Dylans Summer Vacation

DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION

Chapter 8 (Bye bye Wildwood) by Donny Mumford

Instead of dropping me off at the beach, Gary's dropping me off at my summer condo because cum is leaking from my ass wetting the back of my boardies. Sure it's a nuisance, but what an awesome double fuck Gary laid on me! Uber hot and as a result it's a little sore - and wet - back there. During the ride I'm sitting right up against Gary on the scooter seat with my arms around his slim waist and my dick against his buttocks which probably has something to do with the sexy sensations I continue to experience. Ya know, I feel lucky to have been born so naturally receptive to sexual activities and to be able to appreciate them to their fullest. I feel ultra-sexy at the moment; my sore, wet ass is a small price to pay for feeling this good. Still, I need to clean up and change my bathing suit before joining the moms and Chubby on the beach. Dried cum streaks on the back of my swimsuit and legs isn't the fashion statement I'm looking for. That has me shaking my head and chuckling 'cause I feel so satisfied, so pleased with myself; getting the proper amount of sex is a beautiful thing. But damn, it's Tuesday already so that leaves only three more days in Wildwood and then it's back to Framingham with college days on the horizon. That's both bad and good, by the way. Bad because this is an awesome vacation and I'd like it to continue, and good because I'll be seeing my boyfriend, Robby, soon. That thought caused a shudder of my shoulders, a good shudder... one of sexy anticipation. I've come to realize how much I love Robby; I've really missed him during my stay in Wildwood. And, sure, it's been great having recreational sex, but nothing compares to sex with a boyfriend; a boyfriend you love. How could I ever have contemplated dumping him? That's what jealously can do to you; it can make you stupid!

Garyroars up next to the curb in front of the condo. Then, in neutral, he guns the motor of that hot machine and the throaty sound thundering out of the mufflers is awesome! I'm about to dismount the scooter when he twists around quickly and gets my head between his hands to give me a wicked, wild and wet goodbye kiss. I kiss him back figuring I might as well: Anyone watching us won't know if I'm kissing back or not. Anyway, I want to make Gary feel good 'cause he deserves it. We wind-up doing a thirty-second sloppy kiss that has both of us grunting and breathing hard; my hands at his sides squeezing his taut body, my crotch against the side of his thigh... wow! I'm taking a deep breath as Gary exclaims, "What a great kiss! Huh, Dylan? I'm learning, ain't I?" Hopping off the scooter, I concur, "Awesome, Gary !" He holds onto my hand and says, "I can't ever remember being this happy. It's a very special feeling having a real friend... especially one as wonderful as you and I can't wait for college when I can see you again." He said it quietly with a very sincere look in those puppy dog eyes of his; he's always trying to please. Jeez, sweet! What do ya say to something like that? Actually, I had a quick thought of lightening things up with a flip remark 'cause it's getting a bit too dramatic, but Gary 's eyes are getting that moist look and he's biting his bottom lip trying to control his emotions so I don't do that, just nod my head and grin at him instead. Ya know what I'd like to do though? I'd really like to kick his mother in the ass for all the parts of a normal boy's social life she's deprived Gary of. And what's her motivation for doing that? Selfishness, that's what. Exerting selfish control over Gary to insure he concentrates mostly on his music, that's her sole motivation. The kooky bitch! To Gary , I quietly say, "You're a good friend, Gary. I'm real glad we accidentally ran into each other," and then I chuckle, adding, "And I'm glad you took the lead getting us to know one another so intimately." He frowned at that, as if he isn't following what I'm saying, so I continue, "You know, you led us to that sexy time in the lavatory stall... on the beach that first day." He brightens-up and says, "Oh, that was a natural and mutual thing to do, Dylan... you deserve as much credit as me." I hesitantly say, "Thanks," while thinking how I really need to explain to Gary that friendship isn't just about having sex together. Not enough time to go into all that now though, he's gotta catch a plane.

Yeah, he's got to take off so why can't I come up with just the right parting comment? Its times like this I wish I could be clever and insightful, but I usually think of what I should have said when it's too late to say it. Gary squeezes my hand and I squeeze his back, then he lets go, nods at me and then nods again like he wants to say something, but his eyes are filling up so he squints, tries to smile and then just roars off on that muscle scooter with a little wave 'goodbye' and without me thinking of a special parting comment. That was touching though. And, not only touching, it's left me squeezing my dick and thinking about how sexy my new friend is. He certainly was a quick study as far as making-out goes. That was an awesome goodbye kiss... sexy as hell! Guess I'm still revved up from the fucking he laid on my rear end... oh man! Looking around now I snap out of my daze realizing how exposed I am, how exposed we both were during that goodbye scene. And, ah Jesus, I can see there are people sitting on their deck two doors down looking over here... and more people walking by on the other side of the street gawking over their shoulder at me. They're all adults, thank God! Teenagers would have some smart-ass embarrassing things to yell my way. Naturally my face gets red as I look away from all their stares. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, as ever since I met Gary, I've been stared at. First because of Gary 's long Mohawk hairdo and the way he insists on walking with his arm around my neck and after that because of my own Mohawk haircut.

Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the random gawkers, I get the house key from the hiding place and let myself into the condo wondering if I'll ever be as blase as Gary is about awkward situations. I've no clue how to go about that. Maybe you're born that way and if you're not you're just out of luck. I flop on the sofa trying to calm down from things. From that hot sexual encounter with Gary and the goodbye kiss as well as the attention and embarrassment brought on by our overly affectionate goodbye. The urge to see what Chubby's up to gets me moving again. I do a quick clean-up, put on a clean pair of boardies and a white sleeveless t-shirt, sunglasses, and the cap Charlie gave me and I'm ready to go. Wait, I need some money so I grab a ten dollar bill and zip it into my back pocket; I've got everything now. Before opening the door I make a vow to forget about people staring at me, and anything else that's negative; I need to think positive thoughts and move on to other matters 'cause there's still three days of vacation left to be lived. Then I think of something else and grab two ice cold ginger ales from the refrigerator and now, with totally everything I need, I head for the beach. At the top of the beach there's a vendor selling frozen lemonade on a stick. I should bring something for the moms so I buy two of the frozen treats for them. Then, taking off my sandals, I head out onto the sand and halfway down Tris sees me juggling the sodas, sandals and frozen lemonade sticks and comes up to help; she says, "Thanks, Dylan... you're so sweet! And, oh, Chubby asked me to tell you that he's down a block or two playing football with some kids from school." I'm like, "Okay, thanks! I'll go see what's up with him." I'm waving "Hi!" to my mom as I wade through the sand feeling real good about everything, everything except I forgot my damn cigarettes... it's always something!

I walk down the beach quite a ways before seeing six guys and two girls playing football. This is much more than a block or two away so I'm not positive it's Chubby's game, although it probably is. Running in sand is difficult and the two girls participating in this game are gonna fuck up any real competitiveness anyway, so I'm not interested in playing even if it is Chubby's game. I'll watch for a while and then see what Chubby wants to do tonight. As I get closer Chubby sees me before I see him and he gets my attention shouting to me and waving as he's going out for a pass. The football is way under-thrown and Chubby pretends diving for it in a comical way; everyone thinks he's funny because the ball is so poorly thrown there's no way it could be caught. The girl who threw the pass is the only one not laughing. By the way, do we really need girls playing boy's games? I mean, is there no fucking common sense in the world any more? Not that I really care... I'm just saying.

In checking out the football game's participants I realize that besides Chubby I only know one other guy, Art Pictario, who was in my Chemistry class last year. He's patting Chubby on the back at the moment, still chuckling about that dumb pass. Three of the other guys look older while the other is a kid about twelve years old. I don't know either of the girls; one of them has tits as big as my head. She looks very Italian, if it's still okay to describe someone that way and be considered somewhat politically correct. Her tits are barely being held in check by a small halter top. Oh, and naturally she has a pierced bellybutton! The other girl is swarthy-complected too, but she has normal size tits covered by a modest one-piece bathing suit. Now that I'm noticing the whole group, everyone, including Chubby, looks Italian. Of course, how else would Chubby look? His dad is Hispanic and his mom is Italian. Chubby's skin is creamier and smoother looking than that of these other guys though. He has just about the most perfect complexion I've ever seen, although Robby's is awesome too, but in a different way. To summarize their complexions, Robby has the rosy blush in each cheek and Chubby has a small round brown spot on his cheekbone; it'd be called a beauty mark on a girl. Chubby comes right over to me, takes the ginger ale I'm holding out, squeezes my hand, and says, "Nice to see ya, bro," then drinks half the soda in one long swallow; he's one of those guys who can let liquids roll down his throat without swallowing. One of the really nice things about Chubby is the way he greets me; there's no doubt in my mind he's happy to see me. It's reflected in his eyes and the way he stares at me grinning, like he's doing now while drinking the soda. Handing me the half empty can, he says, "Thanks, Dylan! We'll be done with this game soon. Save that for me, okay?" He squeezes my hand again and jogs back to the game. I say, "Sure, see ya in a little bit," and then watch him run in his graceful, effortless way. Chubby has the world's best looking boy's legs.

Finished with my soda I sit on an overturned trash barrel and check-out the guys in the game trying to find something interesting about them. No matter how hard I try, it's just isn't happening for me. All three older guys are darkly tanned with way too much dark body hair. Chubby's nothing like that at all, thank God he's been spared that indignation... me too! A couple of the guys have that unfortunate shoulder and back hair, sorta like they're wearing black alpaca sweaters. Chubby looks like a little kid next to them and the twelve-year old boy looks like a baby. Artie's appearance fits somewhere between Chubby's and the Neanderthal men. He's dark-complected but with only modest chest hair. The twelve-year old sort of looks like Artie, but as of yet has no body hair at all that I can see. Unfortunately he has too much nose though. That eliminates him from qualifying as cute, although he is young enough with a nicely developed body, so, ya know, maybe there's some potential for "cute" in his future. There's a chance the rest of him grows into his nose size, for example; it could happen. The main thing about the two girls is they like to scream; lots of shrill screams followed by giggling about nothing. Holy shit, it's enough to drive me off the beach. The game is two-hand touch meaning no tackling, but when either of the girls iscarrying the football there's lots of inappropriate touching, and even a little tackling. The girls pretend to get angry when their tits or ass gets grabbed accidentally on purpose, but they don't appear sincere about their anger.

After a number of successful plays that moves the game down the beach towards me, one of the men catches a pass running right by where I'm sitting and steps on my foot. I drop Chubby's ginger ale cursing the oaf silently while retrieving the can before a lot of soda spills. Ignoring me, the man walks back with his arms in the air victoriously and then does a lame touchdown dance. Chubby, Artie, and one of the Neanderthal men come running down arguing that the guy was out of the end zone when he caught the ball; not that I saw any indication where the end zone might be. Since they're all being so emphatic about their arguments I assume this is the winning touchdown which means Chubby's side lost. I hear some f-bombs and then friendly ball-busting, but the hubbub winds down quickly and Chubby comes over to me, asking, "Where ya been all day, bro?" I hand him his half a soda and say, "Oh, I ran into Gary and hung-out with him for a while. He won the piano contest in New York City so now he's flying out to Dallas, texas. Gary lives a very similar life to our own, don't ya think?" Chubby's like, "Ahh, no, not quite. Hey, there's a keg party at Artie's place down the street; you game?" I shrug, indicating that I guess I'm game. A few seconds later Artie's walking towards us saying, "Newman?" like he's not sure it's me although we were in class together all year. Then he asks that silly question so many kids ask when they unexpectedly see someone they know, "What are you doing here?" Obviously I'm doing the same thing here he's doing so I ignore the question. We do a one-pump hand shake, half a hug, and pat once on the back while asking each other, "Yo, wassup?" just like we're tight buds. In reality we rarely talked to each other in school, but at least we weren't enemies. Artie makes that questioning motion of opening both hands in front of him, like he's stuck on that stupid question of "what am I doing here?" Instead of being rude and saying, "What the fuck ya think I'm doing here?" I politely say, "Chubby and I are best buds; we're here on vacation of course." He's like, "Chubby? Who the fuck's that?" I tool a deep breath, and then patiently explained to Artie about the childhood nickname I still call Jeff. Artie doesn't get irony apparently 'cause he laughs without humor, then sarcastically states, "Chubby? Jesus, dude, he's a long way from being chubby!" I'm like, "No shit, that's the point of the nickname, numbnuts!" Chubby's like, "Yo, chill!" and with him in between Artie and me we start walking towards Artie's house with me thinking, "This party's gonna suck!"

As we walk Chubby tells me about running into Artie on the beach and how Artie recruited him because his group was one person short for a four-on-four two-hand touch game. I give a bored, "Uh huh." Artie's saying nothing so Chubby blathers on about how the little kid in the game is Art's younger brother, and how two of the other three older guys are relatives, a cousin and an uncle. The girl with the tits ass big as my head is the cousin's girlfriend and the other girl's another cousin. My heads spinning and I want to say, "Who gives a shit about all this!" but what I say instead, in a slightly sarcastic manner, is, "Oh, so it's a family affair, huh? I get it!" Chubby pinches my side and says, "Duh!" I smirk at him and he grins back at me. Artie's oblivious but seems over his bout with stupidity, and says, "Jesus, we have too many relatives in our family! At family parties I can't remember the names of some of them." I say nothing 'cause, while I welcome the truce between Artie and me, I'm never gonna be buddies with him. Artie is plain looking with maybe a little too much nose, like his little brother. On the positive side, nothing about him is grotesque although he does wear a weird thin short beard just along his jaw that coincidentally looks like the chin strap of a football helmet. It must be a pain in the ass shaving around it every day. God! I hope I never get whiskers!

