Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 34

by. Donny Mumford

Thanksgiving morning I'm lying on my back in bed wondering what time it is. It 'feels' very early. Glancing to my right I see Robby sleeping on his side and, as usual, he's not making a sound. He sleeps like he's dead, which can be disconcerting so I bump the back of my hand kinda hard against his shoulder and hear him mutter, "Umacruchie." For his sake, I hope 'Umacruchie', whatever that might be, is in a dream Rob's having and not a nightmare. In either case, I know he's alive.

I'm alive too but I've got a wicked bad headache and I feel like shit overall. From those symptoms, a medical professional might conclude I'm suffering from, in esoteric medical terminology... a ball-buster of a hangover. When Rob eventually wakes up he's likely gonna be suffering from the same thing. We started imbibing alcoholic beverages innocently enough having cocktails with his parents before dinner. We weren't drinking Mr. Dickers' favorite cocktail which is a Manhattan cocktail. Nope, last night Mr. Dickers was making drinks called 'Tom Collins' and they were okay. By 'okay' I mean I didn't make a 'face' with every swallow. I've come to the conclusion that no alcoholic beverages will ever qualify as delicious and, consequently, I rank the taste of the various alcoholic beverages I've had from the least horrible to the most horrible.

Yeah, the least horrible cocktail I've ever had and, therefore, by default my number-one favorite is, TA DA!... the whiskey sour cocktail at that restaurant in Wildwood. The one where they squeeze fresh oranges and lemons for every whiskey sour they make. Also, in what's probably a cost-cutting measure by the restaurant, they're very stingy with the whiskey. Uh huh, you barely taste the booze in their whiskey sours. That's the good part; the bad part is you need to drink four or five of them at $13.00 each to get any kind of a buzz on. Anyway, their whiskey sour cocktail ranks as the least-horrible cocktails I've ever had and yet they're still quite a way away from being 'delicious'.

And then, on the other end of the 'scale', the most horrible cocktail I've tried is a vodka martini served to me at a downtown restaurant by mistake. It wasn't one of those fancy vodka martinis, like a peach/pomegranate vodka martini, or anything like that. The one I had was just a plain vodka martini with an olive in it and it was ghastly! It's the worst cocktail I've ever had but only if I don't count a shot of straight liquor as a 'cocktail'. If I did, a shot of liquor would tie for the worst. All the other cocktails I've tried rank somewhere above those two. Last night's Tom Collins ranks pretty well on that scale but, like the whiskey sour, it's still a very long way from delicious. I guess I should add that the lack of deliciousness hasn't prevented me from drinking cocktails, sometimes to a degree a sensible person might consider reckless.

Not last night before dinner though. I was reckless then as I had only two Tom Collins which didn't get me drunk but they did grease the way for the drinking I did later, and that's what ultimately is mostly responsible for this nasty hangover I'm experiencing on this Thanksgiving morning. Oh, yeah, I just remembered that at dinner last night, Mr. D. seemed especially pleased with the bottle of wine he chose to go with dinner so Rob and I felt obligated to drink some of it. That red wine further opened the door for the booze we consumed at Sharky's Bar.

Concerning wine: in a blind taste testing, nine out of ten times I'm pretty sure I could tell the difference between red and white wine but that's as far as my wine expertise goes. What I'm saying is, it's a waste of money putting expensive wine in front of me. Ultimately, I admit it's not the alcohol's fault I'm hung-over... it was my lack of self-control. Admitting that doesn't change anything, I'm still suffering.

Yeah, it sucks being hung-over but I still think it's worth the suffering because last night was fun and, anyway, overindulging is simply what many guys our age do. In Rob's and my case, we don't do it very often. During the week, what with classes, and studying, and Rob's mentoring responsibilities, and his baseball activities, and my working out with Pony, well, Rob and I normally don't have anything alcoholic to speak of; not until our three-day weekends and even then it's more often than not merely a sociably few beers with the guys. We don't get hammered four or five nights a week like some college students do.

And then, sure, there are some college students who drink even less than we do I suppose, like Carl, but many more who drink a great deal more than we do. It's almost a rite of passage for college students to stupidly drink too much. And, not to mention those college students who do other drugs as well. Obviously, I'm referring to drugs such as pot, cocaine, and whatnot. Rob and I almost never do drugs. So, yeah that's right, we're probably 'boring' in the eyes of the 'real' party animals our age. To each their own though. None of this information, however, helps my situation at the moment. I'm still hung-over like a motherfucker whether it's a fairly rare condition for me or not.

Furthering my discomfort, I need to take a piss so bad I might do it right here in bed. Actually, I'm scared to get out of bed fearing when I stand the hangover marching band will begin playing loudly again in my head with the horn section trying to play louder than the drum section. And I'd still like to know what time it is. Hmmm, I manage to raise my left arm enough to see my wristwatch. Oh, it's five minutes of seven. Fuck, I've been sleeping for less than five hours. Well, that ain't gonna cut it!

But in another way that's good! I can look at the glass as half full, metaphorically, meaning it's early enough that I can still grab at least two more hours of sleep. First, however, I gotta deal with my urgent need to urinate. Oh boy, forcing myself to slide off the mattress I hold onto the bedpost to steady myself and as expected my head goes, BOOMBOOMBOOM! but the horn section is not especially loud. Ah ha, the three Advil I was smart enough to take last night are doing their job! Emboldened by that thought, I make it out of the bedroom and then, touching the wall for balance, I slowly make my way to the hall bathroom. Ya know, as an aside, there should be a law that requires every bedroom have an attached bathroom. Hall bathrooms are so out of date. C'mon, we're civilized, right?

I'm wearing only jockey shorts, which is another way of saying I'm almost naked. The need to piss is so strong though I don't care if the Queen of England sees me going down the hall almost naked and never mind if Mrs. Dickers sees me. Mostly I'm concerned about making it to the bathroom before pissing in my jockey shorts. And in that regard, have you ever noticed when you really need to 'go' that the closer you get to a toilet the stronger the need to piss becomes? That's a scientific fact, I think...

Anyway, I go into the bathroom without the Queen or anyone else seeing me and after quietly closing the bathroom door, I take a long piss only realizing near the end of it that I have other business that needs attending to, so when I finish my piss I sit down on the toilet seat and attend to that other 'need'.

Finished with that I'm a little disappointed I don't feel better. If anything I feel weaker so I splash cold water on my face and then wash my hands. As I'm doing that, the thought occurs to me that I should have done this the other way around. First, wash my hands, and then splash cold water on my face. Huh, maybe I'm still drunk. No, if I were still drunk I'd feel better than THIS!

Wow though, does it ever feel good brushing my teeth! After gargling with minty mouthwash it's apparent these activities have exhausted me, and I'm not done yet. Holy shit... taking a deep breath, I go through the medicine chest hoping to find a bottle of Tylenol or Advil. Ah ha, a bottle of Tylenol is hidden behind an old prescription drug of Mrs. Dickers 'for pain as needed'. Huh, I give that a quick thought but, no I won't take one of those because the expiration date goes back a few years. I check the use-by date on the Tylenol container and they're still good so I take three with a small plastic cup of water and then force down three more plastic cups of cold water right from the sink's spigot. That's something I wouldn't normally do because, um, it's water from a bathroom sink, ya know? I'm in an emergency situation though so reckless behavior is sometimes required. I make it back to bed somehow and then get under the covers and, ahh... that's better! Okay, that was a damn good start to the rest of my life!

The next time I wake up it's a very different story. Well, not everything is different. Robby is still sleeping like he's dead but I'm feeling better. Better than I did the first time I woke up. I feel like I want to keep living which is encouraging. My wristwatch indicates it's ten minutes of nine. Hmm, let me do the math... uh huh, I've had seven hours sleep, give or take a half hour. Well, it's gonna have to be enough because Thanksgiving dinner is at two o'clock in the Dickers' household. Or is it one o'clock? Oh, please dear God make it two o'clock!

Hmmm, I suppose there's no sense trying to wake Robby. Getting out of bed again I put Rob's bathrobe on and again make the arduous trip down the hall to the bathroom. After turning the shower on to let the water get hot, I splash water on my face and then lather my face with shaving cream, using much more than necessary, especially considering my pathetic so-called beard. After shaking the can though, the shaving cream simply comes roaring out and there's nothing to be done about it. Jesus though, if only that was my biggest concern today!

Shaving doesn't take me long and then I lean over the sink with my face close to the mirror so I can check for a hated pimple or reddish spot, or God forbid, a blackhead. Damn, I know I've been lucky in that regard as I've never had to suffer either of those hateful introductions to puberty, and I still don't. Those puberty-byproducts can linger into later years for some poor bastards. It's a shame what some guys need to deal with and I do feel bad for them. Life blows sometimes and it blows even worse for some than others. Fair? Who the fuck ever said life was fair!

