Dylans Junior Year Summer

DYLAN'S SUMMER FOLLOWING HIS JUNIOR COLLEGE YEAR

Chapter 29

By Donny Mumford

Hearing Robby say, "Up and at 'em, babe," my eyes immediately pop-open and I'm once again back into what I believe is the world of reality. I could be wrong about that though; perhaps the dream world I was in is actually reality, and this is a dream... or nightmare, depending on one's point of view. And, so what if it is? There's nothing to be done about it except go along with the program.

In my awake-state there's chemical and electrical activities in my brain that immediately amps-up significantly making me instantaneously aware of certain things, to wit: I slept at Rob's again last night, this is Monday morning the first day of July and there's a Fourth of July holiday this week, and happily there's nothing significant 'pending' in my life that I need to panic about... and so I can feel calm. Things eventually worked out okay last Saturday night at that gay club and we all got home safely, and then Chubby had my back Sunday morning taking care of almost the entire Sunday brunch himself, and I then after brunch I had the common sense to sleep most of the day so I was in good shape when Robby picked me up for dinner and this latest sleep-over. All those things occurred to me within two-seconds of waking-up. Ha, how 'bout our fucking brains, huh? There's nothing for me to worry about, so I mutter, "G'morning, Rob, how'd you sleep, boss?"

Rob's standing naked next to the bed grinning at me while pulling the covers down as my brain is flashing more information into my consciousness about Rob's and my awesome lover's sex last night. Yes, that's still giving me this warm feeling all over. And, wow, this is shaping-up as a very good summer! Rob goes, "I had a fabulous night sleep, especially with you next to me." Nodding my head, I go, "Are you saying you knew I was sleeping next to you while you were sleeping?" He pulls on my arm, saying, "That question is too difficult to think about right now. C'mon, get up, we need to get ready for work."

Uh huh, all of a sudden my alert state of mind lets me down as I realize a downer: Oh fuck, I need a shower which means that God-awful hall bathroom again. See, all consciousness isn't of a positive nature 'cause shit-storms are part of reality too. Rob's dried cum is all over my ass and the back of my legs from last night and I simply can't go to work with that! I was too tired to care about it then, so now I again see the mistake of putting things off. If I just forced a little gumption out of myself last night and took a five-minute shower the dried-cum problem would be behind me instead of in front of me. Balls to procrastination!

Letting Rob pull me up, I step off the warm bed and into the chill of the air-conditioned bedroom, mumbling, "I need a shower." He goes, "You should have join me in the shower last night. " I'm grumpy now, "Yeah, yeah, I know." Fuck, I'm not as perky as I thought I was when I woke-up. Adjusting my boxer shorts, I'm like, "Are you done with the bathroom?" Smirking, he asks, "You mean the hall bathroom?" and I snort out a laugh, muttering, "Is there another bathroom?" He goes, "You could use the bathroom off my parent's bedroom." I go, "Not funny, Robby!"

He rubs my head, "Go ahead and take your shower while I decide what to wear for work today. I'll be in to shave and whatever else in a few minutes." Nodding my head, resigned to my fate, I get my toiletry kit and clean underwear and then casually peek out the bedroom door. Hmmm, there's no one in sight but I can hear faintly someone talking. It's impossible to tell if the unintelligible talking is coming from the master bedroom or the kitchen because one is directly over the other. Taking a chance that it's coming from the kitchen I open the door and takes four large steps to the bathroom door and then I'm safely inside. "Click," goes the lock on the door and then I realize Rob will be coming in, so, "Click," goes the lock when I unlock it. Fuck!

After getting the shower running I sit on the toilet and take a good piss but there's nothing in way of number-two happening, not that I expected that there would be. I mostly need to be home for that. In the shower, I admit this fucking hall bath at least has a very good shower even though it is in a bathtub. The water pressure is awesome and so is the extra shower head; a handheld one. I like Rob's bath gel too: Dove MEN +CARE, plus the same brand shampoo. I'll probably buy both the next time I need bath gel and shampoo. Ha, I'd bet the ranch, if I had one, that Rob's Mom bought these toiletry items for him. He's babied like that by his Mom. I'll probably be in-charge ofbabying him with stuff like buying bath gel and shampoo and every-other-fucking-thing when we're married. No problem though. Actually, I've never felt more positive about Rob and I eventually getting married. I've felt like this way for the past month-or-so.

While drying myself Rob comes in, saying with a grin, "I half expected the door to be locked." I go, "Don't be absurd, why would I lock the door?" He chuckles, "I heard the lock 'click' twice." I snort out another laugh, muttering, "I'm busted."

Standing next to each other at the sink we brush our teeth. Done with that Rob wets his face and then spreads shaving cream. He passes me the can of shaving cream without saying anything. Glancing at the short blond whiskers on my chin and the sparse ones on my upper lip I decide that they are not cool-looking at all! I'm happy to shave them and restore my baby-face that so many people have commented on over the years. Staring at myself, and then glancing at Rob's reflection in the mirror I think for the fiftieth time that I much prefer his 'looks' over mine. While spreading shaving cream on just those two areas, my upper lip and my chin, I say, "Okay, I'm admitting before I even ask that it's gonna be a creepy question, Rob, but I'm seriously interested in your answer. Um, do people tell you how good-looking you are all the time?" He goes, "No! I'm usually with you so people don't notice me; they're too busy being astonished at how beautiful you are." I go, "I'm fucking serious, Rob!" He washes off remnants of shaving cream and, grabbing a towel, he mutters, "So am I, babe."

It takes me thirty-seconds to shave and, even though I'm less than satisfied with Rob's cursory reply to my question, I realize that trying to pursue a serious response from him could be misinterpreted as me fishing for compliments, which he's all too willing to give. It's almost impossible to self-evaluate your own 'looks' with any degree of accuracy anyway; me or Rob. Yeah, I'm sure of that considering that a lot of men go out-of-their-way to fuck themselves-up, making themselves look as goofy as possible while thinking, 'This is a cool look'. Duh, no it isn't, dummy! I'm referring to things like neck beards, shaved heads with a long beard, tattooed faces or necks, and piercings that make one's skin crawl, plus those other misguided fools who rock nineteen-eighties hairstyles and think that's cool. It wasn't even cool in the eighties, asshole! Oh my, why do things like that upset me?

Oh hell, I could go on and on with ways guys fuck-up their appearance but Rob interrupts my musing, saying, "Bring your beautiful face to the bedroom with you, Dylan, we need to get moving. It's getting late." Walking back to the bedroom, I'm like, "Goddammit, Rob, using the word 'beautiful' demeans me! Men are not beautiful and it pisses me off when you say it." He looks at me, holding his arm out toward the bedroom door as an invitation for me to go in before him, mumbling, "Well then I apologize, Dylan, I'll never use that word again."

Going into the bedroom I decide to drop this subject entirely because I'm losing ground with every comment I make. I think Bill Belichick's catch-all phrase is appropriate, 'It is what it is'. That's a way of not saying anything at all, actually. Putting on my socks I decide to move on as if that conversation never even happened, by saying, "Wednesday is the Fourth of July, Rob. Are your parents having a swimming pool cook-out again this year?" He shakes his head, "No, not this year. The McGregers across the street are doing the cook-out. They've invited neighborhood families. I'll try to avoid that affair as much as possible. It'll be primarily older married folks"

I've got a light blue dress shirt buttoned-up the front and I'm pulling on the slacks of my blue suit, asking, "What'll you do on the 'fourth' if you don't go to that cookout?" He looks at me grinning, "I'll go to whichever cookout you go to." I chuckle, "Well, that's awesome! Mom's fiancé is having a cook-out at his condo so that's where we'll be going." Rob's buttoning his shirt, muttering, "Good to have that settled, huh?" He stops and looks at my suit jacket, asking, "Where'd you get this suit, Dylan? It must have cost a couple of thousand dollars. Maybe more. This designer is famous." Oh shit. That's right! This is the suit Willie bought me two-years ago. I don't think I've worm it since then until I started wearing suits earlier to work this summer. No one noticed it before. I frown, "Oh, it was given to me by my friend. Second hand, ya know?" He goes, "That Willie what's-his-name guy?" I nod, "Yeah, a long time ago. C'mon, you said we're late."

That was embarrassing, kinda. I hope no one else notices it's an expensive suit. I wouldn't have noticed myself! I'm back thinking about the Fourth and ya know, Rob's never had to give a shit about things like what to do on the Fourth of July. As a last resort, he's always been able to hook-up with whatever his family decides. And in earlier years he actually wanted to attend those cookouts because neighborhood kids were there too, and when he was older he could also skip out of his family cook-out to take a better invitation from a teammate in high school. Not now though because we're out of high school and the neighborhood kids are grown and don't do much family cook-out stuff anymore. We've never done it, Chub and me. It's like our Moms have always worked on holidays because they needed the time-and-a-half pay, so Chub and I never knew what to do to celebrate the 'fourth', or any holidays for that matter with both Moms jumping at the opportunity to work on all the holidays. We managed though. Chubby always thought of something, usually getting us in trouble, but it was fun just the same.

Combing his hair, Rob goes, "What do you think about me letting my hair grow out?" I ask, "How long are you talking about?" He shrugs, "Not real long. I was thinking I'd go with the basic hairstyle I had before meeting you." I go, "Hey!" as he chuckles, adding, "I'm thinking of a professional 'look' for the business world. That's planning pretty far ahead I guess, but.... I mean, next year at this time I'll be a member of the full-time working-class-world... for real!"

I don't know, but somehow that seems insulting to me! I go, "No shit, and so will I! Are you inferring this trendy haircut you've given Danny and me is fine for us, but not for you?" He squeezes my chin with his thumb and forefinger, going, "For now, yes, you cute thing you!" And then, more casually, he adds, "It's summer, babe, and you look fucking awesome with that haircut. Anyway, why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?" I go, "I'm not! Just saying..." He goes, "Next summer is going to be a totally different scenario for all of us," and he quickly adds, "As you know as well as I do."

Putting a cool tie under the collar of my dress shirt collar, I'm thinking, 'Jeez, did I just think, 'cool tie? Ha, not too long ago 'cool tie' wouldn't even enter my mind.' Tucking in the tails of his dress shirt, Rob mutters, "I'm merely trying to think like a junior executive. I wanna try different 'looks' over the next couple of months. But, please, please, please don't make a big deal out of that because it's a very, very minor detail for now... a tiny little detail. Okay?" Fuck tiny details!

Tying my tie, I go, "You don't realize when you're doing it, but you definitely get condescending with me at times. I forgive you because you don't know any better, but I'm just saying it's another tiny detail you might want to work on." He goes, "That hurt my feelings, Dylan. If I act condescending towards you, then you're right... I need to seriously work hard at not doing that because I swear to God I don't feel there's anything important in this world that I'm better at than you. Me being condensing to you is very fucking unintentional on my part. I do not think I know it all! Not about anything, quite the contrary! I've got nothing to be condensing about." I mutter, "My mistake, Robert. Good answer, by the way! Jesus, you've certainly got your shit together lately! I can't catch you in anything, can I?" He laughs and says, "Let's concentrate on being a team catching others doing, um, shit like being condescending." I nod, "Yeah, a team, you and me. Watch out world!"

Pushing the knot tightly up against my neck so Robby can't find fault with it this time. A tight tie-knot is only a temporary inconvenience anyway as I'll be loosening it as soon as I get to work. So now we're both dressed for work excepts for our suit coats; his nice suit coat and my two-thousand-dollar one... ha ha! That damn Willie! We're standing together looking in the bureau's mirror, still fucking with our hair. I don't have much hair to comb except the hair in front. The purple dye is out of my bangs and they look better up and over to the side a little; better than they did before Mrs. Parks instructed Hayden how to cut them. Making sure the shorts hairs on top of my head are all combed forward I can't see any way Rob will find a fucking thing to correct.

As we're putting on our suit jackets, he mumbles, "Let me fuss over you a little bit, Dylan." I stand here rolling my eyes and keeping my smart-ass thoughts to myself. Rob checks me out and smiles, "You are so fucking perfect this morning!" And then he can't resist pulling my suit jacket a little bit forward, saying, "The suit collar of your twenty-thousand-dollar suit coat was sagging in back and not against the back of your shirt collar." I grin, trying not to laugh at him, and he grins back, muttering, "Brat." He kissing me, saying, "I love you! Let's get some breakfast."

Carrying my backpack by its straps and my clothes from yesterday in my other hand with my toiletry kit under my arm, I follow Rob downstairs. In the kitchen, we find his Mom cracking eggs into a frying pan, saying, "I heard you boys coming downstairs so... in go the fried eggs. Is over-easy okay this morning, boys?" I look at Rob hoping he'll say something like, 'Sounds great, Mom. Thanks!' but instead he ignores his Mom's question and mumbles, "Did Dad leave for work already?" She goes, "Five minutes ago, but oh my! You two handsome young gentlemen are looking good this morning!" Rob sarcastically mutters, "Jesus, Mom, that doesn't make either of us feel awkward at all!" She makes a 'face' and Rob asks, "What are we having with the eggs?" He pours coffee and then looks up, asking me, "Don't you want to run your clothes and stuff out to the pickup?" I'm like, "Oh, sure," and as I go out the door, his Mom says, "To answer your question, I've fried some breakfast link sausages to go with the eggs and there's English muffins in the toaster. If you want I can..." but I don't hear the rest of what she can do for her young Prince, 'if he wants', because the door closes behind me. Jeez, a good breakfast every morning, and prepared for me no less. That's awesome! Something totally new to me for sure!

