Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter. 53

by Donny Mumford

It's spring break...WOOP-DE-DOO!

But seriously folks, this is a special one because it's the last spring break of our lives and while we have no special plans to do anything, it's very special just the same because when we return to Merrimack there are only seven weeks until graduation. Others feel differently I'm sure, but I personally have had all the college education I care for and I'm ready to try something else. And, what the hell, 'something else' is eventually unavoidable anyway, so let's go already! And yeah, I'm aware of the advice... be careful what you wish for. I'll worry about that later.

Rob and I get home on this first official day of spring break and immediately christened our bedroom with hot sex. And I mean within ten minutes of getting home it's a fast fun fuck and then we're right back with the mundane necessities of life. In this instance, putting away the stuff we brought from college. We're not doing a lot of talking although we are exchanging smirks and grins because we're pleased with ourselves. Two young men in love and, okay, both probably oversexed but that's another reason we're a good match.

I'm hanging up some 'dressier' clothes I probably won't need, but I brought them home just in case. Before I can turn around after hanging clothes in the closet Robby has his arms around me from behind. He murmurs, "I don't think I tell you often enough how much you mean to me, Dylan. You're the most important part of my life. You know that, right?" Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I murmur, "Yes, I know, Robby. And, um, don't ever think I don't love you back just as much. And, no matter what you think you know, I assure you there is no one in this world who could replace you in my heart or in my life. That's the God's honest truth and there isn't an ounce of doubt in my mind about that."

He nestles his face at the side of my neck kissing me there, then saying, "I couldn't live without smelling your sweet natural scent. You smell so fucking sexy, and brand new, and special!" Turning around in his arms, I put my arms around him, saying very seriously, "Do you believe what I just said?" He looks into my eyes and nods his head, murmuring, "Yes, I do," and we hug for a minute before letting go of one another. Robby tries to make a joke out of that serious little interlude by forcing a little snicker and saying, "Good talk, babe!" I nod my head and Robby grins, adding, "Whew, is it hot in here or what?" I chuckle and mumble, "Well, you're sexy hot, if that's what you mean."

I'm guessing Robby felt he needed to say that stuff about how much I mean to him because he saw Danny and me at the front door of Danny's house twenty minutes ago maybe a tad too intimate. I was helping Danny with the stuff he brought home and it's not like we kissed or anything but I suppose from our body language it was obvious we're more than just friends. Anyway, that's why I said what I said to Robby, and I meant it too.

But after saying that, there's no use lying to myself any longer. It's not about me having a crush on Danny anymore, I'm kinda in love with him more than having a crush on him. Actually, I'm starting to think I love him more than he loves me. Haha, and that's ironic because he been saying he's in love with me for like six months now while I've mostly tried discouraging him from verbally expressing that, and at the same time physically encouraging him. Yeah, I suck! I'm human, okay?

It's not that I'm 'in love' with Danny the way I'm 'in love' with Robby. I do love Danny though and cherish the time I'm with him and especially but not exclusively when we're having sex. He's a sensuous lover and a very convincing one too. Just thinking about him makes me feel gooey and squirmy but I don't think I could go on living without Robby's love. I've never doubted his love for me and, obviously, I'm living happily with him and I don't want that to ever end. Nothing could be truer than that and yet I love Danny too even though we're not together except for a few hours a week.

What am I to make of all this? For one thing, I know I'm with the right lover in Robby, although knowing that doesn't resolve my Danny-problem. I've thought about it a lot lately and I think it's part infatuation. Danny infatuates me because of the ways he's different from Robby... the confident and almost reckless way Danny does everything, and then there's the sexual variety aspect of having sex with him too. I used to have a lot of sexual variety in my life but it's almost nonexistent now. And Danny's very physically attractive and maybe it's an ego thing, but having two boys like Danny and Robby in love with me is flattering and that's an understatement.

Hey, who the fuck knows why anyone falls in love? So why would I know? It's not exactly a new thing for me to have a love in my heart for two guys at the same time, or think I do anyhow. I mean, I've temporarily thought I was in love with other guys while I was in love with Robby. Danny's different though because I'm older now and Danny's more convincing than the others. So, yeah, it's a problem for sure, but it's not a problem for right now. This week I'm gonna focus exclusively on my man Robby and do my best to enjoy our time away from college.

When we've finished putting our stuff away it's too late Saturday afternoon to do anything so Rob and I stay in goofing off in the pool house shooting darts and smoking. Darts is actually something Rob and I are competitively equal at because the dart board wasn't a pool house addition until I was living here and, therefore, we've had the same exposure to it. By that I mean, we've both hardly ever used the dart board so we're equally bad at shooting darts or playing darts... or however you say that. I can't think of another activity that's remotely sports-related where I'm sort of equal with Rob because he has God-given superior eye/hand coordination that puts me at a disadvantage, me being normal in that regard.

Tired of sucking at darts we put them aside and lay around talking until I remember we want to Google for a sunny vacation spot. We wanna find someplace that's not a typical spring break destination, and then only for a few days. Back inside the house, we discover Rob's dad is home from the office. He's in the kitchen making a cocktail and when he sees us, he goes, "Hey! Good to see you, boys. How's it going?" Wow, that's the most enthusiastic greeting I can ever recall getting from Mr. Dickers.

Rob and I tell his dad we're doing good and Mr. D. says, "You both look great. I like those haircuts, gentlemen!" I give Rob a glance and he snorts out a laugh before saying, "Thanks, Dad, we aim to please. Don't we, Dylan?" I go, "I'll say," and Mr. D. says to me, "You know what, Dylan? You and I, and Rob too I suppose, need to sit down and have a serious discussion about where we're going to put you in the company. I keep thinking you and HR, that's human resources, son. You'd be the perfect fit in that department. A good looking young man like you with your smarts and personality, and that million dollar smile of yours. Perfect fit!"

Rob and I exchange another quick glance because it's obvious his dad has had a few 'pops', a few cocktails before coming home. He did not come straight home from the office. Robby says, "Your HR idea is 'effing ridiculous, Dad. Think again... and how about making Dylan and I one of those cocktails." His dad asks, "You want a vodka martini? I don't think either of you will like it." My eyes get big because he couldn't be more right about that. I tried a vodka martini once, it was served to me by mistake and I couldn't finish it. It's odd how I can drink a gin martini if I can't get out of drinking it, but not a vodka martini. Rob shrugs, "Okay, forget that. How about Manhattans?"

His dad picks up his drink, saying, "I showed you how to make Manhattans, Rob. You make them for you and your boyfriend," He starts to leave and then stops to say, "Ya know, it's funny but I never had a Manhattan until I was in my thirties. It's not normally a young man's drink, is it?" Rob goes, "We're not talking cowboys and Indian days, dad. Hard liquor drinks are popular with young guys nowadays." I don't know about that. Mostly it's beer as far as I can tell from seeing what guys drink at college... shots or beer, or both. Maybe shots are what Rob meant.

Mr. Dickers points at me, apparently done with the booze discussion, and says, "We need to talk soon, son." I go, "Yes, Sir," and he pats my shoulder, smiling and saying, "That's exactly what I mean," and he goes off in the direction of the family room. Robby hunches his shoulders snickering because his dad is slightly inebriated I assume. Rob says, "Fucking human resources, huh? That blows, but he's hammered so don't worry about it." Then we hear Mrs. D. say, "Where's my drink, Robert?" Robby snickers again, muttering, "Dad forgot to make Mom another drink." I smile, not at all sure why I'm smiling. I've never seen Mr. Dickers act like this before so it's a little unnerving. He's not falling down drunk or slurring his words or anything like that, it's just... I don't know, unnerving to see him slightly drunk.

And I'm sure when Mr. D. said, 'that's exactly what I mean' to me a minute ago he was referring to me saying, 'Yes, Sir' to him. I suppose he somehow equates that to me being a perfect match for a job in human resources. I hope Robby's right that I don't need to worry about getting a job there because, I don't know why exactly, but it sounds like a pussy position.

Rob's getting out a bottle of VO, saying, 'We're staying in tonight, right babe?" I shrug, "Sure, okay," and he goes, "So we'll get a little high on Manhattans, right?" Manhattans are okay but I can't help remembering Tom Brooker saying he'd hold up on drinking Manhattans until he's forty years old. Was it him who said that? Somebody our age said it and then Mr. Dickers just said he never had a Manhattan until he was in his thirties. Christ, what do I know? My mom never drank hard liquor at home and my dad died four years before he was old enough to drink, so I have no point of reference. Fuck it though, I'll drink Manhattans if I want to.

Rob's got our drinks ready as Mr. D. comes back to the kitchen carrying an empty highball glass. I'm assuming it's Mrs. Dickers' glass unless Mr. D. chugged his martini already. He mumbles, "I'm not sure where it's written that women can't make cocktails." Robby hands me a Manhattan saying to his dad, "It's your fault. You should have said something about that when you first got married. Set out a set of rules as to how things are gonna be and avoid misunderstandings later." His dad mutters, "Thank you, Dr. Ruth," and we head for the stairs and the sanctuary of our bedroom. I'm thinking maybe Robby was telling me that as well as his dad. Huh, a set of rules. And, as we're going upstairs I sip some of my drink from the overfilled glass, thinking, 'Yeah, but Robby always makes my drinks'. Hmm?

