Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 31

by Donny Mumford

SEVEN WEEKS LATER: Tuesday before Thanksgiving break.

We're walking out of the McGuire Building after our Managerial Finance class. It's ten minutes of three, the time we get out of class every Tuesday but why couldn't that prick professor have cut the class to ten minutes and given an early start to the Thanksgiving break? Rob and I have a class tomorrow morning and we can be home in an hour anyway so it's no big deal to us, but it would have helped the out-of-state students. For them, half of the Thanksgiving break is taken up flying home and then flying back to Boston during the busiest travel days of the year.

Quite a few out of state students don't feel it's worth the effort or the expense and, consequently, they spend Thanksgiving in their dorms instead of with their families. Hayden is staying in California for that reason, but then he stayed in North Carolina last year when he was going to Duke. That's what Rob told me anyway, and neither of us knows why Hayden transferred to Caltech, or wherever Hayden's doing his senior year. We won't see him until Christmas break. Yeah, Christmas break... we're allowed to call it that because Merrimack is a Roman Catholic college, St. Augustine Order, and it's okay to say 'Christmas'. A lot of institutions say 'Holiday break'... the PC police demand it. It's not an especially big deal to me in either case.

Outside I need to pull up the hood of my sweatshirt against the raw, gray November weather. Robby's wearing a sweatshirt too which is all the outerwear we need to ward off the 43-degree temperature and a stiff wind. It's a fairly short walk to the pickup and then we'll crank up the heat. The heat 'cranks-up' good in Rob's new pickup truck; new to him anyway. Yeah, Dickers & Son finally came through with a new vehicle for Robby. After six years of Robby driving my personal favorite pickup of all time, he gets a newer one. Wow though, we had ourselves some good times in that old truck!

Last weekend Rob and I were home to work at Dickers & Son again when his dad surprised Rob with the truck... a two-year-old Nissan Frontier. It's classified as a 'compact' pickup although it has four doors and seats five, so I don't know where the compact part comes in. Obviously, it doesn't have a bench seat in front; only one of the newer trucks has a bench seat... I don't remember which one but I do remember it's too big a truck for what we use a pickup for.

Damn though, that old truck's bench seat came in handy over the years. Rob's newer Nissan has bucket seats in front and a pretty cool cockpit. It was the Dickers & Son's sales manager's truck and now it's Robby's. Our old truck was his dad's for quite a few years before it was handed down to Rob although Mr. Dickers hasn't driven a pickup for a few years now. He currently drives a new sedan that Robby said cost the company $55,000.00. And, oops, I keep referring to the old pickup as 'our' old pickup, as if it was partly mine, which it wasn't. Huh, a Freudian slip that's interesting although I'm not sure why.

Anyway, we're done classes for today and since baseball practice ended almost six weeks ago it'd be logical to assume Robby and I have free time together the rest of the afternoon. Not so fast! Ya see Rob still spends time at the baseball complex three or four days a week. He goes down there even though official practice won't begin again until sometime late in February. Rob works out at the ballpark's fitness area, or he watches hitting videos, or just talks hitting with coaches and other ballplayers all of whom can't seem to get enough of their baseball 'addiction'.

As we walk to the parking lot, Robby lights a cigarette and takes a drag before passing the Marlboro Light to me, saying, "You drive babe," and he hands me the key, except it's not a key exactly. It's a device that, if you have it on your person, the doors unlock automatically and all you do is press the 'start' button and the engine, um, starts. You don't need to put the 'key' in an ignition slot or anything, that's all I'm saying. That device isn't an especially new development as Chubby's and my car has the same 'non-key' device.

Taking the cigarette from Robby, I'm like, "You're gonna work-out at the ballpark again this afternoon, huh?" He nods, "Yeah, and after that Carl wants me to pitch batting practice for him. He's been killing it in the batting cage recently. I'm beginning to see his potential, and why he got the scholarship." I'm like, "No shit? That's the good thing about baseball, you can be smallish in stature like Carl and still be a star." Rob mutters, "Well, let's not put him in Cooperstown just yet." Huh, I wasn't the one who said Carl has awesome potential. Ya know, a year ago I'd probably feel the need to argue about something silly like that, but my current maturity level tells me... forget about it.

Still passing the cigarette back and forth, Robby goes, "So, babe, if you'd don't mind dropping me off at the ballpark, that'd be cool. You won't need to pick me up later though. I'll get a ride home from either Cornbread or Derik." As if I know who the hell they are, but I nod, mumbling, "Sure." He doesn't ask what I'll be doing, but I tell him anyway, "Pony and I are probably gonna run a couple of miles and then work-out at the student's fitness center." Rob's like, "I think it's great you're getting in shape." With too much emphasis in my voice, I go, "I'm not `getting' in shape! I'm already in all the so-called 'shape' I need to be in," and Rob goes, "Yeah, I know, and you're staying on top of it with the running and exercising." Huh, I don't know why I snapped at him.

More importantly, I think it's a really good aspect of our relationship that neither of us feels the other needs to account for every minute we're not together. That's a more recent development, one that comes with the confidence we both have in our love affair. Neither of us is worried about our long-term commitment to the other. After saying that, mostly we offer the information anyhow, it's just that there's never an interrogation if we don't.

I like driving this new pickup and Robby lets me drive it a lot. At the ballpark, we bump fist as Rob mutters, "Thanks, Dylan. See ya later," then he stops halfway out of the pickup, asking, "Is it okay with you if Carl has dinner with us again tonight? We're studying together anyway, so..." Without waiting for him to finish, I go, "Yeah, of course." He's like, "Um, what are we having tonight?" I shrug, "I was thinking we'd have spaghetti tonight. Carl can eat that, plus he can share the salad and, of course, his normal quarter pound of butter on a few slices of Italian bread." Robby chuckles and before he slams the pickup's door, I add, "You and I are having pork ribs too. I'll get them simmering in some sauce as soon as I get home." Patting the door, Rob goes, "Good deal! Sounds great... see ya, babe!"

Being a mentor, like Robby is for Carl, Rob's responsibilities obviously include sports performance duties, but by far the most important part of a mentor's responsibilities is keeping on top of the freshman's grades so they don't end up ineligible to play, which is uber important when mentoring scholarship players like Carl. That's why Coach Davis chose Rob to be a mentor. I mean, who's more conscientious than Robby?

Like many freshmen, Carl had some bad midterm grades so Rob has Carl studying with us every night and it's been going on the past couple of weeks. That's mostly why Carl frequently eats dinner with us. It's a small pain in the ass for me because of Carl's vegetarian eating habits, but life isn't perfect. The other thing is, even though Carl stays for dinner regularly Robby still ask me if it's okay. Like, what the fuck am I gonna say? But really, I don't mind Carl saying for dinner because I like him and he's one of us flattop boys, so ya know... haha! Plus, I like looking at his cute face and his hot, tight little body. I've got two cute handsome guys to ogle which helps me survive the boring college work. Studying takes longer with Carl because we need to quiz him as well as Rob and me quizzing each other. No big deal... I'm good with it. Not being a complainer, I let the necessary extra time spent on studying slide without mentioning it too often.

After dropping Robby off I'm driving past the Rogers Center when I see Danny goofing around in front of the steps. He's laughing with two guys, one of whom I think I know but I can't remember his name. A nice looking guy but he's a tad overweight. Yeah, well, that's a shame. Danny sees the pickup and energetically waves at me so I pull over and then watch him jogging to me with that great smile on his youthfully cute face. He could almost be a high school senior with his exuberance, his backpack jumping on his back as he's running over here. Yeah but, what the fuck is hanging out of his backpack? No hesitation, Danny opens the door and settles into the passenger seat and now I see it's a Merrimack sweatshirt hanging half in and half out of his backpack.

He says, "Can you drop me off at my dorm? I don't have my textbook for my three-thirty class and that bitch of a professor's been on my ass lately about being late for class." Danny's only wearing a long sleeve pullover, so I ask, "Aren't you cold?" He goes, "Well yeah! Obviously, but I must have left my sweatshirt in the last class." I go, "Uh huh" and then I'm a little sarcastic, saying, "Well, hi, Danny, how have you been? Nice to see you," and he laughs, saying, "I'm sorry I didn't say 'hi'. I'll start over... Hi Dylan, good to see you. You're a lifesaver, can you drive me to my dorm?" and he pushes the hood off my head and squeezes the back of my neck. I get shivers up and down my spine, as he's saying, "I wish I could kiss your sexy mouth right here, right now." I'm like, "I do too... so go ahead and do it." Making a 'face' at me like, 'Get serious!' he shakes his head and motions with his hand that we should go.

Chuckling, I put the truck in gear and back into the Center for the Arts' driveway, which is what the Roger Centers full name is. Turning the truck around, I drive back the way I just came, saying, "You know what? You really need to get out of the gay closet, Danny. You're twenty-two now and old enough to be yourself, don'cha think?" He says, "Hey! I've been contemplating that exact thing. Yeah, I'm leaning toward 'coming out' to my mom something during Thanksgiving break." I'm like, "Really? That's great!" He shrugs, "Mostly I wanna do it so you'll stop harping on me about it." I mumble, "Well, fuck you then. No, seriously, that's awesome. Unexpected, but awesome... way to go, buddy!" He mumbles, "Yeah, I guess I've been a pussy about it... like you've said numerous times," and turning to me, he adds, "Yeah and I figure I'll tell mom we're boyfriends. You and me, Dylan."

Instead of yelling, I wait a few seconds and then say calmly, "I don't think that's a good idea, Danny. You don't want to start out, um, lying when you're finally being truthful about something as important as your sexual orientation... if ya know what I mean." Danny goes, "Fuck that! Mom likes you and I'm trying to soften the blow for her. She always refers to you as," and he changes his voice, I suppose he thinks it sounds like his mom's voice although it sounds more like Lisa on The Simpsons when he says, 'that handsome friend of yours, that Dylan boy, he's so nice and polite'. He laughs, "Seriously, that's what she says and I think it'll be easier for her to accept I'm gay if she knows you're gay too... and you're my boyfriend."