After dropping my stuff in the pickup I'm back inside with the breakfast progressing nicely, and without any additional awkward moments. After eating quickly, with a kiss on the cheek and a quick 'Thanks, Mom," from Rob, he goes, "Let's go, babe." I'm like, "Thank you very much, Mrs. Dickers; the breakfast was great!" and we're out the back door on our way to work. It's a very hot day and hotter still because of the suits we're wearing but I'm getting used to that by now. Rob asks me for details about the Fourth of July cook-out at my future step-father's condo, but I don't know any details except to be there one o'clock on Wednesday. Mom is staying with her boyfriend Tuesday night to help prepare the food Wednesday morning. Any excuse will do to sleep over I suppose.

At the traffic circle in downtown Framingham, Rob goes, "Oh, before I forget. Tomorrow night Danny and I want to watch the basketball games at the Natick complex. Do you wanna come?" I shrug, and he goes, "We know guys from our high school baseball team who formed a team and we wanna see how good they are. Root them on and support them, ya know?" I go, "Tomorrow night, huh?' That's my Tuesday night date with Marty West, so I go, "Jeez, Robby, I've been at the Natick courts three-times already this summer so I'll pass on tomorrow night. Give you a night without me hanging all over you." He frowns, "You don't hang all over me although you're welcome to do that if you want." And that's the end of that conversation.

Huh, I thought he'd try persuading me to go. I've actually been trying to come up with an excuse to not hangout with our little gay group tomorrow night. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes things have a way of working out okay on their own. Probably for Danny and Rob too, now that I think about it. I just gave them an open invitation for buddy-sex. That's unless Hayden screws it up for them. In either case I'm okay with it. Rob and I have had the best sex ever recently, plus I'm not the least bit worried about Danny stealing Rob from me. For one thing Danny doesn't have any interest in doing that, and for another thing he couldn't do it even if he did have an interest, which he doesn't. Ha ha...

Rob drops me off at the normal spot in the back parking lot. We bump fists and then, as he drives off, I decide to have a smoke before I start the work-day. I mean, get real, it's forty-five minutes before the work-day even begins. Rob likes to get an early start but I don't see the benefit of that, certainly not in my position anyway. Also, it occurs to me that as much as I enjoy almost everything about spending the night with Rob, there are a couple of draw-backs. For one I need to eat lunch in the cafeteria the next day, which is expensive. I also really do miss having dinner with Chubby. Mostly though sleeping over has been good. I still can't say I'm completely comfortable, but more so now than I used to be. The benefits outweigh the negatives and I'll leave it at that for now.

At the closest picnic table I drop my backpack, take off my suit jacket and lie it over my backpack, and then loosen my tie before lighting a cigarette. A cigarette after coffee and a good breakfast like Mrs. D. prepares makes for one of the best smokes of the day. When I'm halfway through my nicotine 'fix' a small group of female employees come out the back door for a smoke and while they're chattering up a storm they drift over towards me. I'm unconsciously backing away as one of them, an older lady with a hideous long ponytail of stark-white hair and buck-teeth, says to me, "Are you seriously the expert from our health care provider?" I go, 'Excuse me for mentioning this, Ms. Buck Teeth, but your white-hair ponytail is offensive-looking but yet you're flaunting it in everyone's face. No-one likes your horse-tail of white hair!'

No, I don't say that. I smile, saying, "No, I'm not an employee of the health care provider. Dickers & Son hired me to simply be available to explain and answer any questions relating to the new benefit package and how it's improved over the previously one." She lights a long cigarette, exhales like a man through her nose and mouth at the same time, asking, "You're not still in high school, are you?"

My lip might have curled a little on its own, but before I can respond to that insult her pudgy friend goes, "Grace, you're not funny, you're crude! Why do you say things like that?" and then to me, "Ignore her, Dylan. My friend from Accounting, Rachael Snyder, told me you're a very intelligent and conscientious young man and you do a wonderful job of explaining the new benefits." I force a smile, "Thank you. Well, I better get to work." White-hair exhales a large expanse of smoke, saying, "I was just breaking your balls, kiddo. I'm sure you're very good at your job." I can't think of a response without the word 'cunt' being part of it, so I simply pick-up all my stuff and nod my head walking slowly to the back door.

Does she think she's cool, do ya think? There are bully females too I guess; not just male bullies. Women bullies are even more unfair when you think about it. I mean what can you say or do as a come-back when it's a female? Almost anything will get thrown back in your face as an inappropriate thing to say, or do, to a woman? Best to take the high road and let her think she's humorous and cool; cool as a big wet dog turd at the edge of someone's lawn.

My morning goes like it usually does, which is to say; it's okay. It's the repetitiveness of my job that I need to fight. I'm repeatedly reinforcing the concept to myself that it may be the hundredth time I've gone through this material, but it's the first time for each employee I interview. I need to remember that.

Later, meeting Rob for lunch in the cafeteria I'm disappointed to see he's with an older man wearing a dark suit with lots of dandruff on both shoulders. That's where my eyes are drawn as I try not gagging while Rob goes, "Dylan, meet Arnold Rothstein. He's a representative for Kramer Industries. They provide our company with quality earth-moving equipment rentals. Arnold, this is my good friend, Dylan Newman." We do a cursory hand-shake; his hand is very moist. As I'm rubbing my hand on my pants he nods at me, mumbling, "My pleasure," and then turns his back to me, saying to Rob, "There's nothing I can do about it. As I've told you, we need two machines from the generator set; the pumps and pipe layers. You guys fucked-up by not renewing the leases on time."

Pushing our trays down the cafeteria line, Rob's like, "I know you don't think the leases were renewed, and I'm not blaming you, but our records show the renewal papers were sent ten-days ago." Arnold says, "I called my girl from my motel this morning and she doesn't have that paperwork, Rob." There's an odd smell coming off Arnold. And what'd he just say? He made a phone-call to 'his girl'? What century is he working in? Arnold not only has ruined this lunch for me with his dandruff shoulders and off-putting odor, but he may have ruined a week's worth of lunches unless I can get his personage out of my head. I know this was a last-minute working-lunch for Rob or he would have warned me off. Now he glances back at me with a pained expression on his face, like, 'Sorry, Dylan!'

Hmmm, I need to eat so I force my mind to think of something pleasant, like a beautiful beach with a half-dozen cute eighteen-year-old naked boys grinning their cute grins. With that in mind I think maybe I'll try today's hot-meal special. It's a hot turkey sandwich made with hand-carved turkey and includes 'real' mashed potatoes, gravy, gray green-beans and coleslaw for $9.99. I added the word 'gray' to the string-beans because I just spotted then in the steaming tray and they haven't been green since an hour before going into a can sometime earlier this century, or the last one. Arnold and Rob get packaged ham-and-cheese sandwiches and bags of potato chips. Arnold has black coffee to go with his sandwich and Rob gets a fountain Coke. I never understood coffee with lunch.

Eating our lunch at a table for four, Rob and Arnold struggle to be civil as they go back and forth about a missing lease while I'm realizing the hand-carved turkey, while it may have been hand-carved, was not carved from a turkey. It was carved from a formed 'log' of processed turkey consisting of different parts of that bird squeezed together with a binder of some kind, and quite a bit of the mysterious binder too. The texture is not like carved breast meat from a turkey like you might have on Thanksgiving; not even close. Also, not to be negative, but the so-called 'real' mashed potatoes are actually 'real' dried or dehydrated potatoes often called 'instant mashed potatoes'. They're kinda like 'real' mashed potatoes except not exactly. Same for the canned turkey gravy; it's sort of like turkey gravy but not really. Most cafeteria foods suck!

I eat very little and then, covering most of my uneaten lunch with a paper napkin, as if the napkin just casually fell like that, I excuse myself after ten-minute. Rob's giving me another pained-apologetic 'look' so I try smiling nicely and then make a face at Rob, one that Arnold can't see trying to convey to Rob my sympathies about his lunch getting fucked-up by Arnold. Rob, the poor guy, already has to deal with that Arnold person and he doesn't need to worry about me.

When dumping my lunch in the trash I'm picturing in my head a ten-dollar-bill being dumped in there. I might as well have walked right to the trash bin and thrown a crumbled-up ten-dollar-bill in there. I save my Coke though, setting it down at the vending machines, I can get two six-ounce bags of Lays potato chips for a dollar-fifty each; no, that's not a rip-off at all! Taking the chips and my Coke I go to my 'office' to eat and drink my 'lunch' in private. The only thing I've found sort of okay in the cafeteria so far is the over-priced burgers so I'll stick with burgers when I need to buy my lunch at work.

Done my first bag of chips I get a cellphone call. It's Marty West checking that we're still on for a dinner date at the Beef & Ale House tomorrow night. He didn't say, 'Dinner and sex date' but that's what he intends and I'm like ninety-percent sure I'll be okay with that too. Variety is the only thing missing this summer for me... sex-wise I mean. That and real dominant sex. The sex this summer for me has been awesome but confined almost exclusively to Rob and occasionally, very occasionally, Danny. As for Hayden, he and I did it so long ago I can't remember when it was. Dodger was awesome the three-or-four-times we had sex but he's in California now and except for toilet sex at the gay club with Tomas, that's been the totality of my side-or-buddy-sex this entire summer. It's variety I'm mostly missing this summer and variety used to be a main part of my side-sex.

Anyway, that's where I hope Marty comes in. We confirm he'll pick me up at my place at six-thirty sharp. He wants to make it an early night because he needs to drive into Boston early on the 'fourth' to buy lobsters, which are part of the Fourth of July cookout he's attending. Fancy cookout! He says, "Oh, before I let you go, Dylan, is there any word from your, um, friend about when he might give me that cool haircut?" Oh jeez, I forgot about that. I say, "Oh yeah, um, let me get back to you, Marty. It'll probably be some time sometime this week if that's okay." He mumbles, "Yeah, that'd be great except is there any way he could do it tonight or tomorrow night so I'm rocking that hairdo on the Fourth?" I go, "Um, no, I don't think so. I'll ask him though and tell you tonight." Huh, Marty had a fresh buzz cut the first time I saw him, which was like six weeks ago, so I suppose he really does need a haircut. Damn though, I'd really like to cut it for him myself except Rob's taken over as the home-haircut-king around here I guess.

After lunch, I'm during an interview with an anorexic woman from the Computer Department when I get a cellphone call from Rob. I politely say to the young women interviewee, "Please excuse me for just a few seconds." Taking the call, I find it's Rob apologizing for having Arnold with him at lunch, and as I thought, it was unavoidable situation. A last second thing: Rob was leaving his office to meet me and his boss catches him in the corridor asking him to take this guy Arnold to lunch and straighten out an equipment lease problem. He handed Rob the folder, so Rob goes back to his office to read it and then two minutes later Arnold showed up. I reassure him three-times it's alright and that I totally understand shit happens. Ya know, Rob actually has an unpleasant job at times. I recall him telling me that problems are directed to him that Management prefers not to deal with, like maybe it's beneath them but still must be dealt with. It's Rob's job to frustrate and wear-out the trouble-maker, or better yet straighten-out the problem.

After Rob's call, I get through the afternoon interviews without a single complication. Later I'm smoking a cigarette waiting for Rob after work in the back parking lot. I'm thinking through tomorrow night's date with Marty and, as often happens, I'm second-guessing myself. Why am I even going out with him? Oh, yeah, 'sexual variety'. And what the hell, Marty's basically a good guy and I did 'stiff' him a little bit on our first date by not coming across with sex. He was nice about it though and also kind of interesting during that date. Yeah, ironically it was at the basketball courts where Rob will be tomorrow night.

Interestingly I noticed some hints during our sexless date that Marty just might have a hidden sort of dominance underneath his polite exterior. Most of the time he's borderline over-accommodating to me, but there have been a few instances, particularly during our short make-out that night, that I detected his propensity to take-charge and lead in sexual matters. I'm assuming from that he's likely the dominant type and the one who runs things sexually. Hell, he may even be a true 'dominant' as opposed to the kinda-sweet-shadow-dominance that I get from Danny during sex. I'm sure Danny's is more a routine procedure, the way he always does foreplay with everyone. He doesn't think of it as being dominant though; I'm almost positive of that. And then there's the fact that Seth and Marty were boyfriends for a while, which I find additionally intriguing about Marty.