After testing the water flowing strongly from the shower head, I get in the tub and pull the shower curtain closed. Yeah well, that's another law that needs to be passed. Every bathroom needs a shower stall that's separate from the fucking bathtub. Jesus! I mean... that's so obvious!

I stand right under the shower head letting the overly hot water pour on me for a long time before I even consider beginning the washing portion of showering. I'm not thinking about anything specific, just feeling a general obligation to get myself prepared to be a good guest for both Thanksgiving dinners today. Rob's and my family are going to a lot of trouble to make this a nice Thanksgiving and the least I can do is appear attentive and appreciative. In other words, I'm psyching myself into doing the right thing. I mean, last night I did what I wanted even though I knew it would make today difficult. That's nobody's fault but mine, so now I need to deal with it! And that's exactly what I'm gonna do too. Wow, freakin' good 'talk', Dylan!

In the proper frame of mind now, I begin by shampooing my hair and scalp. Jeez, that feels good. After rinsing out the shampoo I notice my skin is turning a disturbing shade of red so I adjust the hot water to a more sensible temperature and scrub myself with a washcloth using too much bath gel but I'm intent on getting the smell of Sharkey's Bar off my body. My clothes smelled like beer last night when I dumped them in the hamper. That's because Sharky's Bar smells like beer. Some time ago I was in a bar where they disregarded the no-smoking policy and, Omigod, my clothes smelled like an ashtray at the end of the night... a beer-infused ashtray.

Damn, can I believe this? As I'm drying myself I'm finally feeling 'noticeably' better... yes! Okay, I'm proud of myself for surviving last night. I remember everything that went on last night too, although some of it I'm gonna try to forget. In my younger wilder days I'd probably be disappointed I didn't get laid last night. Yeah, but now in my super mature life, I'm quite pleased that isn't one of the things I need to forget. After all, Danny and I had hot buddy sex at his garage barbershop in the afternoon and earlier we had hot oral sex in the pool house so, consequently, there was no need last night for me to go out of my way trying to get fucked by some hot stranger in a bathroom stall, or in the hot stranger's van, or wherever. As logical as that sounds to me now it wouldn't have hacked it as being logical at all to the younger and stupider version of me. Those were the good old days though, huh? Haha...

Back in the bedroom, so as not to disturb Rob, I'm being very quiet putting on the dressed-up clothes I brought home from college to wear on Thanksgiving. I like wearing something special for Thanksgiving as an acknowledgment that people have gone to extra trouble with the dinner. So yeah, I'm looking preppy in ironed tan khakis, a white button-down-collar dress shirt, a dark blue V-neck sweater, and brown loafers. Clothes look good on slim guys like myself. No brag, just saying...

I like the Thanksgiving holiday, but then what's not to like? There are football games on TV all day and lots of good food that someone else is in charge of preparing. Sure, it will be mentioned at some point during the day that we all should be thankful for this and that and blah, blah, blah. And I am thankful for many, many things. That being said, our families don't go in for awkward shit like everyone going around the table stating a reason to be thankful. If you live in America and need to be forced to come up with a reason to be thankful, you're not paying attention. I'm not dumping on other countries, it's just that, as far as I know, America is the only country on earth that has a Thanksgiving holiday. It has something to do with the Pilgrims, in case you didn't know.

Dressed and reeking of aftershave lotion, I spend thirty seconds on my hair using the hairdryer and a comb, and that's it... I'm ready for action. No, not a lot of action, low key action. There is still a persistent slight headache at both my temples and I have less than an ideal energy level but I'm good to go. Um, except I don't want to go downstairs because then I'd need to chit-chat with Mr. and Mrs. Dickers and, while I'm feeling a lot better than I felt the first time I woke up, I don't feel perfect enough to do chit-chat with future in-laws, so to speak. Hey, it's not just me... who in their right mind would feel comfortable doing that, and I mean with or without a lingering hangover?

Looking at Robby I decide the boy simply needs to get his ass out of bed! Hmmm, I gently shake his shoulder, saying quietly, "Rob, it's getting late. Rise and shine... it's turkey day and almost ten o'clock already..." Nothing. Oh man, this blows. Looking around the room I see my laptop on the desk so I guess I could go online and check my emails, or... no, Goddammit, Robby needs to get the fuck up!

Less gently and a little louder, I shake his shoulder, saying, "Ya gotta get up, Robby!" I pull the covers off him and pinch his ass. Rob goes, "NO! Please, Dylan, I need another fifteen minutes." Oh man, he looks and sounds pathetic... ah, fuck it! I pull the covers back over him, and say, "I'm going downstairs to be cheerful with your parents on Thanksgiving, Robby." He mutters, "Good, keep 'em busy and make up some reason for me not being there, babe. Tell them I have a stomach bug or something. I'll be getting up soon."

Shaking my head, I'm thinking maybe I should lecture him about being accountable for his actions... take responsibility for his poor choices last night. Actions have consequences and all that bullshit. Hmmm, yeah but I think he's already sleeping again and I don't have enough energy to say all that shit anyhow. Taking a deep breath, I do a quick last glance at myself in the mirror... hmm, very spiffy looking. After trying out a few facial expressions, starting with smiling and working my way down to a neutral expression, I finally settle for not looking grumpy and head downstairs.

Almost at the bottom, I hear Mrs. Dickers from the kitchen, saying, "I know that's you, Dylan, because there's no clumping the way Rob thunders downstairs." I force a chuckle and, as I'm walking into the kitchen, I say, "I never noticed Rob doing that." Yeah, that's right Dylan, start off the day with a bald-faced lie.

The kitchen smells like coffee brewing and bacon frying. Huh, I'm surprised Mrs. D. is taking the time to cook a full breakfast since we're having dinner at either one o'clock or two. She asks, "Can I fix you a couple of scrambled eggs, Dylan. And there's bacon and sweet rolls if you'd like." She turns around and sees that I'm unable to make a decision and goes, "Oh, just sit down, honey, I'll get a coffee for you."

I sort of hesitated because Mr. D. is sitting at the table reading something on his tablet. Looking up, he mutters, "G'morning son. Did you guys have a good time last night?" I try smiling without quite making it, but they're not looking at me anyway. Answering Mrs. Dickers first, saying as cheerfully as I'm able, "Wow, bacon and one of those cinnamon buns with some coffee would be perfect. No scrambled eggs though... um, but thank you!"

As I'm sitting down I say to Mr. Dickers, "Last night, huh? Um, yes, it was fun. Ya know, meeting up with guys from high school." He's back reading his tablet, so I managed to finish saying that and then with much less forced enthusiasm, I add, "The guys, um, are home for the holiday..." He goes, "Oh," and then says, "Dammit, Em. Alcoa Corp. is down again yesterday! Jesus! And I told Matt Barns to sell our block of that dog a week ago." Mrs. Dickers says, "Yes, dear," and he goes back to reading the Stock Market, or some business article... whatever. That's a good thing though... I'm off the hook conversation-wise for the moment.

Sitting at my usual place, I watch Mrs. D. pour me a cup of coffee. I'm thinking that here and at restaurants are the only two places on earth where someone does that for me... pours me coffee. She sets the coffee and a plate with too many strips of bacon in front of me, saying, "Help yourself to the sweet rolls, dear," and then she pats my shoulder, adding, "You look so nice this morning, Dylan! Doesn't Dylan look nice, Robert?" He looks up and says, "Yes, he does." Mr. D. is still in pajamas and a bathrobe, but Mrs. D. is dressed nicely.

Walking back to the stove, she says, "I hope you'll follow Dylan's example, Robert... we have company coming." He says, "Yes, dear, but for the record, Paula and Richie haven't gotten dressed-up since their wedding and that was twenty-five years ago." She says, "I know, but Mom and Dad will be dressed up. Dad will have a tie and sports jacket on for dinner." Apparently uninterested in that, Mr. D. asks, "Any more coffee, Em?" She pours him more coffee as I bite into a cinnamon bun remembering Robby telling me his Aunt Paula and Uncle Richie drove up from Delaware on Tuesday. Hmm, I think he said they're staying at a hotel in Boston to do sightseeing, but they'll be here for Thanksgiving dinner. Aunt Paula is Mr. Dickers' sister, if I've got that right.

Mrs. D. asks, "More bacon, Dylan?" What? Oh, when I look at my plate I see I've already eaten the too-many bacon strips she gave me originally. I say, "No, thank you. I'm going to try another one of these excellent cinnamon buns those." She says, "You really should have some eggs because dinner is a long way off." I'm like, "Oh, what time are we eating?" Mr. D. makes a huffing sound as Mrs. D. says, sounding a little put-out, "It'll be late this year because Rob's sister's family, ah, decided to do something in Boston this morning. We'll eat by two o'clock though... right, Robert?" Oh, a little in-law tension, huh? He goes, "What's that?" Mrs. D. mumbles, "Never mind. Read your tablet."