To be honest, I can't imagine why Chubby wants to hook up with this group although obviously I can't ask him about it with Artie right here. Artie's telling us about some teacher Chubby and he had last year for study hall; the teacher's in jail for drug trafficking now and blah, blah, blah. Apparently Chubby and Artie have been in a number of classes together during the four years of high school. Chubby's more outgoing than I am so he makes a lot of friends, but to be honest, most of the friends he makes I wouldn't even want to be friends with, like Artie, but Chubby's more or less indiscriminate when it comes to that. Hell, I wasn't even aware these two knew each other. Part of the reason for that is I don't take much notice of guys like Artie. He's too big boned and mature looking and not cute and not gay and not real interested in me so, ya know, he doesn't register on my radar screen. There are a lot of kids like Artie who I'm acquainted with, but never mention or think about because they don't interest me. I'm not saying they're necessarily assholes or that I think I'm better than them or anything like that; they just don't do it for me. Another way that Chubby's different than me is he doesn't seem to notice a boy's looks all that much. I mean, if a guy's got scurvy or something he'll notice that, but generally speaking he never mentions a guy's looks. I can think back any number of years and realize I've been observing the way boys look since puberty. Back then I didn't know why I was doing it, but now I know it's because I'm gay and I just didn't realize that basic fact of life back then. A boy doesn't need to be wicked cute in my opinion, but he must have something cute about him, even if it's just his personality or else I'll have very little interaction with him beyond being cordial. I recognize that the vast majority of kids couldn't care less if I'm interested in them or not, so it's not like I'm being conceited about all this... I'm just saying.

Anyway, this Artie kid's family rented a whole house one block from the beach and they apparently know the people renting next door to them as well, as both back yards are being utilized for the party. Picnic tables are set-up, charcoal grills are lit and smoking, big coolers filled with drinks, a quarter keg of beer sits in a plastic container filled with ice, bowls of popcorn, pretzels and peanuts, tables laden with casseroles, the whole works. The food looks awesome; the people, not so much. There are two families sharing Artie's place and I don't know about the other house, but there sure are a lot of loud people milling around the area. It quickly becomes apparent to me that all these guys are loud mouths and boisterous and not at all funny with their boisterousness; they laugh riotously over the most inane comments. Mostly rude and crude comments made in an annoyingly jovial manner. God only knows how they'll be acting when they're drunk. To me there's nothing humorous or even clever about the f-bomb-filled comments and it has me rolling my eyes at Chubby who seems to be enjoying himself so, in response to my eye rolling, he asks me, "What?" Like he can't imagine why I'd roll my eyes at this group. I'm annoyed now which Chubby picks-up on immediately so he squeezes my hand, leans close to me, and says, "Aw, come on, Dylan! Get a beer and loosen up. These guys aren't the coolest maybe, but who else is going to invite the two of us to a beer party? Oh, and they're doing a barbecue later on too, so we'll get a free dinner." I sarcastically remark, "Oh, so that's what the charcoal grills are for!" Chubby makes a face and I reluctantly grab a can of beer from a tub of icy water. I'm not crazy about the taste of beer but what the hell, maybe I can get a little buzz on and make it through this delightful affair.

A half hour later I'm still on the first beer, which is warm by now, wishing I had a cigarette. I'm sticking close to Chubby because everyone else is freaking me out. Being this close to him I recall something I've known about Chubby, but sometimes forgets. He can carry on a conversation with anyone, even when it's boring. Chub always has a little grin on his cute face with lots of enthusiastic energy; it's easy to see why he's so popular. As for me, I can't make small talk for more than a minute or two without getting a headache. This very well might be the reason I'm inaccurately accused of pouting so often when it's simply a matter of me being bored. Okay, that may be a mild rationalization 'cause a really cute guy can talk small-talk with me for hours and I enjoy that because he's good to look at. Artie's off talking to a couple of new arrivals, so Chubby asks me, "You okay, Dylan? Can ya hang in here with me and get some barbecue later?" I go, "I guess," and he blurts out laughingly, "You're the best pouter ever!" Then, taking his cell phone out of the back pocket of his boardie bathing suit, he's dialing as he leans in close again to whisper, "I love your pouting. Do some more!" then talks to his mom, telling her we're eating dinner here. The phone call finished, he grins at me and energetically says, "Come on, Dylan! Get happy, meet some new people." Instead of hanging with Artie, Chubby takes the warm can of beer from my hand and I follow him to the tap from which he gets me a cold draft beer. He says, "Try this and then let's find someone who has a cigarette. I can't believe you forgot to bring ours." I'm taking a gulp of beer thinking how this draft beer's real cold at least and that it doesn't taste all that bad.

Chubby heads towards a group of kids but I can't follow immediately because a woman carrying a tray of hot dogs accidentally bumps into me almost knocking my hat off. She apologizes and offers me a hotdog so I take it as she asks, "Are you one of Artie's friends?" I go, "Yes, ma'am, Framingham High School." She has a pleasant, smiley way about her, "Well aren't you the most attractive thing! I've got to admonish Artie for not bringing you around before this! What's your name, honey?" I tell her and she yells over to a bunch of people, "Diana! Come over here quick." Taking a bite of the hot dog I watch a nice looking girl saunter over. The woman says, "Diana, this is Dylan, a friend of your cousin's. Dylan, meet Diana." Oh shit! Holding a cup of beer in one hand and the last half of the hot dog between my teeth, I shake her fingers and mumble around the hot dog, "Nice to meet ya," which makes the lady and Diana laugh. Then the lady moves on with the tray of hot dogs leaving me and Diana in an awkward silence. I clear my throat, smile, and take another bite of hot dog. Diana swills down some beer, then states, "I hate beer." I go, "Me too," and the conversation bumbles along like that with both of us gurgling down the beer we hate because we're uncomfortable. I ask, "You want another beer, Diana?" She says, "Sure," and we walk over to the keg where the older uncle is now acting as bartender. He pours beers for us, asking, "You two having fun?" Diana's like, "Yes, daddy... this is Dylan, he's a friend of Artie's." We shake hands and I drink half the cup of beer feeling sick to my stomach. I'm also feeling dizzy being stuck making small talk to a girl I don't know and now her father's asking a lot of personal questions like: "You have a girlfriend back home, Dylan? A good looking guy like you probably has more than one. Huh, Diana?" or, "You play on any sports team in high school? You look like you might be a wrestler," squeezing my biceps and then asks some more probing questions as if I'm here asking permission for his daughter's hand in marriage. I give short, polite answers while glancing around to give Chubby a dirty look, but find him talking a blue streak to a group of guys and girls so he doesn't see me. Someone's lent him a t-shirt that reads, "I hear voices... and they don't like you!" Oh brother! What saves me is one of the Italian cousins from the football game who apparently has a crush on Diana comes over to say, "Hey, sup, Lady Di?" Then some small talk between them before he and Diana excuse themselves and drift over to say "Hi!" to a couple of kids they know who've just arrived.

With my third full cup of beer I escape from the uncle just as Chubby grabs my arm and drags me to his group so I'll verify that he, Chubby, almost got killed in a fight with the Chavez brothers. The Chavez brothers are notorious at school, almost an urban legend. By now the beers are having an effect on me allowing me to be more relaxed. One of the guys Chubby's telling the exaggerated details of the Chavez fight to has cigarettes and he's willing to share. He's one of the Italian relatives, but not one from the football game. This guy tells us he graduated high school five years ago; he's smoking Marlboro reds and I bum one. I'd never ask a stranger for a cigarette without the assistance of a banned substance reducing my natural inhibitions. This Marlboro guy's very nice about sharing his cigarettes and he's very nice looking too. In addition, there's even a certain sexiness to him; that is, unless the banned substance is screwing with my evaluation process. Chubby and some of the others in the group wander over to the keg for refills leaving just me and the Marlboro stranger smoking and drinking, and talking sports and cars. I know about sports but very little about cars; still, it's okay, I'm not bored anymore because this guy looks good. Great dimples when he grins which he does often; his dimples makes him look younger than someone who graduated high school five long years ago. He has sexy lips that he puckers when exhaling. I learn that his name is Anthony, not Tony, Anthony. He's in the Navy, home on two weeks leave. I like that he gives me his full attention rather than talking while looking around for some way to escape my company

Being in the Navy explains his clean-cut appearance. Swarthy olive complexion with thick dark brown hair cut real short. Clean shaven, but with a five o'clock shadow; he's a macho man, but boyishly cute. About as tall as me which is five feet, ten inches, but not as slim as me although he's not husky either. He's wearing a button up the front Tommy Bahama short sleeve shirt, which I'm not crazy about, but looks okay on him somehow. Tan shorts cover the thighs of Anthony's hairy legs, which I'm also not crazy about. His face is what I'll concentrate on. I'm rarely interested in someone older than twenty, but this in an unusual situation; that is, I'm trapped at a party where I don't know anyone so a twenty-two year old with hairy legs, but a cute face, will have to do. Anthony tells me he enlisted in the Navy right out of high school so that's how I'm sure he's twenty-two. He's been to Iraq as a gunner on a helicopter flying off the aircraft carrier he's assigned to. It's really fascinating hearing about his combat duty, kind of scary too. Soon we're sitting together at a picnic table; I'm smoking my third cigarette and my forth beer is just about finished so I'm feeling more than a little relaxed.

Various members of Artie's family come over to hang out with Anthony. He introduces me to all and they're nice enough. None of them hang out for very long though, as Anthony's only been away for the last six months. Mostly they're just coming by to say, "Yo, Anthony! Sup?" and they all hug too. Some of them kiss each other on the cheek, maybe it's tradition and maybe it's the booze. Bottles of hard liquor appeared out of nowhere a little while ago and a bar has been set up at the end of a picnic table. It's about seven-thirty and the day's cooling down nicely; a very pleasant night. There's maybe fifty people at the party so far and more relatives from another section of Wildwood are still expected, and some other friends too. Music, shouting, drinking and even some dancing. The smells from the two grilles wafting over our table has my mouth watering: barbecue chicken, burgers, hot dogs, Italian sausages with green peppers and onion blending together to create unmistakable barbecue grill smells. After a while Anthony encourages me to get a plate of food with him, and as I haven't eaten since this morning, the idea appeals to me big time! I'm feeling kind of special because Anthony's spending so much time with me; after all, he knows a lot of these people, but he chose me. I spot Chubby at a table with four girls and two guys from the football game; Chubby's always hanging where there's girls. Maybe I'll take a picture and send it to Mary Jo. Nah! I wouldn't do that. It would be a hell of a picture though because the girl with tits as big as my head is sitting next to Chubby feeding him potato salad from a plastic spoon and everyone is giggling; that's just plain embarrassing. Chubby's probably drunk, but come on! Guess I'm jealous Chubby's there, instead of with me. Oh well, I'll make do with Anthony.

In addition to the grilled foods, there's the pot-luck buffet laid out on a long aluminum table covered with a paper tablecloth. Anthony encourages me to try everything, but chooses very little for himself. I pile my plate from the dishes I recognize like potato salad, baked beans and such, but stay clear of various seafood selections and unknown raw looking fish dishes and those kinds of weird things. Anthony chuckles at all the food on my plate and thinks it's a riot there are so many dishes I won't try. He claims the stuff I'm passing on are the best items on the buffet. I shrug 'cause I don't like exotic foods, just basic meat and potatoes and cheeseburgers and pizza. The basic food groups, in other words. He gets a big kick out of that, then hands me his plate telling me which table to take the plates to while he gets us another beer. I carry the plates to a table with three people, none of whom I know so I introduce myself before sitting down and everyone smiles, but looks questioning at one another, like, "who's he?" A youngish looking kid with a missing front tooth asks who the other plate is for and when I tell him, they're now all happy that it's Anthony who will be joining us. Anthony arrives with our beers and gets a big hello followed by a lot of chatter; he's obviously popular. I quietly eat until my plate is clean and then, swilling down half the beer, I burp embarrassingly which makes everyone laugh. While laughing, Anthony pulls my hat, Charlie's hat actually, down over my eyebrows, saying, "That's gross, Dylan!" but he's kidding me... he rubs my shoulders and squeezes them giving me chills. While eating Anthony seems especially fond of the kid with the missing tooth who acts like maybe Anthony's his hero or something. The kid's name is Joe, he's probably a year or two younger than me; he'd informed me he got his tooth knocked out in a fight a few weeks ago. In addition to the missing tooth, his lips are unfortunately large and so are his ears so there's no way this kid can be considered especially cute, still it did seem he and Anthony have some kind of connection. Finished eating, Anthony asks if anyone would like a cigarette. Joe says, "I would, but I can't, Anthony, my old man's watching me." No one else wants a smoke so Anthony nods his head at me and the two of us move away from the table before lighting up. Everyone was real nice saying stuff like, "See ya later, Anthony. Nice to meet you, Dylan," etc. etc. Joe asks, "Where ya gonna be later on, Anthony?" Anthony says, "I ain't going nowhere, Joey. I'll be around." A friendly group! It seems like I had this whole thing figured wrong from the start, this is an okay party!