In our bedroom, Rob puts his drink on the desk and sits down in from of his laptop, asking, "How should we word our Google search?" I'm like, "Forget what I said back at college about luxury. Let's Google affordable vacation spots down south." Rob goes, "Okay, we can start there." and he types it in. Lots of choices appear, some in Alabama and other states like Texas that are too far. I mean, the plane tickets alone would be too expensive. Also, lots of hits for Georgia vacation spots but I get this funny feeling in my balls recognizing some of the names of the Georgia towns. Living in Georgia with Ryan that summer puts me off vacationing there. I don't say anything but the one chance in a million I'd run into Ryan is enough to eliminate that state. I don't know what would happen or how I'd react if I saw Ryan. I often think of him and I miss him. I miss the good Ryan, not the other one... I feel really sad for the other Ryan.

Rob's Googling also comes up with Seabrook Island, South Carolina, as well as ten other places that we sort of turn our noses up at because of what we read online making them seem foreign to us. We've never been to South Carolina and we feel more comfortable looking at places in Florida where we have been. Yeah, Florida is our best bet, but to be different we concentrate on places located on the Gulf of Mexico, the gulf coast of Florida.

On Florida's Gulf Coast there are some familiar names like Clearwater where some major league baseball teams have spring training. And Clearwater is just west of Tampa, which I've heard of and then there's Fort Myers where the Red Sox built Jet Blue Park for their spring training. I go, "We could go to a preseason Red Sox game, Robby!" He nods, "Interesting thought, babe, very interesting."

With my hand on Rob's shoulder and me leaning over to see his laptop, Rob scans through places like Saratoga, Naples, and then a place called Destin that's known for its snow-white beaches. And, yeah, a couple of these places actually have a boardwalk too. Plus there are lots of other towns that probably have never even seen a college student on spring break. So, it's pretty certain we've decided it will be Florida's Gulf Coast for our getaway. Now it's a matter of deciding which place, and we haven't decided that when Mrs. D. calls us to dinner.

Clumping loudly downstairs, Rob says, "After dinner let's do some detailed searching about Fort Myers. The idea you had about us seeing one or two Red Sox pre-season games sounds awesome, but we want beach time too. There needs to be a good beach. A pool at our motel is one thing but there's nothing like an ocean beach, ya know?" I nod, "Yeah, I agree," and as we're walking into the dining room, he adds, "And if they have a boardwalk in Fort Myers that would be the cherry on top!" It looks like we've already decided it'll be Fort Myers... all that remains is figuring out the details.

Mr. Dickers doesn't appear drunk at dinner. During the dinner conversation, we find out he did have 'a few' cocktails with two of the company's vice presidents before coming home. They were celebrating some good news, very good news. Something excellent happened about a loan agreement with a financial institution that has Mr. D. as gleeful as I've ever seen him, and Mrs. D. too.

I'm happy for them although Rob is as clueless as I am about what the specifics of this good news might be. Whatever, it makes for a jolly dinner and it's another delicious one too. Mrs. Dickers' Italian veal scallopini and spaghetti with a delicious spaghetti sauce hit the spot. First, we have Caesar salad with white anchovies, one of which I accidentally ate. It was hidden in a piece of Romaine lettuce and guess what? It was good! Haha! So, I've discovered another food I can eat although it's one I'd have bet my left nut I would hate.

For dessert, Mrs. D. baked a white cake with vanilla buttercream frosting and as she's cutting a slice, she says, "I baked this especially for our third son, Dylan." My face almost catches on fire I'm blushing so hard, but I feel good at the same time. Plus, how'd she even know it's my favorite cake? I managed to mutter, "Wow, thank you, Mrs. Dickers!" She serves it with strawberry ice cream that's good although it detracted slightly from my favorite cake. Either vanilla or chocolate ice cream would have been better. I wisely decide not to mention that. I mean, she said 'our third son' so I don't want her to think I'm ungrateful, and the strawberry ice cream was Haagen-Dazs so it was okay.

Robby helps me get by the emotions of hearing her say that by muttering, "Nice going, Mom. Twice you've managed to take Dylan to levels of awkwardness he's heretofore never experienced and we've only been home three hours." Mrs. D. says, "I'm sure I don't know what you are referring to, Rob," and Mr. D. says, "Is there any more strawberry ice cream, Em?"

Haha, Mr. Dickers doesn't get involved too much in verbalizing affectionate sentiments. I suppose some people feel it makes them vulnerable somehow to express affection. On the plus side, he didn't appear to object to Mrs. Dickers' calling me their third son. Instead, he focused on the more important matter of getting more ice cream.

I sincerely thought it was very touching and it means a lot to me, and I think to Robby too. It's not unheard of that parents find fault with their child's choice of a life partner. Rob and I being gay make it potentially even more complicated from a parent's point of view. I don't know what else to think about it right now except I'm happy and grateful Mrs. D. thinks of me that way. In any case, everyone here seems to agree there isn't anymore that need be said about that and, consequently, my face never reached 451-degree Fahrenheit and therefore did not break out in flames. The funny thing is I really would have liked a second piece of cake but it seemed too 'obvious' to ask for that after she said she made it for me. I've already had unwarranted accusations of being a brown-noser to Rob's parents... the accusations coming from the Dickers' oldest son.

A minute later Mr. Dickers received not only more strawberry ice cream but another slice of cake while Robby's saying, "Next time. Mom, how about making my favorite cake." His mom says, "Well, darling, you've never told me what your favorite cake is." He goes, "Chocolate with cream cheese, um, buttercream frosting or whatever it's called. Didn't I ever mention that?" She shakes her head and goes, "No, you never did, but now I know. Unfortunately, your father doesn't care for cream cheese frosting." Mr. D. goes, "That's correct, I don't, but Dylan's cake is delicious." I bite my bottom lip trying not to laugh and settle for doing two fake coughs that make Robby laugh because he's onto my fake coughing.

After dinner, Rob and I watch a movie in our room lying on the bed and goofing around with each other which eventually results in another sex act. It's the normal kind, I mean for us gay types. My pants are down barely below my buttocks and Rob's sex organ is hard and out through his fly. No slapping sounds because Rob's pants muffle the sound but everything else was perfect and I even caught my cum in my hand. The bedspread we soiled earlier is still in the hamper and I didn't want the blanket in there too. It was a really good fuck though, really good!

Sunday morning Mr. Dickers takes us out for brunch at a breakfast buffet because he said Mrs. Dickers deserves a break. The buffet was in a Boston hotel and was quite nice. On the way into Boston, Rob and I sit in the back of his dad's car like we're little kids. Usually, whenever we're going to the same place as Rob's parents we take the pickup, but today Rob said, "Let's ride into town with my parents, babe. I don't like driving in Boston." And I don't blame him! A recent countrywide survey named Boston the worst city in American to drive in.

At the buffet, I see a chef making omelets to order with whatever you want in it but I also see a large pan of Eggs Benedict. I get that with excellent Hollandaise sauce plus very tender Canadian bacon and a great English muffin under everything. Great home fries too, and overall the best breakfast buffet I've experienced thus far in my life. I can't imagine a better one. During breakfast, Mr. D. talks Rob into working tomorrow on a special project he, Mr. Dickers, doesn't trust anyone else to do because it involves manager's and VP's salaries and bonuses. Obviously, Mr. D. would rather that information not be common knowledge. It's like a three-hour project and Robby's like, "Do you mind, Dylan? You can sleep late tomorrow and I should be home for lunch."

Oh sure, I'm going to say, 'NO, I absolutely refuse to allow you working tomorrow'. So I go, "Of course I don't mind, jeez, why would you even ask?" Mrs. Dickers isn't happy though, saying, "The boys are on a much-needed college vacation, Robert. It's terrible of you to pressure Rob into working." Mr. D. goes, "I didn't pressure him, did I, Rob?" Before Rob can answer Mr. D. adds, "They'll both be working full time in a couple of months anyway, and this is like a minor three-hour project that I need to see the results of before our fiscal year begins April first." Their fiscal year begins on April Fools' Day? Haha!

Anyway, it's settled that Rob's working a few hours at the office tomorrow. We all go back to the buffet for another plate, even Mrs. Dickers gets a second plate and she normally eats like a bird. She gets a plate of fresh cut fruit. I get some of that too, but also another Eggs Benedict and a few, well six actually, of the little cinnamon buns with icing. Back at our table, we find fresh cups of coffee at each place. Damn, I'd like to know how much this cost but, obviously, I'm not asking.

On the way back to the car I thank Mr. D. for the third time as Rob lights a cigarette and his mom gives him a lecture about the evils of smoking which Rob chuckles at. Omigod, I'd love a drag off that cigarette after the great brunch but decide to just keep my mouth shut. Robby doesn't make a big deal out of the brunch which is another example of how he and I grew up in different circumstances. This wasn't something the Dickers do once a month or anything like that, but it wasn't so rare that Rob's impressed by it... not as much as I was anyway.