Mrs. Dickers' parents, Rob's grandparents, will be here for dinner as well. They're the grandparents I visited last summer with Rob and his parents. I'm pretty sure Rob said they'll be staying here tonight... overnight. Jesus, I better think of some extra small-talk I can fall back on when it gets awkward with the grandparents... and it will get awkward!

Oh, no... wait! Small talk might be the least of my concerns. Will the grandparents be sharing the hall bathroom with Rob and me? Holy shit, that's not cool at all! I can only imagine what old people will do in the bathroom! Good grief! And, I'll need to be fully dressed to take a piss! Get up in the morning and get dressed before going to the bathroom for a piss and then come back to the bedroom, undress and get back in bed. That blows!

Hmm, but maybe not! I'm just getting an awesome idea! Our second Thanksgiving dinner is at the twins' condo tonight and that won't finish up until pretty late. The moms will bunk in with their future husbands which means Robby and I can sleep at Mom's condo in my old bedroom! Our condo is a lot closer to the twins' place than Rob's house. Yeah, this is a good plan! We'll avoid sharing the bathroom with Rob's grandparents who I'm sure will be just as happy they won't need to share it with Rob and me. One of those win-fucking-win situations!

Oh balls, did I say 'win-fucking-win' out loud? Both Mr. and Mrs. Dickers are looking at me. A second of silence before I realize one of them must have asked me something. I smile and go, "Excuse me? What was that?" Mrs. D. goes, "We were wondering where Rob is this morning, dear." Mr. D. mutters, "He's not still sleeping off a hangover, is he?" Stalling for time, I exaggerate chewing the last bite of my second cinnamon bun and then go, "Sleeping off a hangover? Noooo! He was trying to decide what to wear. Maybe he's in the shower now. I'll go check," and I hop up swallowing the last of the coffee that was weak this morning... weak coffee AND a weak explanation for where Robby is.

His parents look at each other with puzzled expressions as I scurry out of the kitchen and then go upstairs. In our bedroom, naturally, Rob's still sleeping off his hangover. This would be no problem at all if we were in our apartment but he insisted we come home yesterday. Goddammit, I pull the covers off him again, saying, "Seriously now! Get the fuck up!" and then go in the bathroom for a cup of water and three Tylenol. Back in the bedroom, I see Rob sitting on the edge of the bed holding his head with both hands. I nudge his arm and he looks up, takes the cup of water and the Tylenol, mutters, "Thanks," and swallows them.

Taking the cup from him, I'm like, "Your parents are asking about you, as in... where the fuck is he? Your dad goes... not still sleeping off a hangover I hope! It went like that." He goes, "Fuck that... my head hurts. Um, What'd you tell them?" I go, "I said you were trying to decide what to wear for Thanksgiving to honor those who have put a lot of effort into the preparation of these fucking Thanksgiving dinners." He snickers and mutters, "Oh," and then he looks up at me for the first time and goes, "Oh no! You're all dressed up... oh dear God, help me..." I pull on his arm, saying, "Take a shower. It'll do wonders for you... you'll feel much better." He does a half-ass grin, asking, "Did my bottle of aftershave lotion accidentally spill all over you, by any chance?" I'm like, "Cut the shit and get in the shower... and you need to shave too! While you're doing that I'll choose some nice dressed-up clothes for you to wear."

He gets off the bed, mumbling, "Don't do that. I'll pick out something to wear. Jesus, I feel like shit..." and off he goes clumping down the hall. It must take extra energy to put every footfall down so hard like that. For a joke, I put one of his business suits on the bed and then a white dress shirt and a tie... hee hee."

Sitting at the desk with my laptop I check emails. There's a nice one from mom wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving and saying she's looking forward to seeing Robby and me at seven o'clock. That's mom's sweet way of reminding me when we're supposed to be there. And I don't need to feel guilty about mom's email because I've been faithfully emailing or texting her a couple of times a week. And, Omigod, you'd think I was doing something amazing from how happy she is about those short messages. Moms don't need a lot from their sons to keep them happy.

Oh good, here's an email from Chubby. He sent it last night from his condo and, heh heh, he's asking me what we're expected to do today, and when we're expected to do it? Obviously, he means the Thanksgiving dinner with the moms and the twins. Haha, Chubby isn't into details all that much. And then he tells me about his date with MJ and how it ended in a slapping contest... hahaha. I wonder if that was before or after they fucked because they definitely did that. I answer both emails and then read one from Pony that makes me feel good. He sent it earlier this morning saying it's 'peaches and cream' with him and his family' now. Totally different from when he left home for college almost three months ago. I email him saying he deserves a big pat on the back for his proactive response to that untenable situation. As I'm reading an email from one of my recent best side-sex buddies, albeit an infrequent one... and I'm referring to Hayden Parks, I get a quick text from Pony. He texts, 'I'm looking up 'untenable' online to find out what it means... I'll get back to you. Love, Pony' Oh man, haha, I really like that kid!

Hayden's email looks suspiciously like one he's sent to a number of people. I'm betting he sent this exact same generic Thanksgiving greeting not only to me but to his mom and relatives... to every-fucking-body. That's so uncool! A lazy move on his part and as I'm thinking up a sarcastic response, Robby comes back in the bedroom with a towel over his shoulder. The towel would more appropriately be around his waist. He mutters, "I'm not feeling better like you said I would." I go, "Why the fuck do you walk around the house naked like that? What if your mom was..." Rob puts his finger on my lips, murmuring, 'Shhh, I have a splitting headache. Lecture me later."

Logging off my laptop, I smirk while nodding at the bed, saying, "I put those clothes on the bed for you to wear today. Now I need to find your stiff uncomfortable dress shoes." He snorts out a chuckle, muttering, "Put all that shit back in the closet. I'll wear what you're wearing." See how that works? I put out his suit so compared to wearing that, it doesn't seem so bad dressing in good khakis and a button up the front shirt. That now seems a much better option to Rob. If I put out those preppy clothes initially he'd want to downgrade his outfit from that to wearing clean sweatpants and sneakers.

Robby gets dressed muttering under his breath, and then I follow him as he clumps downstairs. Mr. D. is getting up from the table as we walk into the kitchen. He mutters to Rob, "You look like death warmed over, Rob." Robby frowns, muttering sarcastically, 'Thanks, Dad," and his mom says, "I think you look wonderful, dear. You and Dylan both," and to Mr. Dickers, she says, "Follow the boys' lead, Robert, and dress-up a little." He makes a 'face' like he just bit into a lemon but doesn't have anything to say. He takes his mug of coffee and his tablet and goes to his office while cheery Mrs. Dickers says, "What can I make for you, Rob? And how about you, Dylan, care for some scrambled eggs now?" I sit down, saying, "No thank you but I will have another cinnamon bun." She goes, "Sit down, Rob. I'll get fresh coffees for both you boys." Robby mutters, "Could you take the cheerfulness down a couple of notches, Mom? Christ..." She says, "I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee for you guys." Oh, good...I hope it's stronger than the last pot. I don't say that out loud though... I just think it. Oh, wait! Maybe a Keurig coffee maker would be the perfect Christmas gift from me to Mrs. Dickers... hmmm? Too obvious maybe?

After breakfast, Rob and I watch the early football game until he falls asleep with his head on my shoulder, then it's just me watching the early football game. Rob wakes up around noon in a grumpy mood, mumbling, "Screw this, I need a touch of the dog, or however that goes..." Even without finishing that saying, I know what he means. Keeping my pledge to be a good guest, I force myself to join him and we're both soon sipping on cold beers. Mine isn't going down easily at all... sort of like drinking shattered glass. I only drink half of the first one before it goes warm and I toss it out. The second cold one is a little easier going down but it's still a struggle.

Mr. Dickers doesn't get dressed until almost one o'clock. He looks okay when he comes downstairs though, and he's just in time to greet his sister and brother-in-law who are coming in the front door. They're the first people I've ever seen actually come in the front door here. After the family members hug and greet each other with Robby acting like a wooden Indian getting a hug from his Aunt Paula, I get a muttered introduction by Rob. Uncle Richie is shaking my hand, saying to me, "So you're Rob's boyfriend? Jesus, he did okay for himself," and Aunt Paula does this startling high-pitched laugh before saying," You're incorrigible Rich!" and then she gives me a hug, saying, "It's wonderful to meet you finally, Dylan. Ignore Rob's Uncle. He's an airplane pilot and therefore uncouth." I can't imagine what one thing has to do with the other and consequently can't think of anything to say to that, so I don't say anything. Saying nothing rarely gets me in trouble.