Away from the table Anthony tells me to take our plates to the trash and then meet him around the side of the house where most of the smokers are smoking. On the way I give a shout out to Chubby who yells back, "Try a shot of Sambuca!" I wave at him but never heard of Sam-whoever. Walking around the side I see Anthony off by himself a little holding two lit cigarettes; he offers one to me and tells me this funny story about his experience on a submarine in his early Navy training days. On his first day ever on a submarine he had the shits, as he called it, and apparently you don't want to have the shits on a sub. Anthony has a lot of stories and he's got a funny way of telling them too. I'd probably enjoy hearing the stories sober, but being a little drunk like I am makes the stories seem fabulous and even though I know I'm probably overreacting to them, I can't help myself. He's getting real touchy/feely with me too and the thought he might be gay or bi passes through my head for a second, although he sure isn't acting gay. His touchy/feelyness is more rough-house play than anything else, which naturally I like and maybe I do lean into him a second too long when he's jostling me around, laughing at his own story. If I am leaning against him an inappropriate length of time, he says nothing about it. Truth of the matter is, like Joe, I've developed this sort of beery, hero-worship crush on Anthony myself. He's real good looking, he's a hot-shit Navy guy, everyone at the party likes him, he's funny and most of all, he's interested in me. And, there's this little tingle of sexiness sneaking in which is creating a buzzing in my balls 'cause Anthony, while very nice, also has a dominant type personality. He sends me here and there on errands for him, getting beers or going down the block with his ten dollar bill in my hand to get us another pack of cigarettes at the convenience store and then later on ordering me to try a raw cherry stone clam on the half shell. "Ewww, it's raw, Anthony!" "Take another one, Dylan! Go ahead, don't make me force it down your throat!" said with a smile and laughter in his voice. Anyway, I like a little dominance from a cute guy.

We're walking around with Anthony pointing out what he considers delicacies, but which I judge as inedible food stuff, like octopus or squid. He insists I eat cold shrimp which is good with the hot cocktail sauce and lemon, but raw oysters almost make me barf. I gagged down that fucking slimy live sea creature with my throat constricting and my stomach almost heaving. Anthony's face was bright red from laughing so hard at my exaggerated antics. Lots of squeezes on the back of my neck and, eventually, what amounts to a two-arm hug from Anthony. It all got me going with more hammed-up reaction to each new disgusting food, like strong tasting cheeses smelling rotten; stuff Anthony insists I try. Later he sent me over to get shots of Sambuca in plastic cups and I found out what it was Chubby had shouted to me earlier. It's an Italian liqueur. "Flash it down in one gulp, Dylan!" The first taste was licorice but the heat followed to burn my throat and I'm gagging again with Anthony in stitches hugging me around my shoulders. He insists I get us two more and the second one burned too but I did what he told me and followed the shot of Sambuca with beer to cool my throat. "Holy shit, am I ever getting drunk, Anthony!" He's like, "You're doing great, Dylan!" and he pulled me against him and held me there tight for a couple seconds... the gay possibility flew around in my head again, but I'm pretty hammered so I could be wrong. Anthony let go of me when we were joined by some guys and girls who wanted to smoke a couple of joints. I'd met two of the guys earlier and it's the same old thing we always say, "yo, sup?"followed by a couple of quick introductions of those I hadn't met; pot smokers are all buds even if ya don't know each other. While Anthony flirted with a girl who wasn't cute and who has big wrists and thick ankles, I kept quiet and listened to everyone bullshit each other. There were a couple of joints being passed around which I politely declined. Anthony smoked some weed but didn't insist I do it, maybe because these other kids were here. I say kids, but they were late teens to early twenties and all from South Philly. Their accents were kind of noticeable: instead of asking, "Did you eat yet?" they say "Jeet yet?" and the response of "No. Jew?" means, "No, did you?" Their football team is the Philadelphia Eagles pronounced by them as "Iggles." Ha ha! Lots of things like that, but I resisted commenting on any of it because there are folks around New England who fuck up the English language pretty badly themselves, although I'm not one of them.

It's dark now and lights have been turned on creating shadows that change everyone's appearance and now Anthony's looking uber sexy and cute; I can just imagine myself jumping his bones if I'd smoked the pot. I guess the booze has something to do with the changes too, but nothing compared to how pot changes things. A half hour into the pot, except for Anthony, the pot-smoking Philly crowd were acting absurd, acting giggly and, frankly, stupid. Their accent can be a challenge under normal conditions, but when they're speaking gibberish it becomes impossible to understand them except for the word fuck which they say every third word. Anthony caught my eye and did another nod of his head, with a grin on his lips, like, "Let's split!" He's in a very good mood and I'm thinking he's pretty high too although he'd passed up a lot of the pot. We wandered away to grab another beer and unfortunately some of my first swallow went down my windpipe and I coughed a mouthful of beer onto the front of Anthony's shirt. He's like, "Oh fuck, dude! This is my Tommy Bahama... fuck!" and he slapped my head kind of hard. He's pissed, jeez... what a quick temper. I say, "I'm really sorry, Anthony. I couldn't stop the cough." He smacks me on the side of my head again causing a ringing in my ear, and yells, "How does it change things by you saying you're sorry? Huh? You're supposed to cough away from people, not towards them." I mumble again, "Sorry," and now he's tapping his fingers against his thigh and making a face like maybe he's feeling bad he lost his temper. He reaches over to squeeze the back of my neck and I flinch so he pulls his hand back, and says, "Sorry I smacked you, Dylan. Damn, my fucking temper! Really, I apologize!" He reaches toward be again and this time I don't flinch so he hugs around my neck pulling the sides of our faces together, and says, "Forgive me, man. I lost it for a second there. Sorry 'bout that." It was a nice gesture on his part and sounded sincere, and goddammit if my dick didn't start stirring too. It was the side of Anthony's face against mine, and our bodies too; they're together all up and down our sides and it caused my dick to move, but how can this be? Didn't Gary take care of my sex drive very nicely earlier today? I blew out a quiet exhale, then murmur, "It's okay, Anthony. Sorry about the shirt." A tight squeeze around my neck and he lets go, saying. "The hell with it, it's only my favorite shirt. Come on, walk down to my motel with me so I can change." I go, "Sure... um, how far is it?" He says, "It's the fucking Beachcomber, right down the street for Christ sakes." He'd regressed right back into that mean-sounding voice he'd used when he smacked me. I go, "Oh, I don't know that motel." We're walking out from behind the house to the sidewalk as he lights a cigarette, passes it to me, lights one for himself and takes a big drag before muttering, "Hell, what am I thinking? Dylan, there isn't any reason you should know where the Beachcomber is. There's only about six-fucking-thousand motels in Wildwood, ya know?" I've heard of mean drunks but never ran into one; well, maybe my mom's boyfriend, Jake, qualifies as a mean drunk... and that didn't turn out too good for me. Something's telling me that Anthony's not being mean though, just drunk and a little high from the grass.

I can't be sure he's not a mean drunk though, so as we silently walked I pumped myself up about handling any kind of additional rough stuff from Anthony, as we're pretty much the same size. My motto is, "If I'm gonna take a beating, someone else is too!" That is, when I have anything to say about it; Jake didn't give me a chance, but that won't happen again. As we walk along I'm not feeling any tension between us, which I'm grateful for and it relaxes me. The Beachcomber turns out to be kind of a dive; it's old and needs a coat of paint at the very least. Anthony's room is on the second floor so we walk up an open staircase to an open hallway overlooking the parking lot; his room's the second door down. Anthony says, "It's a dump, but it's just sixty bucks a night and I only sleep here. It's too crowded back at the house for me." Trying to be funny, I say, "All those people stuffed in the rental house is sorta like being in a submarine with the shits, huh?" He laughs and goes, "Something like that, yeah," and then he pulls my hat down over my forehead like Charlie did that time. He hasn't mentioned my Mohawk but he has to know I have one because it extends below the hat in the back. I wish I never got this damn thing. Anthony's fumbling with the key while I stare at his attractive face. Then we're inside a smallish room with a smallish bathroom, its door wide open. The room consists of a double bed that's made-up, a chair in front of a small desk, an open suitcase on a stand, and an old-fashioned-looking television on a small chest of drawers... that's it. Anthony isn't neat, his stuff's all over the place and he'd left the light on from the last time he was here. All he needs to do is find a shirt to wear so I stand near the door as he goes through his suitcase, then through various piles of clothes stacked or thrown here and there. When he finally comes up with a sleeveless sweatshirt, he tosses it on the bed and turns to look at me; his face is flushed and he's chewing on his bottom lip. Unbuttoning his shirt he continues staring at me so I do a small nervous grin in return. Taking off his Tommy Bahama shirt reveals a tattoo on his shoulder that looks like a Navy insignia of some kind. He has a nice build with just that little strip of chest hair between his pecs that ya see on a lot of guys. He quietly asks, "Umm, ya ever been blown, Dylan?" I slowly nod my head that I have been and then he's shaking his head with his eyes closed, moaning, "Oh shit! I got no willpower, I hate myself for asking that, but I'm drunk. And, ahh, it's mostly that fucking pot. I was doing okay before that fucking pot!" and he sits down hard on his bed next to the sweatshirt holding the Tommy Bahama shirt in his hand. I do a fake cough and look away.

Silence. Then Anthony quietly says, "Sit with me, Dylan. I need to tell ya something." I don't move. He wipes his hand across his mouth and calmly says, "Please. I won't hurt ya and I probably couldn't if I wanted to which I most certainly don't want to anyways..." I walk over and try to lighten it up by asking, "Anyways? You say, anyways?" He smiles and says, "I'm fucked up! It's that fucking pot, I can't handle pot." Sitting down, I add, "Do ya think it might also be the two dozen beers and ten shots of Sambuca you had? Could they have contributed to you being fucked up?" He slurs his words a little, saying, "I didn't have that much! Don't make it sound wrose than it is." He put his arm across my shoulders and says, "I don't know if you're gay or not and I don't want to know 'cause it's none of my business. Hell, I don't even care if you are or not. But, the fact is I'm a disgusting homosexual. I'm in denial most of the time, deep in the closet most of the time too, and then when I drink sometimes I let myself see the truth. Something about you brought it out in me tonight." I quietly say, "Its okay, I'm not homophobic." He tries to say something, squints, scrunches-up his face a little as tears begin running down his cheeks and his shoulders shake as he cries silently. Not having a clue what to do or say, I look at the side of his face; his eyes are closed and his lips pressed tightly together, but he still looks very handsome. Very nice profile with well- proportioned features. Thinking, "This poor guy is fucked up, and I don't mean just from the booze and pot!" I quietly murmur, "There's no need to think of yourself as disgusting just because you're gay. You're born that way, Anthony... you don't get to choose." He's taking deep breaths trying to get himself under control, then he says, "This crying jag came on me unexpectedly, I'm sorry!" I go, "That's alright. I don't mind, I cry sometimes too." His face scrunches up again and he cries some more, then he settles down enough to say, "I have no right to ask this of you, but I'm still going to beg you not to tell anyone about me acting this way?" I go, "I promise, Anthony, I won't tell anyone." He's nodding his head biting his lip again and I think he said "Thank you," but I'm not sure. As we sit there side by side at the end of his bed, his right arm across my shoulders, he continuously wipes tears off his face with his free hand. We sit like that for another minute or so until his crying is mostly under control. He seems so young and vulnerable now, but even so I don't move a muscle for fear I'll give the wrong signal to him.

When he's under control he looks at me and says, "I got no fucking willpower, Dylan. I'm a fucking disgrace and even though you'll think I'm a piece of shit for doing it, I can't help myself, I gotta ask if I can blow you? Please, can I suck your cock? Please!" He's back to crying again and I'm thinking, "How can someone beat himself up like this?" I ask, "Why do you think it's so bad to follow your sexual nature? Do you hate gay people?" He nods his head "Yes!" but he says, "No! It's not them, it's me I hate. I hate myself for being weak! I should be heterosexual or at least abstinent, but I got no fucking willpower over my urge to suck a young guy's cock!" His arm slipped off my shoulder to go up around the side of head pulling it over to his head like he did earlier at the party, as he adds, "And no will power to keep me from wanting to do this too." Our heads are together with me turning sideways to rest a hand loosely on his chest and his back. I prepared myself for something rough, but he wasn't thinking rough, he was thinking cuddle as he nestled the side of his face against mine. His five o'clock shadow isn't scratchy like I thought it would be and the little strip of hair between his pecs is very soft. After five seconds he moves him head around to kiss my cheek near my mouth, then rub his face against mine, his nose rubbing across my cheek with him murmuring, "Mmmm, ooh, mmm," then mumbling, "Oh my God, you feel so wonderful," and another kiss on my cheek. I felt his tears now as he began crying again. His other hand slowly comes over so he is hugging my head against his with both hands now, then his hand moved up the back of my head and knocked off my hat which sort of broke the spell. Anthony let go of me after rubbing my Mohawk and, with tears on his face, he says, "Oh yeah, your Mohawk, huh? You're too cute for a Mohawk, Dylan... hasn't anyone told you that?" We both sat up and he seemed to get himself together pretty quickly. I shrugged in response to his question as he hands me my hat, mumbling, "I'm sorry I fondled you like that. I can't help myself when I'm drunk, but if you'd have said 'Don't!' I would have stopped. Anyway, I'm okay now." I said, "It's okay, I don't mind. I like you." He looked at me funny then, like maybe he wanted to ask if I'm gay except he'd just said he didn't care if I was or not a few minutes ago.