Blowing out my cheeks with an exasperated exhale, I mutter, "Even though I'm not, um, your boyfriend?" Danny frowns, "Whaddaya mean? We're boyfriends! Christ, if we're not boyfriends I'd like to fucking know what a boyfriend is! We're in love, right?" I go, "Yeah, but we're in different kinds of love. Anyway, go for it and fuck it if you've got the details a little skewed. You 'coming out' is the important thing. I know you'll feel better about yourself." He goes, "Well, I'm just coming out to mom, not anybody else. Certainly not to anyone at Merrimack. That would unnecessarily complicate my senior year." Whatever...

At dormitory row, Danny excitedly asks, "Would you come up with me, baby... pleeeease!" It's tempting but I shrug, mumbling, "Nah, just get your textbook. I'll wait here." He pulls on my arm, "C'mon, Dylan. We don't get that many chances and if you drive me over to the Quad afterward I can still be on time for class. The building my class is in is right next to the Quad. C'mon!"

Oh fuck, my dick just took over my brain and now I'm barely able to remember how to park the pickup. Danny's grinning like mad as we're getting out of the pickup and that makes me grin too. We're like two little kids doing something we know we shouldn't, like stealing cookies from the cookie jar. He says, "You're awesome, baby! C'mon, let's run," and we jog down dormitory row like middle school kids.

Inside his room, Danny slams the door and locks it. Then he immediately gets his hands on either side of my face and gives me what's become familiar by now... one of his awesomely sexy kisses that, if I can believe what he says, are only for me now. Danny told me he's not having sex with anyone but me. I routinely encourage him to have sex with anybody and everybody he wants, and his answer to that is always, "Well, that's what I'm doing, baby." What can I do, make him have sex with someone else? I don't think Rob and Danny have done it together this semester... not even once!

As usual, that kiss of Danny's, plus the chilly palms of his hands on my face and his hot body against mine gives me a boner. After the fifteen second kiss, he then does a fast follow-up kiss on my lips and then gets things started by pulling my sweatpants down past my slim hips as he murmurs, "Pull your underpants down while I get the lube." I'm biting my lip trying to keep my moan of arousal to myself as I do what I'm told.

With lube on his fingers, Danny stands behind me, puts an arm around my waist so I don't try to get away as he lubes inside my ass. His lips brush against my neck, murmuring, "I love you." He spreads the lube quickly and then takes his cock out through the fly of his jeans and strokes it a few times. I can hardly catch my fucking breath.

He apparently wasn't born with a 'hesitation gene'. No, not 'apparently'... I'm positive he wasn't! Danny never hesitates about anything: fucking, giving haircuts, swinging at the first pitch he sees, saying whatever is on his mind, or anything else. He just says it or does it with a boatload of confidence. There's never any 'doubt' in that boy's mind even when there should be.

He exhales a long moist warm breath on the back of my neck, almost a gasp actually as he's also mightily aroused, not just me. The head of his cock forces its way in past my sphincter muscle and I automatically bend forward. With his boner now 'docked' in my asshole, Danny puts his other arm around my waist and, using both arms, he pulls me back onto his boner, all six inches of it as we do quiet moans. It's a quiet, "Ahhhhhhh," moan from me and, "Mmmmm," from Danny and then it's immediate hard and fast thrusting that adds, "Slapslapslapslap," sounds to our moans of sexual arousal.

I'm fully bending at the waist with my hands on my knees, sucking on my lips to keep my moans as quiet as I can. This feels so fucking good though! Spectacular sensations in my rectum extend out from my anus to my prostate to the tight feel of Danny's six hard inches of cock filling me up back there. His cock was made to fuck my ass. It creates the perfect combination of some pain at first, not much though, and then quickly it's the pleasure-express the rest of the way.

The initial pain is mostly because recently, the last month or so, Danny's been starting right in thrusting and fucking without waiting for my rectum to expand. Nah, he isn't waiting for that, so it hurts at first but not enough to concern me. The size of his boner is just big enough to feel nice and tight but not so big there's much time from the not-so-bad hurting to the Omigod pleasure!

Danny grunts and thrust hard and fast with both of us in familiar territory now. We've fucked regularly the past two months so we pretty much know by now how long it'll be before we both blow our loads. Not long, that's how long. Not long, but while it's going on I quiver at the feel of his long hard cock sliding over my prostate while stretching my asshole just the right amount to get every nerve ending sizzling perfectly. I imagine in my mind the way Danny's cock looks, and the image is pretty fucking accurate as I've sucked a boner on his penis enough to know how it looks and feels. It's so straight! Straight with a nice head that's larger and wider than the shaft and the shaft gets shiny with my saliva almost like it's shiny now with pre-cum and lubricant. When I suck his cock into a really hard condition and then the cock head is going down my throat it feels so sexy I can hardly believe it. Omigod, oral sex is great too... Danny's boner down my throat with his pubes all around my mouth, some in my nose and he smells ridiculously sexy on top of everything else. Yeah, oral sex is one thing but now I'm picturing that same straight hard cock with the nice head going all the way up my ass and then the "SMACK!" sound as he smacks against my ass fucking me perfectly... but not for a long time.

In ninety seconds or so, my climax explodes! I go first today with every muscle in my body tightening like clenching a fist as I try muffling my squeal at the cum pumping out in thin streaks that quickly spread into a spray the further away from me they get. The first streak of cum is a nice long one that sizzles out my six-inch boner making me scrunch up my face and then almost instantaneously it's followed by another shorter stream and maybe two more little ones, all of them flying from my steel cock causing intense sensations that give me goose bumps all over my body with fireworks bursting behind my eyes. I travel to the stars and back in eight seconds of pure pleasure, pleasure so intense it almost reaches the level of pain... but doesn't. I'm gasping, my heart pounding fast with a shivering sexy feeling from my head to my toes. It's like... oooooh, tingling buzzing sensations all over... unreal nice! I do another slight shudder as sensations fade and then close my eyes for a second. Oh man, that felt good!

A truly great feeling and now I relax and sigh as I hear Danny do his yelping sound humping against my buttocks while firing his first steam inside me and then probably more cum is shooting out of Danny's hard dick but I only imagine I feel the first shot. From what I've read, I'm not supposed to 'feel' even the first one hit my bowels, but I 'think' I do anyway. After climaxing there's some deep breathing from Danny before he does a few full final thrusts slushing in his own cum and then he pulls his cock out, exclaiming, "Oh fuck, that was fantastic!" and he spanks my bare ass hard making the "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!" sounds of his hand smacking the flesh of my buttocks, sounds that ring out in the room as I stand up quietly muttering, "Ow."

Danny hugs me around the waist, saying, "Thanks, baby. I've been thinking about this since Saturday night." That was the last quick buddy fuck we had. It was outside a frat house down Route 114 about two hundred yards from Merrimack. A bunch of us went together to a frat party and paid twenty bucks each to drink beer out of plastic cups from quarter kegs of Bud Lite while listening to a crappy band with a bad lead singer in the cold dark night. That sounds terrible, but it wasn't... it was fun. Much later Danny and I snuck off and fucked in an outbuilding with lawn mowers and trash barrels all around us... and that was fun too. We were a little drunk and Danny was 'high' as well. It was a ninety-second, buddy-sex fuck like the one we just had. Quick fucks just for the hell of it... get `off' and feel energized!

Danny's got some Handi Wipes he's using to wipe drooling cum from my ass, saying, "It's a shame the timing didn't work out for your last haircut, Dylan. You could have gone home with a fresh crisp flattop instead of one that's ten days old, ya know?" I mutter, "It's fine. I actually think it looks better after a week. It looks better than when you've just cut it. It should be every three weeks we're getting haircuts, as I keep telling you. Not every two weeks."

He ignores that as he's pulling up my sweatpants, saying, "Ya gotta admit you'd look better over the Thanksgiving holidays if it was this past Sunday you got your haircut" Well, what the fuck did I just say? By now though I should be used to him ignoring what he doesn't want to hear. He runs his fingers back through my hair, muttering. "Damn, this haircut looks so much better right after I do it for you." I mumble, "Have you considered a hearing aid?" He ignores that too.

Grabbing a fresh Handi Wipes, Danny wipes his dick as I go, "Anyhow, what a lot of nerve you have! I mean, the nerve of you going on about crisp haircuts and all that bullshit when you still won't let me give you a haircut and your hair, sorry to be blunt... but your hair looks like shit!" He snickers as he's zipping up his pants, mumbling, "Yeah, I know it does... haha." He grabs a textbook from the desk and jams it in his backpack and then we leave the room in a hurry.

Wow, that was GOOD! That was an awesome use of like five minutes, which is all it took. Quickly walking outside, I say, "Just a thought, Danny-boy, but when you tell your mom you're gay I think it'll confuse the issue telling her that news with your long girlie-looking hair. She's never seen you with a girl's hairdo before." He yells, "My hair is not girlie-looking!" and then in a normal voice, he adds, "Let's jog to the pickup, baby, I don't wanna be late again."

We do that and, as I'm driving Danny to the Quad, which is the closest I can get to the building his class is in, he says, "You might be right though." I go, "I probably am, but about what?" He mumbles, "Me having this long hair and telling mom I'm gay. Maybe I won't tell her." I go, "That's the wrong answer! Get a fucking haircut... that's the right answer. Then she won't be freaked out by both things; you 'coming out' to her AND you having a girl's hairdo." He says, "It's not a girl's hairdo! It's a guy's long hair." It's my turn to snicker now, as I mutter, "If you say so."

At the Quad, Danny gets out, but before closing the door, he says, "Okay, you're right, Dylan. I'll text you and we'll find a time when you can do my haircut. I'm sick of this long hair anyway. How the fuck did guys in the seventies go years with this long hair?" I say, "Fuck that, how about the old guys from that decade who still have that stupid looking long hair. And making it worse, now it's gray or white hair and receding seriously, or even worse than that, a white mullet hairdo like Robert Kraft has. Jesus, he looks ridiculous!"

Danny's not paying attention to any of that though. Instead, he's yelling, "Hey, Morris, looking good, babe!" and he turns back to me, saying, "Bill Morris is my eleventh flattop boy." I say, "Swell... text me," and I pull away then because an asshole campus cop is heading this way. I'm not supposed to be in front of the Quad with a car, never mind a truck... heh heh.

