligated to at least apply at an employment agency. To be perfectly honest my heart isn't really in it but considering it was me who didn't want anything 'etched-in-stone' between Rob and me I should at least go through the motions of seeking other employment.

And sure, sometimes I paint myself into a corner like this job situation, but shit happens. Nobody's perfect.

Rob tells me I need to decide about his job offer by Wednesday or Dickers & Son will be forced to fill the opening he's saved for me in their Human Resources department. They already have a list of applicants to choose from. In business I totally understand that deadlines are necessary and I've got no problem with that. I say to Rob, "Believe me, I understand. I'm merely going to see what's online and maybe do a few interviews the beginning of next week, that's all. It's a money thing too." He goes, "I can't fucking believe you're not happy with the deal I got for you at work." I shrug, "Oh Jesus, I appreciate it, Rob, I really do. It's business though, not personal." He chuckles, "Uh huh, business. You've always been quite the businessman." Never too late to start but I don't want to argue so I let him have the last word about that. We both finish our sandwich and Rob splits the third one in half and then pours half the third bag of hash brown potatoes in my half-empty bag.

I'm still working on the hash brown potatoes when, finished his share of everything, Rob's wiping his hands and mouth with a paper napkin, mumbling, "If you insist on going job hunting you should at least look professional.

Your last haircut was almost two months ago, so I'll give you a haircut before I leave." I run my fingers through my hair, muttering, "Okay, thanks. I was going to ask when you think you'd have the time. " He says, "I'll make the time for you, babe. Hey, did you get the tickets for that James Bond movie tonight?" I nod, "Well yeah, I already printed-out and paid for the tickets. It's tonight's nine o'clock show. I wanted to insure we get two seats on the end of a row, and I'm in the end seat." He asks, "What do you have

against sitting next to someone?" I go, "Nothing at all, assuming I know the someone." Today is the release date for the latest James Bond movie and while the movies are predictable they always have awesome special effects, and this current actor playing 'Bond' we think is the best one yet. There were some early 'suave' actors playing James Bond in the old Bond movies, but those movies had pathetic special effects compared to current ones.

Getting back to my summer job situation, there's something new I need to consider. Any job I end-up getting will entail a transportation consideration; one I haven't needed to concern myself with in the past. Rob can't be sure he'll be able to pick me up mornings or take me home after work because he'll have an unpredictable work schedule split between the Framingham office and the offices in Westborough, Massachusetts. That's where the huge project is happening; the one that Dickers & Son won the bid for two-years-ago. That project is in full swing now. And then there's the consideration of how much the job pays. The opening at Dicker & Son Inc. pays $500 a week, which is only a little over $12 an hour for a forty-hour week. I made more than that working for Ryan last summer and Chub's making more per hour working for Mr. DiPietro, Mary Jo's father.

There's bus transportation to and from work that I can take to Dickers & Son. The bus would leave me off a quarter-mile from the office, so that's doable although certainly not ideal. Last night I had a conversation with Chubby about usage of the Jeep. There's a bus line that would drop him off two blocks from where he'll be working all summer, which is in the DiPietro and Costello Insurance Agency's office building. They're the largest insurance agency in the state and they even advertise on TV. Chub says Mr.

DiPietro is going to put him in one of their TV commercials. Can't fucking wait to see that. Anyway, Chub and I decided we'll take turns using the Jeep; one week I'll take the bus and the next week Chubby will. He was adamant that I use the Jeep every week since his bus transportation is so much better than mine, but I wouldn't hear of it. We'll take turns. The bus stop near our condos is a block up from where we usually park the Jeep on the street. So that'll work if I take Rob's offer, but I'll need to see what my transportation options are for any other job I might get. This transportation thingie is a huge pain in the ass.

Rob lights a cigarette and then holds out his pack of Marlboro offering me a smoke. I take one muttering, "Thanks." After lighting my cigarette I'm looking down at the alley behind our condos watching two boys bouncing basketballs as they walk by. One of the boys recently got that ridiculous fad-haircut with the hair shaved all around his head and a big glob of long hair on top. He's young-looking and really cute. I wonder if his family just moved into one of these condos because I don't recall seeing him before.

Sexy-cute face with a very slim body. It's borderline that he could be eighteen though. Huh, interesting. While watching the basketball boys I'm half listening to Rob telling me about last night's dinner at Ken's Steakhouse with his parents. I nod my head, mumbling, "Ken's rarely disappoints," and then I tell him about Chub and I having dinner with the Moms. He says, "Five-fifteen! That's a really early dinner; almost a late lunch." Giving him a frowning 'look', I go, "We have working-moms, Rob." He comes right back with, "My Mom works too ya know. Um, two or three days a week, sometimes."

He's still slightly testy because I haven't committed to working for him yet. Well, I wouldn't be working for him per se anyway, but for their company. I say, "Yeah, okay, but your Mom doesn't need to work while our Moms do. Anyway, last night we didn't have time for cocktails at dinner so afterward Chub and I had some beers at a local joint." Rob goes, "I wish you'd texted me, I would have liked joining you guys for a couple of beers." I go, "I did text you, Rob," and he goes, "Yeah, after nine o'clock." I shrug and then smile and give his shoulder a squeeze, "You're right, I should have texted earlier but Chub and I were sorting out how we'll use the Jeep this summer and time slipped away. Plus you said yesterday you were gonna spend time with your parents after dinner."

This is actually the first full-day of summer break. I have no plans for doing anything except getting reacquainted with the condo and checking online about summer jobs. Rob bringing our Dunkin' Donut breakfast was damn nice of him and makes for a good beginning to my first day off. It feels strange after all those months away being back here in the condo. It feels good too but Rob's still pouting a little so I rub up the back of his head, murmuring, "Hey Robby, I'll most likely be one of your company's employees, and even in the unlikely event I'm not working there you and I will still have an awesome summer together." He nods, mumbling, "Yeah, but you really should take the job, Dylan. I'd love knowing you were in the same building I'm working in. I mean when I'm not in Westborough. We could do coffee breaks and lunches together." Ha, it's all about him sometimes, but he's so fucking good-looking I can't help smiling and putting my arms around him for a squeeze. He smiles back and then we do a really nice sexy kiss that gets me a little juiced-up. Plus, a couple of minutes ago he mentioned a haircut so my dick was kinda jumpy to start with.

Side-stepping the summer job conundrum, I'm thinking about the possibility

of having sex this morning, so I go, "You realize my Mom's not here, right?" He looks at me beaming, "Really? I thought she was still sleeping after working late." I shake my head, "Nope, that's not the case." He goes, "So you're saying it's just you and me here right now?" I nod, "Yep! Mom won't be showing up until later this afternoon." We grin at each other as he mumbles, "Glad I stopped in!" He rubs his nose and goes, "So, um, ya wanna do it this morning?" I go, "Always with you, Rob," and he's like, "I call topping!" Oh good! That's perfect because for a while there I was starting to worry he was liking me doing the 'topping' too much. I much prefer being a 'bottom' for that boy. I guess some gay guys don't realize that 'bottoms' get sexually stimulated in both their ass and their penis at the same time.

Dummies! Rob finishes his cardboard cup of take-out coffee, saying, "Jeez, I'm stupidly excited. I thought we'd need to wait until after the movies tonight."