The weather is nice today, a rare nice day late in March. At the house, Rob and I change clothes putting on shorts and then we drive to the outdoor basketball courts at the high school to see if there are 'pick-up' games going on today... almost a certainty. Normally I'd call Chubby to join us but he went with a group of guys, girls too obviously, to the Dominican Republic for spring break. A resort called Punta Cana offered an all-inclusive package deal, whatever that means. Chub heard about a special price being offered for groups of ten or more from one of the guys in his dormitory so he and John Beverly joined up.

Chub tried to get me and Rob to join them but even with the group rate, it was too expensive for me. Chub's spending all the extra money he made last summer, extra over what I made is what I mean, on this trip and he said he'd pay for my plane fare. It sounded exciting but neither Robby nor I have passports so, ya know. Hell, I didn't know Chubby had a passport but Tim, his mom's fiancé, got one for him over the Christmas holidays because I guess he'll need it this summer for something to do with Chub's future job with the Rider company. Anyway, Chub's at the Dominican Republic as of Saturday night. He lives a more exciting life than I do.

There are only seven or so guys at the basketball courts when normally there would be twice that number. We watch for a minute and then Robby mumbles, "I guess most guys from college are at a spring vacation spot." I go, "Maybe some of them went where Chub is," and Rob goes, "Jesus, can you imagine that? If we had bigger balls we'd have gone too." I go, "It had nothing to do with our balls, Rob. You didn't wanna go. I could tell." We're sitting in the pickup looking at the basketball courts. He goes, "Me? You didn't have the money and neither of us has a passport, which we should definitely get by the way." I mutter, "I didn't think you wanted to go. I made that up about the money." He mutters, "Well, I didn't want to spend the money and I didn't want a seven-day drunk either." I shrug and to change the conversation, he goes, "Jesus, I'm stuffed! Some brunch, huh?"

We get out of the truck and I'm like, "Are you saying you would have gone to the Dominican resort?" He grins at me and goes, "No! I'm kidding you. Seriously, it's not only the money, and we probably could have paid extra to rush passports through, um, whatever that procedure is. But I don't know, it seemed too, um, too much like something I'd want to do as a sophomore or back when I'd just turned twenty-one or something." Huh? I ask, "You mean it's too immature?" He goes, "No, not immature, not exactly. Um, going to the Dominican seems too, um, college-student-like. Ya know what I mean?" Yeah, he means it's immature to want to drink booze and get drunk all week while whoring around. I drop it but if I had the money and we had a passport maybe we would have gone. Fuck, we are still college students!

After scrutinizing the guys on the courts we realize we don't know any of them. They're all high school students by the looks of them, which makes us feel old. Rob brought a basketball along so we shoot baskets and play 'horse' at the lower courts not wanting to intrude on the young kids' games. It feels good working up a sweat while playing a game of one-on-one and while Rob's a better basketball player than me, there's not a significant difference. Certainly not like there is in ping pong where it's all eye/hand coordination.

We're chilling out between games when two guys join us at the lower court and the really tall one, the one with a full beard says, "It's not Rob Dickers, is it?" He has a big smile on his face while Robby frowns, mumbling, "Rick Nash?" saying that as a question. The guy says, "It's the beard, huh?" Robby goes, "Omigod!" They do a guy hug and then Robby says, "Jesus, Rick, ya look like a lumberjack," and Rick says, "And you look like you've always looked." They chuckle and smack hands and then Rick points to the guy with him, saying, "This good looking guy is my younger brother, Bruce. Bruce this is my hero at high school, Rob Dickers, the best pitcher in Framingham." Bruce shakes hands, muttering, "Good to meet you," and Rob nods his head at me, saying, "That good looking guy there is my boyfriend and college roommate, Dylan Newman."

Bruce, who's closer to me than his brother, shakes my hand, saying, "Nice to meet you," but he looks confused like maybe he's thinking he heard Rob's introduction wrong, and then Rick says, "Oh yeah, I heard you were queer Dickers. Jesus, maybe I'd switch teams too if I knew anyone as good looking as him," nodding his head at me, and then he adds, "Motherfucker, he's better looking than my fiancé! Isn't he, Bruce?" Bruce goes, "Fuck, I'm better looking than Denise," and they both have this big laugh. Rick holds out his hand then so I shake hands, saying, "Nice to meet you and, um, thanks, I think." Rick laughs again and gives my shoulders a squeeze. He's at least six-feet-five. Rob says, "Dylan and I prefer the word 'gay' but since you're so fucking big we'll go with 'queer' if you insist." They laugh and Rob tells me, "Rick was the baseball team's all-star first baseman... and all-state champ too."

Rick says, "And I just got cut from the Astro's double-A team." Rob goes, "Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that, Rick." They talk about that and I kinda stare at Rick 'cause he's the first person I've ever met who is actually a professional athlete. Ya couldn't tell by looking at him. He looks kinda overweight but whatever, he was in the minor leagues and that counts as professional sports. I mean, if you're getting paid to play baseball, you're a professional.

Robby is sort of bragging about Rick telling me that Rick got a hundred thousand dollar signing bonus out of high school drafted by the Houston Astros in the second round and how he's been moving up in the minor leagues for three years. This would be his fourth year except they released him because he fucked up his knee, had it operated on but it's still not right. He has a sports agent who's trying to get another team to take a chance on him, and Rick's optimistic about that. It's interesting to hear about minor league stuff, plus some of the stories he tells us, as we're all taking casual shots at the basket, are kinda fascinating and funny. Some of what he tells us sounds a little like college life without the textbooks or classes. A few of his stories sound like bullshit too, but Rick has a good way of telling stories so that's okay.

We try playing a game of two-on-two but Rick is too tall and it's not a fair game so we quit and the four of us go to the bar up the street. As I said, Rick is a funny guy and he likes to talk, which is good because his brother Bruce never says a word. I don't either. I'm doing what I always do which is scrutinize new guys I meet. My conclusion about these two is that neither brother is good looking or sexy. They're both bulky and big with too much hair and then Rick's bushy beard, but mostly it's their body type that doesn't interest me. Plus, they're obviously 'straight' anyway so there's absolutely nothing there to hold my interest. Except, as I said, Rick's entertaining.

Whatever, we stay a couple of hours drinking beer. No shots of anything. Neither of the brothers has a college background so they haven't been indoctrinated into the 'shot' drinking culture that seems to be prevalent at Merrimack and maybe colleges in general. At five-thirty, I nudge Rob and point at my watch. He nods and a few minutes later we're finishing our beers and saying goodbye. After the beers, of course, the goodbyes now require hugs as if we're all old friends.

Driving to the house, Rob says, "That was fun, huh?" I go, "Yeah, Rick is a good storyteller." We're pleasantly buzzed from the four or five beers we had and we're also looking forward to dinner since brunch was seven hours ago. Rob says, "Are you sure you're okay with me working tomorrow morning, babe?" I go, "Sure, but can you leave the pickup for me to use? I'll visit my mom." We make arrangements that he'll go in to work with his dad and then, as we normally work it, he'll text me when he's ready to leave and I'll pick him up.

As Rob drives up his driveway, he goes, "Since you'll have the time tomorrow, check out hotels and plane fares for Fort Myers. Oh, and make sure there's a good beach there before doing the other things. If there isn't a beach at Fort Myers, which I think there has to be, then try one of the other spots on the Gulf and also we want a town that has a boardwalk. Text me before making reservations though." I'm nodding my head and grinning to myself because he doesn't realize I don't work for him yet. He sounded very much like a boss giving instructions to his administrative assistant. That's okay though... he'll be a great boss, just not yet.

Sunday's dinner is a rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes, plus a vegetable I've grown to like, broccoli with a cheese sauce. Every meal here is like eating out at a restaurant. Then, for the first time since I moved in with the Dickers, the four of us play Scrabble after dinner. It was Robby's idea and when he suggested it I gave him a look like, 'Say what?' and he told me, "The four of us always used to play. Dodger is the world's best speller and he always won. I'm the world's second best speller so I'm gonna win tonight." Competitive, anyone?

I'm surprised Mr. Dickers agreed to play but I learn more about this family every day. Robby wins all three games we play and another thing I learn is Mr. D. can't spell for shit, but he's a good sport about it. It's very funny when he puts down his tiles spelling what he thinks is a word and we look at him like, 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' Haha. He goes, 'What's wrong?" and say the word he thinks he spelled. Fuck, it's fun even though I think Mr. D. is yanking our chain with some of the phonetic spellings he's laying out there on the Scrabble board. Doing it for entertainment purposes only. Anyway, Mr. Dickers is living proof ya don't need to be able to spell in order to build a successful business... you simply hire people who can spell and let them figure out what he writes down.