Puffing out his cheeks to do a big exhale through closed lips, Anthony gets up and slips the sweatshirt over his head saying, "Cigarette! That's what I need! That and another drink," but he's swaying on his feet, so after he pulled his pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, he sat down again. I took the pack from him and lit two cigarettes, handed him one and asked again why he hated himself for being gay. He took a drag on the cigarette, wiped his eyes with his hand again, and said, "Are you kidding, Dylan? I'm a freak; a gay Navy man? I'm not supposed to like other men, it's sick! It's dirty, it's perverted!" I say, "It's none of those things, it's part of nature. Don't you know that a percentage of the animal population is gay too, and I'm talking about dogs and rabbits and horses." He chuckles and says, "Gay horses! Ha! No, I didn't know that." We smoked as he told me how his homophobic parents have ranted against gays as long as he can remember. That's probably why he denied his sexuality to himself until he joined the Navy where he met some other guys who were gay, some so openly gay they were in danger of being thrown out of the Navy. He said it made him accept the fact he's gay, but on the other hand he swore to himself he'd be celibate and work toward being straight and not act like the gay guys he'd met. I almost blurted out a laugh at the foolishness of the "work toward being straight" comment, but Anthony was very serious so I held back the laugh. He goes on, "But when I get drunk and someone attractive and nice like you is in the vicinity my urges take over my brain and I have no fucking willpower." I go, "As you've mentioned." He looks at me and grins a cute grin, then says, "I'm repeating myself, aren't I?" I nod and say, "Only a little." He stares at me for ten seconds and says, "It hurts so much, Dylan. I want so much to be at peace with myself, but my brain is messed-up. I don't want my parents and relatives to know what I am, but I need to hug someone, hug another guy so badly!" I told him, "Hug me then, Anthony. It's okay." He sobbed and hugged me with one arm, the other arm held away with his burning cigarette between his fingers. Mostly he wanted to rub his face against mine again, his tears spreading equally on both our faces. I feel very sad for him.

Shortly he got control of himself once more and leaned away mumbling, "Thanks," then half chuckling he adds, "You're a great guy to hug and your face is... um, it's a great face to rub against too. It's a great face, period, actually." I murmur, "Thanks," wondering how we can break this up. Like I said, Gary has pretty much taken care of my personal sexual urges earlier today and my ass is still slightly sore so I have no desire to get fucked and, for some reason, I have no desire to fuck Anthony either. Believe me, I know how unusual that is, but there it is! The fact my dick moved when he pulled our faces together earlier at the party was more a reflex reaction than anything else. All his self-hatred about being gay overrides that now and I've no urge for sex with him. Wiping some of Anthony's tears off my face with my forearm, I got up to grab an ashtray off the top of the television to stub my cigarette butt in, then held the ashtray so that Anthony could stub his out. He stubs it out looking down, then quietly asks, "Ah, ya know... you didn't answer my pathetic question earlier, the one about me sucking your dick." I'm thinking, "AWKWARD!" and, not really wanting to do it, I say, "Wouldn't another time be better when we're not so, ah... well, drunk?" He says, "I need to be drunk to do it and I bet you wouldn't let me do it unless you're drunk." Should I tell him I'm gay? Is that the right thing to do or will it humiliate him somehow? I'll save that for now 'cause I don't know what's right and what's wrong at the moment. As usual, I take the easy way out and say, "Okay, if you really want to, you can suck my dick," but I tried to make it sound like a funny kooky, crazy thing to do, but, "Okay, go ahead!" not those words, just the goofy way I said it. He wasn't interested in the humor though, he's serious when he goes, "Oooohhh, man, thanks!" and he rubs my shoulder, then up the back of my head as he adds, "I don't know why I love to do this, but I do." I was back sitting on the end of the bed again so he gets right up and kneels down between my legs. Maybe he's quick about it so I don't get a chance to change my mind. With a hand at each side of my boardies he pulls them down. My arms go behind me on the bed for support, then I lift my ass and the swimsuit is pulled down to my ankles. My shaved pubes take him by surprise and he looked up at me in wonder. I say, "It's a long story," he nods and feels around my bare pubic area, then turns his attention to my soft penis.

Anthony lifts my limp dick with one hand and caressed my nuts with the other. He very slowly lowers his head and licks up the shaft of my cock, then kisses the inside of my thighs, both sides, as I control my squirming and resist running my fingers through his short, soft-looking hair. No matter what my brain says, apparently my dick does want to get blown. After the wet kisses he presses his face against my crotch and I begin feeling tiny licks which increase to full tongue laps with him lifting his eyes to mine as if he's asking if this is alright. It feels good to me of course so I do a little smile and his eyes go back to devouring my cock with the intensity of his stare. It appears that Anthony really loves cock... me too. He does the wet gushing kisses all around my cock and balls until my legs and belly are wet with his spit. Then he lifts my nuts and licks under them pulling me off the bed a little with gentle tugs until he can get to my asshole and then long laps cover my anus as he spreads my cheeks apart. I lie back on the bed now, biting my lip to keep from moaning. My ass cheeks are spread apart so tightly that my hole is opened and his tongue goes up my ass. It feels so good, but oddly enough it's making me yearn to rim Robby again. That thought flickers through my brain and then is replaced quickly by the real live sensations tingling all over my ass.

Anthony has abandoned any pretenses of being cool with this, he's letting himself go for it and my asshole is alive and not hurting at all now. He must have done this quite a few times 'cause he's very good at it and he's got me biting my lip making quiet squeaky sounds. Then, just when I'm about to moan out loud, Anthony's licking back up under my nuts and around the sides of my scrotum causing my dick to firm-up even harder. More long licks on the inside of my legs, then he pushes up my t-shirt and does some wet sucking kisses on my belly in different spots which causes shivers to run all over my torso and my back to arch off the bed. Long licks on my belly and around my pubic area, then my t-shirt's pushed up even further and he's sucking my nipples into hard points, then licking his way down to my crotch again and finally sucking my now hard cock into his mouth. A throaty moan escapes from Anthony as his tongue slowly encircles my cock head with a twirling motion. By now I've got my mouth covered with both hands trying to keep my pleasure sounds to myself; this feels awesome and to hell with not wanting to have my cock sucked. Anthony strokes my cock then laps the length of it with his excellent tongue; my penis is hard as a poker and when he takes it in his throat bobbing his head up and down on it a half dozen times I squeal out a long girlie sound and piss a long stream of cum into his mouth. I gush my cum out like Chubby did into my mouth the other night, flowing out in one long current instead of four or five quick shots and spurt. Anthony's lightly squeezing my nuts helping to keep the flow going. Nothing escapes his tongue and sucking lips, not a drop! He swallows it all, sucking out the last few drops with sexy small sucking sounds. Holding my wet hard boner against his face then, with his eyes closed and breathing deeply for maybe ten seconds like he's in ecstasy, he slowly lays my wet boner against my belly and stands up. There a big dark blotch at the crotch of his shorts where he'd climaxed in his pants, he quietly grunts out a breathless, "Thank you, Dylan. That's a great cock you got there." I'm still lying on my back looking at his cum splattered shorts, muttering, "Ah, yeah, thanks, Anthony." He takes a huge inhale and blows out the exhale looking unsteady on his feet, then says so low I can barely hear him, "I need to change my shorts now too," and like a man in a trance he starts going through the piles of clothes again. I'm in a daze trying to think if I've ever been sucked off this good before; it was fairly fast, but uber hot. As I pull my boardie swimsuit up, Anthony finds clean cargo shorts and a pair of boxer underwear and goes into the bathroom with the door closed to change. He sucks me off, but won't change in front of me.

A minute later he's back out but he doesn't look happy. Sitting in the chair at the small desk, he's real subdued, "I'm grateful to you, Dylan, but now I'll need to deal with a guilty conscience. I'll probably spend the next two days calling myself every disgusting name I can think of. I'm a sicko! The urge is gone now so the guilty conscience takes it place. It's a living hell." I'm sitting up at the end of the bed again wanting to help him, but kinda drunk; even when I'm sober I can't come up with poignant things to say at the drop of a hat. Hell, I couldn't do it this afternoon with Gary so I sure can't think of anything now that I'm half plastered. Anthony looks pathetic sitting there with his head hanging, his shoulders slumped, his handsome face tear-streaked as he lets out a long sigh. He says, "You should leave, Dylan, I'll just bring you down now, dude." I get off the bed and walk over to him to put my hand on his shoulder and ask, "Do you get depressed like this often?" Anthony takes a deep breath and mumbles, "I shouldn't drink, Dylan! Drinking makes me feel good at first 'cause it pushes my worries away, but in the end I do something stupid like begging you to let me... you know, and then I hate myself afterwards." I totally surprise myself by coming up with something to say. With surprising confidence in myself, I declare, "Forgive me for saying this, but you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get some help, some counseling or something. Take some positive steps for help because you're whipping yourself unmercifully for no reason; you're not doing anything wrong! Wanting to do gay sexual things with willing adult partners isn't sick! There's nothing wrong or sick or perverse about being gay either, and you need to get somebody to help you see that. If not the Navy, then fuck them! You're an attractive young guy who's got his head up his ass about this because your parents taught you to be a homophobe and then irony steps in and you discover you're gay and so you hate yourself." Gary started crying again and I found myself mad at him because he's weak and because he's not helping himself, but I also may be making it worse, so I feel bad about that too.

I waited quietly until he stopped crying, and then, hoping it doesn't come out like nagging, I repeat, "You need to get help, Anthony. You know, before you get more depressed and you hurt yourself... or, you know, do something even worse." He turned in the chair and hugged around my waist, gasping, "Thank you, Dylan, that's good advice." I pat his back while he says, "Ya know, I've been trying to work up the courage to discuss it with a psychologist on the carrier, but I'm afraid it might get me tossed out, and I love the Navy." Jesus, this guy's in way over his head... what a fucking shame! I get another idea, for once, and excitedly say, "Maybe you can get an appointment with a psychologist under the general symptom of, say, depression... and then, ya know, during your appointments you can test the waters, so to speak. Ya know, sneak in questions about confidentiality, and hint around asking about someone you know who you think might be gay, but who also loves the Navy, you know... ask the doctor what should your gay friend do for counseling?" Gary let go of my waist and wipes his face on his sweatshirt, then as he's looking around the room for something, he mutters, "Yeah, that sounds good now, Dylan, and I've thought about doing that before and I'd surely like to do it, but when I'm sober I don't have the guts." Actually, I'm not surprised he said that, I figured that might be the case, but what can I say? I'm not walking in Anthony's shoes, it's easy to give advice, the hard part is following it.

Anthony gets up and finds some tissues to blow his nose with and then we lay back on the bed and talk about things we've already talked about, like how there's nothing wrong with being gay and how that fact doesn't change just because there are ignorant people who think differently, and we talk some more about him approaching his depression head-on and about how there's nothing wrong with going for some counseling and then we repeated these same things using different words. He was trying to talk himself into believing all of it and I wanted sincerely to help him do that, but we were both out of new ideas, so we repeated the old ones. I didn't tell him I was gay because rightly or wrongly I felt my help would be more encouraging to him if it came from someone who he thinks is probably straight or perhaps bi. Eventually Anthony seemed secure with himself enough to hear something slightly humorous and I told him about something I'd read on line last week. It's about a survey some university was conducting involving gay men. One of the participants, a gay guy about Anthony's age, responded to a survey question about if he was given the choice of taking a hypothetical pill that would render gay men totally heterosexual, would he take it? The answer this guy gave was,"Let's see, would I take a pill that means I'd be giving up cocksucking forever? Hahahahahahaha, riiiiight!" Anthony actually had a little laugh, saying, "I think I might give the same answer if I can get the right counseling." I felt good he'd come around enough to laugh at himself. He really is a nice guy even if he is confused.

We needed a change of scenery so we went outside to talk and smoke a couple of cigarettes on the open walkway that runs the length of the motel's second floor. There's a deck chair on either side of each room's door allowing guests to sit outside and enjoy the view of the parking lot. With cigarette smoke drifting from my mouth, I say, "I need something to drink; something cold that has no alcohol in it, ya wanna come back to the party with me?" He thought for a few seconds then shook his head "No," saying, "I'm drunk enough and I'm afraid if I went back I'd get another beer. Anyway, I have a lot to think about, Dylan. You're a smart little dude, ya know that?" I'm shaking my head with a grin on my face, saying, "Little dude, what? Hey, I'm the same size as you. Why does everybody refer to me as little?" He takes a drag of his smoke shrugging his shoulders like he doesn't get what I'm saying. I chuckle, "It ain't worth discussing, actually," and get up holding my hand out to shake hands with him. He looks surprised, stands and hugs me instead of shaking hands, saying, "You said I could hug you, and you feel good, so I'm hugging you for all I'm worth!" After the hug, I ask what he's doing tomorrow and discover he's going to Atlantic City with a group of people from the barbecue, so I say, "Maybe I'll see ya Thursday or Friday," and he says, "Yeah, that'd be great; we can get drunk again and, you know." I must have looked startled because Anthony laughed like his old self, "That was a joke, Dylan." Then one last hug with a whispered, "Thank you so much, Dylan!" I replied that I hadn't done anything, but that he's welcome. Then a wave goodbye and I start down the steps looking back every couple of steps to see Anthony watching my every move until I'm out of sight, and then around the front of the motel on the sidewalk. I'm still too fucked up with booze to know what to make of everything. Truth is, I had no idea that there were people, like Anthony, suffering like that just because they're born homosexual. Guess I never thought it possible that being gay would be considered such a burden 'cause I feel blessed to be gay. There's probably millions of things troubling people that I've no idea about, and that's both scary and sad. I feel really bad for Anthony and hope he'll actually seek some help for himself, although I'm not optimistic that he will.