The six of us original guinea pigs for flattop haircuts have been faithfully going every second Sunday for haircuts. Robby and I didn't get back from a weekend working at home in time last Sunday so I missed my two-week scheduled appointment, as Danny calls it, and he says now I need to wait for Sunday two weeks from now before getting my haircut. Christ, I like that! So my hair will look less than 'crisp', as Danny calls it, for Thanksgiving break. As if I give a shit! It's Danny's idea we get haircuts every two weeks, basically because he likes doing it. And, yeah, Danny still hasn't shown any signs of losing interest in giving haircuts. That surprises the hell out of me! Guess I was wrong about that.

Anyway, in addition to us six there are now five other guys with Danny's traditional-type flattop haircut. I occasionally see one of them on campus and it always makes me sort of shake my head in amazement at how Danny's pulling this off... and having himself a good time doing it too. The other five flattop guys need to wait on Saturdays for haircuts along with all the other guys getting free haircuts from Danny, not that any of them go every two weeks. No, it's just us stupid original six who do that mostly because we don't want to hear Danny haranguing us about it. It's unbelievable that Danny will do haircuts for like four to five hours straight some Saturdays. Jesus!

Yeah, even I who have my secret haircut fetish wouldn't want to do steady haircuts, one after the other, all kinds of styles for all kinds of guys' hair for four hours straight. It only takes him like eight to ten minutes each to re-do out haircuts and I always go last. When the door is locked and its just Danny and me we have sex for an hour or even longer. That's when he'll suck my dick and I'll suck his. He does mine first because when I suck his dick first I already have a boner before Danny even starts on mine. He likes starting out with my dick soft. Me too... heh heh. Obviously, we don't primarily do fast screwing on Sundays, Danny does his version of lover's sex with me. He's consistently sooooo fucking good at it that I can't begin to describe how good it feels. And I can't resist it either. Well yeah, there's usually a fast hard fuck to start off with. That helps us to last longer for the follow up so-called lover's fuck. It's a damn good hour or so, that's for sure...

So that's something hot, but other than that Danny and I have at best a shaky frequency-schedule with any other buddy sex and when we do find an opportunity it's the aforementioned fast and hard kind of fucking... extemporaneous screwing. Danny's still on his... 'I'm in love with you, baby' routine and I've given up telling him he isn't. Plus, he knows my true heart lies with Robby because I've told him fifty times. There's no mistaking that, but just to be doubly-sure I reiterate it to him occasionally, which he ignores.

Other than Danny, my buddy sex has consisted of me 'topping' Pony once a week, sometimes twice. And that's it! But, yeah, Pony is a fun young buddy for me in addition to him representing my only other sex buddy. I get to 'top' him because he doesn't have any interest in 'topping' me... a convenient happenstance for both of us, ya know? I really like 'topping' too although there isn't a great deal of arousal for me. Pony has enough of that for both of us.

Pony likes doing oral sex although he's fantastically unorthodox about it. Still, it's surprisingly sexy. He also likes a good hard spanking which is all I'm willing to do as far as his BDSM desires go. I refuse to tie his hands anymore or do any of the stuff he talks about. Mostly he's just talking to break my balls anyway because he already knows I won't do the things he suggests. He's lots of fun but I don't get to see him as much as I'd like. Schedules and whatnot get in the way and that includes Robby and me having the same classes this semester. There's not a great deal of free time for me, and when I do have some, as I said, Danny and Pony often have classes or need to do something else that conflicts with times I'm available. Pony isn't interacting as well as he should with guys in his class which is a puzzle to me because most guys I'm aware of like him. He should have more friends is what I'm saying and all I can think of is he got off to that terrible start with a bad attitude caused by the conflict with his family last summer.

The other side-sex possibility I thought I'd have was with John Smith. The first week back at college I had lunch at the bar and a quick fuck with him but since then I've only gotten over to the bar for lunch twice and he wasn't there one of those times. So, am I horny all the time? NO! That's because of my lover-boy, Rob. If anything, he's increased his sexual appetite for moi. We do a lot of sex together and with variety too. Rob's lover's sex is still the real deal for me 'cause we are actually in real true love. Danny's lover's sex is an impersonation of that but it is wicked awesome. It's just that I'm not 'in love' with him. I love him as one of my best buddies and best buddy sex partner ever, so there's that... although that's a far cry from being in love.

Living together helps Rob's and my sex life...obviously! He continues being awesome in ways other than sex as well, and I love him more than ever. I haven't doubted his love for me for like three years or more so that isn't even a concern. It's odd of me maybe, but I actually wish Robby still had a little something on the side going for him. I know he used to enjoy side sex and side sex has never lessened or threatened our relationship so... c'mon, Robby, have a little extracurricular sexy fun once in a while. On the other hand, if he's lost interest in side-sex that's fine too. I gotta stop thinking my way is the right way for everyone, which makes me think of Connor's situation.

Yeah, I've been meeting with Connor every week at least once but usually twice. We have coffee at the Quad and lately, I've felt freer to ask more probing questions, none of which he seems to mind although some of his responses are vague. It'd be better if we could meet for a couple of beers because maybe he'd offer more insight into Stosh's and his sex life or relationship, or whatever they think they have together. Ya know, I might get more information if Connor had a few beers in him. It's none of my business anyway, obviously, but I'm trying to find some reason to feel okay with Connor being with that, um, Neanderthal bully. There's been no more black eyes or cuts and, according to Connor, Stosh has been super nice to him since that one time he smacked Connor so hard he needed medical attention.

So, it's good he's not getting smacked around but Connor still has a time limit imposed on his visits with me. He openly admits that Stosh usually allows fifteen minutes for Connor to have a cup of coffee with me, black coffee only, and then Connor will say something about how he needs to meet Stosh and off he goes on the run. And, he's still wearing the Army issued eyeglasses that are without style and look goofy, plus he's still getting the Marine basic training haircuts. Oh, and the reason Stosh won't allow Connor to meet me at a bar is that Stosh doesn't want him drinking. All those things are extremely disturbing to me but I don't know what to do about any of it except tell Connor repeatedly that those restrictions are total bullshit and he needs to put a stop to all the restrictions. He poo-poos that by saying those things aren't that important in the larger scheme of things. I ask what larger scheme of things he's referring to and he just shrugs.

Ya know, I don't want to interrogate him so I leave it at that. I want to support Connor as opposed to causing him more anguish. Me interrogating him would make me part of the problem when I want to be part of the solution. A trite sentiment perhaps, but it's true. It's a catch 22 situation. And, Stosh must mean no drinking allowed for Connor unless Stosh is with him because they both were drinking at the dinner party I had like seven weeks ago. Oh, and since then there's been no return invitation to dinner like Stosh threatened. I mean 'mentioned' at our party... and thank God for that.

The other thing I was noticing about Connor is his gay affectations, including his girlie giggling-laugh, none of which was he doing before going in the Army. I'm pretty sure he didn't pick up those traits from being on active duty or from Dodger, which leaves the last eighteen months living with Stosh. He had to have acquired those gay affectations during that time, not that there's anything wrong with acting gay per se... it's just a curiosity I have about Connor doing it, that's all.

My curiosity led me to mention to him that I noticed his tendency to do the limp wrist thing when gesturing, but I did it in a way not to be offensive. I was half laughing while asking if he's doing that stuff in hopes of attracting a replacement for Stosh... hahaha, ya know? He wasn't offended at all and told me he doesn't even realize he's doing it... it's unconscious. Connor came right out and told me that Stosh acts extremely feminine at home when they're alone; he said Stosh acts like the stereotypical gay you see overdone on TV or in the movies sometimes. Connor laughed about it. He shrugged and said he must be picking up some of Stosh's affectations. Well, I didn't see that one coming... a Neanderthal sissy! Stosh acting all swishy and feminine is hard to envision and it never entered my mind as a possibility. Wow, talk about creepy!

Well yeah, and come to think of it, the fact is they're alone almost all the time because Stosh is socially challenged and, consequently, they never go out. Our dinner party was the exception because, for once, Connor insisted and Stosh caved in and agreed they'd show up for an hour. He got drunk though and they stayed for almost six hours. I guess Connor didn't want to diss me by blowing off my invitation. To say the least, it's all a very strange situation and I'm still unsure what do, if anything, about Connor.

Naturally, after that dinner party, I asked Robby and Chubby what they thought of Connor's situation and they both frowned and asked what the fuck is Connor's doing with 'that asshole, Stosh?' quote, unquote. It's no surprise they disapproved, almost anyone would. Their conclusion was the same, and it amounts to this: as long as there are no repeat incidents where Connor's getting physically abused, they don't feel we should interfere. It's Connor's choice to stay with the asshole and while incomprehensible to us, Connor has never indicated he wants any help, or sympathy either for that matter. I guess they're right, sort of. However, there are other kinds of abuses other than physical ones, so I'm keeping my eyes and ears open on that front. Meanwhile, I'll be Connor's friend to the extent he wants me to be. What else realistically can I do?

Anyway, after dropping Danny off at the Quad, I don't even get off campus before I get a text message from Pony: 'Are we running today, Dylan? I hope so....' I text him back saying that as soon as I change clothes I'll pick him up and we'll run and then workout at the fitness center. Sure, he could easily walk to the track as he's done before, but I need to drive right by dormitory row anyway, so it's just as easy picking him up and driving him there. He knows where we always meet.

Driving up to the apartment building I see a couple of open parking spots in the front of the lot, so I park the Nissan there. I'm having much better luck parking this year and, as a matter of fact, everything seems easier this year. Obviously, this being my senior year I've pretty much been there and done that as far as college goes. I'll be a 'rookie' again in the real world after graduation. Yeah, I'll need to face 'life' for real. Some days I'm tempted to push that 'real world' reality back two more years by taking Tim's and Tom's offer to pay my way through graduate school like Chubby's doing. Yeah, it's a little bit of a scary concept being a for-real, gulp... adult. Other days it's like I can't wait to be done with pompous professors and their arbitrary rules and nonsense. Crap like if you don't put your name and student number on the upper right-hand part of the blue book's first page you'll get no credit for the exam. It makes me 'tired' dealing with shit like that. And, ten points off your test grade if you use a blue ballpoint pen instead of one with black ink and... please, everyone, go fuck yourself!

Those kinds of silly rules supposedly teach us to follow directions and pay attention to details and blah, blah, blah for our working lives after college. Sure, those concepts apply in the working world or some such shit, but it grates on my nerves after almost seventeen years of going to 'school' having the same nickel and dime bullshit day in and day out... it's like killing a mosquito with a sledgehammer. Not being a complainer myself, I mention shit like that usually only once or twice a day.