Getting ready for bed, Rob and I aren't in the mood for sex so it isn't mentioned. It's as if we can read each other's minds. As I've said before, we don't do appointment sex or any set schedule. We do it when we both feel like it, which is often, but if we don't especially feel like it, then that's okay too. No tension whatsoever in either case. We cuddle together going to sleep though. It's what we're comfortable doing and the rare times I'm not sleeping with Robby, or anyone else, it's not a good night's sleep for me.

This was a good night's sleep however and while Robby tries not to wake me as he's getting up for work at six-thirty, I do wake up. Only for two minutes before going back to sleep. Later, I feel his kiss and hear his murmured, "I'll text you, Dylan... love you." I mumbled something and go back to sleep again... until eight-thirty.

I took a shower before bed last night so I don't need to do that this morning, although I need to do other things in the bathroom and then I dress kinda nicely wearing pressed khakis with a beautiful leather belt, one with a real silver buckle that I got from Mr. and Mrs. Dickers for Christmas. Then I put on a nice Polo soccer-type pullover shirt which was another gift from them. With loafers on my feet, I carry a cool lightweight jacket that I bought for myself. My two-hundred dollar sunglasses, the same ones Willie bought for me like five years ago are in the jacket pocket and I'll put those on when I go outside. So, yeah, I dressed this way because I'm visiting my mom and I want to look nice.

When having breakfast without Robby here, like this morning, it used to feel extremely awkward. You know, just Mrs. Dickers and me. Well, it still isn't a relaxed walk in the park even now after all these months, but it's not a panic-inducing sweaty palms experience either. It also helps that last night she said that sweet thing about me being their third son. Even before that though, Rob's mom couldn't possibly have treated me nicer, so I'm okay with this morning... just Mrs. D. and me. I almost feel comfortable.

After saying good morning, I sit at my place at the table as Mrs. D. pours a coffee for me while telling me about her women's club doing a pot luck dinner Thursday night to benefit something or other and how someone name Bee Travelli is never available to help with these events but she, Bee, is the first one during the planning luncheons to criticize the plans the ladies who will participate are making. I nod my head and say, "Oh, man, yeah, that suck...um, that's annoying, huh?"

Mrs. D. is talking over her shoulder now while making my breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and toast. She's telling me about her taking up golf and how Mr. D. isn't being as encouraging with that as she was hoping he'd be. She rarely eats breakfast with any of us because she's cooking. When I can get a word in, I ask, "Is there any of that marmalade left, Mrs. D.?" She says, "I bought a new bottle, dear," and she goes and gets it from the pantry. I'd never do that with my mom. I'd go to the pantry and get it myself but I've been indoctrinated into the Dickers' household where Mrs. D. waits on us men. It seems a very workable system they have here.

After breakfast, I brush my teeth again and then fuck around with my hair trying to comb it over a little in front. Danny cut it so the only way it looks right though is combed up in front, which is how he intended it to be... and the way I end up doing it. I like how it looks but I liked the other way better. I'm lucky to have awesome hair even if I do say so myself. My hair is shiny blond and so dense none of my scalp shows even though Danny cuts my crewcut short. Robby told me when my hair is cut short like this it looks like I have a piece of shiny pale-gold cloth, like velour on my head. He meant that as a compliment so I didn't waste much time trying to picture what the fuck he means.

So, yeah, I texted mom yesterday and she promised to be awake by ten o'clock at our condo, not Tom's condo. Tom is away on business so he won't be at mom's condo either, not that I would have minded at all if he was there. Sometimes he sleeps at our condo but mostly mom sleeps at his place.

As promised, Mom is up and dressed when I get there, plus she has pastries and coffee for us. I'm not hungry but I like sweet things so I have no problem eating three of the bakery pastries. She must have bought the pastries yesterday at Pam's Bakery on Front Street 'cause these are not store bought. There is a noticeable difference between Entenmann's, for example, although Entenmann's are the best store-bought pastries available. Still, there's nothing like bakery-shop pastries.

We have an awesome visit but only for an hour because Mom's working later today and she takes a long time getting ready, plus Tris and mom always eat lunch out on Mondays and God forbid anything gets in the way of that. An hour's visit is just about right anyway. We exchanged information about what's going on in our lives and I feel really good because everything is as close to perfect in my mom's life as it could possibly be. It's like unbelievably good and God bless Tom and his twin brother, Tim. All the worries I've had about my mom's happiness over the years is totally gone... no more worries about that.

Driving away I feel so good for my mom, and Tris too, and the twins... all four of them. Omigod, it's so fantastic when things work out for the people you love. It's, um, indescribable how comforting that is for me. Maybe that sounds selfish or even narcissistic but, oh man, it makes me want to shout with joy that my mom is so fucking happy and because I don't need to worry about that anymore. I don't shout though for fear someone might hear me and think I'm a nerd or call the cops on me for disturbing the peace.

So I'm in the pickup at a little after eleven o'clock wondering what I should do now? Well, Rob expects to work until noon at least. Yeah, his father said it was a three-hour job but Robby told me it'll take closer to five hours. I hope it's only four hours because then I'll only have an hour to kill before Rob's text that he's ready to go. Hmm, I could go back to the house and do all that shit Rob wants me to do online about our getaway to Florida. Yeah, I could do that, but I'm not going to because I don't feel like it. Hope I don't get fired... heh heh.

I couldn't possibly eat anything more so stopping at the diner is out of the question. The thought of another cup of coffee... um, no. That's not an option either, and thank God I was smart enough to take a piss before leaving the condo. Coffee goes through me faster than beer. Okay, for the hell of it, I'll drive by Danny's house. Maybe he hasn't left for the airport yet. He said he was flying out Monday... or did he? Well, I'll drive by and see.

Center Street is the road in front of our condo but it's like fifty feet below the condos. To get to it I drive down the alley behind our condo building, take a right and drive down the hill and then take another right and I'm on Center Street. Oh man, I look up at all the steps from the Center Street sidewalk to the condos above, steps that Chubby and I went up and down a couple of times a day for years. That's when we'd park our car on the street and Center Street is where I caught the bus when I was taking the bus to work that summer. Fucking memories galore around here for me.

The traffic is normally brisk on Center Street because it connects with Route 9. Route 9 goes through the center of Natick first and then Framingham where every kind of store you can think of, plus office parks, gas stations, as well as various malls are on either side of the four-lane road for miles going west. East on Route 9 goes to Wellesley and a few more miles there's a connection with the Mass Pike if ya wanna go to Boston. I'm heading west toward Framingham when I pass a van broken down at the side of the road. Holy shit... I think I know that guy standing next to the van.

I'm going forty miles an hour so it was a fairly quick glance but it looked like the motorcycle friend of Sonny's. That black guy I had lunch with at a sub shop in Wellesley some months ago. Hmm, what the fuck was his name? Um, muskrat or gerbil... some rodent. Not his real name, obviously, his nickname.

Damn, should I circle back to check? Maybe I can help. Oh, it's Squirrel... that's the kid's name. Anyway, maybe it wasn't him but I gotta check. I make a right turn at the first traffic light and pull into someone's driveway to turn around. Going back the other way, I look hard as I'm passing the van that's now on the other side of the divider strip. Oh fuck, the kid turns his head and appears to look right at me. Yep, it's him, it's Squirrel. I recognize him and ain't that a weird coincidence!

Yeah, but why do I think I can help him? I don't know shit about cars and it's most likely a flat tire and I've never changed a tire in my life. I remember once, a lifetime ago, Willie and I had a flat tire. Haha, we were walking along with Willie rolling the fucking tire to a gas station when he goes, 'Oh, no!' and stops. Heh heh, he'd rolled the tire over a pile of dog shit and when the dog shit came around his hand went 'splat' right in it! Oh man! Jeez, I forget what we did after that. We went somewhere obviously, but I can't remember where.

Well, that's neither here nor there. Yeah, I should try helping Sonny's friend 'cause I think he recognized me when I drove by the second time and Sonny will give me a load of crap if I ignore his buddy. Not only that though, helping the kid is the right thing to do although I can't imagine how I can help is problematic at best. Well, I'll turn around and see what's up. After all, I did spend an hour or two with him and Sonny, plus I gave the kid a haircut. Christ, we're old buddies almost. When was that? Was it way back before Thanksgiving? Time is flying by. Yeah, I gave them both haircuts and I remember Squirrel was a sweet kid.

At the next light, I turn around again and get heading back on his side of the road and then up a mile or so I see him still standing next to his van looking helpless. I slow down with my right turn signal on and roll onto the breakdown lane and then right up behind his van. On the back of the twin doors of the van, there's a phone number and a logo for 'O'Rielly's Auto Parts' so it's not Squirrel's van. He must work for that place. As my window is going down he walks over and stands dangerously close to the speeding cars going by. He says, "I thought that was you, Dylan Newman. I couldn't forget your face." How in the fuck did he remember my first AND last names? I go, "Hi, Squirrel. Trouble?" He nods his head and, without looking at me, he goes, "Yeah, I got trouble. The tire blew out. Can you help me?" I go, "Did you call Sonny?" He goes, "Um, yeah, but Sonny's not answering his cell phone."