I go, "Yeah, it's been a horny struggle for both of us not having sex together for almost thirty-six hours." He snorts out a laugh, "We're slightly oversexed, huh?" I go, "Nah, it's just that we got ourselves into an awesome sexual groove at college and things get to be habit- forming." Rob goes, "Good for us!" He looks so youthful and, um, clean and shiny. He's going to the office later so he's wearing pressed khakis and a button-up-the-front shirt with preppy loafers on his size nine-and-a-half feet. I did a haircut for him ten-days ago, so he's still okay in that regard, even for his Dad's inspection. Hard to believe that was only the second or third haircut I did for Rob all junior year. That's of course because of that barber-butcher Golden Summers doing haircuts, plus Rob's stupid idea that getting home-haircuts from Golden, like a lot of his teammates were doing, somehow made Rob just one of the boys even though he's co-captain of the team. He's clean-shaven this morning too which is a shame. I mean his beard has come in nicely of late and it's soft and sexy. Still, Rob looks good enough to eat.

Fortunate for Rob he brought breakfast with him... heh heh.

Leaning against the balcony railing, I exhale some smoke and ask, "What's the latest word about our favorite Army-boys' return?" He exhales a drag off his cigarette and says, "Dodger should be home next Wednesday, but depending on Army procedure for checking-out, or whatever it's called, he could be home as early as Tuesday." I'm like, "Oh, good! Is he gonna work with you and your Dad?" Rob shakes his head, "Nope. He made it crystal clear he doesn't want to do that. I don't know what he's going to do. He won't say and my parents are not pleased. Um, you said Army 'boys', plural. You know Connor isn't coming with Dodger, right?" I nod, "Yeah I know that."

We take drags off our smokes as I'm wondering what the fuck happened between Dodger and his 'rents. I mean his parents gave him that big homecoming party after basic training; him and Connor. Since then there's definitely been some disconnect. I ask, "Um, I don't want to pry or anything, but I think I will anyway. What's the friction between your parents and Dodger?" Rob shrugs, "Well, there's friction between me and Dodger too although we're not like enemies or anything. He's changed and it's simply not the same with him anymore. We used to be so close too." I'll say they were close; they were fucking together from early in their teen years, but I'm not going there. Rob's answer was so vague as to be worthless. It didn't tell me anything about why his parents are out of sorts with Dodger.

Done our cigarettes, he asks, "Should we get your haircut out of the way first, baby?" I go, "Yeah okay, the barber stuff is in the finished basement. Do you wanna do it there?" He goes, "Yeah, that's where we always used to do haircuts." Goofy me, but I'm kinda excited about the haircut. I know it's dumb, but getting a haircut turns me on a little, especially when done by certain people and Rob is definitely one of those certain people. He says, "Damn, I've got these good clothes on and I don't want to get hair clipping on me, so maybe a better idea..." and I cut him off, saying, "Take 'em off and wear some sweatpants of mine during the haircut. I must have at least one clean pair." He nods, "Oh yeah, good idea."

We go to my bedroom where Rob takes off his shirt and slacks, hanging them neatly on a coat hanger. I'm looking through my bureau drawers and in the back of the bottom drawer I find a wrinkled, mismatched sweatpants and sweatshirt. Chuckling I hand then to Rob and he puts them on and then laughs, "These are way too small for me, Dylan. We're the same size." I chuckle, "We were both a different size in middle school which is when I last wore those clothes. I couldn't find current clean ones." His wrists stick out the sleeves about three inches and the pants barely come to his ankles. Still grinning he's looking at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. I can't help snickering as he goes, "I look like a fucking clown," and he laughs again, then adds, "C'mon, let's get to it so we can get to you-know-what afterward."

Walking down to the finished basement, I'm like, "Don't rush with my haircut, Rob. Take your time and keeps the number of 'Oops' down as close to zero as possible." He goes, "That pisses me off, Dylan! I've been doing good haircuts for you." I go, "Fuck, I'm kidding you! Um, I just meant there's no need to rush 'cause we've got plenty of time." He asks, "What time is it anyway?" I look at my watch. "It's almost ten-thirty. What time do you need to be at work?" He goes, "One o'clock but I also need time to stop someplace for lunch." I shrug, like, So what's the problem? and he mutters, "Oh hell, we've got plenty of time, you're right. I won't rush with your haircut... don't fret about that. I want it to look good just as much as you do."

As I'm getting the barber stuff out of the toiletry kit I'm thinking how it'd be sexy if Robby shampooed my hair first. He's pulling the stool over onto the tile part of the basement near the washer and dryer as I say, "You should probably shampoo my hair first. It's easier to cut when it's clean."

I'm next to him laying out the barber tools on the dryer so he reaches over and runs his fingers through my hair, mumbling, "Your hair is always clean." I go, "Not as clean as it will be after you shampoo it. You can do it in the half-bath. I'll pull a chair in there." He frowns, "We should save as much time as possible for, you know, afterwards," and he turns on the clippers, whining, "C'mon, Dylan. Let's do your haircut." I'm still pulling the chair toward the bathroom and he goes, "Dylan!" and I'm like, "Robby!" and then I add, "C'mon, we have time. It doesn't take long."

Letting out an exasperated deep breath, Rob mumbles, "Okay! I know everything has to be done your way so no sense in me arguing." I grin at him and we go into the half-bath where I set-up the shampooing station. The back of the chair is against the front of the sink with the chair's front legs off the floor. I put the shampoo, conditioner, and hairdryer on the shelf over the back of the sink, saying, "There ya go, Robby, everything you need,"

and then I take off my shirt and sit in the chair smirking. Rob snorts out a laugh, muttering, "Brat." I go, "Don't forget, you need to fold a hand-towel for under my neck. You know, for comfort." He does that, asking, "Where's that little hose you use?" I point to the hose hanging off the hook at the back of the door and he attaches it to the sink's faucet, saying, "It's not like I haven't shampooed your hair twenty times before, ya know, when we shower together." I go, "Yes, you're very good at it but let's not have a lot of talking while you're doing it, my good man." He goes, "Yes, your majesty," as he turns the water on.

Robby wets my hair and rubs in shampoo, saying, "Jesus, your hair really grows fast. I can't believe I let it go this long without giving you a haircut. It's over the tops of your ears." I mumble, "Yeah well, we had two weeks of finals and then packing-up to come home, so neither of us gave it much thought." He does a good massage on my scalp, saying, "Yeah, but you found the time to do my haircut the week before last," and I go, "All my spare time wasn't spent playing baseball." He mutters, "Oh, I forgot about that."

It'd be sexier if Rob didn't insist on talking, but it's pretty sexy anyway. Good to see he isn't taking any shortcuts either as he rinses out the first shampoo lather and reapplies fresh shampoo, saying, "This is kind of fun, and ya know what? It's fun giving you haircuts too. It's intimate. Do you know what I mean?" I go, "Yes, I do."