Just recently I was thinking about the general topic of dominant-sex-partners and decided that me experiencing a heavy dominant sexual relationship like I've experienced in the past is highly unlikely to ever happen again. Well, in the first place I'm not currently involved with a for-real dominant side-sex partner. Ryan was the last one, and I stupidly kinda sent him packing. Yeah, and I'm partially to blame for the lack of any kind of really dominant sex-partner of late; meaning the last fucking year or even longer! It's partially because I don't put up with as much shit as I used to, which is counterproductive. Even though I'm sure I'd find it awesomely spectacular being truly submissive to a very dominant sex-partner I've developed a tighter range of when I consider someone taking their dominant behavior too far. Ya see though, I really can't be the one determining what's 'too far'. Not if I truly want to experience a deep submissive trance during sex.

The concept of being dominated during sex still rings all my bells although not for any kind of long-range relationship. Once or twice would be good but then I need to loosen-up and be willing to give in more, you know, the way I used to if I expect it to work. I need to give a dominant partner leeway to do his thing, that's if I want the whole old-time sub/dom experience. Tomas, at the gay club, was dominant but in much the same way Danny and Rob are dominant, which is to say he had a considerate and sort of sweet manner about his dominance. Not at all like the dominance I experienced from the likes of 'early' Willie, or the boys in New York City, or Ray Reeve or Ryan; unfortunately, they're all in the past for one reason or another. Anyway, that's all 'in the past' was my conclusion the last time I gave this topic some thought and it's my conclusion now too. The hope Marty has what it takes to replicate any of those other guys is ridiculous. Him being a true-dominant would be totally out of character from what I expect Marty to be like. I've thought some about it but ultimately reject reading anything into Marty's and my first meeting in the Men's Room when he basically showed me his big dick. He's shown an exemplary pleasant, polite, and even charming demeanor since then.

Tired of speculating and reminiscing about true sub/dom sex, I look over where Rob will be coming for me and, not surprisingly, here he comes in his pickup right on time. Stepping on my cigarette butt, I get in the truck and he goes, "Hi, babe!' and we bump fists. He says, "First thing we need to do, Dylan, is stop at the tailors to get the pants for your tan khaki suit. Remember, I dropped the pants off there last week?" I go, "Yeah, but you mean your tan khaki Brooks Brothers suit." He grins, "It isn't mine anymore. It's yours now. It doesn't fit me so you've got a hand-me-down suit from your current boyfriend as well as one from your old boyfriend." I don't care for the 'old boyfriend reference, and it wasn't a hand-me-down suit like I told him, but decide to laugh it off and ignore it, saying, "Instead of you handing it down to Dodger like when you guys were growing up, you hand-it-down to your boyfriend." Rob says, "Fuck, babe, that was my parents who did the handing-down to Dodger and nowadays he would be handing his stuff down to me since he's taller than both of us."

The 'tailor' Rob's referring to works at the same dry cleaners Danny works part-time at, although we know Danny's not working today. The store isn't far from work as its located on Rob's side of town, which makes sense for him. I take my stuff to a dry cleaners closer to my house but Rob claimed the tailor at his place is excellent. He double-parks across from the dry cleaners thereby blocking a lane of traffic, and not seeming to care. Taking his time, he hands me the receipt for the pants plus a twenty-dollar bill which I give back to him, saying, "Like you said, they're my pants now, Robby. Why should you pay." He shrugs and takes back his twenty. Rob hasn't been nearly as tight with a buck since Dodger gave him the thousand-dollars. I get out and run across the four-lane main street dodging oncoming cars.

With the pants in a plastic-cover I take my life in my hands running back across the street noticing that drivers, when finally able to drive around Rob's doubled-parked pickup, are cursing and red faced. When I safely get in the pickup Rob grins, saying, "I think I've pissed off some people by blocking this lane... heh heh. They're blowing their horns at me." No shit! He's lucky no one has fired a gun at him yet, but he doesn't seem to care about it. I can't believe it doesn't bother him! Jesus, I'd be a nervous-fucking-wreck sitting in an idling car blocking a lane of traffic. Rob doesn't immediately pull away either. He asks, "Did you try the pants on?" I go, "No! I hurried because you're blocking traffic!" He mumbles, "Fuck 'em," and then he pulls into traffic cutting someone off as he says, "Yeah well, there really wasn't any need for you to try the pants on anyway, now that I think about it. The tailor just took in the baggy legs. Funny how styles change, huh?" I go, "Uh huh," as I look past Rob at a driver in a van is giving us the finger and mouthing 'asshole' as he passes by.

During the rest of the ride home Rob continues in his very good mood telling me how he was able to produce a receipt for the lease-extension and thereby leaving Arnold standing there with his dick in his hand and nothing else to say. It was signed by dandruff-shoulder's so-called 'girl' thereby sending Arnold off to find the equipment he needs someplace other than Dickers & Son. And then he's like, "Dylan, don't say 'no' but think about staying with me again tonight." I go, "What? Your parents will have a fit! I just had Sunday dinner and spent the night at you house." He smiles. "You know my parents like when you stay over, babe. C'mon, say you'll stay with me tonight too." I was thinking earlier it's been over three-weeks since I took the bus to work and I kinda miss teasing my bus buddy, Ryan. Yeah but what would I rather do? Tease Ryan or sleep with Rob? Hmmm? Robby says, "When you stay with me overnight everything goes better for me at home... and at work. I'm in such a good mood after sleeping with you it makes things at work that normally are headaches seem trivial. And when you sleep alone at home, like you said before, you still don't even get to see your Mom."

Approaching the condo, I go, "Okay, Rob, um, thanks for asking me to stay another night and of course I'd like to, but first you need to promise you'll mention it to your parents. I need to be positive it's alright with them." He goes, "I will. I promise!" God, he makes me feel so special. I ask, "If they say okay, should I bring my clothes and stuff for work to baseball practice tonight?" He goes, "Absolutely!" Damn, I really do like staying with him.

Looking over at Robby's handsomely cute face and his hot body I get the warmest feeling! Sure he's HOT, but I mean I get the warmest feeling from how much he likes and loves me. That's hard to resist! Rob goes, "I'll be back to pick you up at six-thirty for baseball practice. Bring whatever you'll need for work Tuesday, okay, babe?" Nodding, I go, "Yes, but don't forget to check with your parents." I'm thinking that Danny drove me everywhere when Rob was recuperating from the operation, and now Rob's driving me everywhere and how lucky I am to have friends who graciously are willing to do that.

Rob parks at the curb below the condos and then looks at me smiling, as he says, "Thanks for saying 'yes', Dylan. I don't think you know how much it means to me that you trust me enough to stay with me knowing I'll make certain everything will be comfortable for you." Oh God, I think he's so awesome! I quietly say, "Of course I trust you, Rob, but you know it's never totally comfortable for me. That's mostly my fault though and not any of your family's fault. I'll get better at this." He smiles at me and rubs my shoulder, murmuring, "I know," and I go, "I just don't want to be a nuisance to your parents." He laughs and says, "Trust me, you're not a nuisance to anybody!" I mumble thanks as this awesome feeling comes over me... Rob's so, I don't know, so together, such a perfect boyfriend. He's the perfect partner to have because he actually can take care of anything. Rob pushes my head affectionately saying, "Awesome, that's settled then!" and I nod, saying, "Don't forget, check with you parents just to be sure. Um, I'll be here at the curb waiting, and thank you, Rob. Seriously, thank you for driving me all over the place too. I really appreciate it!" He says, "Well, you couldn't be more welcome, Dylan. I like doing it for you." We grin at each other and then I lean over for a quick kiss on his lips, saying again, "Thank you again, and I love you!"

As I'm getting out of the pickup, Rob goes, "So, we're going to your Mom's boyfriends for the Fourth, right?" Standing next to the pickup with the passenger's door open, I go, "Yes, I'll try to get some details about that. And I wanna say, um, Rob, I feel guilty about you driving me to and from work. Anyway, I actually want to take the bus Thursday and Friday mornings." He says, "You must know I don't mind driving you... I just told you I love doing it!!" I nod, "Yes, you're extremely generous like that, but..." He says, "Oh, and you won't be taking the bus both days! No way, babe. You're staying with me at least one more night this week." Hesitating, because I'd like to do that although I really don't want to intrude on the Dickers for a third night this week. All I do finally is shrug, mumbling, "Um, certainly not Wednesday night, that would be three-nights in a row, Rob!" He goes, "Thursday night then."

Man oh man, he's persistent and I'd like to climb right back into the pickup and make-out with him forever. He gives my dick constant quivers of pleasure. I'm like, "Are you positive that would be alright with your parents?" He points at me, "How many times are you going to ask me that? Will you stop with the parents' concerns already! Jeez! But yeah, Thursday night, that's a date, boyfriend. Saturday night we're going into Boston for that dinner-date I promised you too, so don't forget that. Let's see... tonight and Thursday night, at the very least, you'll be with me, right?" He's irresistible!

Closing the passenger's door, I grin, "Yeah, I guess. Oh hell, Rob, actually I love the idea of doing that... you're too good to me though." He says, "I love you, Dylan Newman," and he takes advantage of a break in the traffic to pull out into the flow without pissing anybody off for once. I wave in case he's looking in the rearview mirror and then with a sigh hit the crossing-street button on the traffic light and wait for the 'walk' sign before crossing the street and then climbing the steps and letting myself into the silent condo.

I decide I'll take a shower after baseball practice tonight so all I need to do now is put some of my clothes from yesterday in the hamper and hang up the rest. Taking the suit jacket for the khaki suit from the closet, I hang it with the altered suit-pants. I'm definitely gonna be wearing that cool suit to work tomorrow! After matching the suit with another light blue dress shirt that is recently back from the cleaners, I hang a tie over the pants on a hanger and then quickly change out of my work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt, which is basically my uniform for the summer. Uniform? Hmmm yeah, if drunken J.J. was right about his uncle saying I've made the team, I'll be getting a game uniform at Friday's practice. No practice Wednesday obviously. Gee, it'll be my first team-uniform at the advanced age of twenty-one. Ha ha! Well a team-uniform is something new to me while guys like Danny and Rob have had probably fifteen different sports' uniforms from little league, summer leagues, middle and high school, and now college, so it's probably no big deal to them.

Of immediate concern, however is dinner for Chubby and me tonight. He took care of brunch Sunday so I wanna do a good dinner for him tonight. Then I stop and sit on the bed reveling in how Robby seemingly wants me with him all the time. I can't explain how good that makes me feel; how good he makes me feel. There's been this change in Rob, and Chubby noticed it too, where Rob's seemingly relaxed and very comfortable in his own skin. I know what that idiom means but it sounds weird... his own skin. Who else's skin would he feel comfortable in? Maybe mine... ha ha.

Picturing Robby in my head makes me squeeze my dick wishing he were here with me on this bed right now. Rob, he's my 'man'. That's a dumb phrase, but he is my 'man'. Shaking my head and getting off the bed, I guess I should call to make sure Chub will even be home for dinner. I call and while listening to his cellphone ringing I'm holding my breath hoping he has his phone with him today, and then I hear, "Dylan! My best and most beloved human on planet earth!" Damn, I can never match Chub's enthusiasm so I don't try because it would should phony. Instead I say, "You always make me feel special, Chub. You have a way of seeming excited to hear from me. I'm just as excited to hear your voice too, but I can't...." He goes, "I know that, Dylan. Just hearing your voice makes me smile." I go, "Gee, thanks. Chub, um, are you gonna be home for dinner tonight? I want to prepare it if you are." He says, "I'll be leaving work for home in fifteen minutes, bro. What are we having?" Chubby starts work at the Insurance Agency a half-hour later than I start work so he always gets home later than me. I go, "I'm not sure what we're having but come down to my place whenever you're ready." He goes, "Hey, how about that haircut you said you'd get Robby to do for me?" Fuck! I forgot to ask Robby about Chubby's haircut too. First Marty's and now Chub's. I wonder if that means anything? I say, "I'll call Rob when he gets home. See ya soon, Chub."

We 'hang up', which is an old phrase for when people used to have land-lines and they actually did hang-up the piece of the phone they talked into. I wonder what that was called? You can see those old phones in the movies and at your Grandmother's house. Smoking a cigarette on the balcony I wait ten-minutes to give Robby a chance to get home before I call to ask about Chub's haircut. When I call and ask, he goes, "Sure! Ask Jeff to meet us tonight after practice at the pool house. And, guess what came in the mail today?" I go, "What?" and he goes, "Just in time. It's an Andis-brand Masters barber clippers, which is the top pick of professional barbers who do a lot of fade haircuts. I ordered it online after doing yours and Danny's haircuts." I go, "What about my clippers?" He says, "They're very useful for taking off the bulk of hair, but then the lighter Andis clippers make for much easier blending, which is called fading, by the way, plus they have a lever to adjust from zero to number one." He's getting awfully knowledgeable! I mutter, "That's cool, Rob, and I already knew it's called a 'fade' haircut." He says, "Yes, and the latest style of the 'fade' is called and 'under-cut'." What that? I mumble, "Oh yeah, um, I'll see you six-thirty at the curb."