Squirrel's maybe an inch or two shorter than me, and he looks even thinner than I remember. Narrow shoulders that he hunched sitting in the kitchen chair with his shirt off waiting for me to cut his silky hair. Great hair too! It looked kinky like African type hair but it was more like silky threads and millions of them. His hair color is dark brown, not black.

He's wearing a baseball type cap cutely on the back of his head that has an O'Rielly's Auto Parts logo above the bill but I can see the sides of his head and it appears he recently got a haircut so that's out of the equation, not that I have time for that anyway. He's an average, um, kinda nice looking kid but when he grins, and I've only seen his grin maybe twice, but he's one cute motherfucker when his face brakes out in a grin! Some guys change from average-looking to wicked cute the second they grin or smile. Who knows why? It is what it is.

I'm like, "Sure, I'll help you. Um, but what's the exact problem... a flat tire?" He nods his head looking slightly to the left of my face, sort of over my left shoulder. Yeah, some guys find it difficult to look you in the eyes when they're talking with you. I've read that that's one of the signs of Asperger syndrome. Yeah, with this thing called Aspergers there's like some sort of brain misfire as far as social interaction goes. It's like social interchange is an extremely difficult aspect of life for those born with Aspergers. It's an um, a handicap and there are other symptoms obviously, but I can't remember them.

Other than that though, Asperger people are usually pretty smart. Most of them learn how to fake being social in some sort of semblance of normalcy and some famous people are supposed to have dealt with Asperger Syndrome, which is a form of autism. Supposedly Mozart, Michelangelo, and Bill Gates, to name three, have had Asperger Syndrome to deal with, and a there was a list of twenty-five other well-known people, famous people, included in the article I read. Considering the success those people achieved, obviously, Aspergers doesn't negatively affect creativity. Still, for the average 'Joe' dealing with it, as maybe Squirrel is, it makes me sad to think about because the challenges of life are difficult enough without adding that burden to the shit storm of life... it's not fucking fair!

On the other hand, I'm no psychologist so maybe I'm totally wrong and Squirrel is normally the life of the fucking party and he just doesn't like me and, therefore, he refuses to look me in the eyes. Noooo, how could that be? Heh heh. I mutter, "Flat tire huh. I'll give you and your flat tire a lift to a gas station where they can fix it. That's the best I can do because I've personally never changed a flat tire in my life, so..."

He holds up his right arm showing me he's wearing a cast and then he says, while looking at the window frame, "I know how to change a tire but I can't do it with one hand. I broke my wrist falling off my motorcycle last week. Sonny would help me, but..." and I go, "He's not answering his phone." He just told me that. He nods his head, "Yeah, he's not and I'm not allowed to leave the van so could you try helping me change this fucked-up flat tire?" I go, "Oh... balls!"

Shit, I've got nice clothes on! Puffing out my cheeks and then slowly exhaling, I go, "Yeah, okay. Um, you can talk me through it, right?" He nods and steps back so I can get out of the truck and I'm like, "Jesus Christ, Squirrel, um, please slide over away from the traffic! The cars are flying by you barely a foot away from your back and it's making me nervous." He looks hurt. I guess he misconstrued that as criticism or something, so I go, "I wouldn't want you to get hurt because, without you, I'd have no idea what to do with that flat tire." He's looking at something on the ground, or... I don't know, so I add, "This fucked up breakdown lane is too narrow, huh?" I'm pretty sure me yelling at him isn't helping with his socializing handicap.

He frowns but he does what I said and steps away from the fifty-mile-an-hour traffic. And, wow, I forgot about the kid's pretty complexion, the skin on this kid and not just his face. I remember when he was bare-chested for his haircut his skin across his shoulders and chest was tight and wicked smooth and a pretty shade of creamy light brown. Jeez, his wrists are so slim... I suppose he's small boned. Probably all the bones in his body are bird-like so no wonder he broke his wrist falling off a fuckin motorcycle. It's amazing that's all he broke. He's not wearing a coat, just a work shirt with the auto supply logo over the pocket but the shirt looks like it's three sizes too big for him. Christ, I want to help this kid so bad! Haha, he brings out like a nurturing instinct in me somehow.

As I'm getting out of the pickup one of the cars flying by blows its horn and I go, "Fuck!" Christ, that almost gave me a heart attack. Naturally, I flash my middle finger at the driver, screaming, "ASSHOLE!" Then, rubbing my face, I walk over to Squirrel and pat his thin shoulder, saying, "Okay, let's do this." He looks at my forehead, and says, "Thanks for helping me. Sonny loves you... he says you're special." I mutter, "Yeah, well... that's nice of him. Um, what do we do first?" He points to a tire still bolted to the car, or however you say that. The back tire on the passenger side is flat as a pancake. Thank God it's not on the other side with the cars whizzing by. Squirrel says, "One-handed I managed to get the spare tire and the jack out, but I cut my hand on something," and he holds up his right hand that's bleeding quite a bit.

Oh man! I go, "Jesus! Is there a first aid kit in this piece of shit van?" It's actually a normal van except it appears to be pretty old. He shakes his head and stares at the hand he's holding toward me like... I need to fix it. Or, maybe he's mesmerized at the blood dripping from the skin between his thumb and index finger... drip, drip, drip forming a little puddle of blood on the gravel. What the fuck?

Okay, I take my clean handkerchief out of my back pocket, saying, "We need to put pressure on that cut to stop the bleeding." He says, "My real name is Dontrell Johnson." I'm like, "What? Oh, okay, Dontrell, keep holding your hand up, um, just like you're doing." I'm shaking out my handkerchief, then folding it cattycorner to make it as long as possible. I wrap it around his hand putting pressure on an inch long cut. Then, knotting the ends, I mumble, "Make a fist to keep that wrap tight on the cut." He nods his head making a small fist, as I mumble, "Good. That eventually will form a clot and stop the bleeding." I walk over to the flat tire and then frown at the stuff Squirrel has laid out next to it. Pointing at a complicated looking apparatus, I'm like, "Is that thing the jack?"

He frowns again, muttering, "Well, yeah..." I go, "It doesn't look strong enough to lift this truck, um, this van." The cars and trucks whizzing by us are disconcerting because the van sways as they pass. And all the cars and trucks are going way over the speed limit, and now a bus goes by... Jesus Christ! Where's a cop when you need one, huh?

Squirrel doesn't appear to notice the traffic, as he says, "You fit this," and he hits a part of the jack with the toe of his boot, adding, "Under here," and he kneels down pointing to where the jack goes. Ten minutes later with the van unsteadily up on the skinny jack, I'm looking at my skinned knuckles from taking the nuts off, or whatever they're called... the things that were holding the tire on. As I suck on my knuckle, Squirrel tries to pull the flat tire off with his cut hand, his left wrist in a cast. Oh man, I grab the back of his shirt pulling him back, saying, "I'll do that, buddy."

Holy shit... how about calling fucking road service, AAA, or something next time! That's what I feel like saying as I'm pulling off the dirty old tire and getting black tire crud on both hands and my jacket. Fuck!

The poor kid looks like he's in pain, saying, "I'm sorry you're getting your clothes dirty, Dylan." I shrug, muttering, "Yeah, um, so I guess I just put this spare tire on like the flat one was on... um, the same holes fit those screws or whatever they are. Is that right?" He nods, "Yeah, the worst part is over. Those lug nuts were really on tight." I go, "Huh, the what?" He picks one up, mumbling, "This is a lug nut," and I go, "Oh, I knew that. I didn't hear what you..." and I let that my voice fade out. Why try explaining my ignorance of cars any further?

Fucking tires are a lot heavier than I thought. It's a struggle but I finally match up the holes in the rim with the things sticking out of the other thing and step back half expecting the tire to fall off. It doesn't and Squirrel hands me a lug nut. I look at the dirty old thing, muttering, "Thanks," I get on my knees again and start tightening the lug nut on the bolt or whatever it's called that sticks out from that round thing.

It's not as easy as it should be and I'm exhausted by the time I've tightened all the lug nuts. Standing up, I drop the thing, the tool I was using... torque wrench is what Squirrel called it. Motioning at the tire with my hand, I'm like, "How's that Dontrell? Is that it? " He goes, "Um, yeah. I hope ya didn't strip the threads when you tightened that last lug nut." I'm like, "What the fuck does that even mean? The tire is on, right?" He shrugs as he mumbles, "Yes, thank you and, um, could you ratchet down the, um, jack now? I mutter. "Oh, yeah, the wheel is still off the ground." Of course, it is.

I do that and then toss the dirty flat tire in the back of the van along with a couple of other dirty things and slam the twin doors. My hands are filthy and I've got grease or dirt on a number of places fucking up my dressed-up clothes, but I feel good about helping Squirrel. He seems awkward now for a second and then he goes, "Ah'm pow'ful oblig'd for'n you help'n a poor black boy such as ma'self, Sir." I chuckle, mumbling, "Yeah, I remember that act of yours at the sub shop with Sonny," and he looks away grinning. There it is... that cute grin! I chuckle again and squeeze his skinny shoulder, saying, "Very funny routine, Squirrel." He says, "Seriously though, thank you. I would have hated calling my boss asking for help. I texted him I had a flat and told him I'd take care of it, but...." I go, "And you did too!"