A minute of silence as his fingers move in my hair and on my scalp. It's enough to give me shivers. Maybe Rob feels a little arousal too because with

his hands full of shampoo bubbles he leans over and kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "I love taking care of you." That's so fucking sweet! But of course I had to insist on the shampoo before he'd do it. He rinses out the shampoo really well and applies conditioner and then really rinses my hair good this time. He gets a towel to roughly dry my hair. Rob knows what he's doing as he now gets the noisy hairdryer to finish drying it while brushing my hair this way and that. The stiff bristles of the brush leave my scalp tingling. Intimate indeed! When my hair is dry enough to make static electricity, Rob jokingly says, "Let's start all over and I'll do everything again." I chuckle, "You did an

awesome job, Rob," and he hugs my shoulders and rubs the side of his face against mine. I smell his faint after shave lotion which makes my dick tingle pleasantly. The entire shampoo took less than ten-minutes but he isn't finished. He does an awesome massage of my shoulders and the back of my neck using his strong hands and fingers as I go limp as a rag doll. As he continues he's saying, "Remember the massages we did for each other that summer after eleventh grade?" I nod as delicious sexy shivers slide down my spine.

I murmur, "Oh yeah, I'll say, and we didn't even know we were both gay yet." Rob goes, "I knew I was but I wasn't sure if you knew yet." Well, at that time I'd just recently found out I was gay myself, thanks to fat Carl.

I've never told Rob about that.

When I'm feeling incredibly relaxed and sexually stimulated, Rob murmurs, "There, boyfriend, the entire treatment except for the haircut." I sigh, "Thanks Rob, that was awesome." We leave the mess in the bathroom for me to clean-up later and go back in the basement where I sit on the barber stool.

Rob puts the barber cape around me and I go, "I don't want the cape," and Rob says, "Tough, you're getting it anyway. I'm the barber." I shrug my shoulders and then decide this is good. The cape gives me a real barbershop sensation, so I go, "Okay, if you say so, Rob. You're the head of the household." He snorts out a laugh, muttering, "Sure I am," as he's combing through my hair.

Jesus, I love being fussed over by Rob! He sternly says, "I don't want to hear any whining from you about me using the thinning scissors. In fact don't say anything. I'm fucking in-charge here. Remember I've got the scissors and clippers so I'm kinda dangerous at the moment." I go, "Gotcha, boss."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, "All kidding aside, Dylan, are you okay with the haircuts I've been giving you, or do you want me to change something?" Ooooweee, that was so nice of him it gives me goosebumps. I shrug, "I don't know. What do you think, Robby?" Oh shit, I'm just like all the guys I give haircuts to. They all ask me what kind of haircut they should get and I basically just did the same thing to my barber. Rob combs through my hair back to front and then combs my bangs down on my forehead. They reach just to my eyebrows. He says, "I like what I've been doing, Dylan. I'd like to do the same haircut with a part on the side and the hair combed over except a shorter version for the summer. That's what I think would look good, especially if you accept my job offer... but that's still up to you."

All my ball-busting aside, Rob has been giving me pretty good haircuts and I'm not all that surprised either. It's like something told me a while back that he has a knack for it. Especially when I'm not trying to get him to do it my way. He tries too hard to do it like I say and the results have sucked in the past. When he's left on his own and I don't interfere he does a good job. Haircutting isn't as easy as it looks, but it's not rocket science either. It's mostly common sense and picturing in your head what each cut will look like compared to the hairs around it. Well I guess it does require having a feel for it too.

Rob says, "Well, what's it going to be, Dylan?" I say, "I'm not sure what you have in mind when you say 'shorter', all barbers seem to have a different idea for what that means, but I like your idea of the same style and I'll go with your suggestion." He goes, "Omigod, he finally trusts me! Be still my heart!" I go, "The drama club is meeting in the next building." He chuckles, and goes, "Thanks for your faith in me, baby." The fact is my haircut fetish was doing most of the talking for me. The words 'short' and 'shorter' always gets a pleasant, albeit a little bit of scary buzzing going on in my nuts. Feels scary-good I guess you could say.

Rob pats my shoulder, saying, "You're in good hands, young fella," and then he puts a half-inch guide on the clippers. He clicks the clipper on and works with it on the sides and then at the back of my head. The cut hairs slide off the clippers and drift down the cape to my lap giving my balls another pleasant jolt. Done with the clippers he uses a pair of regular barber scissors and a comb to begin tampering at my neck's hairline. I can't see what he's doing obviously but it feels like he's using the scissors-over-comb technique correctly. I go, "You don't want me talking, but are you using a new technique; new for you?" He chuckles, "Yeah, I wanted to surprise you. I did what you suggested a while ago and watched about an hour's worth of haircutting tutorials on YouTube and learned a hell of a lot." I go, "When did you do that?" He says, "Last night while you and Jeff were having a good time drinking beers and forgetting about me." I say, "Hey, I called you." He begins cutting again, mumbling, "I'm kidding, but not about watching the videos last night."

The only sound I hear now is the "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," of the scissors cutting through my dry clean hair. Many barbers wet the hair before cutting but then you don't hear the scissor cutting and I like that sound. The

steady, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," sounds soon puts me into a nice submissive trance. It seems like Rob's doing everything correctly and he seems to be cutting with confidence too so it's all good and I can safely drift off into a deeper and deeper very pleasant dreamy trance as my dick gets hard. When Rob gently pushes the back of my head with a finger I obligingly move my head forward and almost rest my chin on my chest as Rob murmurs, "Thank you," and continues cutting. He's spending a long time on the back of my head, up near the top now and then he combs up the hair at the crown getting a big batch of hair between his thumb and forefinger; then, holding the hair up and pulling on my scalp slightly he cut off the hair above his fingers, "Scrunch!". He does it again and again and then combs it up and does it again, "Scrunch, scrunch," and by now I'm enjoying the hard boner that's in my pants, one that's bulging-up my jeans at the zipper under the barber's cape. It's a traditional barber's cape that's off-white with thin black stripes.

Rob takes the guard off the clippers and uses bare clippers to do some cutting at the hairline and then mumbles to himself, "Good." I think it's good too. Now he's combing hair up on the left side of my head cutting off the hairs that stick up from the comb as he moves the comb up the side until my head shape starts curving to the top, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch."

Inch-long cut hairs fall in a cascade onto the cape and slide down to pool in my lap on top of my hidden boner. The more he cuts the more my dick quivers in its hardness feeling so fucking good it's crazy. Now Rob barely touches my forehead wanting my head up and I comply, with him again murmuring, "Thank you," and it's so much like the few authentic barbershop experiences I've had in my life, mostly compliments of Willie. Frankly, it's going so well I can hardly believe it's Robby doing the barbering.

The amount of cut hair that have accumulating at the lap of the cape makes me curious about how short Robby's cutting my hair but I resist picking up the hand-held mirror that's lying on the top of the dryer. He's giving me a very short haircut although I don't believe it qualifies as an extremely short one. I tend to think extremely short haircuts are done using only clippers. I say that even though two summers ago, Sonny gave me a couple of extremely short haircuts using only a comb and scissors; haircuts done so evenly they astounded me. Rob's not motivated the way Sonny was though. Sonny was dominantly getting even for me giving him a short burr haircut.