Huh! Robby's really taking off with his barbering. Under-cut? Fuck it, if I'm not careful he'll leave me in the dust and I'll be an out-of-date-barber like so many barbers already are in North Andover. That's if I can go by the haircuts I see around campus on my fellow Merrimack students the last three years. I'm not as familiar with Framingham barbers but I assume they're much like the North Andover ones. I mean, I've seen guys in the neighborhood with what I call 'Supercuts regular haircuts' for the past ten-years. Barbers get complacent and out-of-date as far as the latest hair styles boys and young men want. Actually, the local barbers probably don't give a shit about it being aware that a large percentage of boys and young men don't give a shit about it either. It's all about the cool guys, the ones who do give a shit though. I'd guess seventy-to-eighty percent of guys just get nondescript haircuts at a local barber. Haircuts that are mostly boring: not too long with a part on the left side and usually squared-off at the neck in back. That leaves maybe twenty-to-twenty-five percent who get different haircuts like buzz cuts or extra short haircuts and now this latest style. Hey, be boring, see if I care!

I'm sure Robby doesn't think that deeply about haircutting, certainly not to the extend I do, and frankly I never anticipated him taking to haircutting like he has. He certainly wasn't interested in it at all back in freshman year when he, me, and Ryan tried giving each other haircuts. That didn't turn-out so good due to lack of interest on Rob's part mostly. The hell with haircuts though, I need to think about dinner tonight.

Looking in the freezer I right away see two double-thick pork chops... bingo! Okay they'll be good defrosted and grilled over high heat to keep them tender and juicy. In the vegetable drawer, there's fresh Romaine lettuce so I'll have a Caesar salad and there are always potatoes in the pantry. I'll start right now making scalloped potatoes. That's takes a lot of extra trouble but I want a really nice dinner for Chub tonight. Hey, next time I'm at the store I'm getting lamb chops! After that leg of lamb dinner at the Dickers I'm finally going to give lamb chops a try.

Caesar salad is simply crisp Romaine lettuce cut-up with Ken's Caesar salad dressing, croutons, that I'll make myself, and grated parmesan cheese. The pork chops defrost in the defrost cycle of the microwave, so they're no problem, but on second thought scallop potatoes take more time than I have tonight what with Rob picking me up at six-thirty. Okay, I microwave the potatoes and cut them into cubes to fry with onion and diced green peppers.

I'm done the potatoes thinking, 'What's next?' when Chubby uses his key to let himself in. We do a quick hug and I feel his hair is still damp after his shower. Glancing at his hair I get a twinge in my gut thinking most of his hair will be cut off by Rob tonight. Fuck! Me not being Chubby's barber I push outta my mind and start flipping the potatoes so they get crisp on all sides. I tell Chub he needs to meet Rob and me at the pool house around seven-thirty for his haircut. He rubs my head, saying, "I'm stupidly excited about getting this cool haircut you have, Dylan. If I wait much longer I'll be the last one on the block to rock that cut." We go out to the balcony to put the defrosted pork chops on the six-hundred-degree grill. I had all three burners going full-force for ten-minutes and the grille is as hot as it gets.

I'm like, "You've never been a 'follower' Chub, so why are you so hot to get this haircut?" He goes, "Because you have it obviously," and I go, "That's not it. I've had insane haircuts before that you didn't copy." He goes, "Yeah, I know, but this particular one really is cool, plus Jay James came to work this morning saying he had an appointment at Misarios' Barber Salon in town for a haircut and he mentioned seeing professional guys in sports with a new cool hairdo. I do not want that bird-dog getting this style first or it'll look like I'm copying him, instead of you."

Shaking my head, I'm amazed how this hairstyle is catching on. Ryan was ahead of his time without knowing it. And all the stink I put out to him about his barbering last summer! Fuck, and a year later the fad is spreading. I'm not saying that Ryan's, or Rob's for that matter, is totally like the fad. That reminds me. "Um, Chub, my haircut is only a take-off on the latest fade haircut; the authentic fade haircuts have much longer hair on top, plus Rob's got new clippers to do it shorter on the sides and back." Chub says, "Good, but ya better turn over those chops, bro, and yeah I know about the longer hair on top. I'm telling Rob not to cut any hair off the top of my fucking head. I'm with ya there, bro!"

Turning the chops over, I go, "Two minutes on this side will do it, Chub." We eat at the kitchen bar with me glancing at Chub's hair and picturing a fade haircut on him. Jeez, as if he needs to be any cooler-looking than he already is. I'm really jealous about him having someone else cut his hair too! I can't say anything though because if I tried to do the haircut he wants I'd fuck it up. Dammit! And, omigod, I hope Rob doesn't screw-up Chub's hair! Jeez, where'd that negative thought come from? Maybe I'm thinking Rob's never used those new clippers he just told me about. There's always something for me to worry about in this world!

Chub goes, "Wow, Dylan, this is one scrumptious dinner! Thanks, brother." We're both chewing-off the last of the tender meat from the bones, which is something you can do in your own home that you probably shouldn't do at a restaurant. I mutter, "Thanks, Chub. It did turn out pretty good." We clean-up the kitchen and then wash our face and hands which got a little greasy from chewing on the bones like a couple of dogs. On his way out Chub tells me he'll see Rob and me around seven-thirty. Of course, that could be eight-thirty just as easily with Chubby.

Dinner with my brother always makes me feel reassured that everything is okay with my world. That's kinda crazy because we didn't talk about anything especially important. I guess it's the fact we didn't need to discuss anything important that gives me a 'safe' feeling. Everything with us is fine! After dinner Chub left pretty much right away because he has something he needs to do and I have just enough time to brush my teeth, throw underwear and socks in a satchel for tomorrow, grab the khaki suit and the shirt and tie on hangers. What else do I need? Oh, my loafers and...? Oh to hell with it, I'll use Rob's stuff for whatever I've forgotten. I put on the baseball cap Danny gave me, grab my baseball glove and batting gloves, and somehow carry everything down to the curb. I get there just as Rob's pulling up. Whew!

He has his usual smile for me making me smile back and say, "Thanks for picking me up, Rob. Did you check with your parents about me staying over again?" He nods, "Yes, I did although I knew it wasn't necessary. My Mom was like, 'You don't need to ask. Dylan can stay any time, Robert.''" He gets out to help me with all my stuff. We get things settled in the pickup's backseat and he excitedly says, "Hey, I'll bet today's the day you make the team," and as Rob drives us away I tell him what J.J. told me at the gay club. Rob looks excited, "Really? But wasn't J.J. roaring drunk?" I shrug, "Yeah, but he sounded serious when telling me about his uncle, Coach Benintendi. He made me promise not to say anything to anyone about it." Rob smirks, "And you didn't until just now." I snicker, "Yeah, don't tell him I told you, ha ha. Actually, Rob, I'm thinking what he said is true though; anyway I'm hoping!" We bump fist and then I'm thinking, 'What the hell am I so happy about? I've already used up all my baseball miracles.'

At the high school Rob parks and changes into his baseball cleats. Huh, I'll need to buy a pair of those too! Oh hell, I guess I am excited about being on the team... I might as well admit it. Walking from the parking lot we see Danny and Hayden talking with three other players. Well I should say Danny's talking and the others are listening and then they all break-out laughing. Hayden sees us and touches Danny's arm. He looks over and then bumps fist with the other three guys and both he and Hayden jog over to us. As usual Hayden and Danny exchange little hugs with us, saying the usual rhetorical "Wassup?" Danny adding, "You missed a helluva good time Saturday night, Rob. Right Dylan?" I mumble, "Yeah, it was a blast-and-a-half," saying it without a lot of enthusiasm.

There's some general discussion about Saturday night and then Rob goes, "Well, you guys owe Dylan some money for the ride home, right? Saturday night's taxi ride home." Danny goes, "Oh fuck, yeah," and to me, "I meant to give you the money Sunday morning except I was still fucked-up and forgot. Why didn't you say something?" and he takes twenty-five dollars from his pocket, a twenty-and-five-dollar-bills. He had it right in his pocket for this explicit reason. I mutter, "Thanks," as Hayden's frowning and saying, "Wait a minute. That's too much. There were four of us dividing up the seventy-five dollars!" Danny grins at him and then pulls the brim of Hayden's baseball cap down to his eyebrows, saying, "That was to get us to Framingham and then the meter went on. Right, Dylan?" I nod and shrug, not intending to press the matter. The taxi was my idea, not there's. Hayden looks at me, muttering, "You could have driven, Dylan, and saved all of us the money," but he takes three-ten-dollar-bills from his pocket, "Let me have the 'five' from what Danny just gave you." I give it to him, saying, "Here ya go, cheapie," with Hayden muttering, "Cheapie my ass, and where's that little fucker J.J.? He needs to pay too." Looks like Hayden's taking over the cheapskate role previously owned by my boyfriend.

Whistles start blowing and as I mutter, "Thanks for chipping-in guys," we start running to our groups where attendance is taken. Looking around I spot J.J., who looks over at me smirking and silently mouthing, 'Keep your yap shut about Saturday night, Newman.' What a piece of work he is! And nothing even happened between us! I give him the finger and incongruously he smiles and does a little chuckle. Coach Benintendi's boisterous voice brings the groups together, coaches, pitchers, relievers, infielders, outfielders and utility players.

When all us players and coaches are in a semi-circle around Coach Benintendi, he goes, "No practice Wednesday obviously and then this year's uniforms are gonna be assigned Friday. I don't wanna hear any shit like I heard last year about you wanting a special number. Take the uniform that fits you. The coaches guessed between small, medium, or large for all of you so whatever the number on it is... that's your number, period!" After some grumbling, he goes, "Quiet down! There's a logo for Standard Oil on the left sleeve since they're our sponsor this year and we're grateful to them." I'm wondering if our names will be on the back. That'd be cool although I'm trying to look blasé like most of the guys.

He turns and tells the potbelly coach, "Coach Felton, if you'd be so kind as to show the team this year's uniform." Coach Felton takes a uniform from a box and holds-up a top and pants. It's very cool-looking, similar to a New York Yankees' uniform with thin black stripes top to bottom on an off-white background. He goes, "As you can see there's 'STANDARD OIL TIGERS' on the front with the small number of the player, and then a larger player's number on the back along with your name." Oh yeah, our names on the back! I pretend I couldn't care less as I'm smelling the back of my wrist staring at the cool uniform. They must be kinda expensive.

Coach goes on, "Like I said, the coaches guessed your size. Let's see. Yeah, this is a medium size for 'Swanson'". It has the number '7' so that's your number, Swanson." That's a pretty cool number. I look over at a nice-looking guy not too far from me who goes, "That's mine. Awesome!" and the guy next to him, whispers, "Jesus Christ, Dale, don't be so queer. That's about the tenth uniform you've had in your life." Swanson goes, "You're the queer, Mark, and everyone knows it." Coach Benintendi looks over but can't hear what they're saying. J.J., who is standing near Swanson, gives me a frowning look for some reason. I shrug back at him.

Some final comments from Coach Benintendi about the game, our first game which is on Saturday afternoon at one o'clock, and then he goes, "We've still got Friday to practice after which you'll get your uniform." He's done with what he apparently wanted to say as he abruptly turns and walks away. There's silence for two-seconds and then our coach calls us over and reads off the name of the guys who will start practice in the outfield, and then he goes, "The rest of you take your regular infield position. Um, except you, Monday. Bring your shadow and come over here for a minute." Danny nods his head at me and I follow him at a trot. The Coach says, "Monday, you did good getting Newman acclimated. Nice job, son, but Coach Benintendi wants him on the team so you're no longer his coach, or whatever it is you were. Um, Newman, get your ass over to Coach Wells with the other utility players. And you, Monday, get your ass to second base." Jesus, all of these coaches could use some generational sensitivity training, or something. Their social skills are pathetic.

I run over to a short stubby man in his thirties who is talking to four players, one of whom is J.J. When I run up to Coach, he goes, "Who are you?" and J.J. says, "That's Newman, Coach." The coach takes a crumpled paper from his back pocket and looks at it nodding his head muttering, "Oh yeah, the big shot from Braintree." Looking at me, he asks, "You gonna be reliable coming all the way from Braintree every day? Don't they have a team there?" J.J. goes, "Coach, he was a star at Braintree High three years ago. He lives in Framingham now." The Coach hits my chest with his forefinger, asking me, "Are you such a big shot you've got Benintendi as your spokesman, Newman?" I go, "No, Coach," and I glare at J.J. Coach says, "Well, we're glad to have you on the bench with us. We're gonna take batting practice first today so," and he looks at his crumbled piece of paper, "Um, Morgan, you're in the cage first." Morgan, a tall thin kid with a full beard, jogs to the bat rack as Coach turns to J.J., saying, "You fill Newman in on what's what."