At the door of our apartment, I'm going through my pockets looking for the key when Midge opens her door and goes, "Hey, good-looking, wha'cha up to?" There's the ubiquitous Salem mentholated cigarette dangling between her overly lipsticked-lips as I'm, like, "Oh, hiya, Midge." She starts walking toward me asking, with her cigarette bobbing up and down, "Need some help, sweetheart... locked yourself out, have you?" Midge is holding a white trash bag out away from her body so, obviously, she's on her way to the trash chute at the end of the hall.

She's okay though, so I give her my medium strength smile. I'm afraid to use my 100-watt smile for fear she'll be undressing me here in the hall. I go, "Nah, I've got it, I'm good, but thanks," and I hold up the key. She continues carrying the bag of trash out away from her as though it contains human waste while saying, "Bob's bowling tonight after work, honey. Ya wanna come over and play a game of chess with me and have a few beers?" I go, "As I believe I've mentioned before, Midge, I don't know how to play chess." Right next to me now, she sticks her barely covered breasts out, murmuring, "Let me rub your cute haircut again for luck," and she does. She rubs my head with her free hand that has a ring on every finger and it feels like a wide metal comb going over my scalp as I go, "Oh, ha, um..." as she's mumbling, "You are so damn cute." I hate myself for doing it but I blush and then mutter, "Oh, thanks, um, I gotta change clothes to go, um," and I get the door open as she takes the cigarette out of her mouth grinning and saying, "I'll buy a checkerboard for us," and she walks on down the hall swinging her hips. I mumble, "Checkerboard...?" and then, safely inside and leaning against the door behind me... oh, I 'get' it... 'cause I don't know how to play chess.

Dammit! What if I was a 'straight' horny college guy? Would I take a shot at banging an older woman who was flirting with me like that? It's impossible for me to know because I can't in my wildest imagination see myself having sex with a person of the opposite sex... I just can't. Lots of gay guys have done it of course, and all bisexual guys do it, so why not me? I don't fucking know, and I'm not wasting any time worrying about it. It's good to know our neighbors though because, um, well it just is I guess. When I returned the big pot I borrowed from Midge to cook spaghetti in for that dinner party, Bob answered the door and just took the pot, muttering, "Yeah, thanks kid," and that was it. Next time I bumped into Midge in the hall though, fuck it was like she's known me for years. I mean, that's how friendly she was. It's unnerving...

After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and gulping down half of it, I go out on the balcony to turn on the grill and then back inside I quickly change into sweatpants, running sneakers and an old hoodie sweatshirt that I don't care if it gets sweaty. I wore sweatpants and a hoodie to class too but I have good sweatpants and hoodies for that. The older ones, ones that I've worn for a few years I use for casual activities like working out and running or cleaning the apartment or just lying around.

Next, I check to be sure I've got a jar of meatless spaghetti sauce in the pantry for Carl and then I put a rack of frozen baby back ribs on the grill to cook off some fat and brown the ribs. They'll defrost on the grill or if not, they'll finish in the simmering spaghetti sauce. We have an Italian type dinner once a week and a couple of weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon Chubby came over and we made a big pot of spaghetti sauce from scratch. There's a couple of quarts left in the freezer and I use one for tonight. Into the microwave goes the plastic container to loosen the frozen sauce enough to get it in a pan and then I turn the fire on low under it. Getting the ribs off the grill, I cut the rack in thirds and put the three sections in the sauce, put the lid on the pot... and that's that. It'll probably take a half hour to heat up to a simmer, but there will still be three hours of simmering before dinner tenderizing the ribs as well as infusing the pork flavor into the spaghetti sauce. We'll do our three guy study group for, at the most two hours before dinner and then it'll be ready, the sauce and the ribs, and it'll be really good too.

Back outside I feel the wind picking up on this gray day, so that's not ideal for running but I won't do any physical activity over the Thanksgiving break and consequently, I'm forcing myself to do it today. Almost all the leaves have changed color and dropped off the trees by now. The exception being evergreen trees, obviously, and then some species of oak trees. Their leaves have turned brown but for some reason, they don't fall off until next spring when new leaves come out and force the old ones to drop. I'm pretty sure that's right. After twenty-two years of living in the Northeast, I take the changing seasons for granted but I remember Carl telling me a few weeks back that his roommate couldn't get over the foliage during September and October. Yeah, a guy from the west coast seeing the changing colors of the Northeast trees for the first time in person can hardly believe it. That kid was like...wow! Christ, he was taking pictures of it and selfies and totally fascinated by everything. Wait'll he gets a load of our Nor'easter snow storms this winter!

Driving right up to Pony, who's standing at the beginning of the parking lot exactly where he should be, I feel a warm spot in my heart for him. His smart mouth puts off some guys but most people I know like him and yet he's often alone and looking forlorn, like now. Guys like Danny, Robby, and Chubby... ya never see those boys alone. They're always with someone talking, laughing, and goofing around. Oh man though, Pony has the cutest smile when he sees me. So sweet and he looks extra cute with his hoodie up!

It's hoodie season and that's a cool time of the year because cute guys wearing a hood, and sometimes a baseball cap under the hood, look extra cute with the hood outlining their faces... highlighting their cuteness. On the other hand, guys who aren't cute, plus older men, should never wear a hood. A reverse effect happens in that it highlights their old or unattractive faces. Obviously, the answer to that situation is, I immediately avert my eyes from the latter circumstances. I give second and third glances to the cute boys with their hoods up though, and I enjoy doing that. Surprisingly, sunglasses ruin the hoodie look if you ask me. Makes me think of a picture I saw someplace of that crazy man who sent bomb letters to people... the Unabomber. Anyway, it's the reverse in summer when sunglasses on a cute guy are, once again, a cool look. Pony's eyeglasses ruin the hoodie look somewhat too, but not a lot and anyway, I give Pony a pass on that because I like him so much.

He climbs in the passenger seat, saying, "You look like a wickedly cute bad-ass coming down the road driving this new truck, Dylan. It'd be even better if you had a cigarette dangling from your lips." I smile, "Yeah? Ya think so, Pony? I'm not so sure a bad-ass would have a flattop haircut though. And, I wouldn't be driving this truck very long if Rob smelled cigarette smoke in here." He goes, "Yeah, I hear ya about smoking inside. Smoking inside anywhere... it's uncouth, right?" I go, "That's what we've been brainwashed into believing, yep." Driving on down past the baseball park, Pony's been quiet but he finally says, "Well, yeah, I'm pretty sure bad-asses can have flattops and still be cool." Sometimes he says things a fourteen-year-old boy would say... like what he just said.

When I don't comment Pony presses the issue, "You keep getting a flattop from Danny so you must think it's cool." I shrug, "Why does it matter, Pony? Cool is about as arbitrary a label for something as there is. Hard to be more arbitrary than what seven billion people think is cool, whatever 'cool' even means. It's arbitrary in and of itself. Different people have different views on that." He huffs, saying, "Well, I guess that clears everything the fuck up for me." I glance over and grin, saying, "As long as you're cool, Pony... that's all that matters, and you are cool!" He goes, "I'm not cool... you are," and I laugh yelling, "I fucking know I am. What I'm telling you, you dumb motherfucker is... you're cool too." He laughs, muttering, "No, I'm not. Bruce Pawtucket says I'm a nerd." I go, "Let's go kick Bruce's uncool ass then." Pony grins and nods his head, mumbling, "I'd like to." Then a few seconds later he says, "I only keep getting this haircut 'cause you do. That's why I mentioned it." I go, "Oh."

Yeah, why do I keep getting this dumb-ass haircut? Well, Danny obviously... haha. Yeah, but then Rob likes it on me too. He says I look as young as I did when we both were on that lawn cutting crew before our high school senior year. Jeez, we're getting fuckin' old! Plus, I'm used to this haircut by now and I like that it's one hundred percent maintenance-free, easy to shampoo and takes zero time in the morning. My mom likes it too and so do Mr. and Mrs. Dickers. Who else do I need to please, ya know?

I go, "Hey, Daryl, I just thought of something. It's something I've been meaning to ask you for weeks now but it's so unimportant I keep forgetting to ask." He laughs and goes, "What is it?" I ask, "How come your roommate, Donald what's-his-name, isn't in a sports dormitory? He's on the soccer team, right?" Pony nods, "Yeah, but he had academic problems and had to go to summer school to qualify to play on the team this year. By the time he qualified the sports dorms were full. Donald says there are two to three dozen, at least that many guys and girls on various sports teams who are in the general population dormitories." I go, "Oh. I'm wicked glad I finally found that out." He snickers, "You're fucking nuts."

Parking the pickup behind the entrance wall, which is as close as I can get to the track, we get out with Pony bringing a couple of bottles of water with him as he's telling me, "Follow my warm-up routine exactly like I do it today, Dylan. For once do what I do." I'm like, "Why do you tell me that every time we run?" He goes, "I don't know. In case you forgot I guess." He likes it if I do his elaborate warm-up with him, and since he was on his high school track team he probably knows what he's doing. It takes about ten minutes and he always, every fuckin' time, finds one thing to correct me on. Today it's, "No, Dylan, don't bend your knees at all, not when you're touching the ground with your fingers. And try touching the palms of your hands like I do, not just your fingertips." I flash him the middle finger, saying, "I just touch this longest finger, coach. Is that okay?" He laughs, muttering, "You asshole."

When he's satisfied we've warmed up enough, we start jogging at the pace Pony knows I can keep up with, at least I can keep it up for the first time around the half-mile track. He's holding back, of course, and after a while, I always tell him to run at his own speed. He does three miles every time we run and could do more, but I never do more than two miles. I worked my way up to two miles and I'm doing it fairly fast... fast enough anyway!

Actually, if you ask me, this qualifies as running... not jogging. I only have enough wind to make conversation the first half mile, so I'm like, "Are you nervous about going home for the first time since that disastrous summer you had with your family?" He says, "Ya know, I am a little nervous because of my midterm grades." I go, "Um, why? You told me your midterms were all in the eighties; low eighties you said. That's pretty fucking good!" He nods, "Yeah, but that was all a lie. I lied about that 'cause I wanted to impress you."