On the sidewalk now, I'm surprised to find lots of activity there: people going this way and that. I guess it's mostly the time of night families with young children are coming off the boardwalk heading to their rented rooms or condos to get the kids to bed, then maybe the parents can enjoy themselves for a few minutes with an adult beverage or just an hour of peace and quiet before they turn-in. Half the kids passing me are bitching to their parents about something or other; lots of bickering from over-tired children and parents. Vacations at the shore with young kids can wear ya out I guess. On the other hand, I'm having an awesome time myself which makes the contrast of Anthony's pain and my joy seem all the more startling. Poor Anthony. Man oh man, he's awfully good looking though and what a great talent he has for sucking cock. Lots of gay guys would be happy to have him as a boyfriend. Will Anthony ever find happiness himself though? I feel for him, really feel for him, but I shouldn't let it bring me totally down because I have more vacation time to enjoy and I did do my best consoling and encouraging him to get help. Mostly it's Anthony that has to help Anthony. Thinking these thoughts, I all of a sudden realize I'm near the house party and can hear the music and muffled noise, lots of energy. Forcing myself to stop dwelling on Anthony's problems and reinforcing my resolve to not drink anything containing Sambuca or beer I checked my watch and see I've been away from the party about an hour; it's ten o'clock already. Approaching the party house I find I'm playing a little pocket ball, enjoying the feeling in my dick with two things in my head at once: one is reliving the excellent blow job Anthony gave me and the other is wondering what Chubby's been up to all this time.

From somewhere I hear, "Yo, Newman! Over here!" It came from behind the party house so I step through someone's back yard and in the moonlight make out Artie standing by himself. I walk towards him, asking, "Whassup, Artie?" He's motioning with his hand for me to come closer and then I see Chubby passed out in a lawn chair, his chin on his chest. "WTF, dude?" I ask, and Artie says, "I'll tell ya what the fuck, he threw-up all over himself, and me; then when I was changing my clothes he wandered away and I finally found him out here stumbling around. I got him into a clean t-shirt and then he passes out on me." I'm like, "Dude, nice job!" He yells, "Oh yeah? Then I see this, look at this!" I look where he's pointing and see a big wet stain on the cushion of a lounge chair. I look back at Artie, puzzled, shrugging my shoulders, as if to say 'Yeah?' He shouts, "He pissed on my mother's fucking lounge chair cushion!" Artie's quite drunk himself, and loud. Us teens are just learning to drink and occasionally, well something like ninety percent of the time actually, we overdo it. It's a learning process. I'm motioning with my hands that Artie needs to keep it down, so he yells, "Where you been? I'm stuck out here with him and you're off doing... whatever! He's your best bud, that's what you said! You should be taking care of him!" I'm like, "Chill, dude! He was hooked up with you all night, don't give me this shit! I'm not his keeper, ya know." Artie grumbles, "Some friend you are!" and he stomps around the side of the house opposite of the way I'd just come and then it was silent, except for the quietest snore from Chubby. He has both hands at his crotch, which shows good sense, if ya ask me. I take a deep breath thinking, "What an asshole that Artie is!" then I see the top of a pack of cigarettes peeking out of Chubby's side pocket. Ah ha! He obviously scored some smokes somehow. I go over to him, quietly saying, "Chubby Romero? Is that you, Chub?" but he's out cold. Pulling the pack of cigarettes out I open the box and, yes! Chubby and I keep our matches inside the box once enough cigarettes have been smoked to make room for them. I light up looking at the pee-stained cushion and chuckling at the large amount of piss necessary to create a stain that big. Jesus! This situation has me feeling further removed from the somber mood I'd been in while walking here. Anthony's situation takes a back seat now and I'm feeling this lighter mood engulf me. A vacation mood, a much happier feeling. I mean, look at Chubby! Ha ha! But, I can't just stand here, I need a plan.

There's another lawn chair on the patio which I drag over in front of Chubby and sit down to enjoy a smoke while I figure out what to do with the lovable- drunk-best-friend-I'll-ever-have who's sleeping it off right in front of me. Hee hee. Some wild vacation we're having; two wicked booze loads in the last few days. Actually, this is rare for us but it'll be a blast when we're home exaggerating these drunken escapades. Pissing on a lounge chair! Outrageous! Then I realized, "Don't be so cocky, Dylan! You're still drunk yourself!" Yeah, I am, but not like Chub here. Oh boy! Then I felt tired as the reality of the situation sinks in: Really, what the hell am I going to do about Chubby? How am I gonna get him home? Get him home without the moms seeing him... or me. Hmmm? Then I giggle again; look at that fucking piss stain on the cushion! What a wild child Chubby is! Finished my cigarette I realize again that I'm dying of thirst. Tentatively I get up, unsure what I should do. Then I walk around the side of the house the way Artie had gone and find the party still going on full force, so what the hell. Glancing around I see Artie with a group from the football game sitting around a picnic table playing a drinking game, and not paying attention to me. Maybe ten couples are dancing in the driveway and lots of the same boisterousness from before was still in evidence. Being a little drunk increases the size of my balls by a factor of ten anyway, so I brazenly walk right past a few groups of people, and over to the tub full of iced beers and soft drinks. I know hardly any of these people in the first place so I tell myself just don't make eye contact with anyone and you won't get into a conversation. The hell with the beer, I grab two Lipton Ice Teas and saunter back the way I came thinking, "What a hot shit you are, Dylan!"

Sitting back in the lawn chair right in front of the sleeping Chubby, our knees touching, I snap open a can and take a wonderful swallow of the cold liquid. Taking sensible swallows I finish the can in about ninety seconds and manage to do it without getting a Popsicle headache. Ahhh! Yeah, baby, that hit the spot. I snap the tab on the second one and smoke another cigarette while drinking it slowly, staring at Chubby. God almighty, I love this kid! The moonlight illuminates him; it shines off his brown hair, which needs cutting. With the cigarette between my lips, I lean over and run my fingers through his hair, then rub the bangs up off his forehead to study his face; my favorite face. It's my favorite face except tonight there's some puke on his cute chin. That won't do. Pulling up the end of Artie's t-shirt that Chubby's wearing, I spit on a section and wipe the puke off Chubby's chin. There! Sitting back down I stare some more and the next thing I hear is the sound of a can bouncing onto something hard. Seems I'd dozed off and dropped the soft drink can on the brick patio. Giggling, I picked it up and drain the remaining tea. Stepping on the cigarette butt I'd dropped when I dozed off, and chuckling to myself about falling asleep, I took a few steps over and did a nice long pee right on top of the pee stain Chubby had made on the cushion! Fuck Artie! Hee hee...

Okay, I'm feeling okay now. Action, that's what I gotta take, some action. I get my hand under Chubby's chin and lift his head, saying, "It's the police, son. Wake the fuck up! You're under arrest!" He's like, "Huh? Barbara Wawa...." I'm yelling, "Barbara Wawa? What the fuck's wrong with you, dreaming about that old bag?" Chubby's moving his legs, going nowhere, mumbling, "Who, who's that?" I say, "It's Barbara, baby... I've come to blow ya!" He starts laughing, then coughing, muttering, "You asshole, Dylan! I'm resting my eyes for a fucking minute and you try to trick..." He stops because he's touching his pockets where his pack of cigarettes used to be, but aren't anymore 'cause they're in my pocket now. Then he's feeling his other pockets, muttering, "Where? What the fuck happened to my Marlboros? I've been robbed." He's still very drunk. I ask, "What were you drinking?" and Chubby looks up and says, "Dylan! Where you been, man?" I smirk at him and start to say something, but he interrupts to says, "Drinking? What was I drinking? We played categories and I couldn't think of enough good answers. I kept giving the answer that had just been given so I had to drink! Where were you?" I blow out a lot of air thinking, "This is gonna be a pain in the ass!" then go, "I was resting my eyes. Let's go, get up." I'm pulling him out of the chair with an hand under his armpits and between the two of us he gets on his feet and swoons, "Ooohhh, I'm spinning!" I hug him against me, he's limp for a second, then says, "I gotta pee." I'm like, "There's the pee cushion," and without hesitation Chubby whips it out and pees a long pee on the cushion without questioning the sense of it. While peeing, he says, "Beer, I had to drink a cup of beer every time someone got the wrong answer." I say, "You mean, every time you got the wrong answer." He goes, "Huh? Whaddya mean, bro? Answer to what?" He's not kidding, he's serious. I say, "Forget about it. Let's go." Chubby shakes his little pecker to get the last drop off, puts it back in his pants, but doesn't zip up. I zip him up saying, "Hey, I'm drunk too so don't expect me to be taking care of you." He goes, "Let's sober up in the ocean." I mutter, "Two drunks swimming in the ocean, in the dark; what could go wrong?" He's like, "Huh? What's wrong?"

We're on our way to the beach, but already it isn't going well. Chubby's staggering around and while I'm good with taking care of myself, I'm still slightly tipsy too, so keeping Chubby on the right track is a struggle. He's giggling, telling me some convoluted story about the girl with tits as big as my head. I can't understand half of what he's saying, but he thinks it's funny. We go the opposite of the way Artie went to avoid coming into direct contact with party people. It's only a block to the beach where we find we're not alone in the sand. Chubby and me aren't the only drunks from the party who think it's a good idea to run around in the dark. A group was trying to play catch with a football and a few others were in the ocean splashing around. I almost stepped on another reveler, a girl about twenty years old, who was down for the count in the sand, snoring loudly. I steered Chubby five beach blocks over to where the moms sit each day; we're the only people on this beach. Wading out in the water carrying our sandals I felt pretty good about our progress and feeling better myself all the time; not yet sober, but getting closer. Chubby was quiet and moving okay but I kept a hand on his arm just the same. Then, feeling protective of him, I hug Chubby around his shoulders and when the water was above my knees, I tell him, "This is far enough, Chubby," which sort of woke him up. He looks around and goes, "Huh? Oh, Dylan... ah, someone stole my cigarettes!" I go, "Ya don't say, Chub, that's a bitch! Some people have no class. Ya want one of mine?" He goes, "Oh, sure. You got cigarettes?" I lit one and handed it to him. I've noticed that cigarettes make you drink more booze and that drinking booze makes you crave more cigarettes; a vicious circle, although it seems like a good idea when you're doing it. I lit one for myself, and say, "You threw up on Artie." Chubby sways while taking a drag, I steady him with my arm around his shoulders. He exhales and says, "Bullshit! I never threw up on anybody. I mean, I've thrown up before, but not tonight." I say, "Oh! Then someone threw-up on your chin." He goes, "Chin?"

Man, I'm starting to have fun with this. We wade out a little further in water that's now above my knees and after a bit a rogue wave drifted into us so I went up on my toes, but it still wet me almost to my balls. Chubby remained flatfooted and he's four inches shorter than me so the wave wet him to his waist, he's like, "Fucken ocean!" I'm laughing and he takes an awkward step, then his knees buckle and down we both go, the water over our heads. I drag him up sputtering and spitting; the bizarreness of our situation gets me on a laughing jag that Chubby joins in on without knowing what I'm laughing at, just like he does when he's sober. Oh my God, what a cluster fuck we are at the moment. I managed to get us out of the ocean to the wet sand where we plop down on our asses. Here the waves just reach us, then peter out and return with the undertow to join their friends. The cigarettes we'd been smoking were extinguished and the remaining ones in the box were ruined when we went under water. Our laughing runs out of steam and we sit there for a minute. Another wave reaches us but it's only and inch of water by the time it gets to us. We both watch it surround us and then return where it came from. "This sucks, Dylan!" I start laughing again as I'm getting both of us on our feet. We stagger up the beach and onto the street of our condo. Chubby complains, "There's sand in my pants, bro, and we're soaking wet." I guess I'm supposed to straighten out everything. Hmmm, there's a motel two blocks down from our condo with an unguarded swimming pool. I lead us there telling Chubby we'll jump in the pool to get the sand and salt water off of us and then I'll think of something else after that. Chubby's like, "What?" so I go, "Right!" and he mumbles something unintelligible as we approach the pool. No lights 'cause it's after eleven now and while there's still a lot of action on the boardwalk, there isn't any here. I reach over and unlatch the gate, ignoring the PRIVATE PROPERTY: GUESTS ONLY sign. Like I said, booze increases the size of my balls, so fuck it! I step out of my sandals, pull my wet t-shirt over my head, drop my boardies, and jump into the pool naked. With a frown on his cute face Chubby watches me swimming in the pool for ten seconds, then he jumps in with his clothes on. I swim over to pull his pants off, but I can't get the t-shirt over his head. Then I drag him over to the steps at the swallow end and we walk up and out of the pool cleaned of the salt water and sand but reeking of chlorine. I take two fluffy courtesy towels conveniently piled high in a covered cart for the motel's paying customers and wrap one around me and one around Chubby who holds his there, and says, "What now, bro?" almost like he knew what was going on. I say, "We get the fuck away from here... that's the first thing."