Mr. D. asks, 'Who needs a cocktail? The bar is open." Mrs. D. is bringing in a platter of those frozen pastry snacks she's baked in the oven. More of the ones we had last night. Yum! Robby bumps me, whispering, "We lucked out, babe. My obnoxious cousin isn't coming." The announcement about the open-bar is a popular one and while Rob's mom and Aunt Paula sit on the couch talking, Uncle Richie, whose breath smelled of a previous cocktail or two when I was shaking his hand, goes with Mr. Dickers to make some drinks for themselves. Rob and I stick with the beers we're sipping on. There will be no hard liquor for either of us today... that's my prediction.

We sit near the TV and don't say much because Robby obviously is still suffering from his hangover while I'm finally feeling okay. When Mr. D. and Uncle Richie are back with the drinks, the back door bangs open and an old person's voice asks, "Anybody home?" It's the grandparents obviously. Rob makes a 'face', saying, "C'mon, Dylan, let's get this over with," and we go to the kitchen for hugs and 'hellos' with the grandparents, both of whom say they remember me very well although they both call me Daryl. No problem. Rob, of course, snickers as I shake my head at him, like... don't say anything! Jesus, I couldn't care less what they call me.

As we're doing that in the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I see a new BMW convertible pull up next to Rob's new pickup. It's gotta be Dodger and his business partner. Dodger's driving though, so... did he buy another new car already? Josh is Dodger's business partner as opposed to the other kind of partner. That's what I've been led to believe anyway. And, fuck, I'm all of a sudden feeling nervous about seeing Dodger even though there's no reason I should be.

Robby bumps my arm, and goes, "Yo babe, Dodger just pulled up with what's-his-name, Josh. C'mon down to the basement with me. We'll let them say hello to everybody for a couple of minutes. Us being in the kitchen will just confuse the issue and it's too fucking loud up here anyway." He's referring to all six adults talking over each other but mostly it's Aunt Paula. She has a high-pitched voice and an even higher-pitched squeal of laughter whenever anyone says anything remotely funny. Her squeal puts my squeal to shame even though I've got a damn good reason when I squeal, and she doesn't.

So, sure, it's a very loud environment in the kitchen for someone with a hangover. Even though my hangover is pretty much under control his Aunt Paula's high-pitched voice is an ice pick in my spine and at the back of my head, and her laughing-squeal is like an ice pick in my eye. I don't even want to imagine what it feels like to Robby in his condition. Omigod, and I mean every time his Aunt Paula makes a sound... and she pretty much is constantly talking or squealing with laughter. I guess it's no wonder Uncle Richie is into the booze early and often.

In the basement, Robby absently starts bouncing a ping-pong ball on a paddle while drinking from his bottle of beer and then as the ball continues bouncing, he asks, "How come you're not as fucked-up as I am?" I'm mesmerized staring at the bouncing ping pong ball while Robby's not even looking at the ball or paddle. Burping, he asks, "Why is that, babe? How come I'm totally 'bagged' and you're not." Shrugging, I mumble, "Um, I don't know... I guess you had more to drink than me." He mutters, "Nah, I don't think so. You guys were drinking shots with your beers." I shrug again, but I do know the reason. It's that I have a higher tolerance for alcohol than he does, not that that's necessarily a good thing. Plus I had nothing to do with that. It just is what it is on its own, ya know? The higher tolerance for alcohol is another 'gene' thing I suppose.

There's lots of laughing and loud talking upstairs as Dodger says hello to his parents, grandparents, aunt, and uncle, and then introduces Josh to everyone. Dodger usually has some clever shit to say and he must have said it to Aunt Paula because we can hear her from down here in the cellar as she's going off the rails with extra high-pitched laughing and squealing. As ice picks stab at my eyes, Robby and I glance at each other and then both burst out laughing with Robby mumbling, "Christ, Aunt Paula and my dad couldn't be more different if they tried. Brother and sister, two years apart, and as different as chalk and cheese."

Oh fuck, Aunt Paula, the human torture machine. Our snickering winds-down and we take a swallow from our second beers. By now, mine is like my first, warm and undrinkable. I go, "Let's get cold beers, Rob. I'm dumping this out." There's a washtub in the corner where I'm pouring my warm beer as Dodger's coming down the cellar steps followed by his business partner/friend, Josh. Dodger hears the beer gurgling out and mutters, "Jesus, Dylan, don't piss in the washtub! Mom cleans something in there once in a while." He does a hug and a quick-as-a-wink kiss with Robby, mumbling, "You're looking good, brother," and then says, "You've met Josh, right Robby?" As Josh and Robby bump fists, Dodger and I hug. I get a kiss too but it isn't quick-as-a-wink. It's too long by about two seconds. When I try to pull away, Dodger lets go of me and, as if nothing happened, he says, "Dylan, I don't think you've met Josh, so say hello to my indispensable partner, Josh Price, and with that boy... The Price is Right." Huh?

I sort of wave as Josh smiles at me, saying, "So you're Dylan, huh?" and then he gives me a regular handshake and a quick bro-hug, adding, "Well, ain't you something to look at?" Dodger goes, "Hands off him, Price, he's my brother's."

Okay, it's immediately obvious to me that Josh is more than Dodger's business partner! I can tell they're sex buddies although I'm not sure how I can tell. I don't know if it's my gaydar or, I don't know, but I know they're lovers... Dodger and Josh. I mumble, "Nice to meet you, Josh. You were in the Army with Dodger, right?" He nods, "Yeah, we're still in the Army actually. Well, one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer. In other words, we're too often back in uniform." Dodger goes, "Yeah, but c'mon! It's a blast on the weekends we spend at camp. The hangovers though, Omigod, they last until Wednesday of the following week. We're a combat-ready unit though, right, Josh." Josh says, "Fuck no! We're a bunch of goof-offs. For example, we were standing inspection two weekends ago and this general, or whoever he was, asks the guy standing at attention next to me..." And Dodger asks, "Who was it?" Josh, goes, "Um, it was Brad Dickerson, the supply guy. Anyway, the general asks this guy what's in there, pointing at the guy's canteen and pistol belt. There are pouches for first aid shit on the belt. Dickerson looks at the pouch and says...'Spearmint leaves, Sir!' Haha, the guy had a pack of spearmint candies in there. He'd thrown out the first aid kit so he could carry candy with him. That's how prepared for anything we are." Dodger laughs, saying, "Yeah, I heard about that. The general looked disgusted, but muttered... 'well at least you know what's in there." They both laugh. It must be military humor...

Josh is my height but stockier, while Dodger is an inch taller than the three of us but still as slim as Rob and me. Dodger, like Robby, has lost some teenage cuteness by now, but he is two years younger than us so he hasn't lost as much as Robby. Dodger still qualifies as cute in my estimation, but just not as cute as he used to be, which was off-the-fucking-charts-cute back a couple of years. Like Rob though, Dodger is very good looking. They look almost like fraternal twins except where Robby has blond hair and blue eyes, Dodger has brown and brown. Saying Dodger has brown eyes though isn't doing them justice. They're beautiful eyes and his hair is light brown, my favorite hair color. If I had my choice I'd have that shade of light brown hair rather than my blond hair. Yeah, and that's a stupid thing to think about... I know that! But there it is anyway...

I don't think Josh is handsome but probably others do. He has what I call 'generic good-looks'. The kind of good looks that I've never especially cared for. Okay, I can't describe what I mean so I'll give an example... it's the way Zac Efron is good-looking now that he's in his mid-twenties. That kind of generic good looks is what I'm talking about. Josh has the latest idiotic haircut too. The haircut I saw on Bean last night. Dodger's haircut is a nondescript generic 'regular' haircut. He looked better when I was cutting his hair.

Robby asks, "You guys want a beer? Dylan and I are getting fresh ones." Dodger goes, "Yeah, I'll have one, bro" and as Rob goes to the basement refrigerator, he mutters, "We got wicked shit-faced last night and my hangover is still a bitch. Um, I guess Dylan's okay though." Josh says, "Yeah, I know all about that and I feel for you." Rob holds up a bottle of beer and Josh goes, "Yes, thank you, I'd love a beer too. Last night Dodger and I were up late too, but we were working, not drinking." Dodger goes, "Yeah, but I'm gonna make up for it today. I might give Uncle Richie a run for his money." Robby passes out the beers, saying, "Shit, bro, you'll need to switch to the hard stuff if you expect to catch Uncle Richie. He smelled like a brewery when he and Aunt Paula got here half an hour ago."

Josh's body language around Dodger tells me all I need to know. He's obviously submissive to his 'partner' Dodger, who is as relaxed and comfortable as it's possible to be. And with Dodger here, bigger than life, I still have this nervous feeling in my stomach that I can't explain. I've had it before when Dodger is around. Anyway, Josh is sticking close to Dodger and seemingly alert to whatever Dodger says or does. It's like he's ready to go fetch if he gets the word. After saying all that, I'll bet my left nut that Robby, or most people for that matter, wouldn't notice that. Actually, it makes my dick feel funny imagining me being in Josh's place. Ain't that a weird thing to think?