Jesus. I'm not even asking what his real grades are. Our feet make that steady weird thumping sound on the artificial surface of the track and that's all we hear. This track is way down below on the lower part of the main campus near the new football stadium. Recent addition... the football team. Pony says, "Aren't you going to ask me what my real grades were?" I go, "Why would I? How would I know if what you tell me is the truth or another lie?" He goes, "Because I'm telling you this is the truth, that's why! Don't be stupid." I go, "Oh," and he laughs out loud and then says, "You're not stupid. Um, if you ask me what my real grades were at midterm I'll tell you." I look at him, "What are your real grades?" He goes, "All four are in the seventies; the high seventies... um, well, not all four." I go, "High seventies, huh? Well, that's almost the eighties," and he says, "By 'high' I mean almost as high as seventy-five. For example, I got two grades that were seventy-three and a seventy-one and then that prick, Professor Deal, gave me a sixty-eight." I try not to sound like I'm winded already, muttering, "They're all passing grades, Pony, so it could be worse. You have three 'C's and a 'C 'minus." He goes, "Uh huh, but that's not getting "B's, is it?" I go, "No, it's 'C's." He nods his head at me as if he proved a point that should have been obvious to me. I don't know what that point was but I'm content to leave it at that.

Yeah, midterms were a couple of weeks ago and then almost a month from now we'll have finals exams for this semester... after that, it'll be the final journey, the last semester EVER... for most of us anyway. Then it's a hesitant... 'hello, world!' We'll step cautiously from our school days' cocoon wondering, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Both Rob and I were kinda shocked to see our midterm grades. We'd put the work in but didn't expect to be in the nineties for all four courses although that's where we ended up. Robby was like, "Shit, it almost seemed too easy." That would be a big fat... NO! We spent two to three hours a night on that shit. Shit, we'll never find a use for in our entire lives... and I still need to remember the useless crap for almost another month until the finals. Then a week later most of it will leak out of my brain as unnecessary information. Still, it was cool seeing the 94's and 92's circled in red on the cover of our blue books.

Chubby's grades were in the eighties which is a miracle considering the time he puts into going to class, which is... not much. He does the all-nighters before exams like I'd read about before going to college. I thought it was bullshit, novels and movie myths, but it's actually true for a lot of the heartier partiers... they cram all night before each exam. Speaking of Chubby, he's been over for dinner at the apartment a few times alone, and then a few other times with his co-pilot, John Beverly. John has always treated me very well, very cordially and friendly, almost with respect like I'm special, but yet I can't warm up to him. I've never been able to, and that's unfair of me... but it is what it is.

A couple of weeks ago Chubby and I had a 'brother's night out too. We had an awesome dinner at Burton's Restaurant and then we closed down Rolf's bar drinking shots and beers. I can do that with Chubby but no one else. We talked about everything that night. About our moms who are basically living with Tim and Tom now, their twin fiancés at the guy's separate condos. Tom is teaching my mom to cook. Tris says she'll let Timmy cook the meals. She always calls him 'Timmy' now. Chub and I are perfectly fine with them cohabitating with their future husbands and in fact, we're thrilled about it. The twins travel for business usually two days a week so the moms spend those nights in our condos as well as changing for work at the condos some days too, but mostly they're living with their guys. Chub and I agree we've never seen them happier which is saying something because they've always seemed pretty happy to start with.

Mostly Chub and I talked about us though. Lots of reminiscing, sure, but then we laughed about shit that happened at the couple of frat parties we were at together this semester, although we didn't go together, and how good it is we haven't gotten into any fights this year... so far. We had a lot of candid exchanges about our lives presently too, including our sex lives. Not specifics obviously, but generally how things are going and they seem to be going quite nicely. Chub never seems to ask me questions directly and he never tells me what to do or criticizes anything I've done, but yet the next day I realized, somehow, that I know his opinion about everything I've been about since returning to Merrimack this year. That made me laugh to myself although it didn't surprise me. We communicate easily and it never feels like 'prying' when we tell each other everything... mostly. We offer each other our honest feelings very casually and I think we're so used to doing it, communicating clearly with one another, that we take it for granted by now.

Anyway, the bottom line is... I feel like Chubby's proud of me. There is nothing I care about more than my brother's approval and, obviously, he has my one-hundred percent stamp of approval as well. It all boils down to me being happy; I think that's what Chubby concluded from our night together, that I'm happy. Not a small thing, being happy... lots of people can't find happiness. So, yeah, that's what Chub mostly cares about. I mean, obviously, I'm not doing drugs or in danger of becoming an alcoholic, or fucking with the 'law', or inciting riots or anything, but he wasn't worried about any of that in the first place... he knows me better than anyone. He gave up worrying about Robby not being 'right' for me some time ago because, as I've said before, within the last year Robby's changed into a more normal and less hyper person, more age-appropriate and less trying to be like his dad. Robby just gave up thinking everything had to be done a certain way and that he had to be perfect and he stopped worrying that I didn't love him enough, and all those kinds of things. In other words, he's allowed himself to have more fun and not be an overly-mature worrier. Sure, I helped him attain this better 'place' but he's helped me in many ways too. We're good for each other.

All that is true while at the same time Robby remains super conscientious about important things like college and business and so forth. He's now being, as I just said, what I consider appropriately mature for his age. No, we're not especially young anymore but there are still a lot of aspects about life at our age that should be fun and he's more into that than ever before. His more blasé attitude about things that he used to stress over means less stress for me too. We're good, Robby and me, and Chubby sees that. So, that's cool.

Chubby's plans are to get his master's degree, as the twins suggested and agreed to finance, plus they say they have a job in mind that will be perfect for Chubby. Something to do with public relations as their company grows. I'm not clear about it because Chubby's not clear about it, but he seems, um, interested. No, for real, he does seem interested in the possibilities of working for the guys... but we'll see. I'm not worried about him.

So all these thoughts pass quickly through my mind as I jog silently for the last half of the first mile. And then I'm sort of startled out of my musings when Pony, still jogging beside me for once, loudly says, "Not bad, Dylan... wow!!" After a startled little jump, I'm like, "Huh?" He nods, looking at his stopwatch, saying, "Yeah, that was a six-minute and twenty-second mile. Jesus, that's a good time for you."

I'm too winded to speak as I realized I kept up with Pony's pace although he can run a much faster mile than that! Still, it was my fastest time for a mile and the fastest I ever want to run a mile. I'm not getting in condition to race anyone. I flick my hand, managing to say, "You go on. I'm gonna catch my breath and then drink both bottles of your water before slowly jogging the next mile." He laughs and mutters, "You're such a pussy. I can't imagine why I idolize you so much." Nodding, I go, "Whatever," and he pats my shoulder, mumbling, "Sure... we're cool," whatever that means, and off he goes. I walk about twenty yards down the track before turning around and walking back to the bleachers to sit down and drink some water. After five minutes I'm feeling okay again and start to jog my second mile at a more sensible pace.

As I'm approaching the first curve of the first half mile I see five students coming from behind the ballpark. They're unsteadily making their way down the hill that separates the ballpark from the track we're running on. There's a fence on that side but no bleachers. It's three guys and two girls and they're laughing and yelling something. Not at us, at each other. They all have large plastic cups they're drinking from and I'm pretty sure it's not milk in those cups. One tall guy is wearing a winter knit cap that some people call a pom-pom hat because of the ball of knit material on top, and the guy is smoking a big cigar. I'm guessing here, but to me, they look like a group of what are commonly referred to as assholes.

Okay, but they're probably not looking for trouble either although walking around campus with large cups of alcoholic beverages tells me these probably aren't members of Mensa and therefore unlikely to respond to logical conversation. I'd rather not exchange high fives and greetings with them. Also, if the campus cops show up I don't want Pony and me lumped in with that crew of nincompoops.

I hear Pony running up behind me, coming pretty fast, but he slows down to ask me, "Do you see that crew? They look drunk." I nod and say, "Yes, we don't want to associate with the likes of those students who can't apparently follow directions. There's no drinking on campus grounds. Every-fucking-body knows that and they're obviously heading for these bleachers where they'll continue doing what they shouldn't. I mean, what other reason would there be for them coming here at the end of the campus if not to continue drinking? Oh, and look there, Pony... a bottle of liquor just came out of the cigar smoker's pocket and he's adding a splash to the group's cups."

Pony frowns, "What should we do?" I go, "Discretion is the better part of something, valor I think, so let's amscray." He goes, "Okay, how do we do that?" I mutter, "It's Pig Latin for scram," and he mumbles, "I know how to scram," and we finish the half mile and then scram as the five idiots are trying to climb over the fence instead of walking around to the entrance that Pony and I are exiting.

As we're driving away, Pony's like, "Do you think those guys were trouble?" Shrugging, I go, "Probably not, but I wasn't in the mood for whatever silliness they were up to. The closer they got, the more they looked like freshmen and therefore would probably be more of a pain in the ass than trouble. I mean, what possible good could come from us hanging around when we were done running anyway?" He nods his head, but says, "It felt like we were running away from them." I go, "We were, as fast as possible. Who needs the hassle?" He mutters, "I might have run another mile." I roll my eyes but I've already expended more of my life on this than I was hoping I'd need to.

For something to say, I go, "You haven't told me anything about what you and your friends have been up to this year. What's been happening with you this semester?" He sighs, "Nothing much. My bud from last year, Bruce Perillo, is in love with some sophomore skank and he doesn't have any time for me and, I don't know, I'm not connecting with anybody. Ya know, I haven't made a 'buddy' relationship with anyone, and I don't even mean sex buddy. Just a friend buddy. There's a couple of guys I smoke pot with from the dorm but they're kinda boring and, frankly, stupid. Donald doesn't smoke pot. He smokes cigarettes but he's cool. We have the bowling team competition. Mostly anything I do is when Donald arranges it and invites me to join in. He's a good guy. Soccer season is over so he's around a lot more now and he invites me to do stuff, hang out and drink with him and two of his friends. Black dudes and they're okay with me being a honky." I'm like, "That's what they call you?" He shrugs, "Yeah, but I don't care." Well, I do! Fuck!