Fishing Chubby's swimsuit and sandals from the pool, then gathering up my stuff, we shuffle away from the pool two blocks up to where our condo sits waiting for us. I say to Chubby, "At this time of night, the moms probably aren't even home. Lets take a chance of going right in and if they are there I'll BS us through to our room. You say absolutely nothing! Okay?" Chubby asks, "About what?" At the condo I'm getting our key from the hiding spot, the moms carry their key with them. Chubby's looking around, dripping wet from head to foot, then he says, as if it just occurred to him, "Hey, my fucking sandals are wet!" I start laughing again, saying, "No shit! They were only in the ocean and the pool!" He frowns at that and I hug him, my bare chest against his wet t-shirt for a second, and then open the condo's main door. Okay, so far... I cross my fingers hoping the moms are still out partying and then up the steps we go. Inside our unit's front door I notice there are no purses on the side table where the moms leave them, so the purses are out with the moms partying. "They're out, Chubby," he says, "Who?" and I laugh out loud. "Come on, bro, we're taking a shower," as I lead him to our room. Inside I click the lock on the doorknob and drop my towel and the wet clothes I've been carrying in a pile on the floor. I'm naked and when I pull Chubby's towel off him, I say, "Lift your arms," he asks, "Why?" as he's lifting his arms and I get the wet t-shirt off him. "Come on, Chubby. Into the tub." Our bathroom is the smaller of the two here in the condo, but it's in our room so that's convenient, and private.

The bathtub serves as the shower too. Getting the water flowing from both the overhead and hand-held shower heads, I motion for Chubby to come on over. Chubby's watching me, then he mumbles, "I don't want a shower, I wanna go to sleep." "Get your ass over here!" I tell him, and he does it then; it could have gone either way. With Chubby you just don't know... he could have said, "Fuck you," but he didn't. I helped him into the tub, getting in right behind him so he wouldn't fall. "Wha? Ya don't, I mean... we're taking a shower together? This is sooooo gay!" I'm like, "You'd fall and crack your head if I left you here by yourself." He gets dramatic, saying, "Ooooh, you take care of me, bro. He ain't heavy, he's not heavy, he's... how's that go?" I'm standing behind Chubby with an arm around in front of him just below his pecs squeezing shampoo onto his head with my other hand, then rubbing the shampoo into his hair. I nudge Chubby forward so that the water stream is hitting him on top of his head, shampoo suds rolling down all around his head. "Keep your eyes and mouth shut, Chub, or you'll get soap in them." Chubby must be doing it because he's quiet. When his hair is rinsed I back up, lowering him to the floor of the tub in a sitting position because I can now see that I can't wash him using only one hand. I'm feeling almost sober although I know from past experiences that it's a false soberness; I'm soberer now than I was two hours ago, but not as sober as I'll be tomorrow morning. Chubby's not going to be really sober till sometime tomorrow afternoon at which time his friend hangover will say a loud, head-splitting "HOW YA DOING, ASSHOLE?" My hangover will be mild compared to his.

As I'm soaping up a washcloth, Chubby looks up at me and says, "I feel stupid sitting here like this," I've got a lot of soap on a washcloth by now so I start washing his back, saying, "I'll make it quick, Chubby. Tomorrow you'll be so glad we did this tonight." He didn't argue or fight me, he was docile actually; barely awake. I washed him, lifting each arm and then washing his face with him closing his eyes real tight like a six year old might do it. That made me do an exaggerated washing of his ears which didn't need washing, giggling while saying, "You could grow potatoes in these ears!" He mumbled, "Wha...?" making me laugh a little more. See what I mean about not really being sober? I got his chest and a good portion of his crotch washed, which, by the way, didn't freak out Chubby; hell, we used to shave each other's pubes so it isn't like we're not used to touching each other. Stepping around him in the tub I got in front of him to wash his great looking legs. I chuckled again thinking how we used to shave each other's legs only to discover when we stopped doing it that neither of us grew enough leg hair to bother with. Of course, at eleven years old Chubby didn't want the fuzz that began to appear on his legs so that's when we started doing the shaving with Chubby rationalizing it, saying, "This isn't unusual, Dylan, 'cause if we were on the swim team we'd shave ourselves." I always replied, "Yeah, but we're not on the swim team!" and Chubby would counter with something meaningless, like, "I'm just saying, that's all." Ha ha ha! Those were the days! I was done with his legs and working on his feet when I glanced up and see that Chubby is looking much more alert now, his eyes shinier than the previous glazed look. What the...? Then I remember his foot fetish; how could I forget that? I drop the washcloth and work on his feet with soapy hands. My fingers sliding between his toes and down the slope of the arch in his foot and cup his heel to scrunch his toes together in the sudsy froth of soap that I'm creating with all the massaging. It reminds me briefly of the time Gary washed my feet in the public lavatory. After a bit Chubby lets out a squeaking sound, then takes a deep stuttering breath. As I continue working on his foot I wonder if I'm taking advantage of Chubby in his drunken condition, so I ask, "You okay, Chubby?" He says, "Yeah, don't stop, I'm good." I ask, "You sure? Maybe I'm being too gay?" He goes, "Oh no, this isn't gay at all. You're taking care of me. Remember that time you got drunk and fell down the stairwell or something? And I took care of you?" He's making a question out of that because it never happened. He may be getting things mixed-up with that crazy Joel dropping me into the stairwell that time. I say, "Tell me if you feel uncomfortable." After thirty seconds, he answers, "I feel good. The foot massage feels good. My dick feels good too. Let's do what we used to do before I got a girlfriend; let's jerk our wieners off. Ya wanna?" The footsie play has him poking at his dick. Hmmm?

Okay, he asked for it and we've done it many times before so to hell with me being a martyr, lets just do it. I drop his foot and say, "Okay, I'll do you first. Let me help you stand up. I get him under one arm and get him standing with his assistance this time. As we're standing I'd grabbed the soapy washcloth from the bottom of the tub which I now use to soap up his dick. Standing behind him with an arm around his chest I get his slippery dick and balls loosely in my fist sliding my fist upward until his balls drop off as I get to the head of his cock, which is already half a boner. Chubby goes, "Ohh, yeah, that feels good, bro." I do it again and his head falls back against my shoulder, his great bubble ass is just below my groin leaning back against the top of my thighs. Both shower heads are still flowing and everything is steamy hot, wet and slippery. We're standing in the back part of the tub so the shower's stream is just getting the lower part of Chubby's legs. Using my thumb, index, and middle fingers I stroke the foreskin on and off the head of his cock in a slow steady manner listening to Chubby take deep breaths, my cock against the top of his buttocks is firm, but not a boner; if I were sober it'd be a boner by now. Chubby sighs and then says, "You'd probably be surprised, Dylan, at how many brothers never, never, never do this, so we're not... Wait... I mean always, always, always do this." I go, "Oh, Chubby, I already know that 'cause you've been telling me for years." He says, "Fucking A, you have."

Being drunk didn't seem to slow Chubby's dick any; drunk or sober, he gets hard boners fast! It took only about a minute for his cock to get rock hard and for Chubby to change from mumbling rationalizations to grunting and moaning, "Ahh! Ohh! Whoa! Ohh!" as I stroked his soapy cock; his back arching away from me, his ass and shoulders pushing against me. He's got both hands behind me holding onto the back of my thighs (some might say my ass, but I'm sure Chubby considers that the back of my thighs). He's picking up his verbal responses now, going, "Oh! Oh! Ahh! Ahh! Yeah, faster! Ohh!" I stroked his boner faster, and then even faster and tighter, as I see the skin withdrawal completely off his cock's head, which is now shiny-tight. Precum dripping, drip, drip and then he pulls his head forward, then bangs it back against my shoulder, squealing "Eeeeee yeaaaaah!" and shoots a tight string of cum against the front of the shower's tile wall, then follows that quickly with four more shorter strings. He pinched both my butt cheeks hard with his thumbs and fingers at each shot of spunk, his entire body convulsing slightly with each one too. Grunting and bumping his ass against my thighs, his shoulders shuddered as his right hand comes around to take over the stroking. Fifteen seconds of hard stroking and then he's laying back against me moaning, "Oooh, Dylan, that was good." He's giggling, then stops to say, "We're closer than brothers, ya know. That's why, I mean all the things we've been... the early days. Remember?" I'm murmuring, "You bet, Chubby. Let me get ya with one final rinse off and you can get in bed, okay?" He's already forgotten the jerk off, "I told you I wanted to get to sleep a long time ago!"

He's forgotten about jerking my wiener off too, but I didn't need it anyway; not after that excellent head Anthony gave me. And also, a heavy tiredness came over me all of a sudden; it covers me like a blanket. I use the hand held shower head to direct the water stream all over Chubby, who's still holding his dick. Then, carefully, I get him out of the tub and onto the closed toilet lid where he sits slumped over as I dry him. His eyes are closed and he's probably halfway to dreamland right now, but he's shiny clean! He continues sitting there after I've thoroughly towel dried him and, as I'm energetically rubbing his hair dry, his head moves loosely under my hands. Getting his toothbrush loaded up with toothpaste I move the Sonic brush around in his mouth the best I can, then, while standing him up his eyes flutter open and I hand him a cup of water and said, "Rinse your mouth, Chubby." He did it three times, but I'll bet you a million dollars he won't remember doing it tomorrow. He might not remember the jerk off either; it's fifty-fifty. "Come on, Chub," and I lead him to our bed, both my hands at his waist. He stumbles over, bumping into the side and then laying across the bed. I turn him around lengthwise and pull his legs up to push them under the covers. While I'm adjusting the pillow under his head, he says, "Why was that...?" To hell with trying to get boxers on him; we'll both sleep naked for once. I lean over and kiss his lips lightly. I'm so tired myself now I consider climbing into bed with Chubby right now, but I want my own shower real bad so, mumbling to myself, "Fuck it!" I stagger back into the bathroom and take a quick shower with the hot water changing to warm and then barely tepid as I'm rinsing off. It feels so good being clean! I brush my teeth, gargled, floss, as a tribute to Chubby's latest hygiene fad, and climb over Chubby, who's on my side of the bed, to sleep on his side.

Morning came too fast. I woke up with Chubby pinching my arm mumbling, "How'd we get back to the room last night, Dylan?" I say, "Go back to sleep, Chubby!" looking at the night stand clock, it's six in the morning! We've been sleeping only six hours and Chubby's still half drunk. Chubby says, grinning, "I had a dream about you, Mr. Gay-best-bud." I'm interested, "What was the dream about?" He rolls over and gets both his arms around my neck, his lips against my ear. His scent is all around me and my dick stirs, his arms feel so nice around my neck, he whispers with his lips against my ear, "You jerked off my wee wee and it spit out lots of spunk," and he's giggling again. I say, "Chubby, you're still drunk!" My head aches, so I'm in hangover mode, but Chubby's acting almost as drunk as last night. Well, not that bad, but he's still smashed. He thinks that my whacking off his wiener in the tub last night was a dream. With his lips still against my ear he does a stage whisper, saying, "I'm a little bit high, but not drunk, bro, and I got a surprise for you." This has my heart bumping against the ribs in my chest, could it be....? I ask, "What surprise?" He tightens his hug around my neck and says, "You smell good, bro!" I ask again, "What's the surprise, Chubby?" He goes, "This..." as he humps his semi-boner against my right butt cheek, and says, "We're both naked," as if I didn't know that. I go, "Oh, we are?" He says, "You sooo want this, but you need to do what I say, okay?" I mumble, "I guess," and he lets go of my neck telling me to roll over on my stomach and pull my knees up under me. I do that and he says, "Hug your knees and make yourself into a ball and stay like that." I don't know how I know this, but I'm sure this is one of the ways Ricky fucked Chubby. Chubby wouldn't think this up by himself, and he's still half drunk and half asleep so he's working out a dream sequence or maybe it's a fantasy; that'd be nice if he has a fantasy about fucking me.

It's not a real comfortable position though, so after a few seconds I unwrap my arms and stay in the scrunched up position but lay my forehead on my forearms. Chubby's scrambling under the covers to get behind me and then lays his chest on my back with the inside of his thighs tight on the outside of mine. "You're my sex toy now, Dylan!" I remember hearing this same cadence in Ricky's speech pattern; Chubby almost sounded like him just then. I go, "Good, 'cause I'm gay." He says, "Hey, you're not supposed to say anything, don't you remember?" How could I remember when we've never done this before? He's lying on my back with his mouth near my ear and his semi-hard dick between my legs, but because of the size differential, it feels so different than when Gary had his cock between my legs. Chubby whispers, "Dylan, listen... do you remember graduation night, and what we did?" I go, "Uh huh," he says, "Well, we're going to do it again, okay?" I go, "Uh huh," and he humps his hips moving his dick back and forth along my ass crack. His dick gets hard pretty fast; Chubby breathes faster the harder his dick gets. He says, trying to sound demanding, "Tighten your body into a ball!" so I get a little tighter and, as I'm doing that, I feel some wetness from Chubby's dick; a touch of precum has appeared to assist with entry. Chubby says, "He didn't care if it hurts, but I care, Dylan; tell me if it hurts, okay?" This is fascinating, like living inside one of Chubby's dreams. I quietly say, "Sure, thanks, Chubby," and he says a formal sounding, "You're welcome," which struck me as funny and I almost blurted out a laugh except the contact of Chubby's body draped over mine has given me a boner and I concentrated on that instead of a chuckle. Boners rule! Chubby leaned up off of my back, sitting on his ankles and takes his boner between his fingers to guide it back and forth on my buttocks and along my crack with the wet head occasionally poking the back of my balls. His breathing is a wheezing sound now, as he says, "Your skin is like velvet, Dylan... or maybe silk, I forget which one." That almost had me blurt out a laugh too, but I didn't. It's not funny of course the way Ricky dominated Chubby for months; had him brainwashed actually. That's what Chubby claims anyway and maybe Chubby's working through something in his head with this; something that will help him deal with the bad memories. Or, maybe he's just drunk and horny and used to porking Mary Jo who hasn't been around for days. Maybe this, and maybe that. Who really knows what's going on inside another person's brain?