The skinny kid, Morgan, gets a bat as J.J. says to me, "Let's go, Newman, follow me." Rolling my eyes, I follow him over near the bat rack. He goes, "Coach obviously needs me to take you under my wing a little. It's different being a utility player than a starter, obviously. We do everything with the team at practice and pre-game but then game day we sit on the bench and stay ready to get in the game at a moment's notice." As he talks I'm watching the guy in the batting cage crunch the first two pitches over the fence. J.J. say, "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you." Oh brother!

Taking a deep breath, I look at him and he explains that our utility players include a bullpen catcher, who is the guy batting now, and a backup catcher who is on the bench with us." He points, "That guy, the one biting his nails is the back-up catcher." The nail-biter looks more the normal size for a catcher as he leans against the batting cage and tenaciously bites his fingernails. Maybe he's as nervous as I am. J.J. says, "And then you and I are backups for infield or outfield. That guy over there at the batting cage, the one holding his hat, the blond guy with the grumpy look on his face is Toby Cranston. He's the first outfield replacement. He thinks he should be a starting outfielder so that's why the grumpy look. He can't play the infield worth a shit, although he's also the back-up first baseman. You're primarily the second-base backup while I'm shortstop and third-base because I've got the arm strength to make the throws from there and you don't." I'm like, "If that Toby guy's disgruntled and isn't a good back-up first-baseman, why does Coach have him on the team" He goes, "Because Cranston can hit the shit outta the ball, that's why. He's primarily a pinch hitter." I go, "Oh." He says, "That tall kid in left field is our regular first basemen. He's just fucking around in the outfield now in the off chance two outfielders get hurt." Yeah, whatever...

He goes on to tell me things I already know about baseball and then puts a finger in the neck of my T-shirt and pulling it to get my attention, saying, "Another thing, and this isn't up for discussion, after practice you're coming home with me so I can piss on your naked body in the bathtub and then I'll fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Don't even try pretending that doesn't interest the hell out of you." I laugh out loud. Couldn't help it! It struck me as so funny. I go, "Dream on and, by the way, you owe me twenty-five-bucks for the ride home Saturday night. Hayden and Danny already paid me." Her goes, "Why'd you laugh just then?" I go, "Because I'm not going with you after practice and you're not pissing on me and you're not fucking me." He goes, "Jesus Christ! Keep your voice down!" And then he adds, "I've only got like three-dollars on me, so..." and Coach Wells yells, "J.J. you're on- deck." He gets called by his nickname, I assume, so the head honcho, Coach Benintendi, doesn't look around every time one of the coaches call for 'Benintendi'.

I walk over to the batting cage with J.J. as he whispers, "I'll get the money to you. More importantly you and me are going to get together one of these nights, Newman. You might as well resign yourself to that." I go, "You can't pull that boast off J.J." and he says, "Yeah, I know, heh heh, but in time I'm hoping you'll want to do it," and then he goes to the bat rack. J.J. doesn't hit any long-balls, but according to the batting coach behind the cage, he had three hits out of ten swings. He hit the ball hard every time and some made it through holes in the infield or over an infielder's head, but not real far. Still, three hits out of ten is a 300-batting-average... so what if he's a singles-hitter, 300 is a fucking good batting average.

I've got my batting gloves on, another gift from Danny, and I'm holding the bat Danny says is the right one for me to use. I'm ready for my turn, but not really. My knees are a little shaky watching pitches from one of the team's regular pitchers come firing in to home plate. I'm seriously trying my balls off not to show my nervousness as the Coach bellows, "NEWMAN!" I go, "Right here, Coach." He nods, "Oh, I didn't see you there. Hit a couple over the fences so these guys know it ain't no big deal and maybe they'll hit some themselves." Oh my God!

First pitch is a swing-and-miss by me, and I think, 'Oh no, please Dear God let me keep my fucking eyes on the ball!' Next pitch I don't swing at, and the third pitch I just want to make contact. Nothing special, a nice easy level swing and I hear the aluminum bat go, "Ping!" with the coach muttering, "Double down the left field line," and he writes something on a sheet on his clipboard. I concentrate my balls off on the next pitch wanting to do the easy swing again but with a better follow through this time, and "PING!" the ball flies high and far just making it over the fence in right field. Coach says, "Nice one, Newman." I'm ecstatic but my knees are still shaky. That's the only homer I hit for the next eight-swings but I get enough contact and another 'hit', according to the batting Coach.

Trying for casual I walk out of the batting cage carrying the bat on my shoulder. When passing me the next batter smacks my hand, mumbling, "Good hitting." I feel like I'm walking on air. I feel so wonderful I can hardly catch my breath. Maybe I'm a natural! And then I let reality in again, and think: Get a fucking grip, you lucky bastard you! Whoopee, though! J.J. was watching but wasn't impressed. He brings me back down to earth, muttering, "I expected you'd hit a couple more homers off these fucking lollypop batting-practice pitches." I'm so pleased at the one homer I did hit though I easily ignore J.J. The thing is, he still believes I'm that fictitious star player from Braintree that Danny made-up.

Coach Well says, "Newman, c'mere a second." I trot over wondering, 'what now?' He goes, "Hmmm, you're barely tall enough, but have you ever played first base?" I shrug, "Not really." He goes, "I want you at first base for like ten-minutes today. I need a dependable fielder at first. That fucking, Cranston, um, well he's an outfielder primarily and a good hitter. You play first-base for ten-minutes or so and then Cranston will take over for the last ten-minutes. Nothing against him but let me see what you've got to offer." Oh, that's just fucking great!

Swell, Coach Wells will be watching me the whole time. I'm sweating and then I go, "Coach, I don't have a first basemen's glove," and he calls, "Cranston, lend this guy your first basemen's mit." My heart sinks as Cranston comes over and hands me his glove, saying nicely, "I hope you have better luck with it than I do," and then he asks, "You want me to hold your glove for you?" I nod, "Thanks," and hand it to him. He seems like a good guy so I go, "Thanks, Toby." He starts to walk away, but stops and holds out his hand, saying, "Toby Cranston, nice to meet you." I shake his hand telling him my name, adding, "Nice to meet you too." He gives me a little grin and then wanders a few yards away to watch and wait his turn to play first base.

With Toby and the coach watching I catch everything within reason. Some of the throws are wild, but Toby wouldn't have caught them either except maybe he's catch the one that was over my head since he's two-or-three-inches taller than me. After it seems like a couple of hours instead of ten-minutes, Coach Wells says, "Okay, Newman, that's enough... um, Cranston, you're at first base now." I give Toby his glove back and he gives me mine as we both mutter, "Thanks," and then he pats my shoulder. Coach tells me, "Your footwork around the bag stinks, Newman, but then you've never played first-base before. I'll coach you up on that. Do ten-minutes at first-base each practice. Benny wants an emergency first-baseman and you're it." Unenthusiastically, I go, "Thanks, Coach." I guess I feel okay about it. The Coach seems like an okay guy... I'm assuming 'Benny' is Coach Benintendi.

Nothing especially horrible happens the remainder of practice for me at second base or in the outfield and then practice is over. No miracles but nothing humiliating happened either. We're walking to the cars with Rob saying to Danny, "I've got a haircut to do now for Dylan's brother, but if you and Hayden wanna stopover in forty-five-minutes-or-so we'll have a couple of beers and hangout in the pool house." Danny says, "Yeah, okay, I gotta run home for something anyway. We'll see you around eight o'clock, but I wanna get home kinda early tonight." They bump fists. Hayden bumps my arm, saying, "J.J. was just asking me where you got to?" I shrug, mumbling, "I've had all of him I need tonight." He grins, "Ha ha, I hear ya. See ya later, Dylan."

Rob and I talk a little about the practice during the short drive to his house as it's sinking in that, not only am I on the team, which everyone seems taking for granted, but I think I'll do okay. Not great, but I don't expect I'll make a total ass of myself. I feel pretty good about that. Maybe I should have tried-out for the high school team. Hmmm, woulda, coulda, shoulda...

At his house Rob and I carry some of my overnight stuff upstairs. Chubby's not at Rob's yet, but then it's only seven-fifteen. Rob and I wash-up in the pool house lavatory. He grins at me, asking, "Do you think we have time for a quickie in here, babe?" I go, "Surely you jest! My brother's due any minute now." He gives me a hug, saying, "I'm just kidding but, oh man, I can't wait to see you in the team uniform! The sexiest ballplayer on either team every game," and he messes my hair affectionately. " I get chills, grinning and mumbling "Ha, I don't know how sexy I'll look but I'm kinda anxious to put the uniform on." We hear a car door slam then and, stepping out of the bathroom I'll be dammed, it's Chubby and he's five-minutes early!

Chub's got his usual big smile, saying, "Hi guys!" We all do the obligatory quick one-arm hug with a pat on the back as Chub goes, "Jesus, boys, I think I'm a little bit nervous! Ha ha, yeah, a little bit nervous about the haircut. I've got a little pussy action going for me about this I guess. Yeah, it's just, I don't know, I guess because this is the first time in memory my fabulous brother isn't gonna be my barber. No offense intended, Rob." I go, "Rob will do an awesome haircut for you, Chub," and we do another hug, and just because I want to I kiss his cheek. Chub doesn't think anything about it, mumbling, "Thanks, bro," and then, "Are you feeling confident tonight, Rob?" Robby shrugs, "Sure I do, of course, Jeff."

They slap hands with Rob then taking over, saying, "Hop up on the stool here, Jeff." Chubby smirks at me, saying, "Oooh, a no-nonsense barber eh?" He gets on the stool and Rob puts the cape around Chub and then, without looking at me, he says, "Please don't stare at me the whole time I'm doing Jeff's haircut, Dylan." I mumble, "Why the fuck would I stare? Jesus!" Grumpily walking over, I look in the cooler seeing four cans of beer in tepid water. Glancing back, I see Rob's showing Chubby a pamphlet as they're discussing his haircut options. Just to be a pain-in-the-ass and probably because I'm a little jealous Chub's getting a haircut from Robby, I interrupt. "Yo Rob, we don't have any beer. What the fuck?" Rob ignores that as he's roughly combing through Chub's awesome hair, which is about two-inches-long on top and just touching his ears on the sides, and I did have every intention of watching closely too, that's until Rob said not to. Fuck!

I go, "Rob, did you hear me?" He picks up my professional clippers and attaches a third-inch guide to it. Just seeing that makes my balls tighten up, as Rob goes, "Yes, I heard you, babe. Get three cold beers from the house, please," and he turns on the clippers. What? He wants me to just walk in his house and get three beers from their refrigerator? What the fuck?

Rob pushes Chub's head forward exactly like he does to me and I watch transfixed as he runs the clippers all the way up the back of Chubby's head and then in one motions Rob flicks his wrist to the side slightly and a big glob of cut-loose brown hair lands on Chub's shoulder. There's almost a hairless trail running up Chubby head where the clippers just cut off all that hair. It looks bald compared to the rest of the longer hair back there. My mouth's open as Rob looks over, saying, "Beers, please, Dylan," and I shake my head, "Oh yeah, okay," and, with a stiffy in my pants I force myself to leave the pool house.

Oh fuck, I better not watch or my dumb fetish will get me too aroused. Damn, but Robby's become so confidently casual about his haircutting! He acts more like a professional barber than I do. Hell, even with all my experience I'm always a little concerned I might fuck-up some guy's hair. Rob apparently doesn't give that a thought.

Outside the pool house, standing under the arbor leading to the backyard, I'm like, 'I've gonna just walk in their house alone?' Through the window I see Rob's Mom moving in the kitchen, and then I don't see her but she left the kitchen light on. Damn! I go to the back door and hesitate and then knock. Fuck, I'm not just walking in! A few seconds later Mr. Dickers opens the door. His eyebrows go up like he's surprised as he goes, "Dylan? Why aren't you at practice with Robert?" I go, "Practice is over," and I turn to point at the pool house, as if maybe Mr. Dickers doesn't know where it's at, saying, "Rob's giving my brother a haircut in the pool house." Mr. Dickers grins slightly and nods, mumbling, "Oh," and I go, "He, um, wants me to get three beers, um, inside from the, ah, the refrigerator in the kitchen I guess." After frowning for a second, he steps back, saying, "Sure, c'mon in, son."

Puffing out my cheeks I walk in and while exhaling, mumble, "Thanks," and he goes, "You didn't really need to knock, ya know? The doors not locked." I mumble, "Oh yes, I needed to knock," and carefully walk past him as he chuckles a little, saying, "No actually, you don't." I point at the refrigerator, asking, "Okay, if I just...?" He's still chuckling, saying, "Yes, of course. I'm not sure there are three beers in there though." I open the door and take out the only two cans of beer in there, saying, "I don't really need one myself." He's walking through the kitchen carrying his after-dinner drink, saying, "In the cellar refrigerator, Dylan, there's plenty of beers. Get one for yourself from down there." He's out of sight in his office now, so I hold a can of cold beer to my forehead thinking, 'That went pretty well.'