I can't wait to clean up. Auto mechanics, ugh! If this even qualifies as mechanics, which I seriously doubt. I go, "Well, buddy, say 'hi' to Sonny for me, okay?" He goes, "Um, I was wondering something since you're here and Sonny sort of suggested something." I'm like, "Sonny? What'd he suggest?" Squirrel looks at my left ear and goes, "Um, could you and I do what you and Sonny do?" My eyes are blinking as I'm like, "What's that? Um, you don't mean, do ya? Or do you mean a haircut, ah, and it looks like you just got one." He shakes his head and looks at the cars flying by, mumbling, "Ah, that is, I've been thinking of something else." I'm like, "What is it?" and he blows out a long exhale and says, "Well, ya know, you and Sonny, um, I mean the other thing is... well, I'd like to have a go at fucking you... if you don't mind."

Holy shit, that'd be awesome! But, no! I go, "Did Sonny tell you to say that the next time you saw me?" He nods, "Yep, how'd you know?" I mutter, "A wild guess," and he's like, "But, seriously, I want to try it with you. Sonny let me do it to him once and it was pretty good. I've done it with Mooney too. We did it like twice last month, Mooney and me."

Oh man, that'd be so cool. I can't though! Fuck, I wish I was three years younger. I'm like, "You graduated from high school, right?" He frowns, then stares at my left ear again and says, "Of course I did. I was in Framingham High's vocational-technical class." Oh man. I nod and say, "That's cool." Hell, I was just checking his age in case I ever lost my mind and took him up on his offer. I'm curious about his so-called sex life though, so I ask, "You say you're doing it regularly, huh? Screwing your buddy what's-his-name, Moon-pie." He shakes his head 'no' but says, "Yeah, pretty regularly but his name's Mooney." I nod, muttering, "Mooney, right." Squirrel says, "Well, Mooney and I only did it a few times so far but I only started with Sonny when we got drunk five or six weeks ago. It's a buddy thing, ya know? That's what Sonny says." I nod, "Oh, yeah, I know, but..." and, taking a deep breath, I say, "Ya know, Squirrel, it would be epic to do that with you. Seriously, it would Squirrel, er, Dontrell, but I need to be someplace now, so I can't do it this time. Sorry." He goes, "Oh, I don't take long at all when I do it. Follow me, I live just down Route 9 and my folks are both out, so nobody's home. Sonny will be proud of me." I go, "You live in Weston if I recall, and that's not right down the street."

And why the fuck am I arguing about that... what difference does it make where he lives? Still, it would be so much fun. He goes, "It's four miles to my house." I go, "Oh." Then he uses the magic word, saying, "Please, Dylan," and I'm like, "Oh man!" He says, "Omigod, it'd be so awesome telling Sonny about it. He'll be so 'effing jealous."

Looking at him, I go, "Dontrell, um," and his eyes skitter over mine as he asks, "What?" I say, "Look me in the eyes and ask again." He looks in my eyes, and his eyes are big, as he goes, "Can I fuck your ass?" I go, "Okay, let's go," and he does his grin again but without looking at me, and then mutters, "Yeah, let's go, motherfucker." Omigod, haha! He starts walking to the driver's side door of the van, ignoring the cars flying by ten inches from him as he's yelling over his shoulder, "Follow me."

Yeah, what the fuck, I ain't too old yet for random side sex. I still got it, heh heh. Jeez though, maybe I should give his fuck buddy Mooney a call first. Ya know, to find out what I'm getting myself in for here. Unfortunately, I don't know who the fuck Mooney is, so that'd be hard to do. I'll wing it instead. Squirrel's right, it'd be fun seeing Sonny's reaction when he hears about this from his protégé. Not that I'll be there, but I'll hear about it sooner or later... heh heh.

It turns out to be more than four miles but after a ten-minute drive, I'm following the van up a long driveway to this mansion, well not actually a mansion but it's a big house. I remember Sonny saying, and I think Squirrel said it too that his father was rich. He's a doctor or a surgeon. We get out and Squirrel waits for me before we walk up to the big front door. As he unlocks the door, he asks, "Is my bedroom a good place to do it?" I go, "Wherever, Squirrel," and when we walk inside this boy comes out of a side room, saying, "Aren't you working today, Dontrell?" Squirrel looks surprised, asking, "What the hell are you doing here, Henry? Why aren't you at prep school?" Henry says, "It's spring break, dummy. Who's this?"

Rolling my eyes, I gaze up at the twenty-foot high ceiling of the foyer feeling self-conscious of my dirty hands and clothes. Jesus, changing fucking tires blows. When I got in the pickup I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the smudges of tire dirt on my face and of course, I'd already seen the dirt on my hands and pants and every other fucking place. Henry must think I'm a homeless person Dontrell is bringing home. This is too stupid of a situation for me to try explaining it to Henry... so I say nothing. Actually, this is so bizarre that basically, I'm trying not to laugh out loud.

Oh boy, I don't really need this horseshit! Squirrel said no one was home, so that was a lie and now he's telling Henry, "This is my friend, Jack Sprout. What's it to you?" Henry appears to be about fifteen-years-old. He has a big pile of orange-streaked brown hair on his head, his face is a mask of fifteen-year-old fuck-you apathy and repressed anger, the anger he has no idea what to do with yet. And he's white! One of them is adopted I guess.

Squirrel doesn't introduce me to Henry. Instead, he says to Henry, "My laptop is fucked," and pointing his cut hand with my handkerchief still wrapped around it at me, he adds, "He's gonna fix it. Don't bother us!" Henry's frowning, saying, "What a load of bullshit! What happened to your hand and why is that guy so dirty?" Squirrel, says, "Fuck you, Henry!" Henry's eyes open wide, "Hey, asshole, I'm telling dad you brought a stranger into the house." Squirrel mutters, "You're not even supposed to be here, so ya better keep your mouth shut," and then to me, "C' mon," and I follow him through the big foyer and then up the winding staircase that's fifteen feet from the front door. Nice house, and personable people too, what could possibly go wrong?

Well yeah, that was entertaining but Henry's put a damper on things for me. I mean, now I don't even wanna do it but like Squirrel said, go fuck yourself, Henry. There's no way to gracefully get out of this anyway, plus I don't want Henry to get away with ruining Dontrell's party.

Squirrel closes the bedroom door and locks it, saying, "He was supposed to wait for mom to pick him up tonight because no one will be home until then. He's in trouble if I squeal on him so he won't say shit." Shrugging, I say, "Yeah but maybe we should do this another time." He shakes his head saying, "Drop your pants!" That almost sounded like Sonny, and Sonny always sounds like Ray when saying something like that. So it's Sonny imitating Ray and Squirrel imitating Sonny. Maybe if I come back next year Henry will be imitating Dontrell.

Looking around his big bedroom I'm thinking, yeah, it's very nice, but it can't compare to Willie's bedroom. I take a deep breath and say, "Okay, Squirrel, ya wanna tell me how you plan to do this?" He looks surprised and then mutters, "Um, well, the way it's always done," and I go, "How's that?" He makes a 'face', but not at me. He still can't look me in the eyes. He looks in my general direction, saying, "Whaddaya mean, how? Like always... you drop your pants, I spank you and then you get on your knees and suck a boner on me." I'm like, "Uh huh, and what happens then?" He goes, "Waddaya think? I put a condom on my boner, smack your ass some more to tenderize it, and then I fuck you until I cum in the condom and then I tell you to pull up your pants, pussy, you're all done for now." I laugh out loud, but it's not a long laugh. I go, "You're a comedian, ain't ya? All your shyness and low-key everything is an act just to highlight your comedy routines, right?"

Squirrel's like, "I'm funny alright, yeah, but I wasn't being funny then." He's about as funny as the clap. He asks, "Well, how do you do it if not the normal way? That's how Sonny taught me to do it." I ask, "Are you gay?" and he's like, "Get the fuck outta here with that gay horseshit! No, I'm no gayer than Sonny or Ray. Ya see we're always the guys, we're the men who get our rocks off fucking guys like you. You're one of our bitches the same as when we fuck women. We use our cocks to fuck you up the ass while the women get fucked up their cunts." I'm like, "Uh huh, what grade did you say you got in biology?"

Jesus, it's hard not to laugh but I do a fake cough instead. He's so sincere, but how naive can you get? I ask, "Oh, so you and Sonny are always the men using your cocks, huh? So, what part was Sonny playing when he let you fuck him?" He says, "Oh, I'm, I was the man... oh yeah. Huh, well that's just us being buddies," which avoids the question but I don't care anyway. Squirrel is no Mensa candidate, that's easy to see.