Chubby, all of a sudden is raring to go, he asks, "Ready, Dylan?" I'm about to answer, but I feel the head of his dick at my anus as he asks the question and the next second his dick is four inches up my ass and I'm biting my tongue because it hurt a bit. Chubby grunts and hisses, "That fucking hurt my dick! Owww!" I was holding my breath looking at stars right in front of my eyes when he retracts his cock completely and then plugged it right back up inside me again, then again, and again; pulling it totally out and then humping it right back in till his crotch smacked my buttocks. It was going up much smoother now and I had no more thoughts of laughing. He begins doing full four inch withdrawal and thrust leaving the head inside with each, murmuring, "Oh, this is better! Oh my God, this feels good." That comment is followed by heavy breathing as he does a steady dozen full blown fucking thrusts, then he lays on my back panting with his boner up inside me doing little humps against my backside. I felt his heart pounding on my back and the side of his face against my neck. He moans a little, and says, "Oh wow, I forgot how much different it is to do it this way." I'm taking deep breaths just this side of blowing my load because those last strokes felt awesome. Even more than the erotic way it feels to have a boy's cock up my ass, it's knowing it's Chubby's cock inside me, and that he initiated getting it there, this is totally a new and even more awesome experience. The only way it could be better is if he were sober. He wraps his arms around my neck, pulling my head back next to the side of his face, tightened his legs against the sides of mine and, with only hip motion, fucks me for two minutes with both of us making quiet little squeaks with each thrust. Even though Chubby climaxed about six hours ago in the bathtub, he shot off first and his spunk got my ass messy which made me clench my jaw, squeeze my eyes closed, contract every muscle in my body and shoot four streams of cum onto myself. Because of my scrunched-up position, most of the cum made it only as far as my lower belly and it was creamy/slimy between the top of my thighs and my belly. Now both my front and rear are drooling with cum. Chubby's spunk in the back and mine in the front, what could be better than that? My ears were ringing from the climax sensation and those wonderful buzzing, electrical sensations were all over and around my groin and rectum; tingling and erotic and awesome!

Chubby's grunting something, but I don't know what. He's literally lying on my back and by now we're both sweaty as he grinds his hips pushing his groin against by ass cheeks. Then, abruptly he pulls out, letting go of my throat and, at the same time, says, "On your back now, okay?" I roll over and Chubby, on his knees, scrambles in between my legs. He looks down at me pulling on his boner. He smiles a half-drunken smug smile and sits back on his ankles to wrap his hands around each of my ankles, spreading my legs. He scoots up then, and lines his cock with my hole without benefit of his fingers and presses his slippery boner back up inside me in one fast thrust; he'd gotten me opened up nicely with the first fuck and his boner slides back up like it belongs there. I go, "Ohhhh, man, that feels so good!" He's grinning now as he spreads my legs wide and begins a new fuck. Even though it's feeling really good, I don't expect another climax. It's a great ride though and as we approach the ten minute mark Chubby's giving no indication he'll be slowing down any time soon. Well okay, my ass is feeling so fabulous by now I just might get another spurt or two of spunk... hope so! It's happening, there a deliciously sexy feeling coming on me all around my rectum, my balls, and my bouncing boner. Oh God! This is such an unexpected surprise: Chubby was right, he did have a surprise for me! My ass is feeling so thrillingly fantastic it reminds me of something from childhood. I used to get poison ivy on my hands as a kid and mom would admonish me not to scratch it or it would spread. She'd put calamine lotion between my fingers and on the back of them, but the itching was enough to drive me nuts. If I used will power the lotion would eventually dry up the poison ivy blisters and eliminate the itching. Me, as a seven year old, ignored that advice though and in bed I'd drag the end of my sheets between my fingers scratching that itching poison ivy till the friction made the edge of the sheet warm. The sense of temporary relief from the unbearable itching that this action provided was a thrilling treat, it felt so good scratching those blisters that tears of ecstasy would come to my eyes; nothing ever felt so good. That is until I discovered getting fucked. Chubby's thrusting his fat-headed four-plus inches of boner repeatedly up my ass had me tearing up with the same degree of thrilling sensations in my ass I'd get from scratching my poison ivy! Some things feel so good they're indescribable!

When Chubby bent over towards me sucking his lips in I knew he was about to blow his second load up my ass. I had the feeling in my dick too and started stroking myself and, along with Chubby, I picked up the pace of my stroking, matching the pace of his boner slamming up my ass. He's going, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" as his head comes down lower and lower till the top of his head is touching my nose and his wonderfully subtle boy smell proved to be the tipping point for me. With my nose bumping the top of his head I grunted, "Chub! Chub! Ahhh!" and a watery splash flew out the head of my cock wetting my fingers and thumb followed immediately by a spurt of creamy cum which plopped out on my belly button. I felt Chubby's squirt of cum from his second climax wet my hole about thirty seconds later. He collapsed on top of me after that and I put my arms around him and held him tight to my body. His cock slipped out of me and cum drooled down to pool on the bed next to my ass. We were sweaty even though the condo is air-conditioned. Sweaty or not, it's nice holding Chubby like this, but after a few minutes I realize that he'd gone back to sleep. I thought, "Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! At least he didn't fall asleep while he was fucking me!" Maybe in his mind this double fuck on my ass is another dream he had during the night. Then I wondered if this dream scenario is just another way for Chubby to rationalize away the fact he wanted to fuck me and, in fact, did fuck me twice this morning. He's a mystery at times, but I'm not complaining about anything at the moment. No vacation could have gone better than this one, and we have three more days of it left. Yum! Now, to be honest, evaluating the sex: It's like the first time Chubby fucked me four months ago, my expectations then were higher than the reality of it could possibly match and that's the case today too although I truly loved every second of it. Probably the anticipation and later the memory of something desperately desired will always surpass the actual desired event no matter what that event might be. Reality often falls short of fantasy.

As much as I like the feel of Chubby's body, now that he's asleep he's dead weight and it's becoming uncomfortable and there's a lot more perspiration building up between our bodies so I ease him off of me. He lays exactly in the position I put him in. Hey, I guess he really did just fall asleep; it seems pretty convenient though. Getting up carefully so as not to wake him, I went in the bathroom to pee and then cleaned Chubby's creamy spunk off the back of my ass and legs, washed my hands and face, then brushed my teeth again. I'm really thirsty so I drink two cups of water from the sink faucet and get back into bed, again climbing over an inert Chubby. It wasn't long before I was in a deep sleep once again and when I woke this time it was after ten o'clock. That's a lot better, but still I dozed back to sleep on and off for another half hour and then lay half asleep daydreaming for another half hour or so; my daydreaming was about last night and this morning with Anthony and Chubby. I was under the influence of booze at times during those episodes, but never too drunk that I can't remember everything clearly. It was a unique night and morning to say the least!

Chubby woke up about this time, stared at me, then mumbled, "Did ya like my surprise this morning?" So, he isn't going to claim he dreamed it! I rolled my eyes up as if I was thinking about it, then said, "Oh, you mean that! Jeez, yeah, I almost forgot, but it was good. Yeah, I liked it. I'm gay, ya know." He shakes his head slowly as he's getting out of bed, muttering, "There's just no pleasing some people." He goes into the bathroom, leaves the door open and pees into the toilet water making that pissing sound, then I hear his tooth brush, then the shower comes on so I get up and change the sheets on the bed. I've got a little headache, not much. The new sheets look so inviting that I crawl under the covers and doze off again. After his shower, Chubby gets back in bed wearing boxer shorts, mumbling, "This hangover is worse than the one I had the other day. I took four Tylenol and drank four cups of water; now I need more sleep. Cover for me, will ya, Dylan. You know, if the moms wonder why I'm in bed all day." He's very pale. I tell him not to worry, that I'll tell them he's got a touch of food poising like Marsha had last week. He closes his eyes and in three minutes is breathing evenly again, making quiet sleeping sounds.

After another ten minutes of laying there awake I get up. Fuck it, I can't go back to sleep so I take another shower too and think some more about Chubby fucking me. It was sexy of course but different in some way from Robby fucking me, which is weird because they both have pretty much identical cocks. Hmmm, so what's the difference? It could be technique, it's definitely partly technique and as far as that goes, Willie fucks me better than either Chubby or Robby, but that doesn't mean I'd rather have him fuck me than the boys I have a deep love for. No sir-ee, it don't mean that, although I am looking forward to seeing Willie again. That theme is to be thought about at another time though. For now I'm thinking how Chubby being drunk, or partially drunk, during sex detracted from the experience some and the fact he did it without actually being in love with me detracts also; he loves me, but he's not in love with me. Both Willie and Robby are in love with me and that makes a difference. Oh well, enough of this contemplation, I dry off and get dressed noticing there isn't any movement in the condo except mine so I guess the moms are already on the beach. My hangover isn't real noticeable but I do need coffee so I drive the Jeep to Dunkin' Donuts for a large regular coffee and bring it back to drink on the deck. I'd normally get one for Chubby too, but he's gonna be sleeping till this afternoon and will want a cold drink when he wakes up.

It's a cloudy day with rain in the forecast for this afternoon so that makes me feel a little better about missing today on the beach. The coffee's good but drinking coffee makes me think about a cigarette and I try smoking one only to have it bring on a pounding headache. Fuck! I stub it out and go back to wondering about Chubby's motivation for his early morning screwing frenzy. He was still partially drunk and he seemed to be sliding in and out of various roles while apparently reproducing the way Ricky fucked him, I'm pretty sure of that. Ya know what, I'm gonna come right out and ask him as soon as he's recovered enough from his hangover. The Ricky connection during the sex this morning was weird and a little disturbing. And, like I said, it detracted from my sexual pleasure some, but even so it was still very sexy to me simply because it was Chubby doing the fucking. He's so bi and simply won't admit it, but big deal... so what? Finished with my coffee and getting hungry, I go into the kitchen and see a note from the moms taped to the refrigerator door that I'd overlooked earlier. "HI BOYS! Since it's going to rain this afternoon we've gone antiquing in Cape May . We'll eat dinner out so you boys are on you're own again. What's new, huh? Love you guys!" Signed, as always, "The moms." So they're not on the beach after all. The reference to dinner makes me think "chicken soup!" That's what Chubby and I need for our hangovers.

A little later I drive to the supermarket and buy two quarts of College Inn low-sodium chicken broth, a box of dry Lipton Soup Secrets Chicken Soup mix, two pounds of skinless boneless chicken thighs, a zucchini, a sweet potato, green onions, and a bunch of carrots, and one ear of white Jersey corn. Chubby and I like other vegetables in our chicken vegetable soup too, like cabbage, beans, and peas, and others but the ones I picked out will do just fine. Four crusty French rolls complete my shopping. Back at the condo I check on Chubby who has rolled to the side of the bed I slept on last night, but he's still out of it. In a pot I pour the two quarts of chicken broth and one whole packet of the dry soup mix and all the chicken thighs. Bring it to the simmer and let it cook gently for two hours so the chicken will add to the flavor of the broth and be so tender after simmering for two hours it'll melt in our mouths. Out on the deck I'm successful in smoking a cigarette as I drink a can of Lipton Iced Tea and wonder why the hell hangovers demand such great quantities of liquids. And then the rains came down, not in sheets like it did for the first drunken endeavor of our vacation, but it's raining hard. I got wet putting the awning down by myself, but it was worth it to sit outside in the misty breeze and watch the rains drops dance on the deck. The ocean, just visible between the condos from my spot on the deck looked dark and angry, the waves big; they'd be fun to body surf on. Using my iPod I listened to The Bare Naked Ladies CD, the one with Where We Used to Live on it. What a cool song! Lots of their songs are cool. Feeling better and getting hungry, I checked the soup and then made a fried egg and cheese sandwich, drinking another ice tea with it. After listening to another CD I check my watch; it's after four o'clock so where the hell is Chubby? When I check, he's in the bathroom, that's where the hell Chubby is, and for once he's closed the door. Right outside that door, I ask, "You alright, Chubby?" He groans and says, "I might live after all. Your main function for the rest of my life is to prevent me from drinking anything stronger than Gatorade." I go, "Oh, okay!" I was feeling a sense of relief because it's kind of scary having him sleep all day like this. "I'm out on the deck, Chub. Come on out when you can." Faking cheerfulness, he says, "Oh, sure, bro. As soon as I'm done throwing up everything I ate or drank since last Thursday, I'll be right there!" I say, "Goody!"

Oh man, he must have had much more to drink than me. When he showed up on the deck, Chubby's a clean boy, but a very pale one carrying two cold bottles of waters. "That soup smells good, Dylan. What kind of vegetables did ya get?" I tell him and he drinks half the first bottle of water in one long swallow, then asks, "When's it gonna be ready?" I say, "It's been simmering for over two hours, I can add the vegetables and have it in a bowl for you in ten minutes." "That'd be nice, bro," he mumbles. He's still hurting so I drop the conversation and go inside to cut up the vegetables as the rain comes down harder; it's a gloomy day at the shore. All the vegetables get cut into one-half inch pieces and then I husk the corn and cut off the kernels. The soup lifts my spirits; Chubby's too. We both have two bowls and two rolls; the rest is saved in the refrigerator. Chubby lays down again as I clean up the kitchen, then smoke and listen to some more music on the deck. A half hour later Chubby reappears and we wander out into a drizzling, misting rain. We walk slowly up to the boardwalk needing the exercise and fresh air. I was feeling real good by now and Chubby was much improved.