After debating with myself about going to the basement, I decide to do it because Robby will just insist I do it if I go back with only two beers. I do not need to go through the knocking on the door routine again! Getting the third beer from the basement I go back to the pool house. Rob's already cut all the hair off the sides and back of Chubby's head. Well, more accurately he's cut it all down to a third-of-an-inch. Now he's using his new clippers to shave the hair off Chub's right side up about an inch over his ear. Those new clippers cut right down to the scalp leaving it as smooth as a baby's, um, belly.

Rob looks up as I hold a beer out to him, "Thanks, Dylan," and then he gives the beer to Chubby. He pulls the tab on the next can I give him and drinks three big swallows before putting the can on the bar behind him. Chubby holds up his hand to stop Rob from doing anything, saying, "I need a smoke with this beer. Take a break, Rob." Rob goes, "I'm just starting the fading, Jeff, and I'd rather not..." Chub doesn't care. Ignoring Rob's protest, he sits-up chugging some beer and then, while taking out a cigarette, tells us a joke he heard at work. I light a cigarette and Rob, realizing he can't control Chubby, lights a smoke himself.

We joke around while smoking and drinking with me glancing at Chub's unfinished haircut worried that Rob's not going to be able to pull it off. The clippers he bought are new for Rob and he's using the zero clipper-blade-setting that acts like a razor. It's removed the sideburn completely and up about an inch over Chub's ear. Instead of getting aroused by my fetish I'm concerned more than anything else. I'd hate it if this haircut doesn't turn out good. Chubby wouldn't think it's a big deal, but I would! Chub's way too cool to have a fucked-up home-haircut. Glancing at the side of Rob's face as he laughs at something Chubby said, I'm thinking, 'Do not fuck this up, Robert!'

Done his smoke, Rob puts his cigarette butt in his empty beer can and we hear a, "Sssss," as the cigarette butt goes out in the beer dregs. Chub sits back now and uses his can for his cigarette butt too. I take the cigarette butt-cans and as I'm walking over to drop the cans in the recycle bin I hear the clippers go back on. Taking a deep breath, I shoot some darts determined not to watch them.

The constant sound of clippers continues for almost ten-minutes before Rob's done. Putting the clippers on the bar behind him, Rob says, "Last chance, Jeff, do you want the hard-part or not?" Hard part? Oh yeah, I know what that is. Chub mutters, "Let me see that fuckin' pamphlet again." Rob hands it to him as he looks over at me, saying, "Dylan, I didn't tell you that the Andis company included twenty-versions of 'under-cut' style haircuts. This pamphlet came with the clippers." I come over and look over Chub's shoulder as he taps a picture with his finger, saying, "Yeah, this one Rob, and don't cut any off the top. Leave it long like this guy in the picture." Rob takes the pamphlet and puts it on the bar, saying, "Yeah, well I'm gonna be cutting some off the top, Jeff. Let me do the barbering, okay?"

Holy shit! Rob's so authoritative! I gotta admire that. Chub backs down off his previous definitive statement by saying, "Not too much though or I might need to give you a haircut." Rob looks over at me, saying sarcastically, "This is the thanks we get for giving free haircuts, huh Dylan?" I'm like, "What's that?" and Rob goes, "Threats. We get threatened by our clients." I go, "Oh yeah, Rob. No good turn goes unpunished!" Rob says to Chub, "Shhh, you, and let me worry about how to do this haircut."

Chub looks over at me for support, "Dylan, what do you think?" and I say, "Yeah well, I'd let Robby decide, Chub." Chub grins at me, mouthing silently, 'My brother says let Rob decide.' Holy shit! Did I just side with Rob over Chubby? I hope Rob doesn't let me down. That haircut better be perfect!

Rob's already started carefully using the zero clipper-setting to edge a straight part; a thin one-eight-inch-wide part on the left side of Chub's head from front to back. That's what a 'hard part' is. Professional barbers will use a straight razor to manually reinforce the 'hard' part of the, um, part. It does really looks cool when he's done though. I've completely come around to agreeing this is a super-cool-looking haircut. The hair below the part is only like a third-of-an-inch-long which is that's why the part needs to be shaved in. Done with that Rob picks up the thinning shears and I hold my breath with my lips parted. I give this the same attention as if I'm watching a drunk tiptoeing on a high-wire a hundred-feet-up without a net.

Rob closes the thinning shears a number of times near the crown of Chub's head making the familiar, to me anyhow, "Scrunch, scrunch," sounds as the scissors cut through Chub's dense hair. Then only a half-dozen "scrunch" sounds from the crown to the front of his head. There's a large glob of Chub's hair in the teeth of the comb and also the thinning shears. Rob pulls the bundle of cut hairs loose with his fingers and casually drops it the pile of Chub's hair that's already lying at the lap of the cape. He then uses regular scissors combing-up batches of Chub's hair and then cutting off half of it near the back but less and less gets cut off as he works his way to the front of Chub's head. He combs up Chub's bangs and they look like they're about two-and-a-half-inches long. Rob just cuts off only a quarter-inch, evening them off.

Next he combs through Chub's hair about ten-times getting the remaining loose cut hair as he looks over at me, saying, "You're staring, babe," and then he laughs, adding, "It's okay, Dylan. As you can see I didn't fuck up your brother's haircut." I shrug, frowning, "Whaddaya talking about? I fucking knew you wouldn't," and then realize how tense I am. Rob holds up a little tube, saying, "They also sent a sample hair gel with the clippers. Plus, special light oil for the clipper blades that I used on your set of clippers too and they work even better than before." For some reason, I frown at that and Rob chuckles while squeezing some gel on his hand.

Pretending I'm not interested I pick-up a dart and fling it at the dart board as Rob rubs gel between his hands and then roughly rubs his fingers through Chub's hair. I'm back to watching them again as Rob comb the hair on top four-or-five times using a hairdryer to dry the gel and get it all looking the way he wants. He finally settles on kind of a pompadour in front, pushed it to the side a little so some of the ends of the two-and-a-quarter-inch longer front hairs are against the bristly third-of-an-inch hair high on the side opposite the part. Jeez, that looks so fucking cool! Stepping back, Rob goes, "That's it, Jeff. Hope you approve," and he carefully takes off the cape and dumps the cut hair in a trash receptacle as I stupidly stare at the pile of Chub's hair falling off the cape.

Chubby gets up doing what everyone does after a short haircut, he feels the bristly hairs on the back of his head that go all the way up to the crown where it meets the inch-long hair. The inch-long hairs get longer and longer the further forward, ending with the two-and-a-quarter-inch-long bangs that were combed into a casual sort of pompadour.

Staring openly now I'm spellbound at how awesomely professional Chubby's haircut is. As for Chub, he's looking at himself first in the handheld mirror and then in the bigger mirror on the wall, saying, "Genius, Rob, pure genius." Rob's trying not to smile but he does anyway, asking, "So, you like it, Jeff?" I can tell Chub sincerely does like it. He punches Rob's shoulder lightly and goes, "Um, what the fuck part of genius don't you get, Rob?" and he grins, adding, "Yes, of course I like it," and then he glances at me, and goes, "Not as much as I like the last haircut I got from Dylan, of course, but this is second best." I make a face, muttering, "Bull-shit," but Rob catches Chubby's drift about not hurting my feelings now that I'm only the second-best-home-barber in town, and he says, "No! Dylan, don't make a 'face' at that. You've been the barber for all of us a very long time and we all think you're the originator of fantastic buddy-haircuts, as well as my inspiration." That's over-the-top but what else can I do except mutter, "Thanks."

Now Chubby's gonna meet some of his friends at the bar in downtown Framingham; the bar he and I were at not too long ago. He looks at himself one last time, muttering, "Seriously, Rob, awesome job, dude!" and they bump fists. Robby's beaming while trying hard for nonchalance, so it's kinda funny and kinda cute too. Chub and I do a quick hug as Chub asks, "How often will I need to get a haircut to keep it looking fresh like this?" Rob goes, "Well, as Dylan always says, the shorter the haircut the more often you need to get it recut. That's if you wanna keep the crisp look. Text me in two-to-three weeks and we'll do it again." Chub goes, "I'll do that." He seems really psyched about his haircut, and it is almost perfect, I admit it.

When Chub's out the door. I go, "Seriously, Rob, I never thought for a second you wouldn't pull that off perfectly, and you did." He snorts out a laugh, mumbling, "You looked like you were waiting to hear the results of a serious operation or something. Such a concerned look on your cute face." I go, "Nonsense! I had complete confidence in you," and then laugh, adding, "Actually I really do have confidence in you... now. Um, ya know, I'd like to have that exact version you just did for Chub. That so-called 'hard-part', which doesn't look that hard to do, is so fucking cool!" He shrugs, "Sure, but the important thing to remember doing that is keeping it in a straight line. I guess I'd say it isn't as easy as it looks to do a 'hard-part'." I go, "Whatever, Mister Braggart." He gets me around the neck, chuckling and mumbling, "I'll Mister Braggart you..."

Wrestling free of his arm, I'm like, "No, seriously. I'd like that same haircut." Rob shrugs, "Yeah sure, if you want we'll let the hair on top of your head grow out to your brother's length. The last time with you and Danny I did a summer version of that haircut I cut for you the time before. Now though, if you like your brother's haircut we'll adjust."

I help clean-up by using the tiny brush to clear-out cut hairs from the barber clippers and scissors while Rob sweeps the random hairs off the floor. We're just finishing up when Danny and Hayden come in. They're laughing about something as touchy/feely Danny is naturally giving Hayden a quick squeeze, both of them talking at once telling us some convoluted story about Hayden's mother that I don't quite get. Rob and I chuckle anyway because those two are laughing so hard. Settling down, Danny looks in the beer-cooler and asks, "No beer, guys?" Robby says, "Um, no. I mean, not here but there are cold beers in the house, right Dylan?" Danny says, "Fuck that. Let's go buy some ice and a case of beer for out here." Rob shrugs, "Great idea, you and Hayden go ahead and buy it." I say, "No, let me buy the beer. I didn't chip-in last time."

There's some arguing about who will go get the beer and whose turn it is to buy, but finally Danny insists if I'm buying he'll go get it and he wants Rob to come with him, saying, "I'm always with Hayden." Hayden goes, "Well fuck you too, Daniel, um, I mean, Danny." Then he turns to me, asking, "Doesn't his name, Danny, sound really gay to you?" and he exaggerates saying the name, Danny... "Daaaaannieee." Danny goes, "Haaaayden... that's what sounds gay!" and Rob goes, "Oh for Christ's sakes, shut the fuck up! Gawd, you too! I'll go with you Danny, if only to stop you two from bickering like nine-year-olds."

Okay, I'm always basically studying guys, and I don't mean only how they look. I mean everything about them and to me there's something artificial about Danny's and Hayden's routine right from when they walked through the door. It almost seemed rehearsed somehow. That's a weird thing for me to think, I know, but there's something 'up' between those two. I mean, the way Hayden and Danny exchanged 'looks' when Rob agreed to go with Danny to get the beer. I don't have a clue what it is, but something about that seemed contrived to me.

When Rob and Danny leave to buy the beer, with my thirty-dollars in Rob's pocket, Hayden comes right over to me and puts his arm around my waist, whispering, "Get ready to be taken care of by me, Dylan. You've been begging for 'it' since before I went to California and now's your chance." Pulling away from his arms, I'm dead serious when I ask, "Have you and Danny been smoking pot?" I'm sincere about that because they came in giggling and babbling some nonsense about Tinker, Hayden's Mom, and then Hayden comes out with the insinuation that I've been panting around him like a dog in heat. He's either been taking a banned substance or he's delusional. Sure, he's right that we haven't had buddy-sex at all for like a month, but I've only mentioned it once in all that time. Well, maybe twice but that's a far cry from nagging...

He frowns, saying, "Smoking pot? "NO! Why would you ask me that?" I shrug, "All that giggling when you came in and your last idiotic remark about me being, um, 'taken care of' by you as though you're about to do me some huge sexual favor." He smirks, "Well the word 'huge' does fit into the conversation... heh heh." I mutter, "Step away from the bong and chill-out!" Hayden says, "No, seriously. You know how rarely I get an opportunity to 'top', and be honest with yourself, you loved the couple of times I 'topped' you." I make a face, "You can keep your 'huge' reference in your pants." I'm saying that with a grin, not really angry at him but, come on... get serious! I'm hardly desperate for sex. Rob and I have been doing quite nicely, thank you very much.

Moving over to the dartboard I give Hayden another grin, like I know he's been kidding around and then I throw a dart that barely hits the dartboard. Basically, the thought of getting fucked by hypnotic-speaking Hayden and his ginormous boner is very enticing, except I find his inference that I've been desperate for it, well that's borderline insulting. Okay, Hayden does and says things most people would have too much sense to do or say, but I like him anyway. To avoid embarrassing him about his clumsy suggestion we have sex during the ten-minutes the guys are off buying the beer, I change the subject, enthusiastically saying, "Well, not that I'm the least bit surprised about making the team today, bit it is nice to know it's finally official." That's complete bull-shit of course and Hayden knows it but I said it to get a laugh from him. He does chuckle, mutterings, "Liar!" and then comes over to take a dart from my hand. He lines-up his shot taking careful aim and then throws the dart that sticks in the wall next to the dartboard in almost the exact spot on the wall he hit the other night. "Fuck!" he shouts, "Something's wrong with that dart!"