Satisfied with the shortness on the right side of my head Rob works on the left side, which is the side where a 'part' goes. There are many 'Scrunches" before he's satisfied with that side too. Rob looks all around my head, muttering, "Okay, that's good," and then he turns-on the trimming clippers and outlines around and behind my ears and says, "I know you don't like the squared off back, Dylan, but it goes with this haircut. The tutorials did it this way and I am too." I feel him squaring off the hairline in back, but down low and not up more than an inch like Golden always did it which created the abrupt 'shelf' or 'shingle' look at the back. That's a terrible 'look' if you ask me.

Rob examines all around my head again and this time snips off hairs here and there. I already feel as though I could cum in my pants and Rob hasn't even touched the hairs on top of my head yet. It's a really sexy feeling and

I squirm on the stool a little trying to get my boner to rest sideways in my pants. Rob quietly says, "Sit still, Dylan," and he grabs my shoulders.

I settle down grinning to myself at how much I'm enjoying this.

Rob's finally content with the way he's cut the sides and back and then combs through the hair on top of my head twice, murmuring, "Like it or not, Dylan, I'm using the thinning shears. That's what the instructor called these scissors, by the way... thinning shears." He picks up the thinning shears and, after closing them a few times, he touches both sides of my forehead with his forefingers, saying, "Keep your head up while I'm doing this."

Then it's, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," with the thinning shears. He stops to pull the clumps of cut hairs from the teeth of the shears and comb dropping both batches of hair in the pile of hair at the lap of the cape. And then, "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," and again he pulls the hairs from the comb and scissors, saying, "That's enough I think," and he combs through the hair on top of my head with little-to-no resistance and adds, "Maybe that second time with the thinning shears wasn't my best idea." He combs through the top hairs again coming away with a bunch of cut hairs in the teeth of the comb, mumbling, "It's okay though. Just maybe a little shorter than I planned on."

I sort of turn my head catching his eyes with mind, and he goes, "Okay, so it's a slight change of plans. I think it'll be even better. I did it the way a couple of the instructors did it." I'm not sure what he's referring to, but I don't say anything because I'm liking this experience too much to get into a discussion about something that can't be changed anyway. Rob gets the regular scissors and uses a comb at the crown of my head cutting and cutting while explaining, "I thinned it out too much here at the back of your head, you know, at the crown. What I'm doing is trying to even it off at a half-inch." A few more cuts and he says, "Clippers with a half-inch guide is probably a better plan," and he puts a guide on the clippers and runs it around the crown of my head and some on the back. Turning off the clippers, he goes, "This will be fine. I'll just cut the other hair on top to match the length at the crown and taper it longer the closer I get to the front." Strangely enough I know what he means. I'm just surprised he does.

Using comb and scissors there quite a bit of cutting with cuts hairs from the top drifting down to the cape and I know I'm positively going to cum in my pants, but I don't. He stopped a few seconds before my cock was about to fire off a juicy load of jism.

Stifling a moan I watch him step back to look at my hair. He nods his head

which I take as a good sign and then he combs down what's left of the bangs and cuts, Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch," the hairs across my forehead leaving an inch of bangs that he combs to the side and says, "That's perfect, babe, no worries. You could even flip up the front if you want," and he passes me the hand-held mirror. I feel like I know what the haircut will look like before I even look... and I'm not surprised. It's almost exactly like I thought it would look with the exception of the hairs at the crown. They're cut too short and stick defiantly up instead of laying over, but I knew why he needed to do that. He screwed-up by thinning-out too much there and hopefully learned a lesson from that mistake. It doesn't totally screw up the haircut though. It just makes it a different one than he intended when he started. If I don't comb a part on the side and flip up the bangs it'll be my old favorite haircut from the past. I've even given a few guys this haircut last semester.

Maybe anticipating what I'm going to say, Rob rubs his fingers over the half-inch hairs at the crown, saying, "Before you say anything you should know this is the same haircut a couple of the tutorials showed. I think it's perfect for you. Ultra preppy!" I nod, saying, "No problem, but how old were the models who got this haircut in the videos?" Rob shrugs and then snorts out a chuckle, saying, "Okay they were all teenagers, but you look like a teenager." I go, "This haircut will help me get served in bars, right?" He combs my hair flipping up the bangs, mumbling, "Probably not." I go, "Well whatever, it's cut okay, Rob, seriously." He shrugs, muttering, "Gosh oh gee, I don't know what to say, Mr. Newman, except thanks." I chuckle, "Nice job even if it isn't the haircut you intended doing." He looks hurt, "I'm doing my best," and I go, "Oh stop it, Rob! You know damn well I fucking like short hair." He says, "It looks good this way, doesn't it?" Now he wants me to compliment his mistake.

Taking the cape off me, dropping a big bunch of my hair on the floor, Rob leans around to kiss my lips, murmuring, "Seriously, thanks for being flexible about the haircut, Dylan. I think I was too cocky and over-confident this time." Standing up, I go, "I enjoyed the experience but I think I'll probably keep the part, and comb the bangs over when applying for a job." He says, "When it's just you and me though, babe, do me a favor and comb it like a teenager. I almost got a boner combing it like that for you." I go, "A boner about a haircut? What the fuck?" He says, "Almost a boner! I didn't say I got one. I have fun giving you haircuts. It makes me feel so good when you say you like it." I pull his head over murmuring, "I like it," and then give him a wet sloppy kiss on his lips. He goes, "Oh, thank you for the kiss, sir. That'll be a hundred-and-twenty-dollars for the shampoo and cut."

I'm like, "Put it on my bill and give yourself a three-percent tip while you're at it." We both chuckle as I'm running my fingers through my hair like almost everybody does after getting a haircut. Searching for more compliments, Rob goes, "How's it feel?" and then we both laugh again. It's not the haircut either of us expected, but it's done okay. I think I've finally found my favorite barber for the foreseeable future. Rob's minor mishaps haven't bothered me too much so far, not when compared to the intentionally bad haircuts Ryan was giving me for more than six-months.

Rob asks, "Should we go upstairs, or...?" and I pull his under-sized sweatpants down and then his underwear, murmuring, "I can't wait to go upstairs." Sinking to my knees I mumble, "Here comes the rest of your tip," and take his cock into my mouth. Licking all around the head gets Rob squirming and quietly saying, "It was almost sexual doing your haircut, but now for the real thing." I go, "Uh huh," and suck on the fat head of his cock while stroking the shaft using my thumb and two fingers, stroke, stroke, stroke, getting a quiet grunt from Rob as he shuffles his feet a little. Pushing more of his hardening cock in my mouth and then some more until the head bumps the top of my throat. I gag for a second and then push my head forward so the head goes into my throat. Rob grabs my head muttering, 'Aaaah." My face is squished against his groin with light-blond pubic hairs around my nose, mouth and chin. He smells like bath gel.

My hands grab and then squeeze Rob's butt cheeks as he, with a hand on either side of my head, moves my head to and fro, the head of his hard fat cock going in and out of my throat while my tongue licks the underside of his now hard-as-steel penis. It's a hard fat boner he should be proud of. I need to be very relaxed so as not to gag at his fat cock head plugging in and out of my throat and being as submissive as I feel helps me do that. As his cock fucks my throat it drools pre-cum self-lubricating it's way. Wow, it's incredibly sexual and my cock, in-prisoned in my jockey shorts and jeans, grows as hard as Rob's.