Jeez, it doesn't seem like he's having a lot of fun. I say, "I don't get it. Everyone likes you Pony, so why don't you have guys to hang out with and do shit with?" He shrugs again, "You only know the guys you know, Dylan. I mean, haha, duh, huh? No, what I meant is the guys you know like me because you like me. If I didn't know you they wouldn't give me the time of day." Frowning, I go, "That's bullshit. Anyway, you had guys you hung out with last year and I mean more than the guy in love with the skank. I thought you were doing the same stuff with those guys this year. Those same guys are back at Merrimack, right?" He goes, "Oh fuck. Everyone seems boring compared to you guys, um, compared to you I mean." I go, "You know what it is, Pony? You've got a hangover from last summer! You were grumpy as hell when you first got back to college and you got off on the wrong foot so everything seems negative to you... and it shouldn't be." He says, "You don't need to worry about me, Dylan. You still like me, that's all I care about."

Why do I think I need to fix everyone's life when they don't think it needs fixing? I drop the subject and ask, "Do you want to have dinner with us tonight? Carl's gonna stay for dinner." Pony says, "Thanks, but tonight our bowling team is going out for pizza and then we need to fucking practice bowling. We're getting killed... our team sucks. There are two more teams now so that's four and it's kind of a bowling league. Donald says I'm our team's best bowler!" Oh! See that! He'll be okay. I feel better after hearing that. I go, "Okay, come for dinner another time."

We work out at the fitness center for forty-five minutes and when we walk outside at five-fifteen it's dark... it's a pitch black night. It's that time of year. In another month it'll be dark by four-fifteen. After dropping Pony off at dormitory row I fight my way across Route 114 during rush hour traffic and again get a close parking spot.

Feeling grungy after running and working out on the equipment at the fitness center, I'm looking forward to a long hot shower. I unlock the door and inside I see Robby on the sofa with Carl right next to him. They're both looking at the book Carl's holding so they can both see it. I go, "Hello, boys. What have you got there, a gay porn book?" Carl holds it up showing me the cover... 'The Science of Hitting' by Ted Williams. Carl says, "Rob got it for me from the baseball library." I mutter, "I didn't know there was one," and Robby says, "Take a look at the kitchen bar, babe." I glance over and say, "Oh, a bottle of VO, and one of sweet vermouth too, and a jar of Maraschino cherries, and what's that, a cocktail shaker?" Carl says, "Rob bought all that stuff while I was taking a shower back at my dorm. He said you guys are having Manhattan's tonight."

The overhead light is shining off Carl's red hair. Huh, his flattop looks a little fuzzy on top like mine. Damn though, his hair is a pretty shade of red and with his green eyes and pale complexion... hmmm. Robby's hair is wet, so he obviously took a shower recently too. He combs his hair the way Danny combed it after his haircut... a wicked straight part on the left with a fucking cute pompadour in front. It looks preppy alright! They both look good enough to lick like an ice cream cone. Yeah, but what the hell are they doing reading a fucking book? They should be having nuclear hot sex together on that sofa.

I go over to the kitchen bar and pick up the stainless steel cocktail shaker, mumbling, "Nice," and then brightly say, "I'm up for this Manhattan bullshit, Robert! I need a shower first but I'll be joining you boys shortly." First things first though, so I stir the spaghetti sauce in our biggest pot. Rob says, "I'll make the Manhattan's right after our study group." Oh fuck, how'd I forget that? And, yes, we do have another pot that's big enough to cook spaghetti for three, no problem.

Robby asks, "Will you want your Manhattan on the rocks or straight up?" I'm like, "Well, since we don't have glasses for straight-up cocktails, um, unless you've been doing more shopping that I don't know about, um..." He grins, mumbling, "So you're saying, on the rocks?" I snicker, "Yeah, that's what I'm saying, and nice move on your part buying all this Manhattan paraphernalia! A Manhattan before an Italian dinner seems just the right thing for two sophisticated guys like us. And a strawberry milkshake for our son." Carl says, "Yeah, I could go for a milkshake!" Fuck, he's cute! As I'm walking by on the way to the bathroom I rub Carl's head and then slap the hand Rob's holding out as I mutter, "See you boys in ten minutes."

In the hall, I yell back, "What's Carl actually gonna have to drink while we have our Manhattans?" Robby yells, "What the fuck do you think? A Shirley Temple." As I go into the bathroom I hear Carl asks, "What's that, Rob?" Oh man, can he be that clueless? His parents must both be missionaries or at least ministers or faith healers or something pious like that... ya know, to raise a son like Carl. But, Omigod is he ever sexily adorable! Robby has got to be banging that kid like a drum! I mean, Carl admits he's gay and, okay, he says he's only participated in a few circle jerks with friends in middle school, but come on people... he's so sexily cute someone should have screwed him by now. And I just KNOW he's bottom material!

Oh man, I need to forget it though because he's under Rob's care and Carl's so young, younger than his years... like Pony is younger than his years. Yeah, Carl is off limits to me... according to me! He's Rob's responsibility in numerous ways and I'm leaving it to him. I'll stick with Pony.

As always, the shower is great and while washing I pay special attention to my ass and especially my asshole with anticipation of Rob initiating sex tonight in bed. It's perfect that he's the one who mostly initiates our sex, and it's been that way ever since I moved in with him last summer and it continues right up to the present... and thank you very much! It makes me feel special that he wants to have so much sex with me and also makes me think for the tenth time that he must have abandoned all side sex... the nut. No problem though, I'm flattered I'm all he needs so, obviously, it works for me as long as it's fine with my lover boy.

The shower is everything it should be and after drying my body, l need only fifteen-seconds with the hairdryer and a comb for my hair, and it's done... boom! In the bedroom, as always, Willie's gift of my David Yurman 'cross' necklace goes around my neck, his sports watch gift around my wrist and then I pull on a pair of clean jockey shorts. Okay, what to wear? Hmmm, no problem 'cause after a quick perusal of my clean clothes I put on black skinny jeans and an electric blue, light-material Nike collarless pullover that's one size too big for me, which I don't bother tucking in. My small hoop earrings stayed in for the shower so, after pulling on socks, all I need to do to complete this picture is step into my black hightop Converse sneakers and I'm ready to take a quick look at myself. Stepping over to the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door, and... uh huh, I'm looking good! Slim guys like me look good in almost any clothes...

When I walk into the living room, Carl goes, "Omigod, you look so cool, Dylan!" HA! I shrug, muttering, "Get yourself under control, young man, of course, I look cool," and I rub his head again as he sort of grins leaning my way. Hmmm...

Robby says, "Okay, let's get to studying so we can put this shit behind us." We study at the kitchen table with the aroma of the simmering spaghetti sauce floating in the air. I'm freakin' hungry too. For the first hour and fifteen minutes, we work on our assignments individually. It's mostly quiet except for Carl making a subtle little-wet sound with his lips that's getting on my nerves. I lightly swat his head, saying, "Stop that, please." He goes, 'What?" Robby gives me a frowning 'look' as I mumble to Carl, "That sound you're making with your cute lips." He says, "Oh, I'm sorry, Dylan, I didn't realize I was..." and, oh fuck, I go, "It's alright, Carl. I'm sorry I hit you."

Then while I study in the bedroom for a pop quiz, Robby quizzes Carl on something and then Carl goes in the bedroom to study while Rob and I quiz each other and then Rob's in the bedroom studying while Carl and I goof off with each other. We're giggling about another rude episode he had with a girl who's in one of his classes. He started off being serious telling me what happened but I began snickering at how rude he was to the girl and we ended up getting silly making up absurd rude things he 'should' have said to her. Some girls made fun of him in prep school so Carl has the anti-girl thing going for him that's kinda funny although it's kinda stupid too. Anyway, we were acting like goofs. The studying and whatnot continue almost two hours before I say, "That's it for me... I'm done!" and ten minutes later we put everything away. It's seven-thirty already.

As I'm making the salad for dinner, Rob goes, "I just put ice in the shaker with the Manhattan brew, baby. I hope it's as good as dad's Manhattans." He shakes the new stainless steel cocktail shaker until frost forms on the outside of it. Wow, Rob's a chip off the old block alright!

We bought four cocktail glasses a month ago for occasions like this, although we've also been using the new glasses for juice in the morning when our juice glasses are in the overloaded dishwasher and we're too lazy to stick a pod of Cascade in to get the machine running. Ya know, cocktail glasses are the short ten-ounce squatty ones. Rob puts ice in two of the glasses and pours in his Manhattan mixture, topping it off with a bright red artificially colored cherry with its stem still attached. Carl's watching everything as he drinks Coke from the can. Robby and I touch glasses and take a swallow. I go, "Perfection, Robby," as my eyes water. It's too strong but then, when some of the ice melts, ya know.

Robby's eyelids are fluttering a little after his swallow of Manhattan, so I go, "Let's have a smoke." We shiver a little on the balcony holding the very cold glasses while smoking. Carl says, "I wonder if I'll be drinking by the time I'm a senior." I'm like, "Here, taste this," and he goes, "No thanks," but leans against me so I put my arm across his shoulders and pretend I'm gonna make him drink some of my Manhattan. The edge of the glass touches his tightly closed sexy lips and he goes, "Ew, your cooties are on my lips now." See what I mean about him acting like he's fifteen? Robby mumbles, "Don't, Dylan! He doesn't want any." I go, "No shit, I'm kidding around with your mentee, Mister Mentor." Protective, huh?

With smoke drifting out of his mouth, Robby brags about Carl's hitting prowess earlier today in the batting cage and Carl blushes, saying, "It was cold in the batting cage too." Holy shit, I feel like checking his driver's license, assuming he's actually old enough to have one. I wanna see what his true age is. Carl, in addition to acting like he's much younger than he is, also looks much younger than he is. In both cases, as I said... fifteen. I say that although he occasionally does have a fuzzy orange mustache and some orange fuzz on his face when he doesn't shave for a week. Some fifteen-year-old boys have early beginnings of a beard too...unfortunately. Carl turned nineteen on October sixteenth but didn't tell us until last week, so we didn't have a party for him. What the fuck, he doesn't drink anyhow, so what would we have... cupcakes and ice cream?