Changing tactics, he whines, "C'mon, Dylan. Do it the right way so I can brag to Sonny." I'm like, "You've fucked a lot of women, have you Squirrel?" He says, "Only my closest friends get to use my nickname." I mumble, "I'll take that as zero women being fucked by you." He says, "I haven't gotten around to women yet. Sonny's helping me out by starting me out doing it with guys who are easier." I ask, "Did Sonny fuck you?" He goes, "No, of course not! He's already experienced." Oh, good for Sonny... he's not taking advantage of this kid. I go, "How about Ray? Did you do it with him?" He shakes his head, "No, he thinks I'm a pain in the ass." Good grief! I mumble, "But you're eighteen, right?" He nods his head, "Yes, as of March first."

Still teasing him, I say, "Well, why don't you pull your pants down first, Dontrell. Show me yours and I'll show you mine." He goes, "We're not six fucking years old, dude! Do it the right way... please!" He's getting flustered and I said I'd do it with him, so I mutter, "Alright, I will, but you're wicked dominant, ya know?" Haha, about as dominant as my grandmother, if I had one.

He frowns and nods his head, "Yeah, I'm dominant alright but I gotta be when I'm fucking somebody. Usually, I'm the nicest guy I know but when I'm gonna fuck you, what do you expect? I'm the man, the 'top'." I do another fake cough as I'm getting my thumbs under the waistband of my jockey shorts, then pull both my pants and underpants down below my privates. His eyes open wide as he says, "Oh! Um, thank you for cooperating. Nice penis! Don't you have any pubes?" I go, "As you can see, I don't. It's genetic." He nods his head, muttering, "I knew that," and then he gawks at my junk again before adding, "Okay, now do the rest of what you're supposed to do?"

I'm gonna try to do everything the way he described it so the kid will have his story to brag to Sonny and then Sonny will tell Ray. Hopefully, it'll piss off Ray beyond belief. I've refused Ray any number of times, but not this little fucker... haha!

Keeping a serious expression on my face, I walk over to him and drop to my knees, asking, "How can you be sure Henry isn't looking through the keyhole?" He looks panicked and goes over to the door to look. Turning around, he says, "There is no keyhole." I mutter, "He could be laying on the floor looking through the space at the bottom." Squirrel goes, "You're full of it," but he opens the door fast and looks both ways up and down the hall.

Walking quickly back to stand in front of me, he goes, "Sonny said you'd need a firm hand and that's what you're going to get. No more messing around, okay?" I look contrite and mutter, "Okay," and pull his zipper down and then stick two fingers in and fumble around his jockey shorts until I find the opening. Haha, I knew he'd forget about the bogus spanking.

Hmm, I can't wait to see what kind of dick is on this skinny kid. Getting my forefinger and middle one around the back of his pecker I pull it out and it's a cute little thing about five inches long. Well, that's not 'little'! Everything I've ever read on the subject says a normal male penis is just slightly over five inches long... Squirrel's is in the normal range. All of us guys with longer dicks than that are above the norm and then a few are in the ridiculous range, and I'm not inferring that's a bad thing.

Just to be sure, I tug on his pecker and he goes, "Ow, it's scraping against the zipper." There's no more penis to pull out, so it's five-inches, eh? His penis is the same pretty color as the rest of his skin except for its rosy-colored tulip-shaped head. Yeah, there are guys though whose dicks are a different shade from their normal skin tone. I've seen that on a few guys. Oh, look at that... there are a few of Squirrel's dark pubic hairs peeking out, they're probably interested in what's going on out here.

Squirrel says, "You're only the fourth person besides me to touch my dick." I go, "Let's see, there was Sonny, that other kid, whose name I forget, Monkey or something, and..." he says, "Mooney. Johnny Moo. He's our Asian motorcycle buddy, Sonny's and mine. The three of us rode up Mount Washington in New Hampshire last summer." I go, "I've hiked Mount Washington three or four times." No, I didn't! He goes, "You got balls doing that, dude!" I shrug and now I forgot what I was going to say about Mooney. Oh well, it's couldn't have been important.

Okay, enough fucking around. I'm determined to give Squirrel a good story to tell his idol, Sonny. Due to Squirrel's diminutive size, I need to hunch down to the level of his pecker so I can put it in my mouth. I smell him and it's the same, um, outdoor scent I noticed when giving him a haircut months ago. A nice pleasant scent although I wouldn't call it sexy.

I'm doing a decent job of sucking and licking his penis but so far he hasn't even touched my head. Almost everyone does that when I'm sucking their dick. Actually, after another minute of slurping on his nice pecker, licking it and doing some stroking using my thumb and forefinger, I'm forming the opinion that Squirrel's right... isn't gay, per se. I never thought he was anyhow and now, as I said, I'm sure he's not because his dick is taking its sweet time getting hard, meaning he's not especially aroused having me sucking on it. It's getting a little firmer and he's shuffling his feet and grunting but by now I should be getting better results. Maybe a girl doing this for Squirrel would get better results although I doubt it. I say that because the average straight guy's girlfriend can't compete with a gay guy doing oral sex.

Maybe if I had a little more access, so I unbutton his jeans and open up his pants. Then, letting go of his firm cock I pull down his underpants and he goes, "Hey!" As silly as this entire affair is, Squirrel is a young slightly attractive guy so I'm getting aroused myself now. Sucking and messing with a young guy's penis tends to get me aroused. Cupping his surprisingly big balls, I pull them up a little and give a gentle squeeze. That gets him hopping on one foot a couple of times, saying, "You're not supposed to do that," but he calms down when I put his dick back in my mouth and work my tongue extra hard swishing saliva around the head. Two more squeezes on his nuts and his dick begins some serious firming up... finally. Okay, I got him now.

Rubbing the head of his dick on the inside of my cheek gets his feet moving with his hands now going to my head with the cast on his left hand thumping my head like a log. He gasps and mutters, "Mmm, ooh, oooh! Suck my cock, pussy!" Thirty seconds later he's moaning "Oh, oh... nooo, nooo!" and he pushes my head away, saying, "I almost spunked in your mouth, ya dope." Holding his dick, that's definitely a boner now, I say, "You don't know me nearly well enough to call me names. I let the two 'pussy' references slide, but now you're throwing the word 'dope' around. Knock it off or you'll end up jerking yourself off. Okay?"

He looks hurt, so I add, "I'm not saying it's a big deal, Squirrel, you're doing fine. Just, um, no more name calling... that's all I'm saying." He frowns while staring at my right shoulder, saying, "I'm sorry. This is only my fourth time." I nod, 'Yeah, you told me that." His pecker has softened up a little, probably because I chastised him. I'm like, "It's okay, no real problem but, ya know, I'm not calling you names, right?" He nods, and I leave it at that.

I guess I was hearing too much of Ray Reeves in the name calling plus, in my old age I'm crankier than I used to be. Whatever, Squirrel's cock goes back in my mouth and I give it the full treatment for maybe another thirty seconds and, oh man, it's hard now! Squirrel's hands were on my head, the cast feeling weird against my scalp as his fingers rubbing back through my short hair, over and over. I'm doing slow licks around the head of his hard boner while my lips suck on three inches of shaft and he's going, "Ah, ahh, ahhh," and then his whole body shudders as he goes, Ooooh!" and, once again he pushes my head away.

So we're back to where we were a minute or so ago with Squirrel almost climaxing. His cock pulls out of my mouth and now he's got a hard five-inch boner sticking straight out from a small neat pubic patch with precum dripping from his piss slit, drip, drip, drip leaving dark spots on his bedroom's pale- blue wall to wall carpet.

I've got a pretty good boner between my legs too, but Squirrel doesn't notice. His eyes are closed as he's sort of panting. It appears his brain is frozen so to get him moving on with this, I murmur, "Where's the condom?" He makes an 'O' with his lips and does a long noisy exhale before both his hands leave my head and go into the side pockets of his jeans that are around his skinny knees. His left hand comes out with a condom but his fingers are shaking when he tries to open it. Wanting to sound encouraging, I'm like, "Oh, that's a good brand... that condom. Um, but let me put it on for you, okay buddy?"

He holds it out keeping his eyes closed. Damn, I think his dick is getting harder sticking out like that, it's so tight there isn't even a quiver when he moves. Well, I do know a little something about cock sucking so I don't know why I'm surprised the kid probably has the hardest boner of his young life. Ripping open the packet, I drop that on the carpet and roll on the condom. It goes on with no resistance confirming what my eyes and mouth already knew... Squirrel's penis is a tad on the skinny side like the rest of his body. Sucking on it I was hoping it would gain some girth the harder it got. That didn't happen but I'm not saying it's a pencil dick. It's still a damn nice penis and it actually goes with the rest of him, um, proportionately. Haha, it's not the freak show that is Hayden's ginormous penis... freak show in the best imaginable way of course.

The condom goes right down to the root of his boner and then he opens his eyes, murmuring, "That feels good, my dick feels good when it's super hard like it is right now. God, it feels hard." He should probably throw a compliment my way for the excellent oral sex, but he doesn't think of it apparently, and he says instead, "Turn around on your hands and knees. Sonny recommends I do it like this, it's called doggy style, and I think he's right. Is that okay with you, Dylan?" I shrug, "Sure," and turn around on my hands and knees.