My mouth fills with saliva that I mostly can't swallow so it runs out both sides of my mouth and drips off my chin drip, drip, drip to drool under my chin and wet my neck. Robby's moaning and I feel the head swell so I expect him to cum but he steps back letting go of my head and pulling his boner completely out of my mouth. It's right in front of me sticking straight-out

from his groin and wet with my saliva. He gasps, "Oh, mmmm, that felt incredibly good." There's a slurp of pre-cum hanging off the head that I'm about to lick off but Rob's fist gets there first and spreads it up and down his boner as he strokes his hard member making a hissing sound with his eyes closed and his head back. Damn, I'll bet that feel good! With a gasp Rob lets go of his penis and reaches down to help pull me up. His hard boners bumping against mine that's protruding the lap of my pants as I stand in front of Rob, who's still taking deep ragged breaths.

As I stand here a foot from Rob I'm unbuttoning my jeans and then pulling down the zipper. After a final deep breath, Rob pulls my pants down to my knees while I'm pulling down my jockey shorts freeing my boner to stick up straight and tight against my belly. I have no doubt that by the time Rob's done fucking me my boner will be sticking straight out like his; not as fat although two inches longer. I've got a really good penis even if I do say so myself. I'm wiping my chin getting as much saliva off as I can with my bare hand while Rob gets behind me, saying, "Bend-over and grab the seat of the stool, Dylan. I'm going to spank your pretty ass till it shines." I go, "Oooh," and bend over and then Rob spanks me hard with "Smack, smack,"

sounds filling my ears for maybe a minute with me grunting and trying not to cum.

There's no mention of the lube that's under the sink in the half bath, not for this dominant fuck. When Rob's satisfied my bright-pink stinging-ass has been spanked properly he plugs the head of his cock in and I go, "Aaaah!" arching my back and grabbing the stool tighter, dropping my forehead to the seat. More of his pre-cum helped get the fat head past my sphincter muscle although it was initially a little bit of a shock the way he just plugged it in and it hurt. Rob's arms come around and he clasps his wrist together against my belly and then humps two inches of hard cock up my ass as he moans, "Ooooh, mmmm, fuuuuck this feels good, baby." Thrusting just the first two-or-three inches back and forth over my prostate gets me moaning, "Mmmm, oooh, Robby," as my forehead slides on the stool, so I lift it up holding my breath at how good it feels.

Tightening his hold around my stomach Rob thrust the last of his boner spreading my rectum walls until he's snugly against my buttocks and we both sigh, "Ooooh." My ass recognizes its favorite hard cock and adjust quickly and just like that I feel an exquisite pleasure sensation flow over me making my shoulders do their shuddering. Rob humps against my buttocks while moving his arms up my stomach to get his arms around my chest and then he pulls me up and when he's got my back tightly against his chest he murmurs in my ear, "You're too tense, baby. Relax!" and with a quiet moan I do what I'm told and lie docilely back against Rob's chest, the back of my head on his shoulder. He murmurs, "That's my good boy," and humps hard against my buttocks again. I feel more of that awesome submissiveness drift down over me and nothing that feels better than this... nothing! Rob's strong arms hug me tighter with his hard penis inside me as he murmurs, "I got ya now, baby. Your ass had its spanking and now my hard cock is exactly where it belongs." I moan, and go, "Oh yeah, Rob," and with his scent swirling around in my head we could be docked together like this forever as far as I'm concerned. That awesomely very-filled-up-feeling in my backside is something I can't begin to describe and the fact it's Robby doing the filling-up is the perfect combination for me... AND, on top of everything else there's that really good dominant haircut experience lingering in my mind and it's all so spectacularly sexy a long sigh of contentment slips out of my throat without me realizing I was going to do it. Rob murmurs, "I love giving you pleasure, Dylan." My eyes are half closed as I revel in the sexuality of my latest dreamy trance. Feels soooooo good.

And it gets better too... Rob withdraws his log of a cock almost all the way out and then pushes it right back up inside me making my shoulders shudder, against his this time. He does that four times, and then a really firm fifth time making me moan in sexual pleasure and then I hear the, "Slap, slap, slapping," sounds of rapid hard thrusting as pleasure sensations explode from my rectum, his crotch smacking against my butt cheeks driving his cock up my ass hard and fast. Sensations increase joined now by incredible pleasure soaring off my incredibly tight boner that moves away from my belly until it's sticking straight out feeling like it wants to stretch out further. It's an entire orchestra of sexual pleasure. A continual barrage of intense pleasure from uncountable nerve endings and it has me struggling in Rob's arms unable to believe how good this feels.

Robby's breathing noisily in between grunts as his hips keep a perfect rhythm moving that fat boner of his smoothly back and forth in my ass until he lurches forward, holding me so tightly I can barely take a breath as he humps against my butt cheeks and I feel his sharp streak of cum hit inside me adding a moment of extra warmth as he goes, "Aaaaaah, ooooh," and humps against me harder probably shooting more semen inside me although I don't feel that stream.

I've been on the verge of climaxing from halfway through the haircut so it's a miracle I held off this long. My boner's been sticking straight out for the last ninety-seconds, and now a sizzle of electric shocks covers my body as I try humping my hips and then with a squeal, "Eeeeew!" cum blows out from my cock shooting straight out four-feet before rounding off into a dive to the floor and then again with me unable to even squeal as the second shot sizzle from my quivering piss slit almost as far out as the first. My body's stiff as a board until the third and fourth shots of cum shoot out, little more than squirts, but feeling fabulous anyway. Gasping a lungful of air I go limp now, as limp as Robby as we stagger forward a few feet together before he pulls his cock out. A rush of his creamy cum slides out of my bowels and wets under my ass and down the inside of my legs. My hands are on the rim of the stool again as I bend over breathing deeply. My heart's racing to beat the band while I'm concentrating on the last sizzling vibrations around and inside my asshole as I take a hand off the stool to tightly pull on my pud getting drips of cum sticking to the end of my fist.

"Holy shit, Dylan, what a great climax!" I let go of the stool and my dick to turn around and gasp, "I'll say," and we hug with both of us saying at the same time, "I love you." We have a couple of kisses as our breathing returns to normal and our heart rates calm down. "Whew, that was hot, Rob."

He's rubbing his nose, mumbling, "Awful fast climax though, don't ya think?"

I shrug, "I couldn't take a good guess how long we fucked. Whatever the length I thought it was super hot and sexy, and so are you." We let go of each other as Rob grins, asking, "Do you still like your haircut?" and for some reason we both laugh out loud. It's silly of course but it just struck us funny asking that question after our really hot sex. I go, "What haircut?" and we chuckle and walk into the half-bath where Rob helps me clean his cum off my ass and then he uses a wet washcloth to clean his now flaccid penis.

After pulling our pants up we go upstairs to grab Cokes and then out on the balcony for an after-sex smoke. Rob takes a swallow of Coke and says, "Beautiful day, huh?" I look around and say, "Yeah, it's a great day," and we both snicker because he knows from the way I said that I'm referring to the fact we just fucked, and to hell with the weather. We bump against each other being in love, which enhances the shared sexual experience a lot. I say, "After the movies it's my turn," and Rob goes, "I'll look forward to that." Damn, this is a weird thought to have after that great sex but I wonder if Rob bottoms for Danny. Oh hell, I know he does. Danny's a 'top' and if my one experience with him a couple of years ago is any indication, he's one helluva top to boot. Rob probably thinks he's better than me. Rob and I have a fairly open relationship but not open enough to questions him about something like that. And anyway what would I expect his answer to be? He's unlikely to say anything other than I'm the best 'top' on earth. So that's another reason for not having conversations about that sort of thing.