Dodger has always had a sexy sweet lovable manner about him if you ask me. Yeah, but at the same time, he's always the dominant one in any situation I've seen him in. Dominance is too strong a word though... it's very natural and subtle with Dodger and he's never been a bully about anything. He simply manages to get his way and do his 'thing' without intimidating or being obnoxious at all. And I mean even with his older brother. Well, I'll clarify that by saying once Dodger got to be fourteen or fifteen he was his own person and did everything to the beat of his own internal drummer. Before that, he was the little brother to Robby. Actually, he began changing around the time I met the two Dickers boys, and I met them both basically on the same day now that I think about it. I've always thought Dodger was the coolest guy I've ever met. No, that's not right. He was the coolest 'boy' I ever knew. I haven't 'known' Dodger for two years now, not really. The few times I've been with him the past two years he's still been very cool and Dodger-like, but is that what he's really like as a young adult? I don't really know that...

We have a couple of beers while talking in generalities about what we've all been doing the past few months. Everything is vague when it comes to Dodger's and Josh's online business but I get the distinct impression it's legal, which is a relief. I can't figure out from what they're saying about the finances of their business if Josh knows about Dodger's $300,000 in the bank. If I had to guess, I'd say he doesn't know.

Somehow Dodger gets the four of us playing ping pong. Two teams, me and Dodger against Robby and Josh. It turns into more of a competition between the brothers... they've always been competitive about everything. Josh and I exchange smirks as we both realize we're unimportant parts of the ping pong match. Mostly we run down the ping pong ball when either Dodger on Robby slams one off the table scoring a point. Neither Josh nor I are what you'd call spastic but the Dickers brothers were born with an extra sharp level of eye/hand coordination that allows them to excel at things like ping pong... and sports in general. They take it for granted of course.

Robby wins and, naturally, Dodger wants an immediate rematch but I say, "Fuck that. You two can continue your competition by arm wrestling or whatever in the pool house. I need a smoke." A cigarette is the last thing I need but I want to get some fresh air and get out of the cellar. We all go into the pool house and after looking around, Josh says, "Wow, this is wicked cool!" which tells me Dodger hasn't spent any time at home recently. I mean, if this is the first time Josh has been in the pool house, ya know?

Dodger goes, "Yeah, it is pretty cool," reinforcing my premise he hasn't been in here since, probably, his welcome home party. Robby lights a cigarette and Dodger mumbles, "Christ, I gave up smoking after active duty in the friggin' Army but let me bum one off you, Robby... if you don't mind." Robby shrugs and Dodgers adds, "This being a special occasion and all that..." Robby holds his box of Marlboro Lights out to Dodger who takes one, then Rob offers the pack to Josh who shakes his head, saying, "Thanks, but no thanks. I've never smoked, um, cigarettes I mean. Expensive habit for one thing and obviously the lung cancer thingie too. That sort of put me off... haha! And then another thing was, haha, my mother telling me she'd kill me if I smoked when I lived at home." I light a Marlboro, saying, "Well. we're gonna quit the habit after graduation," as if I need to justify my smoking habit to Josh. And then, without thinking and maybe feeling self-conscious, I do another of my habits and hold the back of my hand against my nose.

As a cloud of exhaled smoke from three cigarettes drifts around Josh, he waves at it and says to me, "Jesus, that's a killer haircut ya got there, Dylan. I absolutely love it... seriously, dude! It's so original..." Dodger asks me, "Did Rob give you that haircut?" and before I can answer Robby goes, "Nooo! I couldn't do that. Danny Monday has become this awesome barber like, um, overnight somehow. Right, Dylan?" I nod, "Yeah, it's freaky how good he is. Fucking freaky." Dodger goes, "Jesus, how is Danny? There's a good looking lad." Rob goes, "He's still very much like you remember him... he hasn't changed much." Dodger punches my arm grinning and saying, "I haven't had a good haircut since the last one you gave me, Dylan." Grinning back at him, I go, "Yeah those buzz cuts I did on your awesome hair required real skill." He chuckles, saying, "The way you did them, it did take skill. Killer buzz cuts!" We look at each other and I feel funny in my, um, groin again, so I avert my eyes doing a fake cough.

Robby chucks a dart at the dartboard, asking, "Care to try me at a game of darts, Dodger? Say for ten bucks..." Dodger mutters, "I wouldn't presume to challenge anyone with a dart board at their disposal for practicing purposes. How long has that thing been in here anyway? I don't remember it." I say, "Last summer, Dodger, um, after your coming-home party." He goes, "Oh, yeah? Um, is there an ashtray in here?" Josh immediately begins looking for one. I say, "Behind the bar on a shelf, Josh." He brings two small tin ashtrays out as Robby asks, "So, Dodger, how long have you had your latest new car?"

They talk about that as Josh bumps my arm and asks, "How's college working out for you, Dylan?" I go, "Good, but I can hardly wait to graduate. Weren't you going to college at night, or...? He nods, "Yeah, me and Dodger but we dropped out because we were working such long hours. My dad has this big-ass construction company and we worked for him because, well, the money was so good and, ya know, we were saving money big time for our start-up online business... two online businesses actually."

It'd be perfectly normal for me to question what the online businesses are and get some details, but I find I really don't care to hear about them. Nothing against Josh who seems very nice and unassuming and I guess he's smart considering Mr. Dickers said Josh was very smart 'business-wise'. It's just that I don't care to hear what surely would be an optimistic and exaggerated description of what they have going... business-wise. I'd much rather hear what they've got going 'otherwise', him and Dodger. Obviously, I'm not asking about that. Huh, and I wonder if I'm a tiny bit jealous Dodger found a lover, or a steady fuck-buddy, whatever he thinks Josh is. Dodger always said I'd end up with him because Robby wasn't good enough for me. Total bullshit, of course! I mean the part about Robby not being good enough for me. Well, all of it was total bullshit actually.

Looking over at Dodger I see him and Robby chuckling and getting along better than they had since Dodger joined the Army. They're probably laughing about something to do with growing up together. And what an unusual 'growing-up-together' those two experienced... Jesus! I'll bet Josh doesn't know about that either. But why am I sounding like I'm putting him 'down'? I think Josh is a nice guy, but I already said that, didn't I?

After twenty minutes or so there's a knock on the door and when Robby opens it, Aunt Paula says, "I volunteered to come out here and get you boys... dinner is being served." Dodger goofily says, "Well, that's wonderful, Aunt Paula, but why tell us?" which makes no sense at all but Aunt Paula squeals her high-pitched laughter anyway. As Aunt Paula is squealing in that high-pitched manner Dodger looks at me making a 'face', like `What the fuck...? and I laugh out loud which makes Dodger, Robby, and Josh chuckle too as we leave the pool house. Aunt Paula goes, "Oh, Dodger, you could always make me laugh even when you were two years old." That's not saying a lot considering the grim reaper could probably make her laugh.

Inside there's obviously been a lot of activity. The dining room table seats eight but could squeeze in ten place settings. Not twelve though and there are twelve of us so Mrs. Dickers' solution was to identically set up the dining room and the kitchen tables. One with eight place settings and one with four. Same exact table clothes and matching napkins, same candles, same wine, same flowers at the center with the same platters and serving dishes full of steaming food, same nice China dishes and silverware, same every-fucking-thing.

I'm watching Dodger taking this in and I'm sure he's impressed like we all are. No second-rate Thanksgiving table for us guys! Then I can tell Dodger's getting ready to pull Aunt Paula's chain again. I'd like to stop him from doing that because I don't need another ice pick in my eyes but I only manage to mumble, "No, Dodger..." Too late though because he's saying, "Aunt Paula, where are us four boys supposed to sit?" She looks at the four place settings on the kitchen table and then looks at Dodger, who seriously says in an indignant manner, "Not in the kitchen I hope?" Then he can't help but grin and, as I expected, Aunt Paula goes into high-pitched squeals of hysteria pointing at Dodger, saying, "You got me again, Dodger," and then more squeals with ice picks going in both my eyes at the same time and my headache threatening to return. Robby turns away and holds his head which makes me snicker. Uncle Richie calls out, "Paula get your ass in here and stop bothering the boys."

We all get seated and Mrs. Dickers says, "Who wants to say grace?" Mr. Dickers picks up the platter of carved turkey, muttering, "Nobody, dear. This looks too good to wait a second longer. Let's eat," and he passes the platter and then the serving dishes. Dodger says, "Okay boys, let's do this the Army way." That turns out to be the four of us getting up with our dinner plates and walking around the table serving yourselves without all that tedious passing everything around from one to the other. That's what we do, and it is a more sensible approach. We serve ourselves from the turkey platter, bowls of cranberry relish, creamed pearl onions, candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, turkey gravy, stuffing, peas, string beans in a mushroom sauce, cole slaw, and hot dinner rolls with butter.