As I mentioned before, Robby more often than not has his arm across Carl's shoulders, so to tweak him a little I give Carl's shoulders a hug, saying, "Way to go, Carl! You're finally hitting like a scholarship player, huh?" He shrugs and then shrugs again, so I say, "And, dude, you haven't even read that fucking book about hitting yet." Carl might not want a sip of booze but he also doesn't, apparently, want to move away from my arm across his shoulders either. Take that, mentor! The mentor swallows some of his Manhattan and says, "Stop teasing him, Dylan... Christ!" I go, "Who's teasing him? I'm hugging him." Carl snickers and still doesn't move away.

We only smoke about half our cigarettes before going back inside because the wind is really blowing and it's cold. Inside again, Robby goes, "A nice fireplace with a roaring fire would be nice about now, huh? We'll have one in our condo, Dylan." I nod, "Yeah, have they started building that yet?" He shakes his head, "No, not yet. It's scheduled to be done this summer though, um, sometime in late August or early September." I mutter, "Which more likely means the middle of next October."

Carl sits at the bar and watches Rob and me get the dinner on plates as we drink our Manhattan and when the dinner is on the kitchen table, Robby goes, "Let's have another Manhattan, babe," and he mixes up another batch that's just as strong as the first, but easier to drink after getting used to the first one. We drink our cocktails while eating... I'm feeling buzzed when I finish mine. The food is excellent though and hopefully will absorb the booze. As usual, Carl out-eats Rob and me. Those vegetarians are really something, ya know?

After dinner the three of us get in each others way in the smallish kitchen cleaning up the dishes, pots, and pans, but it's good that we all are willing to help do that. We're back out on the balcony for an after dinner smoke when Rob's cell phone rings. Holding the filter of his cigarette between his teeth, Robby struggles to get his phone from his tight jeans and then glances at the caller ID. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he goes, "It's Sparky Jones," and he turns his back to us and goes, "Sparky! Whassup, dude?" I don't know anyone named 'Sparky' but Carl nods his head, mumbling, "Oh yeah, he's one of the utility infielders," and then he adds, "I didn't know his first name was Sparky though. I remember seeing 'Jones' on the back of a guy's uniform at fall practice." I'm like, "Uh huh. How many of the forty guys at fall practice do you actually know?" He shrugs, "Maybe ten, but I see their names on their uniforms. Most guys don't talk much to us freshmen."

Robby laughs and mutters something and then turns around and says to Carl, I assume he's talking to Carl since I don't know who the fuck this Sparky person is, "Sparky's stuck at Maggie's Ice Cream shop." Carl and I both shrug and Rob looks at me, explaining, "He's a guy on the team, babe," and then to Carl, "You know Sparky, right?" and before Carl can answer, Rob snickers and says, "Sparky got a ride to Maggie's with Chuck Lofton," and to me he adds, "He's a catcher on the team." Then to both of us, "So he rides over with Lofton and a few other guys. They get ice cream or whatever and Sparky is putting the make on some chick. Lofton thinks Sparky's staying and he drives off with the other guys. The girl basically told Sparky to get lost and he looks around and his ride already left." I'm like, "Why the fuck is this loser calling you?" Rob goes, "He's not a loser. Um, I don't know why he called me. I was talking to him at the batting cage today and he knows I've got the new pickup 'cause we were talking about it. Anyway, I'm gonna save his ass. I'll pick him up and drop him off at his dorm. You guys wanna come with me and get some ice cream for dessert?" I make a 'face' mumbling, "You two go. I'm too stuffed to eat anything, including ice cream." Carl says, "No ice cream for me either, Rob, but I'll ride over with you if you want company."

Robby steps on his cigarette butt, saying, "Stay put, Carl. I don't want to explain what I'm doing with a freshman at nine o'clock," and he grins at Carl and pats his shoulder, adding, "Not that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, ya know?" Carl acts defensive, saying, "You're my mentor! Why wouldn't I be with you."

They're both going inside so I flick my cigarette about thirty feet over the railing and turn to see if they saw that. They didn't, so I follow them in. Rob's getting the thingie that starts the pickup, asking me, "You think I should bring back some ice cream for later, or to put in the freezer for tomorrow or whatever?" I shake my head, "Nah, they charge too much and it's not any better than Brigham's ice cream that we can buy at Stop and Shop for $3.59 a quart. They charge $7 a quart at Maggie's." Robby grins and pats my cheek, saying, "I'll go by your grocery shopping expertise, baby. See you guys in half an hour," and he's out the door.

Carl and I look at each other and I go, "Do you play chess?" He nods, "Yeah, ya wanna play?" I go, "No, we don't have a chess set or whatever it's called but my next door neighbor is looking for someone to play chess with." I'm trying not to laugh picturing Midge devouring poor Carl in two bites. He frowns, "Next door neighbor? I don't want to do anything with your next door neighbor." I chuckle, mumbling, "That was a joke, Carl. I gotta take a piss," and he follows me into the bathroom, muttering, "Me too. Is it alright if I pee next to you?" I go, "Well, aren't you full of surprises. I had you pegged for one of those guys who can't piss if anyone is within twenty feet. Be my guest," and I take out my dick and, "Ahhh," that's a relief!" as my piss stream hits the water.

It requires extraordinary willpower, which fortunately I have, not to glance at Carl's dick when I see his pale ember piss stream next to mine. I say, "Ya know, Carl, yellow piss tells you something important, not that your piss is especially yellow." He goes, "I know. It means you're not hydrated properly and you need to drink more water." I go, "Well aren't you the little Google expert. That's correct." He says, "Sometimes you treat me as if I'm ten years old." I go, "That's patently absurd! I think of you as fifteen, at least fifteen." He does his easy laugh and then says, "You've got the nicest looking penis I think I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty of penises in many locker rooms after baseball games." I'm shaking my dick, mumbling, "What a nice thing to say," and I snort out a laugh as I shake the last drip of piss off and start putting my dick away, adding, "I'm quite fond of my penis and getting a compliment about the little guy is so appreciated it's not even funny!" He laughs and while he's doing that I glanced at his pecker. Oh, fuck, it's a normal looking penis. I had in my head that Carl would have a ginormous cock like the diminutive Hayden has. No such luck though.

Carl zips up his fly, saying, "Yours is not a 'little guy' as you said a minute ago. It's a nice size penis. I liked the pale pinkish color of the skin and the nicely shaped rosy colored head." I can't help laughing out loud because he said that very seriously. I go, "Oh man, you're a riot, Carl. Okay, what do you do after taking a piss?" He says in a little kid's voice, "Is it, wash my hands, daddy?" I laugh again and hug his shoulders. He hugs around my waist saying seriously, "Please do me a favor, Dylan. A big one, a huge favor." Oh fuck, I think I know what the favor is going to be, so I try to let him off the hook by asking, "Is it helping you wash your hands?" and I snicker to show I'm kidding. He says, "No, I can do that myself. It's that I don't want to be a gay virgin any longer." Omigod, I knew it!

I'd absolutely love to accommodate him but I feel really weird about it because he's Rob's mentee. I turn on the water in the sink and squirt some soft soap on my hands, mumbling, "Wash your hands." My mind is going a mile a minute as my dick scampers around in my shorts getting ready to assault my brain for control. In the mirror over the sink, I see a dark blush on Carl's face and I can only imagine how hard that was for him to ask, and how awkward I'm making it for him by not saying anything. I'm thinking! Alright?

I finally say in a normal conversational voice, "I don't blame you, Carl. Nobody likes being a virgin, not once you learn the score at say age, um, seven or something." He snickers, mumbling, "Seven is a bit early to know the score." Shrugging I nudge his hands over a little so I can get mine under the running water. He looks up at me and I say, "Yeah, you're probably right. Honest to God though, I didn't even know I was gay until someone proved it to me when I was seventeen." He goes, "Get outta here," and I'm like, "It's embarrassing... but true." Drying my hands on a hand towel, I'm letting Carl use the lower half as he murmurs, "Well, will you help me out... please, Dylan?"

Walking out of the bathroom, I'm like, "How about if you bring your situation up with Rob? Ya know, your mentor in all things," and I chuckle... haha, adding, "Wouldn't Rob sorta be the logical person to ask?" Carl goes, "Oh, God no! I'd feel terrible telling Rob, um... I mean, c'mon, he's my mentor!" I'm not sure I follow that logic, as I ask, "Why me? You must know a freshman who's gay," and I realize how dumb that was before I finish saying it. He goes, "Um, no, I don't. And I think you'd be perfect because you're nice and awesomely good looking and we both have flattops, haha. No, seriously, I'm positive losing my cherry with you is the perfect situation for me, and as you told me before, we only have the one cherry. If you'd do this for me it'd be something I'd remember for, um, at least a couple of months." I laugh out loud again and then say, "Good one, Carl! A couple of months... haha." That was pretty good! I thought he was going to say 'As long as I live'... haha.

He's smiling and saying, "I get a good one off every now and then. So, would you, please?" Looking into his earnest eyes I go, "Sure, I'd be honored to be your first one, Carl. C'mon in the bedroom." Well, I've been wanting to kiss his mouth and hug the shit out of him from almost the first time I laid eyes on him so, here we go...

In the bedroom, I'm like, "Oh, ah, this sounds like a silly question maybe, but how are you envisioning this happening, um, do you want to..." He interrupts, "I'm hoping you'll, um, you know, fuck me." That's the first curse word I've heard come out of his mouth. I mutter, "Fuck you, huh? Yeah, that's how I envisioned it happening too. Ah, I don't have a condom though, so if that's a problem, maybe some other time might be..." and he interrupts again, mumbling, "No condom, no problem but, ah, will we have like a circle jerk first, or...?" I wipe my mouth to keep from grinning or worse, laughing, and then mutter, "No, I was thinking we'd try a few kisses and see how things go. How's that sound?" He nods, "Foreplay, right?" I go, "Uh huh. You've watched gay porn, right?" Shaking his head, he says, "No, not really." Ya gotta be shitting me!