Rob gets serious now and again gives me a sales pitch on why I should forget about the employment agencies and take his job offer. He says, "I had to

put my foot down and pull rank with the HM department, Dylan. They wanted that position filled yesterday... a week ago." I say, "I told you I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Rob, but I just want to see what opportunities are out there first-hand." He makes a face and then says, "Yeah, well I already told you I got them to hold off until next week." Muttering, "Thanks," I sort of lean against him, and mumble, "I really like the haircut,"

and we both snicker again and then break-out laughing.

No more is said about the job. Instead we talk about how we think we did on the last two final exams. We already know the results of the first two. I got a 92 on one and an 88 on the other. In both cases Rob's scores were two points lower, so we have some work to do next year if were gonna reach an overall 3.0 by the end of senior year. I go, "Let's not talk about college grades again until at least the end of August." Rob agrees and we talk about Dodger and how his birthday is coming up in a week or so. It was two years ago, the first week of work, that Dodger turned eighteen and quit the job to join the Army. Prior to his birthday he needed a parent's approval which he wasn't gonna get. Huh, I just had a weird thought: Sonny's birthday is next month too.

I know both Rob and I feel really good about this morning and we have a really sweet kiss when he leaves a little before noon. He's going to stop someplace for lunch before starting his first day of work this summer. I offered to make lunch for him but he didn't want me going to the trouble. Good thing too because after checking I could only offer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Whatever, I can't help thinking again, 'Damn, this was a good morning!' I'm in the bathroom looking at my latest haircut and combing it over in front and then trying it with the bangs flipped up. Jeez, I look pretty good either way... ha ha ha. Well, I do! What can I say? Rob did a fairly good job of haircutting. Damn, good for him; he's actually not a bad barber at all.

After chilling-out for a little while I get antsy and, what the fuck, I go online to do some Googling about getting a job. There are big job-boards like 'Career Builder' but I feel more comfortable, since I'm only looking for a summer job and not building a career, using an employment agency.

There's certainly a lot of them. Oh yeah, I'll need a resume too. Fuck, that'll be a pain in the ass! Hmmm, it says here I'll likely need to pay the employment agency a percentage of what I earn in consideration of them finding me a summer job. Well that blows! Some companies pay the fee but not usually for summer jobs... hmmm. Reading on I see that the employment agency does all the initial interviewing and screening. Then, since they have an interest in placing people in jobs, they do a good job of coaching you for a specific company and/or position. So they'll help, but for a fee, huh...

Hmmm, the more I think about it, why should I go through all the trouble to maybe make an extra $50 a week. That's if I even get a job offer, and just imagine the humiliation it'll be if I don't. Let me think about this.

If I make a list of pluses for working at Dickers & Son Inc., a job I've already been accepted for, and then a list of pluses for the long-shot possibility of getting hired by a company I know nothing about, one that may or may not pay a little more, it's obvious as hell that I should take Rob's offer. It's only because of that fucking 'talk' of mine with Rob that I'm even considering subjecting myself to the arduous task of tackling the job market, and for a summer job no less. Makes no fucking sense whatsoever! Sitting at my desk I dwell on that for ten-minutes and then says to myself, 'Self, be grateful for Rob's offer and thank him for it as you accept it.

And the hell with losing face. Who cares anyway?' Nothing else makes any sense. I've had some experience working in that office, I know the owner's administration assistant, Dottie-something-or-other, and I'm in tight with the son of Dickers & son! So what's my fucking problem? Taking out my cellphone I text Rob: 'Sorry to bother you at work, Rob, but I've finally come to my senses. I don't need five more days or five more minutes to decide...

I want to work for you this summer. Thank you for offering me the job.

Love you, Dylan.' There, that's settled! Yipes, that's a load off my mind...

and I feel so good now! Damn, why'd I make such a production out of that? I'm walking around the apartment realizing it's not even one day into my summer break and I'm already bored hanging around the condo. Well, after this morning being so awesome and all and then doing nothing, of course that would suck by comparison. I guess I'm waiting to hear back from Rob. Hey, what if someone in Human Services ignored Rob, or maybe in spite of him, has already filled that opening? Balls! It'll be my fault for dicking around and not making up my mind sooner. I shouldn't have told Rob I was looking for a better offer in the first fucking place. Dammit.

I don't get a text back from Rob until two o'clock. A ping from my cellphone and as I think, 'It's about fuckin' time', I grab my phone and see, 'You're hired, boyfriend. See you tonight. Love you, Rob.' Well okay then! Damn, I feel relieved. Let's see: four weeks in June, July, and August. That's a total of twelve-weeks at $500 a week. Hmm, that's six-thousand dollars any way you cut it, plus maybe they'll be some overtime at time-and-a-half.

That's pretty good, although I did make more last summer. Chub's getting five-dollars an hour more than me! I figure-out in my head that that's eighty-five dollars a week time twelve weeks. Oh Jesus! Chub will make over a thousand dollars more than me during the summer. Good for Chubby though! Even I knew that twenty-dollars an hour I got paid last year for the special shitty-project-jobs was too much per hour. Rob said it was because no one wanted to do those jobs.

Fuck it all! I'm happy and lucky to have a good job. I'll be working in air-conditioned comfort all summer instead of sweating my balls off on the grass-cutting crew. Lying on the sofa with my John Sanford book, holding the book open to my next page, I'm thinking again about Dodger coming home in four or five days. I can hardly wait to see him. Rob says Dodger is a different person now; different than he was when he joined the Army except Rob can't articulate what exactly the differences are. I'll see for myself. And I'm seriously disappointed Connor's not coming home with Dodger. He's spending the summer in Texas with his lover, and I can understand that. I mean he has no home here anyway. He's been invited to move in with the Dickers or here with Mom and me. It's understandable he'd feel super-awkward doing that. I know I would if the circumstances were reversed. Connor has no idea where his mother is or if she's even alive. That's so terrible for him. My heart breaks for Connor but at least he'll be at Merrimack in the fall. He has the money for tuition now, so the Army was good for him in that regard.

The number one thing I'm grateful for about the Army boys is somehow both of them avoided going to a foreign land to battle evil. They both became instructors at Fort Sam Houston, Texas. Medic instructors, so now when one of us guys gets hammered and falls off a bar stool we'll have a medic to take care of our injuries.