The four of us fill our plates but we do it differently. Robby and I try keeping everything separate while the Army boys aren't that concerned about food getting piled on top of other food. I'm waiting for one of them to say something macho like... it all ends up in the same place... which is correct but stupidly misses the point. I like to taste the different selections individually.

We're chowing down, to use an Army expression. Very little talking initially and then us four guys roll our eyes at each other as Aunt Paula does one of her squeals. Almost done our first plate of food, Robby mumbles, "Wow, this year Mom didn't miss anything from the Good Housekeeping's Thanksgiving dinner menu." Josh says, "Everything is delicious too," and then louder so he can be heard in the dining room, Josh goes, "Mrs. Dickers, everything is delicious! Fabulous Thanksgiving dinner. Thank you!" and then Rob and Dodger chime in with, "Josh is right. Awesome job Mom!" I figure that's enough for now and leave it at that, but Robby says to me "Hey, don't forget your brown-nosing class, babe. Let's hear some superlatives about the food." I mutter, "Bite me, Robert." The adults are getting into the compliments now and I don't want to yell over them.

Yeah, we can hear the adults in the dining room adding their compliments and then Mr. D. says loud enough for us to hear. "A toast to the chef," and the four of us look forlornly at the crystal wine glasses half full of wine. Whaddaya gonna do though, so we raise our wine glasses and clink them together along with the 'adults' in the dining room as we all mumble again, 'To the chef, delicious, great job..." and drink some of the wine which definitely isn't the worse wine I've ever had, not by a long shot, but still there's a Grand Canyon distance of difference between this wine and... delicious.

Anyway, seriously, Mrs. Dickers deserves all the attention she's getting and then we hear her trying to pass off some of the credit to Aunt Paula, who did hardly anything. Aunt Paula says, "I'd love to have contributed a couple of the side dishes Emily but they wouldn't have been as good as yours..." so that was nice but it's probably enough already, ya know?

The conversation at our table, in between stuffing our faces, consisted mostly of Josh's story. He grew up in Glendale, California which is a city in the county of Los Angeles about eight miles from the downtown area of LA. His family is in still living there which is why he's having Thanksgiving dinner with us. He's a year older than Dodger which makes him twenty-one, a year younger than Robby and me. He's one of those guys who could be twenty-one or thirty-one. I mean going by his appearance which, as I said, is generic good-looks but not especially youthful.

When I get the chance I ask him what he was doing between graduating high school and joining the Army a year later. I assumed it had to be a year later since he joined the Army the same time Dodger did and Dodger joined before graduating high school, and I remember what a fiasco that was at the time. He finished high school getting an equivalency degree in the Army if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, Josh tells me, in an offhand way that he worked for his father the year after high school. He adds, "It was my dad who suggested I join the Army." Hmm, there's probably a story that goes with his dad suggesting that, but I don't ask what it is.

After going back for seconds and eating too much, all four of us guys help with clearing our table and when we sit back down waiting for the pie, we all stare at the glasses of wine that are still sitting there mocking us. None of us took more than a sip of wine while toasting Mrs. Dickers so Robby finally says, "Well, we should probably drink these glasses of wine so we don't hurt dad's feelings, don'cha think?" Dodger nods his head and we all pick up the wine glasses, tap them together mumbling, "Cheers," and flash the wine down like it's a shot of liquor. I don't know, is wine supposed to be tart? Whatever, we're all making a 'face' for a second or two and reaching for our glasses of water.

Done with that, Dodger says, "Hey, Josh, you didn't tell the important thing about you and your high school years." Josh says, "Yeah, I did... I graduated!" Dodger goes, "You forgot to add you got a scholarship to some college." Josh goes, "Please, Dodger. I got in trouble at college and lost the scholarship. I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind." Dodger goes, "Well, that's not what I meant," and he says to Robby, "You and Josh have something in common. Josh was the star pitcher for his high school baseball team the way you were at Framingham High. Josh was on the all-state all-star team too, right Josh?" Josh goes, "Nah, it was just for LA County. I got a try out that summer with the Padres though, heh he, too bad it lasted all of forty-eight hours before I was on the bus back home again."

Huh, that was self-deprecating of Josh, which is a nice personality trait. Josh seems to have a couple of 'stories' that would be interesting to hear but the pie arrives, either pumpkin pie or pecan pie. Too many nuts in pecan pie so I have a slice of pumpkin. Once or twice a year is enough pumpkin pie for me but I like it very much on those rare occasions. There's coffee, and the dining room crowd are having after dinner drinks. The four of us kitchen-diners politely declined after dinner drinks. Finished dessert Robby and Josh get deeply involved in the art of pitching a baseball. Dodger asks me, "Ya wanna see my new car?" I nod, "Yep, let's go." First though, we go into the dining room to deliver our compliments to the chef in person. Dodger hugs his mom as she sits at the table. They kiss and then she says, "It's wonderful having you for dinner, Dodger. I wish you'd come more often though." He lies promising he will.

I say, "It was a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, Mrs. Dickers," and she says, "Don't I get a hug, Dylan?" so I awkwardly give her a hug. During this drama, Mr. Dickers is holding up one of the bottles of wine explaining something about it to Uncle Richie whose nodding his head, looking hammered. Aunt Paula watched Dodger and me hugging Mrs. Dickers and says, '"Oh, that's so sweet." Her saying that made me realize there was only one high-pitched squeal of laughter from Aunt Paula during the entire dinner hour. Apparently, no one was making her laugh, so that was good. I'm praying silently that Dodger doesn't say anything to her now as we're thanking his mom for dinner... and he doesn't, although it looked to me like Aunt Paula was waiting for something from him.

Outside the back door, Dodger says, "Do ya mind if I bum a smoke, Dylan? I bummed one from Rob and now you. It's fucked-up, but I could go back to smoking cigarettes in a second." I'm like, "It's a bitch of a habit alright." As I'm getting out my cigarettes, he goes, "I've got some joints in the car but promised Josh I wouldn't smoke one here. He's concerned it would be rude to my 'rents and, obviously, he's right."

We light cigarettes and then wander over to his car as I'm asking, "Is Josh, um, gonna be living at your condo for the long haul, or...?" He goes, "Haha, nothing gets by you! Yeah, I knew you'd pick up on the fact we're more than business partners. Robby wouldn't, but I knew you would. I kinda love Josh and, hell, I don't know... he's such a good guy too. He got himself in trouble, kinda serious trouble a few times but he's straightened himself out. The Army helped in that regard and he's smart! Omigod, he's the brains of our outfit, such as it is." I shrug, "No, seriously, I didn't know anything..." He squeezes the back of my neck, muttering, "Bullshit, you knew."

We smoke silently for a few seconds and then he goes, "All kidding aside... how the fuck do you stay so young looking? Seriously, dude!" Shaking my head, I'm like, "I don't know. Hey, does your boyfriend know about your secret?" He goes, "Nope. Just you and my brother know about Vegas. You haven't told anyone, have you?" and before I can answer, he goes, "Forget I asked that insulting question! Of course, you haven't." I mumble, "Nope, not a soul," and he gives me a hug, murmuring, "You know what? You're awesome..."

Damn, I feel stupid around Dodger and I don't know why that is. He asks, "So, you and Rob are cool, right? No problems?" I go, "Swear to God, we're golden, Dodger." He says, "It might work... you and him, but only because you changed him. I can see Rob's a lot different than he was, hell, different from even a year ago. I noticed tonight that, fuck, he's someone I wouldn't mind having a few beers with now... and I never thought I'd say that. I mean I love him 'cause we're brothers and we had the closest relationship imaginable when we were kids, but as he got older I thought he turned into, well, into Dad. Ha, yeah, he did. Well, you know all about that." I shrug, "Yeah? Nah, I think you're too hard on him."

Exhaling smoke, he shrugs and I go, "Anyway, my brother and I are even closer than you guys were. As brothers I mean. Not that it's a competition... just saying." He raises his eyebrows as if he doubts me, and I go, "Um, no, not like 'that' we weren't. We weren't screwing each other regularly or anything like that but we had a bond that's never wavered, not even for a day and not to this very day. Chubby is, well brotherly love is grossly underrated in our case." He goes, "You know what, Dylan? You're a sweet sensitive guy. There aren't too many guys around like you, buddy." I shake my head, "No, get outta here with that BS." He drags off his cigarette and as the smoke drifts out of his mouth, he says, " And, yeah I know how tight you and Jeff are, but your brother is so cool. Rob isn't all that cool." I mutter, "Eye of the beholder I guess."