I'm draining the last of the beer dregs from my can as Hayden glances at me with this weird look in his eyes. Bumping against my side suggestively he reaches over to get his hand on my junk squeezing until I'm like, "Jesus Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you tonight, Hayden?" He says, "Nothing! Nothing at all, but we haven't had buddy-sex since I can't remember when, and it's time." Normally I'd be all for it, especially considering my recent musings that concluded by me admitting to myself Hayden comes the closest to creating a true submissive trance in me than anyone else currently available. I'm not feeling it at the moment because of my aforementioned sense something else is in play here. I mutter, "I know it's been too long, Hayden, but I'm not having buddy-sex here with Rob's parents in the house twenty-fucking-feet away." Looking out the pool house window in front I see movement in the kitchen; either Mr. or Mrs. Dickers, and point at the kitchen window, "See them moving about in the kitchen? Use your head, Hayden!" Then I go, "Plus, our boyfriends will be back in less than ten-minutes." He lets go of my nuts, saying, "You were whining at my house Saturday night that you missed me fucking you, so why not forget Robert's parents and I'll take care of you quickly now before our boyfriends get back."

As always, I'm total confused why Hayden's seems such a hottie to me in the first place, but he is... so it is tempting. Seeing me hesitate, he adds, "They won't be back in ten-minutes anyway. I can guarantee that." That doesn't register as I'm thinking I'd like to suck that big cock of his and maybe rim his ass until I make him climax. It's partially his fucking hypnotic voice that registers in my head as enticing. Doesn't anyone else notice his voice? It's giving me a familiar squirmy feeling. Yeah, as limited as my side-sex possibilities have been this summer I really should jump at this opportunity and get into one of my delicious submissive trances. He can at least replicate a facsimile of a true dominant side-sex partner. Glancing at the back of the pool house; why not a quick hard fuck in the lavatory. Yeah, heh heh, lavatory sex; a possible new trend for me. We could do it in the toilet stall like Tomas and I did at the gay club.

Grabbing a fistful of my ass now, Hayden says, "You want it from me so badly, Dylan. And don't lie saying you don't." Something clicks in my head... again it occurs to me there's something's weird about this. Why is Hayden so cock-sure we'd have the time? I'm like, "Wait a fucking-second, Hayden. First of all, I'm the only guy east of the Mississippi who can take that huge boner of yours up my ass, so don't pretend you're just doing me the favor. After saying that, I got a question for you. And don't try lying because I'll know: Did you and Danny come up with this idea of us having sex on the way over here?" He goes, "Oh, um, what? Oh fuck, how'd you know? Yeah, it was Danny's idea. I wouldn't have the balls to suggest it. He's our leader though, and leaders look out for their, um, for us. He thinks you and I need to get closer the way you, Danny, and Robert are. Obviously he doesn't know about us screwing two-times already."

I'm not at all thrilled Danny's deciding when I need to get fucked by Hayden, or anybody else. I'm not taking it out on Hayden though. Danny and I need a heart-to-heart talk about him being our so-called 'leader'. He may mean well, but this isn't how things work! Trying to think straight about that, while at the same time the idea is again percolating in my head about how awesome it would be to feel Hayden's huge cock up my ass. Okay though, fighting off that attractive aspect of things, I mutter, "You and Danny think we're doing appointment buddy-sex now? Is that it?" And as I said it, I'm thinking to myself: 'Why are you fucking-up this opportunity, Dylan?'

Hayden has me backed-up against the door, leaning on me, saying, "It's not Danny and me! I told you it was all his idea, but why not forget being defensive about it and let's just do it, for chrissakes! We'll do it just like last time." He's making his voice hypnotic knowing I get affected by it, but unfortunately this is not feeling right to me at all. I slide out between him and the door, saying, "No direct reflection on you at all, Hayden, I really liked that buddy-sex with you, um, both times we did it, but this is simply too weird for me. It's a totally fucked-up idea that the three of us conspire behind Rob's back for a buddy-sex episode. It might be a fine point, but you and Danny conspiring to get Rob out of the picture, and me going along with it is, one too many conspirators, and the one too many is me!" He goes, "What the fuck are you talking about, Dylan? We now have only like ten more minutes to do this. Danny can't drag-out getting beer forever!"

Why should I expect him to 'get' it when it's obviously only me who feels this idea is over the line.? Danny and Hayden apparently don't see anything wrong with conspiring three-against-one, or... fuck, I don't know. Trying to avoid a serious debate though, I grin and go, "Jesus, Hayden, seriously, dude, it's right there in the buddy-sex handbook; rule 23, subjection 'B', which reads: When there's a group of four gay buddies who do sex together, if two of them are in love neither one of those two can join forces with the other two in a conspiracy to exclude one of the lovers and thereby making him the odd man out." He looks totally lost, muttering, "What handbook? And what did what you just said mean?" I ask, "You seriously didn't understand that?" Hayden goes, "Where's that rule 23 written?" Being serious now, I say, "Jesus Christ, I'm joking, Hayden! And I'm trying to get off this topic with a laugh. There's no fucking handbook! Look, it's simple: I won't gang-up three against Robby about anything." He's sincerely looking confused, asking, "Why not?" I suck on my empty can of beer and shout, "I just fucking told you why not! That's not howfair buddy-sex works among friends."

Hayden throws up his hands, "Fuck it then! You're the only person in the world who knows how side-sex is supposed to work, is that it? Just you!" I quietly mumble, "No, I'm the only one on earth who knows how it's supposed to work for me. It has to happen organically." He shakes his head, asking, "What's that, a gardening reference now?" I go, "No, in this instance it means: happen on its own. That's my rule for myself and doesn't necessarily apply for anybody else, just me. But then, it's my buddy-sex handbook."

He rubs his face with both hands and goes, "Whatever all that even means! Well, you're the one losing out, Dylan." I quietly say, "I'm one of the ones losing out, but I've never said never, Hayden. I said I won't be the third party involved in plans to do something behind Rob's back. Why can't you understand how that's not something I'd do?" He's pissed, yelling, "I wouldn't know, Dylan, since I'm not loved by a lover like you two." I try giving him a hug, saying, "To me you're a hot-tomalley, an uber sexy guy, but we need to do buddy-sex when just the two of us decide to do it. Not some arrangement by Danny. It's insulting actually! I mean to me," and then realize I don't want to try explaining it any further. It is a fine point because any buddy-sex done by me is behind Rob's back, but we have an arrangement, Rob and me, and it doesn't include someone planning on keeping him busy while I have preplanned sex with anybody. It's Rob's and my arrangement... and if someone doesn't 'get it', tough shit for them. They don't have to get it, only Rob and I need to.

Fortunately, Hayden finally lets the subject go, muttering, "Okay, you've said everything in a way that I don't feel personally rejected. You're rejecting the plan Danny came up with, right?" I shrug, muttering, "That's close enough, yeah," not wanting to talk about it anymore. He shrugs too, obviously exasperated but he lets me hug him and then he mutters, "What should we do with the time we're supposed to be fucking?" I say, "How about a dart game for five-bucks?" He snorts out a laugh, saying, "Not only do you reject my offer to fuck you, but you want to steal five-dollars from me knowing I can't shoot darts worth a shit." I go, "Let's make it ten-bucks a game then. First one to score twenty." He mutters, "Fuck the dart game." I'm like, "To make it up to you, and be your friend again, I'll humble myself and suffer the humiliation of going inside to get us two cold beers." He says, "It's the very least you could do, if you ask me."

Letting go of him, I ruffle his hair, saying, "Or I could give you a haircut instead. This is Rob's barbershop so everything I need is right here." He goes, "Dream on, and do the dreaming while you're getting us those beers." As I'm going out the door, he yells, 'And bring that fucking book about buddy-sex back with you too! I need to read that fucker."

Walking to the back door of Rob's house I don't know what to make of Danny and Hayden setting-up that buddy-sex thing. Me and some guy extemporaneously falling into a buddy-sex situation, or side-sex situation, is something that's part of our arrangement, Rob's and mine. Preplanning to deceive one another isn't though; that's something totally new and not going to happen as far as I'm concerned. And of course, for the record, side-sex and buddy-sex are technically two different things, but every-fuckin'-body knows that anyway.

At the back door, do I knock or just walk in? Oh balls, I walk in because that way I won't bother either of Rob's parents who would need to answer the door if I knocked. Scurrying downstairs to the basement I grab two beers and go back upstairs quietly and almost bump into Mrs. Dickers in the kitchen, She goes, "Oooh! Oh my goodness." She has her hand on her heart, "You scared me, Dylan." I go, "Mr. Dickers said not to knock and Rob wanted me to get a couple of beers." She's pouring white wine, saying, "Dear me! Um, Mr. Dickers is right though. You don't need to knock, Dylan. But you know, I do not like Rob sending you on his errands all the time. Tell him, for me, he needs to get whatever he wants himself next time." I'm sliding toward the back door, mumbling, "Yes, ma'am, I will," and then I'm out the door. Perfect-fucking-timing Mrs. Dickers needing to refill her wine glass the exact second I'm coming out of the fucking basement like a thief. That's exactly what I expect to happen when I'm wearing boxer shorts going to the hall bath. Gawd!

Safely back in the pool house I give Hayden one of the beers and then light a cigarette, and ask, "You said earlier, when your delusional mind assumed I'd metaphorically jump in bed with you, what'd you mean we'd doing it like before exactly?" He goes, "Oh yeah. Well not exactly like before. Um, first of all don't be mad at Danny, but he doesn't think you and I are getting it on at all. He figured he needed to give me a few pointers about how you like your sex partner to be the one running the show, so to speak. Of course, I already knew you like to be submissive during sex, but he..." I'm a little hot now, saying, "Really? I thought Danny didn't discuss anyone's buddy-sex with anyone else." Hayden shrugs, "Why the fuck are you upset? We're a band of gay brothers fighting oppression and sticking together, um, with a touch of buddy-sex whenever we get the urge." I laugh out loud and then realize he's serious. Usually that happens when I'm with Danny. Ya know, I'll think Danny's making a joke about something stupid when actually he's serious. I go, "Excuse my laughter, but how are we fighting oppression, and how is it that you feel oppressed in the first place?" He shrugs again, "I don't know. I thought it sounded cool, that's all. Plus I like to say 'band of gay brothers'. I always wanted a gay brother," and I laugh again, but come to an abrupt stop, and ask, "Yeah? Does it have to be a 'gay' brother? Wouldn't a 'straight' brother be good too?" He says, "No, I want him to be gay," and I hold back laughing, not sure if he's serious or not.

We're sitting on two canvas-back director-style chairs with our feet on the cooler as Hayden talks on in his hypnotic voice giving me this pleasant dreamy feeling. He interrupts that by reaches over to take my cigarette and then wets the filter taking a drag. Passing the cigarette back, he says, "I was so 'up' for fucking you. I don't know, but now I feel deflated or something." I go, "Me too," and he goes, "You're making fun of me again." Taking a swallow of beer, I mutter, "I don't make fun of friends, Hayden. I'm jokingwith you and hoping to laugh with you."

He thinks about that I suppose and then gets up and, holding his beer can out to the side, puts his other hand behind my head and does one of his sexily magical one-minute kisses on my mouth with his tongue feeling awesome licking inside and all around my mouth and then under my tongue. When he pulls his mouth away I must look like I'm dazed, because I feel a little dazed. He rubs my head and then roughly pushes it to the side and sits back down, saying, "That's just a tiny bit of what you turned down. I'm especially disappointed because nobody has ever appreciated me like you do and I was looking so forward to us doing it tonight." Exhaling smoke, feeling my hard dick squirming in my pants, I mutter, "Then don't make it sound like you're doing me a favor next time! And, um, maybe we'll do it for real, soon... the right way."

Holy shit though, that kiss was hot and now I've got a boner sideways in my shorts. He looks at me for a couple of seconds before asking, "Isn't there anything in your buddy-sex handbook that excuses unconfident guys from pretending to do a sex-buddy a favor even though he knows it's the other way around?" Gulping down some beer and then looking him in the eyes, I say quietly, "There should be I guess. I'm sorry I disappointed you, Hayden, but I told you why. It's because I don't gang-up with guys against Robby and no matter how you slice it that's what it boiled down to. Don't you see that?" He goes, "I see it but don't see the problem." Nodding my head, I mutter, 'Well you and I will need to agree to disagree about that. Simply put, don't include me in any scenarios you and Danny come up with if it excludes Rob." He goes, "You talk funny... scenario. Who says that?" I go, "You've got a lot of nerve mentioning the way anyone talks..." and the door opens with Danny carrying a case of Bud followed in by Robby carrying big bag of ice. Rob smiles and asks, "How you boys doing? Oh, I see my boyfriend braved the dangerous Dickers' household to get you guys a couple more brews." I say, "I had to, Rob. Where'd you get the beer, Salem, Massachusetts?"