Actually, now I'm anxious to feel that hard cock of his up my ass. Sucking his dick got me aroused even with all the teasing I was doing trying to keep him relaxed, plus have some fun too. Now though, I'm all for getting fucked. So is Squirrel apparently as he sticks his boner up my ass in one hard thrust... all five hard inches BANG! He goes, "Aahhhh! Ooh, ummm... Omigod..." and then he leans hard against my buttocks with one side of his zipper scraping the side of my ass as he humps, humps, humps against my buttocks, his boner and the zipper on his jeans moving a half inch at a time.

His right hand is gripping my right hip and three fingers of his left-hand grips my other hip. The cast on his left arm extends across the palm of his hand and reconnects with the cast through the area between his forefinger and thumb and it feels hard, rough, and alien but that's a small concern. The larger concern is it hurt like hell the way he drove all five-inches of boner up my ass in one fast thrust. Sure, his cock isn't as big around as almost every cock that's been inside my rectum, but it's a lot bigger than my closed anus. It would hurt if a finger was jammed into any asshole in its natural state. Anuses do not like surprises.

But, Squirrel's hard penis is on the thin side of average so the pain isn't nearly as alarming as it would have been had a heftier cock been totally shoved up my ass all at once, and the well-lubricated condom helped as well. Still, I made a scrunched-up 'face' and yelped out, "Ow, fuck!" when he shoved the entire thing up my unexpecting asshole. I thought Squirrel would be a bit timid considering this is only his fourth or fifth time, and first with me. Well, he wasn't timid and he doesn't appear overly concerned about me yelping out like that either, instead, he humps against my butt cheeks a few more times, moaning, "Umm, ummm, yeah..."

Another plus is he's humping... not thrusting. He moans and then humps, humps, humps some more. He doing that forcefully enough to move me slightly forward on the rug with each hump. Meanwhile, my rectum is sounding the full alert and is adjusting as quickly as it can. It's like a fire drill with nerve endings bumping into each other initially but soon getting their act together when they realize the size of the intrusion isn't anything to worry all that much about. Their initial panic is short lived.

From Squirrel's point of view, I'm thinking it's all been pretty fucking good right from the get-go for him. This has to feel fantastic on his boner and from all indications he's not letting my discomfort detract from his pleasure. Hell, I don't blame him and I can be magnanimous about this because the pain is gone already. There are two things in my favor; one, as I said, he hasn't thought to begin thrusting yet and, two, he forgot all about his so-called hard spanking. I sort of knew he would as soon as I touched his cock. For him, it's very rare that someone else touches his precious dick and his brain is like... what's that? And, while this is kind of a hoot for me it's uniquely special for Squirrel and I'll bet anything that Henry isn't having as much fun right now. On the other hand, no pun intended, Henry's probably jerking off in his bedroom. When I was fifteen I'd jerk off... well, that's another story altogether.

After maybe thirty seconds, Squirrel goes, "Oooh man," and then he finally pulls his dick back. By the way, no one needs to teach a person how to fuck. Not the basics of fucking I mean. How else could you do it? Even so, nature isn't taking any chances and has redundantly programmed the process into your genes too, ya know, in case you're a moron. Oh, and there are techniques and all that, but the basic fucking comes naturally. You can't help but do it and when Squirrel begins fucking my ass it feels just as good as if he knew what he was doing.

I close my eyes and go along for the pleasant ride. He's an energetic albeit clumsy fucker and so it's kinda rough too, but this is fine for what it is. No slapping sounds because his pants are partially getting between us. I prefer hearing our bodies slapping together but I never expected rockets going off with this in the first place. Squirrel is surprisingly quiet too, which is kinda odd. Mostly he's making breathy breathing sounds with an occasional, "Ooh, umm," sound of arousal that's probably involuntary as it's almost impossible not to make a moan or two when fucking someone. I mean, because it feels so good on your pecker... the moans just form on their own.

As for me, this is a nice pleasurable experience and I'd actually like to adopt Squirrel and have him fuck me like this two or three times a day to fill in between really good sex. Still, to be fair, this feels pretty damn good as a casual not-too-important recreational fuck that will, as I said, fit in nicely between more noteworthy sex acts. Just something to enjoy because... why not? His hard youthful boner stretched my asshole enough to get that sexy itchy feeling and there's the rubbing against my prostate that's very nice plus, as I inferred, there's the allure of this young sweet kid fucking me. It's really a cool thing, and I feel an orgasm building.

Squirrel apparently feels his building too as his thrusting gets wilder and wilder and he begins with, 'Um, um, ah, ahh, ahh," and then, "Aahhhh!" as I assume he climaxed. There was an alarming inhale, a gasping scary sound from him and then some extra wild thrusting and more desperate breathing but only for like five seconds and now he's lying against my buttocks, his broken wrist cast across my shoulder blades. Goddammit, another twenty or thirty seconds and I might have been busting a nut climaxing too. Squirrel's gasping and groaning, but not thrusting. Long noisy breaths still coming from him and then he straightens up, gasping, "Omigod, ooh fuck..," and then he pulls his cock out.

He staggers back a few steps and then burst out with a laugh, saying, "That felt so good! Oh shit... that felt good." Guys have climaxed in my ass faster than that, but not many. It wasn't even two minutes. I'd just begun feeling the beginnings of some delicious throbs as if my climax was thinking about it.

Squirrel is pulling the condom off, mumbling, "Fucking a girl couldn't be better than this. Could it, Dylan?" I'm like, "I wouldn't know, but I've heard it's a different feeling on the boner. I can't imagine it'd feel better though, no." Hell, I should have known I wasn't going to get off. Yeah, thinking back to his description, he said he'd cum in the condom and smack my ass and then that's that. No mention of what I might want or need.

Oh, well. I stand up and pull up my pants. There's slippery lube from the condom in my ass but my clothes are already dirty from changing the kid's tire so I'd need to change my clothes anyway. And so what if lube gets on my underpants. Squirrel's got himself zippered back up and he's smiling but still not looking at me, not exactly, as he goes, "Dylan, that was good. Not as good as I expected after what Sonny's said about your ass, but still it was really good." Ha, not as good as he expected!

Wanting to chuckle at that but resisting the urge so I don't hurt his feelings, I say, "I'm glad it was good, Squirrel, but I really gotta get going now." He says, "Me too. I told my boss I'd be late getting back to the shop because of the flat tire, but this is probably longer than he expected." As we walk toward the door, I mutter, "Tell him something came up unexpectedly." He laughs, "Like my boner, you mean?" I go, "Exactly..." I can tell he wants to ask, and then he does, "Um, Dylan, how was it for you? How'd I do?" I go, "You were awesome. Don't tell Ray, but you fuck better than him and this only your fourth try too." His eyes light up and he looks me in the eyes for a microsecond, asking, "Really?" I nod, "Yeah, you're a natural whereas Ray fucks, ya know, sort of like a robot. Don't tell him I said that though." Shaking his head, he goes, "Nooo!" He can't wait to tell Sonny though!

Haha, Ray is gonna be so pissed because Squirrel will tell Sonny, who will know it's bullshit, but he'll want to bust Ray's balls with it anyway because that's what we do... break each other's balls. Ray's ego will explode because, even though he'll know it's bullshit too, he'll hate the fact that Squirrel doesn't know it's bullshit. Hee hee.

No Henry sightings as we go outside, so that's good. Squirrel stands next to his van, saying, "God, it's funny how things work out. First I had the worst fucking luck getting a flat tire and then the best fucking luck when you came along and helped me. Thanks, Dylan, and I can't wait to tell Sonny everything!" I shrug, trying for cool but I'm chuckling and feeling good for him. I go, "You're okay, Dontrell! See ya around, buddy." and he holds his fist out for me to bump. I do that and then back the truck down the long driveway with Squirrel doing the same in the van. At the road, I go right and he goes left honking his horn and waving.

That was not very good sex! It was fun sucking his dick though and the best part is how irritated Ray will be when he hears about it, and I have no doubt Sonny will mention it to Ray frequently. I'll chalk that sex up to a charitable effort on my part and feel good about myself doing something nice for a fellow human being. I wonder if Squirrel is enjoying fucking guys enough that he might try the bisexual route throughout his life. It'll double his sex partner possibilities if he does.

On the drive back to the house Rob texts that he's ready to leave work. I can read the text, but not text back while driving so I wait until I'm outside the office building to text him that I'm here. The dirt and grease on me will back up my tale of the good deed... the one about me changing the tire for a guy with a broken arm, and then as soon as we get home I'm gonna get Robby to fuck me, haha.

Yeah, Squirrel's fucking was good enough to get me horned up a little, although I won't mention that to Rob because I respect the part of our 'arrangement' that calls for us to keep our random side sex to ourselves. And that barely qualified as side sex anyway. On the other hand, that was the definition of 'random' side sex... with the emphasis on the 'random' part.

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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