We didn't talk much for the first twenty minutes of our walk, then Chubby stops and leans against the boardwalk's railing looking out at the dark ocean and overcast skies, and says, "What did you think of me doing that sex stuff on you this morning?" I say, "I already told you I liked it, Chubby. It's what gay guys do." Taking a deep breath, he quietly says, "You know I'm not gay, bro... I did it 'cause I was still drunk and in my head I was curious, I guess." I go, "Okay, whatever, Chubby." He looks at me for a second, then says, "Ya know, that was Ricky's favorite way of doing it to me. He was doing it like that when I was still thinking I liked him doing it. When I decided I didn't like him doing it that way, or any other way for that matter, that's when the shit started to hit the fan... but, the shit hitting the fan occurred over time... not all at once." I go, "I know, you told me it was a drawn-out process." Chubby quietly goes, "Yeah, and that's when the threats began too." He'd told me most of this before, not the part about it being Ricky's favorite position, but the other stuff. Maybe it was cathartic for him to repeat himself about these unpleasant matters. He continued, not looking at me, but staring way out to sea, "If I refused to participate he promised to tell the world what was happening between us, and because I believed him and was afraid to have it be known to the moms and you and everyone at school I did what he wanted and then all that garbage that happened afterward, happened. The worst thing I could have done was cave-in to the threats like I did, the spankings and everything got worse and worse after that, until... well, you know. Until that night." Chubby's referring to that night he came home from work with ugly bruises on his buttocks and the back of his thighs. I'd insisted he tell me what happened and it all came out how Ricky was being brutal with Chubby; fucking, spanking and humiliating him. I pulled in a favor from Jake who got some unsavory characters he knows to beat-up Ricky and his old man, then burn down their house. Obviously Chubby would prefer not reliving that part of his life so I don't know what to say, except, "Fuck with us at your own peril!" He nods his head, remembering, and murmurs, "Yeah, but I was so fucked-up letting him do that to me. I've never felt so disgusted with myself." As he quietly talked, out of nowhere, my thoughts went to the agony Anthony suffers from his guilt about being gay and it made me wonder if Chubby is suffering like that now, or back then during the Ricky thing. It hurts me really badly to think it was like that for Chubby, or is like that now, and he didn't or won't come to me. We always go to each other for our most worrisome problems, no matter what. Or, we used to before we split up and got jobs. I'm thinking, "Society has really done a number on the brains of some of our gay boys in this country!" Then I wondered why I've been spared this torment? Oh, and I'm not saying definitively that Chubby's a gay boy, but Anthony certainly is by his own admission... and probably Chubby is too, and if not gay he's at least bisexual. No need to shove that fact down his throat anytime soon though. I guess I've been spared because I embraced the idea of being gay; you know, 'cause the sex feels so good and boys are so cute and all.

I was okay with smoking again by now, so yippee! Yeah, I know smoking is stupid, but it's way cool too. As we leaned against the railing, quiet at the moment, I lit a cigarette and offered it to Chubby. His eyes got real big, and he shook his head like he's petrified of a lit cigarette. I chuckle and say, "Right now a cigarette is the last thing in the world you want, but tomorrow, when you drink your coffee there won't be many things in the world you'll want more than a cigarette. You watch and see; it's addictive, dude!" He's like, "I know, I know!" Then we're silent again for a little bit before Chubby says, "What'd ya really think of me doing that... you know, that sex this morning?" I told him again that it was great and any time he's curious about anything gay, I'm his boy; he can count on me. I tried to keep it light because he seems unusually serious today. Not wanting to waste Chubby's willingness to discuss this topic, I asks, "Did you enjoy doing that to me today? Did it feel good?" He goes, "Maybe it's because of my uninhibited drunken state I wanted to do that with you. Whaddaya think? Could that be right?" He's obvious avoided the question but I can't make myself hurt him by pushing the issue; if he's not ready to face it, I'm willing to wait until he is. I go, "Can't read your mind, Chubby. You're the only one who really knows the why of it, and maybe even you don't know because it may be a subconscious knowledge. For example, I didn't know I was gay, not until that experience with Carl Denton." Chubby, moving further from the subject, spits out, "That loser asshole! If I had any idea he was doing that to you..." I go, "It's okay, Chubby, he did me a favor, but he is an asshole; you're right about that." Chubby nods his head and then we're quiet again.

I don't know where to go with this conversation so I think the best thing to do is say nothing and see where Chubby wants to go with it. He seems very introspective and he's rarely that, plus he's never this introspective! After a bit, he says, "You know, I may never do that with you again." I take a deep breath and in a resigned manner, reply, "I know that, Chubby." He looks at me now, and asks, "Don't you want me to?" and I shrug before saying, "I want you to do what you want to do, but yes, I wish you'd want to do it again, sure." He nods and concludes with, "I'm not promising anything, but maybe. Ya know, if you really like it so much." I quietly say, "I do like it, but I want to do it only if you like it too." He makes a face and mumbles, "You're something, Dylan! Ya know that? Anyone ever tell you that? You're stubborn too!" He's frustrated that I wouldn't let him have his rationalization about if he fucks me again it'll happen because I want him to do it; it'll be only as a favor to me, in other words. Why does everyone think they're doing me a favor?

Chubby mumbles, "Come on, let's walk some more," and as we walked the boards silently I wondered about myself. After all the months and months of wanting Chubby and me to do serious sex together, why didn't I just say, "Sure, thanks for doing me a favor!" and take the sex however Chubby was offering it? Enjoy it under whatever rationalization he wants or needs to make? I can't articulate why I didn't go along with that, but I'm sure I'm right not to. It wouldn't be good for Chubby or me. Ya know, if I hadn't run into Anthony and witnessed the pain his sexuality caused him, I might have been excited by Chubby's willingness to screw me; basically he just told me he'd do it again if I would, in effect, provide cover for him by allowing the rationalization that he's doing it only for my benefit. Without my experience with Anthony's self-hatred about his gayness, I might have accepted the arrangement Chubby proposed, but it would be a bad thing to do. I'm not exactly sure why, but it wouldn't be in Chubby's best long-term interest to let him keep fooling himself... or something like that. I'm no genius so I'm mostly guessing here. Hey, does life ever get any fucking easier? Or simpler, maybe?

We stopped for soft-serve vanilla ice cream sundaes, mine a strawberry sundae and Chubby's hot fudge. We discussed what we wanted to do tomorrow, Thursday, and then spent some time lamenting that our vacation is just about over. On the walk back to the condo I saw one of Rene's Mohawk boys but I was wearing Charlie's hat so we didn't do the secret sign to one another. Jeez, Rene seems like a long time ago. My scalp is already covered in blond hair, but except for the Mohawk strip, the rest was less than a quarter of an inch long. That night Chubby naturally couldn't get to sleep since he slept almost all day. I stayed up with him watching cable TV until I was just about falling asleep on the couch and then the moms came in all bubbly and excited about showing us somebody's junk that they'd paid good money for; then I went to bed. I've no idea what time Chubby came to bed, but he was bright eyed and fully recovered in the morning.

We spent Thursday doing a regular beach day with the moms. That consists of Chubby and me sunbathing, listening to music, and talking, swimming and body surfing, and doing our long walks on the beach goofing on each other and pointing out odd or beautiful people. I'd point out cute boys and Chubby would do the same for girls. I swear I'm being objective when I say the boys won the cuteness contest hands down. We'd occasionally see someone from back home, but we just waved. None of Artie's crowd were on the beach, at least none we recognized; they were fishing or in Atlantic City or wherever. Our old time friend and neighbor Ronny, and his girlfriend, what's-her-name, were nowhere to be seen. Probably sleeping off another rum and coke hangover. At First Street we turned around and walked all the way back to our beach where the moms were still talking; they never run out of things to say to each other. Speaking of talking, when we're back sitting in our beach chairs Chubby gave in and called Mary Jo. I knew he would. They talked for quite awhile and then went into that ridiculous, "You hang up, no you hang up, no you hang up first etc. etc." Oh my God! I had to walk away 'cause I couldn't bear to see Chubby embarrass himself like that. The boardwalk Thursday night was uneventful too, but relaxing and fun. We did all the things the two of us like to do and, frankly, I'm never more comfortable then when I'm with Chubby. Sex talk did not come up again; not a single word. Chubby's put that away for a while and, like I said earlier, I'll follow his lead for now.

Friday was much like Thursday except I saw Anthony on our beach walk. Chubby didn't even remember him and Anthony didn't seem to want to talk so he just waved and I did the same. Seeing him though gave me a feeling of concern, maybe he'd like to talk some more but being sober he's too shy or embarrassed about calling me over. I got Chubby to wander down to the ocean with me. It was right down from where Anthony and his family were sitting on the beach and when I looked back I could see Anthony staring at me. Chubby and me rode some waves and swam around a little; we're cooling off in the water, but mostly I was giving Anthony the opportunity to join us, but he seems to have taken a pass on it. Apparently he's satisfied there's nothing more I have to offer. Of course, Chubby being with me might scare Anthony away, or more likely, he's sober now, and embarrassed he did what he did and said what he said and he'd just like it to fade away. If he's embarrassed, that's a damn shame; I feel really bad for him. He's a good guy, but he's got issues for sure. I'm disappointed he didn't at least connect and maybe let me know he's doing okay; give me a thumbs up sign or something. I hope he knows his secret and everything we did and said that night will go no further than me. It's weird to have had that kind of deep personal experience with someone and realize you'll probably never see him again in your entire life. How often will I wonder about him in the future?

Walking back up the beach with Chubby for the last time this year I thought about this year's vacation and how it's provided me a lot of sexual highs. Gary, Rene, Charlie, Anthony and most of all, Chubby. But there were some emotional downers too and Anthony was one of them, he was both a high and a low. He's so conflicted about his sexuality it's frightening. He said his life is a living hell because he wants what he doesn't want in equal portions. It's tearing him apart. Another downer is all the disturbing aspects of Gary's life. Oh jeez, the things he's missed out on in his teen years because of his mother's bizarre method of raising him. The redeeming part of that situation is that things are looking up for Gary now that he'll be attending Berkley College; he'll fit in there, but just getting away from his mother will be a blessing in itself. Then there's Mohawk man and his crew of boys which is also a sad situation; not a real healthy relationship for any of them. And then I have my own personal downer in that I let myself get so screwed up over the Robby situation I went along with Rene's ridiculous program. I did it all just so I could relive that fuck from last year and prove to myself that I don't need Robby, or some such nonsense. Actually I think I do need him... maybe more than he needs me. Seriously folks, I gotta start growing up! I wonder if recognizing and getting upset about these sorts of things comes with getting older; I sure as shit hope not 'cause it's no fun seeing so much reality. Also, I'm sure as shit not gonna be getting any younger anytime soon and I can see worries outnumbering the things going right in my life the older I get. But wait, maybe when I'm older I'll avoid some of the pitfalls and know better how to handle the ones I can't avoid. Yeah, maybe, but I think I liked it better in the old days before Chubby and me got jobs. We had it made then!

The moms joined Chub and me on the boardwalk for our last night in Wildwood and they even went on the Double Shot thrill ride after which they swore they'd never go on it again. Chubby and I met up with a few kids from school after the moms called it a night and we hung out with them for awhile telling each other lies about our exploits and so forth. I kept most of my exploits to myself 'cause they wouldn't believe them anyway. These guys had seen me earlier in the week and knew about my Mohawk and urged me not to let it grow in. Right! I'd be a hit at college; the only kid in the freshman class with a Mohawk. All in all, from my point of view, this year's vacation came in like a lion and went out like a lamb. Corny, but true. Tomorrow Chubby and I drive our Jeep back home. During the ride I'm gonna think about Robby, try to figure out what he might tell me about that night in the garage and what I should say about it. Damn, I can't wait to be with him though, and now I wish I'd never told him about seeing that Friday night threesome. If I hadn't mentioned it during my cell phone call to him I could just let it go, at least until some later time. Of course, I put things off too much so maybe it's best to confront this issue. Why does everything need to be so fucking complicated though?

Oh well, whatever... for all intent and purposes my summer vacation's over for now and in a little over two weeks I'll be facing an entirely new set of challenges. For one, Robby, Chubby and me living on our own for the first time and how we gonna get along being together 24/7? Registering for our courses for the first time should be an interesting pain-in-the-ass challenge if what I've read about it is true. Chubby won't have any problems with making new friends, but I probably will, and then there's a challenge ahead of me with some friends I already know. I'll be dealing with potentially awkward sexual situations with my new friend Gary and my old friend Connor. And what about Chubby? And, of course, there's that small matter of college studies. Oh, and we need part-time jobs too. And the unknown challenges that I can't even imagine at this point; what about them? Yipes! Ready or not, here comes the rest of my life.

THE END

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com

The new series Dylan's Freshman Year should be out in the fall of 2010. Thanks to those of you who sent feedback during this series. As a thank you, I'll be sending each of you an Epilogue, covering the last couple of weeks between the last day of Dylan's Wildwood Vacation and the day before the first day of Dylan's Freshman Year. This information will be summarized in the first chapter of the new series for everyone else. I hope you'll check me out for future stories on Nifty.org or Boys4boys.org.