Another few seconds of silence as we smoke and then Dodger touches my head lightly, saying, "Josh is right. You look so fucking, um, adorable with that old-fashioned haircut. Fuck though, you're ridiculously cute anyway." I go, "Aw, fuck that, Dodger..." We smoke for another couple of seconds and then for something to say, I touch the hood of his car, asking, "Why'd you get rid of your other awesome vehicle?" He goes, "Oh, I got this two weeks ago to impress you... haha. No, I traded in the other hot set of wheels because the fucking radio didn't work all the time. It would cut out on me for no reason. And yeah, I know that sounds absurd but it cost a fortune every time I took it to a dealership for service. Plus, I kicked the shit out of that car coming back from Vegas. I was high as a kite the whole way, roaring down those fucking straight desert highways at stupid speeds. Anyway, finally one of the salesmen at the dealership talked me into switching, trading in my other new car for this baby and some cash... the deal was too good to pass up. The radio works all the time in this bad-ass car."

Christ, what a wild man. Maybe Josh will be a good influence on Dodger, or maybe not considering what Dodger said about the mysterious trouble Josh got into. I'd love to know what it was. He steps on his cigarette butt and says, "This is fucked, Dylan! We don't sound like ourselves, not with one another we don't... not tonight. Do you think we do?" I go, "Oh... yeah we do, or I guess we don't... um, you seem the same. I don't know why, but I guess I do feel kinda awkward. Let's face it though, we haven't seen much of each other lately. Hell, we haven't spent hardly any time together for over two years now." He nods and shrugs and then says, "Oh, did I ever thank you for picking up my mail last summer?" I shrug and he goes, "No, I never did. I should buy you something to thank you." He chuckles and asks, "How about a car?"

Before I can respond to that lunacy Dodger opens the driver's side door of his BMW, asking, "Ya wanna take this piece of shit for a spin, Dylan?" I mutter, "Nah, not really," and then Robby opens the back door and shouts to us, "Hey guys, Josh want to look at a couple of the baseball team videos I brought home with me. We'll be in the bedroom." Dodger shouts back, "Dylan's gonna take my wheels for a ride." I wave at Robby, "No I'm not. We'll be in soon, Robby." He goes, "Whatever, babe. You should take it for a ride though!" When Robby slams the back door, Dodger makes a 'face' asking me incredulously, "He brought videos of the baseball team home with him?"

We sort of shuffle our feet 'cause it's cold out here, then I mumble, "Yeah, he's conscientious about stuff plus he's mentoring a freshman ballplayer and..." Dodger cuts me off, muttering, "Jesus..." He has no right to mock Rob! Fuck it, I flick my cigarette butt over the hedge to... well, I don't know where it landed. Dodger rubs his hands together, mumbling, "Cold out here, but I'm not really excited about watching Rob's baseball videos in his bedroom so how about if we grab another beer and I'll have one last Thanksgiving Day cigarette in the pool house?" I shrug, and he says, "I'll grab us a couple of beers if you'll turn on the pool house lights and get the space heater running in there." I mutter, "Yeah, okay," and he pats my shoulder, "I'll be right back, Dylan."

Oh man, this is so weird! I watch Dodger walk off and, fuck, I don't want another beer. I'd like to take a nap before tackling the second Thanksgiving dinner... that's what I'd really like to do. As I go to open the pool house door Dodger stops on the steps to the back door of the house and turns around, saying, "It's more than wonderful seeing you again, Dylan." I hesitate and then say, "You too," but he's already in the back door. Taking a deep breath, I ask myself out loud, "What's wrong with you, Dylan?"

Going into the pool house, I turn on the lights and then the space heater. It's cold in here. Dodger's getting me another beer and I never finished any of the three I've had so far. That's wasteful. Oh, really... no shit! Holding my hands near the space heater I'm telling myself that the next time Robby and I come home, probably for Christmas Break, or 'Holiday Break' as the college calls it, I'm buying a case of beers for the cellar refrigerator. That's the least I can do. And another thing, I'm treating Mr. and Mrs. Dickers to a dinner out. Yeah, at Ken's during the Christmas Break. Obviously with Robby too.

Looking around the pool house I get nostalgic because so many things happened in and around this fucking place. Jesus! Many haircuts were done in here and a good amount of fucking as well. Well, both in here or at the back or side of the building, and many a serious conversation in here too. Serious when we had them, but most of them would probably seem embarrassingly immature if I could remember them now. Good thing I can't. Jeez, it's life... ya know?

Huh, where's Dodger? And, ya know what? Even considering the little interest I have in Rob's baseball videos, I'd rather be in the bedroom watching them with him than in here with Dodger. Why are we even here? We're like strangers! Well, hell, we are strangers. No, we're not total strangers! In our current incarnation, the version we currently are living in as young adults we're not strangers so much as we're now 'acquaintances'. We were friends as boys, but nothing presently is the same as it was then. That's a fact and trying to recreate the past simply never works. Well, to answer my own question of a minute ago: we're 'here' for a smoke, that's the reason we're here in the pool house. And that's legitimate... so why would I think it's anything else?

Taking out my pack of Marlboro, I light one... there, I'm smoking! That's why I'm in here. The back door of the house just slammed so here comes Dodger. Why can't I relax? It's stupid of me to feel uncomfortable no matter if we're strangers or acquaintances or whatever... there's no reason to be uncomfortable. I wasn't when I saw him at the beginning of last summer. Or, I guess I was a little but he took charge and I just went along for the ride.

The pool house door opens and in comes Dodger carrying two unopened green bottles of beer. Where'd he find the Rolling Rock bottles? Jeez, I'm not sure there's a bottle opener in here and Rolling Rock doesn't have twist off caps. Dodger looks at me funny-like and then grins a quick grin, puts the two unopened Rolling Rock beer bottles on the bar, takes my cigarette from my fingers and lays it in an ashtray. I go, 'Wha...?' and he goes, "Fuck it... we've got a history together, Dylan. We deserve this..." then we're in each other's arm with our mouths together sucking and licking each other's lips and tongue, grunting and almost wrestling, our hands moving all over each other's body squeezing and massaging. There's a lot of sexual heat from Dodger and it's impossible not to radiate some back at him because he's very sexy and... I don't know, maybe I was waiting for him to break the ice. I mean, I'm not frigid, ya know, so...

Our heads move as our noses rub together and his scent reminds me of Robby's but not quite. I think there's the faintest scent of a cologne which doesn't seem like Dodger but that thought quickly exits my brain as Dodger's tongue goes inside my mouth again and stays there as he's moving me backward until I'm up against the bar, bumping it hard enough to knock the two Rolling Rock beer bottles over. They roll on the bar and then come to a stop up against the CD player. Dodger has both his hands on my buttocks, our mouths attached as he turns me and now, still walking me backward I bump into the couch. I feel his hard cock bumping above my quickly forming boner. It's a bit disconcerting that Dodger's taller than me now... it's a little different with my face turned up to his but even without his taller stature, it's obvious Dodger's running the show... as always.

Bending me backward over the arm of the couch he takes his mouth away and we both gasp for air before he's able to say, "This is more like it, huh?" I'm making a 'face' not sure what the fuck to do. He says, "Go ahead and pull your pants down." I'm like, "Wha...?" still trying to catch my breath, not feeling this is right... not right here, right now. Dodger takes a condom packet from his pocket and rips it open as I go, "No, um, maybe..." and he hands me the ripped condom packet, muttering, "Hold that for a second, please," and he pulls his pants down. Omigod, his penis is a solid rock sticking out straight and looking longer than Robby's but not quite as big around. Huh, I always thought they had twin penises like Danny and me have. Omigod... what a stupid fucking thought that was!

I'm still holding the condom as Dodger gives me a cute 'expression and then pulls my khakis down over my hips without undoing the button... guess I should have worn a belt. Omigod, that's another stupid thought.

I'm staring at Dodger as he takes the ripped-open condom packet from my fingers and pulls out the condom, saying, "I only started using condoms cause Josh insisted on it and now I like using them. It was when we were in the Army actually. We both just felt better using protection but then it's weird because I didn't feel comfortable using one when you and I, um, last summer, well you know...." I go, "Wha...?" and he turns me around and immediately that fat cock head of his hits my asshole, but just barely touching it. No, first the slippery nipple on the end of the condom hit my asshole... and that right there was another useless thought!

Dodger puts his fingers on the side of my chin pulling my head around, murmuring, "Only if you want to, Dylan. If you say 'no' we won't." I don't say anything. I'm just glad I didn't say 'Wha...?' again. He asks, "Is it okay?" Well, fuck! Staring at his sexy mouth, I nod my head and he goes, "Was that a 'yes'?" and I say, "Yes," and turn my head back to look straight ahead, thinking in my mind...'Robby won't mind... he never has in the past, not when it's Dodger... and anyway we have our arrangement...'

It's hard to believe, but Robby actually sort of encouraged me to have buddy sex with Dodger. Yeah, that's basically what he told me a couple of years ago. A couple of years ago isn't exactly current, but that was the latest word I heard from Rob about that. Anyway, all thoughts about anything except Dodger's hard fat cock against my asshole exits my brain when he takes a noisy big breath and then pushes the head of his boner in past my sphincter muscle while his hands are spreading my butt cheeks. He murmurs, "Tight," and humps his hips pushing in most of the rest of that hard fat cock of his. Flashes of red almost blind me before I realize it's not color, it's pain! He's murmuring, "I'm sorry, but..." and he leans against me with the rest of his cock sliding in so tightly it seems impossible it'll fit.