Danny's looking knowingly at Hayden and Hayden shakes his head slightly. Co-conspirators fail again! I've probably overstated the case to Hayden but to me it felt like conspiring behind Robby's back and the crazy thing is, it's totally unnecessary. Robby knows I do side-sex and buddy-sex and I know he does it, but we don't create intrigue to put something over on the other, especially in Rob's pool house.

Robby's still very upbeat and on a 'high' from his successful haircutting earlier and I don't blame him because it's actually remarkable he can do that difficult haircut. He comes over to me as he's snapping the tab on a can of Bud, saying, "I think Jeff liked the haircut," and I try not to laugh at his obvious fishing-trip for more compliments, finally saying, "I'm so sick of haircut talk," and he laughs hugging my shoulders, saying, "We reversed roles, baby." It makes me feel so good seeing Rob this happy and excited about something other than our sex and his job with Dickers & Son. Danny and Hayden are murmuring to each other when Robby goes, " You guys know what? We should have a pool table in here! There's plenty of room for one. I'm asking Dad about that. Whaddaya think, guys?" Then he's like, "What's wrong Danny. You and Hayden look so serious. Fuck, it's only eight-thirty. Let's do something!" Danny and Hayden both mutter stuff like, "Whaddaya mean, we're good..."

We play cards for money while drinking and smoking. Except for some early weird 'looks' from Danny, everyone loosens up and it's a pretty good time breaking each other's balls and guys winning pots that another guy thought they'd won. And then Danny, true to his word, at ten o'clock, says, "I really do gotta get going. I'm working early tomorrow morning." Hayden says, "Me too," and Rob asks, "Where is it that you work part-time, Hayden?" He goes, "At UPS. I'm covering for employees on vacation. Loading trucks." Jeez, he seems small for that job!

We bump fist and do some cursory quick one-arm hugs and then those two are out the door. Rob opens another can of beer, asking, "Did you notice anything odd about the way those guys were acting earlier tonight?" Shaking my head, I'm like, "No, not really," and to get off that topic, I'm like, "So let me take a closer look at those new barber clippers you bought, Rob." I wouldn't do anything with Hayden and Danny that seems like ganging up on Rob, but at the same time I'm not tattle-tailing that they tried doing that. Danny meant well but it's misguided in a couple of ways. First of all, Hayden should have told Danny that we've had sex a couple of times already and so there's no need to arrange it. And secondly on a personal level, I don't need Danny arranging anything sexual for me, no matter his good intentions. It's insulting and highlights Danny's cluelessness. That boy's not leadership-material after all. Ha ha... well, he's not! I'll need to have a 'talk' with him I suppose. Make sure there are no hard feelings but at the same time infer he needs to leave me out of his future conspiracies. I'll word it more diplomatically than that though.

Rob's proudly showing me the 'fading' clippers that also are perfect for doing outlining and thereby making the trimming clippers redundant. Maybe I better watch some tutorials because I'm definitely a decade behind on what's happening with guys' hair styling equipment. Hmmmm, me of all people getting left behind when I used to be the only person I knew doing barbering. Swallowing my pride, I'm like, "Rob, um, do you think you could teach me how to do a legitimate 'fade' and that 'under-cut' haircut?" He grins, "And have you steal my clients from me?" I go, "I'm serious. I'd like to be able to do it."

As he's putting his new clippers back neatly in the box they came in, he goes, "Absolutely, Dylan! First though you really should watch ten-or-twelve tutorial videos. They're only like ten-to-twenty-minutes each. I'll write out a list for you. That'll give you the concept and then, like I did, you'll need to practice the wrist clipper motion and we'll do it together and then... well, I'll get into that during our practical application after you study the tutorials." I'm like, "Okay, you be my instructor, Rob." He gets his arms around my waist and kisses me quickly on the lips, saying, "That sounds sexy, babe. I love that you asked me to teach you. And I know you'll be better than me when everything is said and done. Now though, let's you and me go up to my bedroom, I'm wicked horny to fuck you." I go, "You have the best ideas, Rob!"

He takes my hand, saying, "C'mon then," and continues holding my hand as he turns out the lights and then we walk outside. As he locks the door I'm thinking about holding hands with a guy. It's a favorite thing of mine to do; I get aroused feeling the palm of Rob's hand against mine. I also have that awesome weird 'thing'' that Rob's 'my man'. Ha ha, creepy of me and I did used to think it was 'creepy' when someone like Ray Reeves, for example, would say it. I don't know though but maybe Rob really is 'my man' now. I can't imagine I'll ever think of myself as his 'wife' even though that's becoming a more popular thing for gay couples to call themselves: husband and wife. I've heard gay guys, men, talk about their 'wife' or 'husband' on the cooking show 'Chopped'. Nothing wrong with that I guess, but I don't feel like a 'wife' so we'll need to come up with something else. Would I call Rob my husband when we get married? Nah, I don't think so. For me it doesn't sound right, but I try to never say 'never' about anything anymore. Ya never fucking know...

I'm not as mature as Rob but we complement one another having different strengths, so to speak. I see life more on the 'fun' side and he's more serious so it evens out. Heh heh, calling Rob my 'man' in my mind gives me boners. Of course, me getting a boner is never a news flash. Inside the house Rob calls out his usual generic goodnight to his parents and then we go upstairs with Rob saying, "I wanna do shower sex with you tonight, babe." I'm still not positive he ever checked with his parents about this latest sleep-over, but in either case it doesn't appear his parents care a twit about it. What's a 'twit', I wonder?

Into his bedroom with us still holding my hand, he goes, "Get the lube for me, Dylan." Letting go of his hand, I get the lube from the bedside drawer as I say, "Jesus, Rob, you know damn well I don't want to take a shower together; not here! We do that at my place when no one's home." We're both taking our clothes off and Robby goes, "Oh yeah, you're right. Okay, I forgot you're still uncomfortable here in my house; or as you say... my parents' house, and you've got a good point there. I won't mention showering together again unless you change your mind, okay?" I go, "Yes, but please don't hold your breath waiting for that. I want you among the living for at least as long as I live, um, plus a couple of weeks longer just to be safe." Wearing only boxer shorts he laughs at that and comes over rubbing his hands up and down my back, asking, "What'd you do with the lube?" I nod to the top of the bedside table where I dropped it. He rubs noses with me and asks, "Do you have any interest in sucking on my pecker?" I nod and grin at him and then reach down inside the waistband of his shorts and hold his cock in my fist, asking, "Is this the pecker you mean?" He mumbles, "The very one."

Pulling down his boxers I bend forward and suck on his fat mouthful of cock for a minute making slurping sounds. It tastes good! He grunts stepping back taking his saliva dripping cock in his fist to stroke it as he's saying, "Damn, I don't know exactly what it is Dylan, but you sleeping with me has me horny as a Nun squatting in a cucumber patch." I snort out a laugh as he strokes, strokes, strokes his uber fat, saliva-slippery cock getting it hard as a fat rock. As I'm pulling off my underpants he's grinning at me, muttering, "I'm horny as a rabbit on steroids." I take the cap off the lube thinking how much I love recreational sex with Rob. Lubing my own asshole and then swatting Rob's hand away from his throbbing boner, I twist my fist on his cock spreading lots of slippery lubricant with Robby going, "Mmmmm, ooooh, fuck, oooh man."

Turning around and bending over, I grip the top of the bureau, my right hands sliding a little because of the lube. Rob steps up letting out a long exhale plugging the fat head of his cock right in past my sphincter muscle. "Aaaah, ooh!" from me and, "Sorry," from Rob. He pushes his boner up my ass steadily and when tightly against my butt cheeks he lets out a sigh, "Oooooh," and, leaning over my back reaching under me to take my firm cock in his fist. I can feel his warm moist breath on the back of my neck as he begins stroking my cock and humping against my buttocks. Hard humps as he strokes a granite-hard boner on me and then lifts his hand cupping my chin to pull my head sideways so he can lean his head down and lick my lips. He gasps, "I'm so fucking horny, Dylan. Like I said, it's insane maybe, but you sleeping in my bed, ha ha, in my parents' house no less, is such a turn-on for me I can hardly catch my breath. I love you so much, babe."

I take a deep breath, mumbling, "You're my 'man' Rob," and then I gasps and my face gets red because that's such a corny and goofy and creepy thing to say. I was going to keep that thought to myself but I guess it's how I feel for real. Rob smacks the side of my buttocks," SMACK!" murmuring, "I like hearing that, baby," and he starts a hot and furious thrusting that bounces the top of my head against the bureau before I straighten my arms out tightly. Fast, hard thrusting with distinct, "Slapslapslap," sounds that can easily be heard outside the bedroom door but there's so many awesome sensations bombarding my brain I don't care, plus I'm making as much noise as the slapping sounds by moaning unabashedly, "Um, um, um, um, oh, oh, aaah, Rob, aaah."

Confessing my feelings that Rob's my 'man' gives me a submissive sense that's so new I revel in it... my 'man' Rob. It's an admission I'm going to follow through on with every condition he laid out for us two-years ago. And that's a fact even though two-months ago we agreed to forget all those objectives and timetables to let things play-out on their own. Well they've played-out and Rob's my 'man'; I feel it in my heart and brain that I want him in-charge of everything... mostly everything anyway.

He gets both his arms around my chest pulling me up so my back is against his chest as he hammers his cock up my ass, "Slapslapslap," with him grunting and pulling my head around to put his open mouth on mine. I open my mouth and his tongue goes in and I feel totally his, totally dominated but in the best possible way. "Slapslapslap," and I jerk my head on his shoulder as my back arches and I squeal way too loudly, "Eeeeeiii," my hard boner sticking straight out with cum pumping in spurts and then a hard stream of cum follows with three quick squirts after that. What an awesome orgasm! "Ooooh, aaaah, Rob, aaah!" Gasping now, my head filled with sexual pleasure, filled with the awesomeness of being Rob's boyfriend and true lover. Omigod, my body shivers and shakes and then, just like that, I'm limp and moaning quietly as Rob's thrusting jostles me like I'm a rag doll.

It's, harder-faster, "SLAPSLAPSLAP," sounds now until Rob breathlessly grunts, "Hands and knees, babe." I drop down feeling new awesome vibrations all over me as he grips my hips and thrusts even harder, doggy-style now and for a full minute before I feel a hot stream of cum shooting inside me and Robby tight against my ass still humping until my head drops to my arms on the floor with me thinking, 'Keep your ass up!' which I try doing although I'm feeling so loose and so good.

Rob finishes with a long loud exhale and a few lazy thrusts in my cum-filled rectum and then he pulls out with another hard slap on my ass, "SMACK!" as he chuckles and helps me up. "So, I'm your man, huh, babe?" Breathlessly I go, "You're my man, Rob," and with me on my feet, limp in his arms lying back against his chest he kisses the side of my face, murmuring, "You better watch out, baby, I could take advantage of my new position," and he chuckles again, obviously not taking me seriously as he gives me another kiss. I murmur, "Go ahead and take advantage, Rob, you deserve it after all these years of waiting for me to finally see what you saw four-years ago." He quietly chuckles, saying, "Actually I'm not sure what me being your 'man' even means. Being your boyfriend and lover is enough for me."

I feel his cum running out of my ass as I turn around in his arms facing him now, saying, "Oh, you've got a lot more responsibility now as my 'man', Rob. You're in-charge of us, mostly." He smiles, "I can't keep up with you, Dylan. Didn't you tell me just a couple of months ago you changed your mind about that." I go, "Yeah, but I changed my mind again," and he kisses my mouth and says, "Okay, I'll be your 'man' but now you need to take that shower so I can take mine." I want to say something like: 'You're my 'man' which means if you want us to shower together in your hall bathroom with your parents downstairs then I'll obey your wish,' but I can't make myself say that. Instead I go, "Yeah, I better do that." His smile is so sweet and I love him so. He's my man I guess for sure because now that I think about it, I even took Rob's side when Chubby asked me if he should go along with Robby cutting his hair on top. I said something like, 'Go with what Robby suggest, Chub'.

Yeah, during the shower I think again that I took Rob's side over my brother's! That a first 'cause I never take anyone's side over Chub even though I was right to do it this time. Yeah, but that's an example of what Rob being my 'man' actually means; sticking by him no matter what. Anyway, someone in every relationship is number one whether they admit it or not. The alternative is a short relationship for most.

Yeah, I'll rely on Rob's more mature approach, more responsible approach to life most of the time, although not always. Rob being the alpha dog in our relationship is actually a mature decision on my part. I'm so proud of the way he handles his business for Dickers & Son. That impresses me and is a good example of Rob's maturity. Of course I always retain the right to change my mind. All of us has that right. But, damn, these sleep-overs with Rob are awesome...

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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