Nodding my head again, I say, "Yeah, well, um, okay. I should probably mention a few things. Um, obviously you know how to kiss, right?" He goes, "You mean, have I kissed my mom?" Hmmm, I go, "Not exactly, no. I'll show you and then I'll use lubricant when we do 'it' but it will probably still hurt at first, although I'm gonna go really slow. And listen, Carl, if it really hurts we'll stop. Some guys can't do anal sex as the, um, bottom person. It's nothing to be embarrassed about if you're like that. It has something to do with the way their rectum is shaped or, well whatever. The important thing is... it's not their fault, or yours either if that turns out to be the case for you. Maybe you'll be a 'top' then... no problem, okay?" He nods, and I add, "So, Carl, what I'm trying to emphasize is you need to tell me if it really hurts. That's important." He's staring in my eyes, murmuring, "I just knew you'd be the right guy to ask." I sort of shrug, and he asks, "Um, that lubricant you mentioned, um, that comes after the foreplay, right?" I do a fake cough and mutter, "Damn, something's caught in my throat I think, but it's okay now. Yes, after the foreplay."

We've got like twenty minutes before Rob's due back, but I'll assume we only have ten. I go, "First thing, let's take our pants down so we can get used to feeling each others naked body down there during the foreplay... the kissing and, oh, we'll do some feeling around too, some rubbing our hands on each other. You know, we'll do foreplay that includes kissing and rubbing our hands over each other a little bit." He makes a gulping sound in his throat and squeaks out, "Ya mean now?" Jesus, my heart breaks for him a little. I go, "Uh huh, but maybe we'll just do the kissing part first. Do you have an aversion to kissing a guy? That would be okay if you do..." " He shakes his head, "No, no! I'd like it if we kissed, really like it!" I go, "Okay then, that's good," and I drop my sweatpants and then kick off my sneakers so I can pull my pants the rest of the way off. Why get cum on them? It's actually a good thing we took that piss together. Broke the ice, sort of. I mean Carl seeing my dick... that's sort of a start. We really should have more time for this though...

Carl sits on the desk chair and takes his sneakers and socks off. Jesus, could he do that any slower? We don't have a lot of time here. I don't say anything because he's obviously nervous, but why he took his socks off I couldn't begin to guess. Off come his pants and then his boxer shorts. As I said, he has a normal package consisting of maybe a five-inch penis and normal sized nuts, plus orange pubic hair like Sonny's. Disappointing about his dick, sure... but, ya know, there aren't many guys with Hayden's equipment... not in this world anyway. Hayden's a freak actually, but in a good way.

Damn though, I can't wait for the Christmas break when I know I'll be getting one of Hayden's memorable ass fuckings. Wow, it gives my pecker a shiver just thinking about that. Fortunately, Hayden's as committed to keeping our continuing albeit rare buddy sex between him and me; just as committed to that as I am. It wasn't a problem before Danny and I got so involved I wouldn't want him to know! Robby wouldn't care, but Danny would and I'd hate to screw up my buddy sex with my only buddy sex 'top' with a full semester to go.

Okay, I try a very friendly smile hoping to get Carl to relax as I rub his head, saying, "This is very special to me, Carl. You asking me to be your first, I mean. I just want you to know that, but we don't need to do it now. We should really have more time for this; it should be very special. It's not something ya wanna hurry through your first go-round, ya know? Another time might be better... maybe when, you know, Rob won't be back in like ten minutes." He swallows with another gulping sound before saying, "It's special of you to do it for me, Dylan. I'm totally psyched to do it now though... and thank you for doing this." Oh, fuck! I mumble, "You're welcome. Um, okay, we'll start with a kiss," and I put my hands behind his head and lower mine to his level for a gentle kiss on his lips and then lift my head to see his reaction. He does a half grin as the tip of his pink tongue licks across his lips. Looking at me, he says, "That takes care of my first kiss with another guy."

He seems okay, so I do another kiss on his candy tasting lips and he kisses back exactly like you might kiss your mom. Huh! I nod my head, "Nice start Carl. Um, does my whiskey breath offend you? I can gargle, if..." He's shaking his head, "No, not at all. It's, um," and he chuckles, "It's sexy, like macho, ya know?" Well, no, actually I don't, but whatever. I go, "Alright then. The reason I asked is that this time I'd like you to slightly open your mouth so my tongue can lick yours, your tongue to be specific. Okay?" He nods his head too fast, saying, "Yeah, sure, Dylan! That sounds, um, yeah... do that."

This is going pretty well. First though I kiss his cheek for like three seconds because he's so fucking cute with all this, and then I tell him, "I'm really enjoying this, Carl, and so would a lot of gay boys. So, you need to find one closer to your own age to experiment further with him. I mean, after you and I do it and you know what it's like." He goes, "Yeah, I'll be more confident then, right?" I mutter, "One would think so, sure," and with my arms resting on his shoulder I do a mini French kiss for ten seconds and then ask, "How was that?" He goes, "Really awesome, but shouldn't I be doing something?" I'm like, "Do whatever feels good," and I kiss him again with a little more heat. His arms go around me as his tongue swishes around on mine and then he makes a squeaky sound in his throat while leaning against me even tighter. The next time we do it my dick forgets this is a gay kissing lesson 101... and it gets hard.

Keeping my hips slightly away so Carl doesn't feel my boner we kiss again and then I lick across his lips and suck on his top lip for three seconds. He gasps and sort of sprays some saliva that hits my face as he's stepping back, red-faced. Inhaling noisily now he grabs at himself taking a deep breath and now I see a really nice innocent looking boner sticking up against his belly. He has an innie bellybutton by the way. I noticed his boner only when he lifted his shirt as his hand rubbed all around his belly and over his hard-on that's drooling some pre-cum, if I can believe that. Breathing fast now he says, "Oh darn, I'm making a total fool of myself. Sorry, Dylan. It's just that I never... I mean, I thought I was gonna, you know... I almost, well you know, all over you."

My oversized long-sleeve pullover is hanging down past my crotch so he hasn't seen my boner yet. I softly say, "No, you don't need to be sorry about anything. Maybe we should move on? Is the kissing, ya know, established so you'd be able to do it with the lucky guy you hook-up with?" He nods and says, "Um, maybe another one like the last one... just to be sure." HA! I go, "No problem," and this time while we suck our mouths and tongues and lips together I grab and massage his butt cheeks. I knew they looked awfully good and damn sexy even with clothes on and they look even better as pale pinkish bare ass butt cheeks, and I already knew they were very firm bubble butt cheeks because I've patted his ass a few times over the past couple of months, but there's nothing like touching them in the flesh.

Carl's mouth is very active and he's hugging around my waist to beat the band and that's fine but then he moans into my mouth doing one, two, then three humps against my leg as he going, 'Ahhhhh," I know what just happened 'cause I felt his hot spurt of cum hit my leg a little above where he was humping. Oops, and then another squirt as he clings to me, his fingers gripping my flesh, not that there's a hell of a lot there to grip on my sides. He groans now, his face sliding down to rest against my shoulder. When I straighten up his face slides down until it's just his forehead on my shoulder. A long moan from Carl as I rub his back, murmuring, "It's okay. You're fine, Carl... no problem."

He's still clinging to me as I check my wristwatch looking over his shoulder and see that time is running out. Plus, unless he pissed on my leg he just climaxed so we need to continue this lesson another more convenient time. The problem with that is I'm horny to fuck him now. I'm rubbing the back of his head, murmuring, "It's okay, really." He's murmuring something against my chest which I can't hear until he pulls his head back and he says, "I'm sorry." I go, "You don't need to be, but we should continue another time. I promise whenever you want, we'll go to plan 'B'." He asks, "What's plan 'B'?" I go, "I'll think of something."

He looks disappointed, so I say, "Ya know, this was actually a perfect first step... so to speak. We've gotten intimate, um familiar with each other, so next time we can get right into it, um, quicker...okay?" He nods his head, "Yeah, you're right. It'd be terrible if Rob got back and... yeah, you're right! Thanks, Dylan, and I am sorry for being such a weirdo." Gently extricating myself from his clinging arms, I say, "You are not a weirdo. I need to clean up a little though." He makes a face, muttering, "I'm so sorry."

I'm like, "It's no problem... grab your clothes though and come with me," and after I get mine, he follows me into the bathroom and as I'm wetting a fresh washcloth, I ask, "Do you need to wipe your dick?" He nods his head and takes the washcloth from my hand. Oh haha, I do another fake cough to hide a laugh because I didn't mean use my washcloth. I thought he could use some toilet paper. I'm the one who has cum running down the front of my leg. And, yeah, it was mighty convenient for him that his boner pulled away from his belly to shoot off on my leg because I don't see any cum on him at all except a drip at his piss slit.

Getting another fresh washcloth I wet it and clean his cum off my leg, saying, "Nice load of cum, Carl." I'm trying for some levity here, but he blushes a crimson shade of red, muttering, "Sorry." I chuckle, "I was joking again, Carl," and then add, "Although it was a damn nice load." He's closed the toilet lid and is sitting on it to pull on his socks and I need to do another fake cough. Why the hell did he take his socks off?

Cleaned up and dressed, we go to the living room with Carl saying, "You're so right about doing it another time because I'd feel really weird if we did it. I just thought of how weird I'd feel after doing it when Rob gets back. Ya know what I mean? Do you think he could tell by just looking at us?" I nod, "Maybe. I mean, you don't exactly have the best poker face I've ever seen." He goes, "You mean I'd give it away?" I shrug, "I don't know, probably not." He's unconsciously still rubbing his junk. I assume it unconscious.

He mutters, "I've never felt anything like that before in my life. It was, um, scary..." I'm opening the refrigerator, asking, "Bad scary?" and he goes, "NO! Awesome scary... it was shocking, but in a really cool way. I didn't know what to expect, ya know?" Nodding, "I go, "Uh huh. Well, you and I need a more private setting and more time than fifteen minutes. Um, care for a Coke?" He goes, "Yeah, I need a drink after that!" I'm like, "You mean booze?" He goes, "Oh, no, I meant what you said, a Coke." I get a can of Coke for him and then open a can of beer for myself.

Taking a big swallow of beer. Ahhh, that first taste of a beer is good, but after that, it's just something to drink to get a buzz going. In my case, to keep the buzz going. Those Manhattans haven't cleared my bloodstream yet. Not even close. I go, "I need a smoke, Carl." He follows me out on the balcony asking, "What was your first time like, Dylan?" Oh, balls! I lie, "Oh, it was with a boy a year older. We went to school together." He nods, drinks some Coke, does a burp, and goes, "Yeah, but what was it like?" I go, "Oh... what was it like. Let me try to remember..." and I see Rob coming in the front door and say, "Here comes Rob now. Good thing we put this off, huh?"

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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