Dodger gasps and then leans against my back and murmurs, "I hope it stops hurting you soon." I'm holding my breath with the pain throbbing in my ass, mostly around my stretched anus, my asshole... which I'm very familiar with. Dodger runs his fingers through my flattop hair from front to the back murmuring, "Fuck, that's cool," and already the pain is beginning to subside.

My ass probably thinks it Robby's boner and that thought makes me gasp out a chuckle that Dodger misinterprets as a cry of pain and he hugs around my stomach, saying again, "Sorry," and then, "I thought since..." and he lets that thought drift off but I'm pretty sure he meant I should be used to this by now since Robby and I have been doing it for five years now... and with the brothers having similar equipment and everything. That's the thinking of a person who only 'tops' but I sort of understand his frame of reference so don't hold it against him.

Anyway, the pain is now very manageable and continuing to reduce to the degree I'm even thinking about another nonsense thing... it's that the lubricant from the condom, much of which got scraped off during the ridiculously tight entrance, has now warmed from my body heat and is drooling stickily down to the back of my nuts. Much more importantly though, Dodger's boner is now starting to feel incredibly fantastic filling me up back there. And furthermore, even during that half-minute of pure pain my cock still grew into a scarily-hard boner and I want to grab hold of it and stroke it fast and tightly, but I don't.

My relaxing body tells Dodger things are starting to go the way he envisioned them going. His body, that previously was tense and taut, relaxes some too as he murmurs, "Everything okay?" I go, "Uh huh," and, with a hand on each side of my shoulders, Dodger pulls his cock back and then thrusts it steadily back up my ass with me making a face, one he can't see, at some random pain that won't let go yet. It's that initial fast thrust of his boner, almost all of it in one big hump, that my rectum is sore about, both literally and figuratively.

He doesn't know that so he pulls his fat boner back and pushes it up my ass a second time and this time Dodger moans, "Mmmmm, ooooh, fuck... that feels good." He humps against my buttocks while making a "Ssssss," sound sucking air in through his closed lips and then he murmurs, "Oh man, I've never found anyone with an ass as good as yours, Dylan, but I can't exactly describe what it is that feels so different, so incredibly good," and another pull back and another, "Ooooh," from Dodger as he pushes it back up inside me.

Leaning over, both my hands on the arm of the couch holding me away from it, I let out a held breath as pleasure is beginning to build inside my rectum. My prostate gland awakens and sizzles a little while that tantalizing itchy sensation begins percolating around my extremely stretched asshole and when Dodger moves his hard cock in my ass it scratches the 'itch' feeling so good I can hardly breathe. My shoulders shudder under Dodger's fingers and he squeezes both my shoulders, almost massaging them for ten seconds and then he begins steadily thrusting his wickedly hard boner and my whole body shudders.

All other thoughts leave my brain so I can concentrate on the ballooning sexual pleasure that's growing in my rectum... and now my hard cock pulls away from my belly to stick defiantly straight out from my body and seems to be pulling at the foreskin trying to get longer. I can't help wrapping my fist around it, something I usually resist doing. I squeeze my boner and then stroke it from the root to the head and, ooooh that feels so goood! My fist goes back and forth on my steel boner keeping time with every thrust of Dodger's fat hard cock up my ass and quickly my hand gets sticky from the pre-cum that's drooling from my cock.

It's a steady thrusting but not a hard enough one to create the clapping sounds of males fucking, not yet anyway. I'm like, "Ahh, ahh, ahh," as I stroke, stroke, stroke my boner, Dodger moans in the background, "Um, um, um." He squeezes my shoulders and thrusts his boner. "Oooh, oooh, mmm," and stroke, stroke, stroke for one and then two minutes before Dodger gasps and takes his hands off my shoulder to wrap his arms tightly around my stomach and now it's fast and loud, "SlapSlapSlap!" sound ringing in our ears.

His hips are flying, driving his fat boner back and forth in my ass with sensations soaring off the charts as I moan, Oooh, oooh, oooh!" my hand a blur stroking myself off. Dodger rests the side of his head against mine and begins faster harder thrusts and now louder, "SLAPSLAPSLAP" sounds in the pool house with me letting go of my boner to hold onto the arm of the couch with both hands, my body jolting forward with each hard thrust but only for another thirty seconds before my climax takes over everything I'm aware of... and, holding my breath, my eyes squeezed shut until BOOM my orgasm bursts on the scene! I squeal embarrassingly loud with cum firing out in a straight line to splatter against the wooden side of the couch and then again as rockets go off in my head and I can't breathe for a few seconds.

My eyes pop open as my hand goes back to my hard cock to stroke it very tightly. Dodger's up on his toes now making a whiny sound humping against my buttocks filling his condom with spunk. My cum was so creamy it didn't splatter back on my khakis but as I try catching my breath I watch it slowly drooling down the side of the couch. Gasping and then chuckling quietly, Dodger lifts off me and pulls his condom covered cock out of my ass as I go, "Ahhh, mmm, ooooh," and push away from the couch's arm before standing up.

Another deep breath as I let go of my dick and then turn around, and say, "This wasn't the smartest place to do this, Dodger. Do ya think?" Oddly, this is the most comfortable I've felt with him since he first arrived the house with Josh. He shrugs, "No, I guess it isn't, but Goddamn that felt good. Hey, it's you and me, Dylan. This is us. Remember the swimming pool that time? That's what we do, we fuck with each other and enjoy it, right? It's harmless... we're not hurting anyone." Blowing out my cheeks, I mutter, "I guess," and he grins pointing at his dick, saying, "It's still hard. Um, do you wanna...?" My ass twitches and I grab my pecker again without realizing I was gonna do that, as I go, "Um, well..." and he nods his head encouragingly, so I snicker and say, "Okay."

He goes, "Awesome! Turn around," and this time his cock slides up inside me snugly... but without any pain. Dodger wraps his arms around my waist with both of us standing and he fucks my ass fast and hard for like seven or eight minutes. It's all pleasure and I lean the head back against his shoulder and let the pleasure roll over me from my ass to my balls, from my boner to my toes and then to the roots of my hair and down to the balls of my feet.

Yeah, enjoy it! Dodger never indicated this is anything other than buddy sex and that takes all the doubt from my mind about, well I'm not sure about what. Whatever hesitation I felt is gone though. We're doing buddy sex for the fun and pleasure of it. No strings attached, no nothing except... holy shit, that felt good!

I don't know about Dodger but my second climax was very close to a phantom one, although to me it felt awesome. Mine happened before Dodger's but not by much and while I'm savoring whatever kind of climax I just had, Dodger's doing his humping against my butt cheeks having whatever kind of climax he's having. When he pulls his cock out this time we both bend over with our hands on our knees sucking in oxygen, hearts beating fast as we snicker. Dodger mutters, "Christ, that was off the fucking hook." I'm nodding, still breathing deeply. Dodger goes, "Shit, now Josh's ass is gonna feel like I'm fucking a sponge." I go, "Bullshit! Your fat dick will fill up anyone's ass."

We both straighten up and I say, "There's a plastic container of Handi-Wipes behind the bar." Dodger gets the container and I pull out a couple of sheets, pull the condom off and wipe myself off. The condom he takes into the little bathroom to flush it down the toilet. I hear the water running as he washes his hands and calls out to me, "We've only been in here ten minutes, Dylan. Let's have that smoke and then go in the cellar to wait for our boyfriends, okay?" I mutter, Yeah, okay," and he goes, "I'm sorry, but I do not want to watch a video of Rob batting."

He comes back with his pants pulled up. I've already pulled mine up and I'm wiping my cum off the side of the couch, saying, "It's a good thing there's wood or bamboo or whatever the fuck the side of this couch is made out of. It wipes clean." He nods, "Yeah, um, whaddya think about a smoke and then waiting for the guys in the basement?" Standing up, I go, "No, I'd rather chit chat with your grandparents." He laughs and gives me a quick hug as I'm saying, "I already said okay," and he says, "We gotta see more of each other, Dylan. You know, double date or something." He makes a 'face' and then laughs, saying, "Holy fuck, did I actually say 'double date'?"

We have a smoke and now I don't feel uncomfortable being with Dodger. If I let myself think about it, maybe I was worried he'd be on his kick about me spending the rest of my life with him. I guess I'm relieved he doesn't think that now. I hope he doesn't anyway... no, really!

After our smoke, we take our beers into the house and wait for Robby and Josh in the cellar. We don't play ping pong though. I know better. We talk about shit we did together in the past and it's very funny stuff thinking back on all of that. Hey, yeah, that's another thing about getting old... you have a lot more cooler stuff to reminisce about...

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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