Interrupting my musings Mom comes rushing through the front door, saying, "Hi, Darling! I'm late again. Tris and I never leave enough time too get ready for work." I go, "Hi Mom! Was the party at the guys' club fun last might?" She says, "It was wonderful. You should have seen... oh, honey, I've gotta get ready for work. I'll tell you all about it later," and she hurries into her bedroom. Ha, she's awesome! I'm reading my book when, twenty-minutes later, Mom come out of her bedroom wearing a bathrobe with a towel around her head. What a bright smile she gives me as she says, "Honey, it's wonderful to walk out of my bedroom and see your handsome face," and she leans over to hugs me as I partially sit-up on the sofa. She smells like lavender bath gel, or maybe it's her shampoo. She kisses my cheek and gives me one last tight squeeze before letting go, as I'm mumbling, "It's awesome seeing you too, Mom." While making a cup of coffee Mom's telling me about the party last night and then about a woman named Barbara who's retiring from Citizen Bank after thirty-five years.

I'm not sure if this Barbara was at the party or if she's someone from the restaurant, but I'm like, "It sounds like a good time, and..." but Mom's on to another story as she puts Equal in her coffee. Everything is sweetness and energy and smiles with my Mom and she's just the nicest person I know.

Never a negative word about anything or anyone. All positives, full of compliments, humble and caring. It's exhausting actually to get caught-up in her whirlwind.

Taking her coffee mug with her as she walks toward her bedroom leaving me holding my book with a grin on my face. She says over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, I'm sorry but I need to get dressed. Tris will be here any minute now." Except for Sundays this is a very familiar scenario around three-thirty from Monday to Saturday. Mom's always running-late but always manages to get wherever she needs to be on-time. For me it'd be nerve-racking cutting it so close every day.

A little later I'm in the kitchen looking for something to eat when Tris comes in. "Oh, hi, Dylan. Don't you look wonderful! Nice haircut, honey! You always look so neat and clean-cut." I go, "Thanks, Tris. Robby gave me the

haircut this morning." She comes over for a little hug, smelling good, and

saying, "You boys are so talented. My Jeffrey is always bragging about how

talented his brother, Dylan, is with barbering. Did you teach Robby?" I go, "Mostly he taught himself." Mom calls out from the bedroom, "I'm almost ready, Tris."

Tris goes, "No problem, Dee," and then asks me, "Did your Mom tell you about poor old Mrs. Walters. You remember her, don't you? She used to live in the condo three units down from our place with her husband who sadly passed away last March." I sort of shrug and she goes, "Well we heard from someone at the party last night that she moved to an assisted-living facility in Natick. Anyway her dog had to be put to sleep and here's the thing: she called me last week weeping and I didn't even realize she'd moved. Your Mom and I are going to try getting her mind off, Tinker, that's the name of that little dog she adored, by taking her out to lunch someday next week." I go, "Oh, that's nice," and she says, "Didn't you used to walk Tinker for her when you were in middle school?" I shrug mumbling, "Um, I'm not sure," and she goes, "Cute little thing, but snippy. Tinker didn't care for anyone petting him except Mrs. Walters." Mom comes out of the bedroom looking like she's going to another party. She exclaims "Oh Lord, Tris, look at the time," and then to me, "Dylan, sweetheart, sorry we need to run off on you like this." Then to Tris she says, "Oh my goodness don't we have the most handsome sons, Tris?" I smile, mumbling, "Jeez, um, thanks, Mom, I get my looks from you." She waves at me, "It was your Daddy who had the good looks, dear, and the smarts."

They both hustle down the steps to where the Volvo's parked in the garage.

I hear them laughing about something, but that's normal behavior for those

two. Huh, it's eerily quiet in here now. Tired of reading I get up off the sofa feeling restless so I text Chubby to see what he's up to, but of course my text doesn't get delivered. His cellphone is 'off' or not charged...

again. I should have asked Tris if Chubby was home except I didn't want to interrupt her monologue.

Wearing flimsy sweatpants and sweatshirt I put on sneakers and go out the front door and up the steps to Chubby's condo. It's directly above ours.

The front door is locked so instead of getting the spare key from the mailbox I ring the bell. Chubby opens the door wearing only boxer shorts. He goes, "C'mon in, bro," and as I step inside Chub says, "Hey, nice haircut, Dylan. Where'd you get it?" My hand goes to my hair, "Oh, thanks. Um, Robby gave me this haircut this morning. You like it, huh?" Chub goes, "Yeah, but how did he get so proficient at haircutting?" I shrug, "He has a knack for it plus he watched a bunch of YouTube videos about haircutting. He wanted to be able to give me good haircuts." Chub says, "Conscientious boy that boyfriend of yours. C'mon in my bedroom while I get dressed. You look good, Dylan." Chub always compliments me and it's so nice to hear even though I don't always deserve the compliments.

Walking back to his bedroom I gawk at Chubby's physique. He has a tough-looking slim and hairless swarthy colored body with muscular biceps that budge when he moves his arms. Hard-looking muscles in his lower legs too. When you see Chubby fully dressed you think he looks like a slim nicely built guy when in fact he's got a hard body and he's very strong. I saw that last year when we were all lifting weights three or four times a week. I go, "Nice bod, bro," and he says, "Oh yeah?" and he does a weight-lifter's pose, then says, "I just got out of the shower two minutes ago." I nod, "Ya wanna grab something to eat some place? I missed lunch." He goes, "Absolutely, I just got out of bed before taking the shower." Just got out of bed... it's almost five? I follow him into his bedroom, which as usual is a disaster area.

Negotiating my way around the many things on the floor I plop down on his desk chair, saying, "Dodger's coming home next week. Maybe as early as Tuesday." Chub looks around and then grabs a button-up-the-front shirt from a chair, saying, "Yeah I know, but your friend, Connor, is staying in Texas.

That's the last I heard anyway." I go, "Yeah, but he'll be at Merrimack in the fall. I'm sure of that." Chub steps into a pair of jeans he picked-up off the floor and, while grinning at me, he goes, "Ain't it great not having any dumb-fuck classes to go to?" I'm like, "Yep. Um, when do you start your job?" Without bothering with socks, Chub steps into low-cut sneakers, saying, "Monday is my first day. You wouldn't have an extra pocket protector would you?" and he laughs. I go, "Ha ha, no, I'm using all of mine." He snickers and asks, "Are ya gonna work for Rob?" I shake my head, "No, not directly for him, but at his company. I'll be working in the Human Resources department I think." Chub goes, "What's that, dealing with the employees and hiring and firing. That sort of thing?" I shrug, "Rob said it's something about the company needing each employee to sign a new contract or something.

I don't really know but it's office work and not cutting lawns that turn my sneakers green." Chub's dressed and as he pats my back, he says, "Good deal, Dylan. We've both been promoted to inside jobs."

We take the Jeep to a Beef and Ale house on route 9. It's only seven-or-eight-miles from our condos in the town of Northboro, near an entrance to the Mass Pike. I say, "They're taking all the toll booths down on the Mass Pike. That's what I read in the paper anyway." Chub mutters," I'll believe it

when I see it." I go, "Yeah, transponders only for electronic toll collecting." We've had that device on the Jeep for a couple of years now but not everyone does. I'm not sure how not having toll booths is going to work for people who don't have a transponder. Inside the Beef & Ale House we sit at the bar, already holding our driver's license out for the lady bartender.

She gives us the evil eye before looking at our licenses. Chubby's got a big smile on his face as he goes, "How are you this fine Friday afternoon, um, Janet?"

Janet's got big hair that's an unlikely shade of red, and big boobs too.

So big they're threatening to burst out of her blouse as her name tag precariously dangles from the tip of the left one. Janet cracks the gum she's chewing, and says, "I'm doing good, honey, how you doing today?" Chub goes, "How'd you know my nickname?" She nods her head grinning at Chub, and then drops his license in front of him, saying, "You feature yourself a hot-shit, huh Jeffrey?" Another crack of the gum she's chewing without closing her mouth. I can see the small wad of gum bouncing around on her very white molars. Chub says, "Yeah, that my other nickname... hot-shit. Mom hung that nickname on me when I was only a baby." Janet says, "Diaper related nickname, no doubt." Chub goes, "Well look at you girl! You and your quick repartee!"

She cracks her gum four times while adjusting her bra that surely is reinforced with steel.

Chub goes, "Anyway, Janet, my brother and I will have mugs of draft beer and I see you have Yuengling Larger on tap so we'll go with that." She looks at my license as, "Crack, crack," goes her gum. She ignores Chubby and, looking at my license, goes, "Well damn, Mr. Dylan Newman, that's by far the best photo on a license I've ever seen in my life." Then real quick she asks, "What's your birth date?" I tell her and she drops my license on the bar in front of me and cracks her gum before saying to me, "Brothers with different last names, huh?" I shrug and say, "Yep, very suspicious. Um, and we'll have roast beef sandwiches with the beers if ya don't mind." She gives us a 'look' because she doesn't believe we're twenty-one, but Chub and I are used to that by now. Janet saunters down to the beer taps and takes two iced mugs from a freezer unit and pours our beers saying over her shoulder to a young-looking guy standing next to a station with steam rising off a stainless steel counter, "Two roast beefs, Markie!" He gets rolls and begins carving thin slices off the medium-rare roast beef from a large roast.

Chubby smirks at me while nodding his head in Janet's direction, mumbling, "How long ya think it'll be before Janet's name tag ends up in one of our beers?" He means her tit of course. I snicker because he has a funny way of saying things, and he's so fucking mischievously cute I can hardly stand it. His bright brown eyes sparkle as he chuckles at his own wit. Chub's always fun to be with. Janet sets the mugs down in from of us on round cardboard coasters. Frozen condensation on the outside of the mugs slide down to pool on the coaster. "There ya go boys. Markie-boy will bring your sandwiches." Chub pushes a twenty-dollar-bill towards her and she pats the back of his hand, saying, "I'll run a tab for you boys." She's wearing a ring on every finger including her thumb. Off she goes, "Crack, crack, crack," to bellow out at two guys who just walked through the door, "Frankie! Where the hell ya been all week?"

I glance over and see two guys in their late twenties wearing construction worker outfits smiling at her as the guy she called Frankie says, "Yo Janet, wassup? Danny's freakin 'cah' blew a tire. Cost 'foddy' dollars for ro ad service." The other guy, Danny, says, "And we been working in Reveah' all week anyway." Boston accents-on-steroids with these two. They sit two stool away from us and Janet says, "Beers?" and the first guy, Frankie, says, "Nah, give me a gin and 'tawic'." Janet goes, "How 'bout you, Danny?" and he goes, "Give me a beer and a 'shoota'." Janet says, "Gin and tonic and a beer with a shooter of Jack coming up." Chubby quietly says, "Oh, they've been working in 'Reveah', heh heh." It's Revere obviously; they refuse to pronounced the letter 'R' for some reason. And ya know, Chub and I were born and raised here but we speak American English. How do guys like these two get those harsh sounding accents? It's kinda grating after a while.

Fortunately, Danny and Frankie aren't much for talking. They're pretty good drinkers though as they flash down their drinks. Danny taps his shot glass on the bar saying to his buddy, "We had a wicked 'hahd' day so we deserve another round," and they order another round like three-minutes after their first. Chub mugs a 'face' at me mouthing the word, 'hahd' as a skinny kid

with a name tag, Markie, wearing a T-shirt drops two paper plates with our roast beef sandwiches in front of Chub and me. He has skinny arms with knobby elbows and large hands. Markie reaches behind him and then drops a jar of horseradish between us. There's bubbles of perspiration on Markie's forehead and his long hair is sticking to it. Mark isn't cute but he youthful looking with lots of light-brown hair that I'd love to give a good haircut to.

Markie's perspiration reminds me of a time at the ballpark when a hotdog vender was serving hotdogs to a man with his young son sitting in front of Chub and me. The vender had two rolls in one hand and was getting hotdogs out of a steaming container to put in the rolls. It was like ninety-degrees that day and the vendor was sweating so hard every two-seconds a big drop of sweat would drop off the tip of his nose. A drop landed on one of the hotdogs he was spreading mustard on. The guy buying the hotdogs wasn't watching the vender but his eight or nine year old son was watching and the face he made as the drop of sweat hit the mustard was priceless. I was grinning like mad watching the kid examining the hotdog his dad passed to him... was this the one with the big drop of vendor sweat? Our roast beef sandwiches look awesome, but is there some Markie sweat mixed in with the au jus? A drop or two of his sweat wouldn't bother me. The beef is very tender and delicious with or without some Markie sweat. Chub puts horseradish on his but I don't because that's mostly what you taste: burning-hot horseradish. I prefer the taste of the beef. Excellent sandwich although expensive. The beer is almost too cold to drink, so neither of us have any complaints. We have two beers and two sandwiches, which is what we always have at this Beer & Ale House. Finishing his second sandwich Chub grins at me, saying, "Hope we haven't ruined dinner tonight by eating lunch so late." I go, "Yeah, we could get in trouble." Ha! That's us acknowledging that much of our lives we've decided when we feel like eating and, of course, there's no one we could get in trouble with. We mostly took care of ourselves then, as well as now.

It's almost six o'clock on a Friday. My first full day of summer break is over and... now for my first night of summer break. I ask Chubby as we walk to the Jeep, "What are you doing tonight, bro?" He says, "Oh fuck! I meant to text you but my phone isn't charged. Me, Chris, and Matt are thinking about going to see that new James Bond flick. Do you wanna come?" I tell him how Rob and I already have tickets and he goes, "Holy shit. You mean it might be sold out?" I shrug, "It is the first night, Chub." He never plans ahead. As Chubby drives us back home I use my cellphone to check on available seating and then tell Chub. "The nine o'clock showing is sold-out but there are still open seats for the midnight show. Chub goes, "Huh." If his cellphone was charged I could have reserved some seats for him. Chub says, "Well, no sweat. That'll give the boys and me time for a couple of beers and maybe shoot a little pool before the show." I say, "Reserve your seats though, Chub." He won't.

Reserved seats for the movies is a relatively new thing around here. I like buying the tickets in advance so I don't need to stand in line, but the reserve seat thing I don't like at all. People can buy reserved tickets right next to my seats and I don't like sitting next to strangers. There's many reasons for that, some of which should be obvious. If seats aren't reserved you can choose seats away from others. That's my deal and then there's the awkwardness of someone sitting in your reserved seats. What, you're going to start a fight over the seats? It's a pain-in-the-ass basically.

Well, so far it's been a very good first day of summer break and we've got almost four months of this ahead of us, so bring it on...

to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com

donnymumford@outlook.com

========================================================

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

========================================================

Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous free story site. Thank you very much.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html