DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
Chapter 27
by Donny Mumford
It's four o'clock Friday afternoon, my last full day in Wildwood and what am I doing? I'm leaving the beach with Charlie. Yeah, the beach, the ocean, and the boardwalk are the reasons we vacation here in the first place, but I'm leaving all that to do a goofy favor for Charlie. He wants me to fix his hair the way it was after his haircut, and I've agreed to do it as if it's a perfectly good reason for leaving the beach. Jesus! I don't know what it is about Charlie that I like so much, I really don't. I mean, sure he's cute, sexy in his own way, and eager for buddy sex, but it's something more than that; it's like I feel a need to look out for him, take care of him.
As we walk toward the street he's telling me that the photographer, Lee something-or-other, asks him to 'try to make his hair look cool' for the outdoor 'shoot' this afternoon. That's how Charlie refers to it... outdoor 'shoot'. It irritates the hell out of me every time he says 'shoot', and acts as if he's experienced with that sort of thing. This Lee character doesn't ring true to me at all, and I mean starting with his strange behavior at the bar when he sat in Chubby's seat and drank half my glass of beer. Then today
in the ocean when he got pissed-off about Charlie's haircut. It's like he was agitated I didn't check with him before cutting Charlie's hair. He's just 'off'... as in not normal.
Charlie glances over at me every other step as if checking to see I'm still with him. At times he seems very innocent and vulnerable. For something to say, I go, "I'll need to shampoo your hair first, ya know. You've been in the ocean and salt water won't work with mousse." He looks shocked, "Shampoo my hair! You'd actually do that for me?" I shrug, "Well sure, why the fuck wouldn't I?" It's his turn to shrug, "I don't know, but I'd feel creepy shampooing another guy's hair; no offense intended." I make an irritated sound whistling exhaled air through my teeth, then mumble, "Well, I don't think it's creepy, so I'll do it for you." I'd like to argue about his 'creepy' comment. I mean, there are thousands of hair stylist shampooing other's people's hair every fucking day, like ten times a day or more. No sense discussing it though because other guys have said basically the same thing to me, and none of them would get it no matter what I say.
After his 'creepy' comment we haven't said two words while walking to the condo. The camaraderie I've felt with Charlie from the first day feels different since Lee showed up. Charlie probably thinks I'm trying to tell him what to do by insisting I go with him to meet this guy. I don't know, is it paranoia not wanting Charlie to be alone with that strange stranger? Going up the outdoor steps to the deck, I ask, "How come we can't do this at your place? I'm not even sure we have mousse here. I know I didn't bring any, and we know your sister did." He says, "Aww, my folks are there and I'd feel geeky having you fixing my hair." Unlocking the door off the deck, I ask, "You didn't feel geeky about me giving you a haircut." He mumbles, "That's different." Exasperated, I ask, "What's the difference between geeky and creepy, Charlie?" He ignores that. In my mom's bedroom I look through her toiletry items without finding mousse, but she does have something called DevaCurl, an Ultra Defining Gel. I read the instructions and it says to shampoo first, so okay that's what I was gonna do anyway. With the tube of DevaCurl in my hand I turn around and bump into Charlie. "Aaaah!," I jump a foot off the floor. He goes, "Oh, sorry I startled you. I was curious what you found." I go, "Jesus, Charlie, you should wear a bell around your neck so I know where you're at. I didn't hear you following me in here."
We go into my bathroom with me a little irritated about things in general: this whole matter of Lee taking pictures of Charlie, and then Charlie's comment about me shampooing his hair being creepy. Anyway, I'm not going to do my normal shampoo routine with him. Instead I have him bend down with his head over the sink. He holds onto the rim of the sink as I pour cups of water on his head, then rub in shampoo. Dammit! I forgot to tell him to take off his t-shirt and it's getting wet. Rubbing the shampoo all over, my fingers going through the hairs on top, and then the short hairs up the sides and back I feel my irritation floating away. Instead I get this real sense of affection for Charlie and a concern for his safety. The thing is though, he's already accused me of being jealous of Lee, and then he basically told me to mind my own business, so anything else I might say will reinforce what he already thinks, which is that I should butt out. That's what I probably should do! Rinsing the shampoo out of his hair requires another twenty cups of water, then I reread the instructions for the DevaCurl and confirm I should use a conditioner for his hair, and then don't completely rinse it out. Hair conditioner I occasionally use on special guys when I want to extend the experience of shampooing their hair. Extend it for my benefit when I'm 'feeling' it... heh heh. As I'm unscrewing the cap for the hair conditioner though, Charlie straightens up, complaining, "Fuck! It's really uncomfortable leaning over the damn sink like that and I'm sick of looking at the drain." I stare at him blankly, thinking, 'No good deed goes unpunished'. Then he grins, "I'm being a pain in the ass, huh? You're doing me a big favor and I'm complaining about it... sorry." I say, "No comment," then add, "You can just stand there while I rub in the conditioner." I do that standing in front of him and he puts his arms around me, "You're not still mad at me, are you, Dylan?" He has the prettiest eyes and pouting sexy lips. I say, "When was I ever mad at you, Charlie?" and he goes, "Oh, only about ten times, but then you've only known me a week." I grin, "Is that about par for the course? You make a person mad at you ten times a week?" He says, "Usually it's much more often." I mumble, "I don't believe you." Done spreading the conditioner, I'm like, "Would you mind leaning over the sink again?" He looks me in the eyes and is very serious, saying, "I won't see Lee if you don't want me to." I roll my eyes at that, nodding at the sink, muttering, "Lean over," and he does. Ten cups of water poured over his head rinses out most of the conditioner. Then I use a hand towel to pat his hair dry, telling him, "The instructions for this DevaCurl gel says it should be applied while your hair's still damp."
The reason I rolled my eyes when he said he wouldn't meet Lee if I tell him not to is because that puts all the responsibility on me, and I don't feel right about that. I mean, what if Lee's on the level and Charlie makes five hundred dollars today posing for pictures, plus he gets his picture in a magazine which paves the way to a lucrative modeling career? Far-fetched maybe, but not impossible. What I'd like to do is hang around in the background making sure everything's on the up and up with this so-called magazine photographer, but I don't feel I have the right to tell Charlie not to go.
With him sitting in the desk chair now, I rub my hands together spreading the gel and then rub it through his hair. Ya know, this whole exercise has the feel of me helping out a little brother, if I had one. What would I do if he really was my little brother? I'd be doing my best to make him look good, like he asked me to, but what would I do after that? I'm not the pushy type thinking I know what's good for someone better than they know for themselves, especially being this close in age to Charlie. If he was two or three years younger of course I'd know what's best, but that's not the case.
After combing his hair the way I did it after his haircut, I tell him, "Now we need to let it dry. That's what the instruction say anyway." We do that on the deck with the sun helping. We're both sitting in captain's chairs while I smoke a cigarette. Neither of us has anything to say until Charlie goes, "Thanks for helping me out like this, Dylan." I nod my head, mumbling, "I liked doing it actually." He's like, "Really? You liked shampooing my hair and the gel, then combing it and everything?" Looking at him, I give him an honest answer, "Yes, I like messing around with guy's hair. I might even go to a barber college after I graduate Merrimack. Maybe open my own barbershop." He smiles, saying, "I'm moving close to wherever your barbershop is so you can always be my hair stylist." I ask, "Even when you're a famous male model and movie star?" He smirks, "Even then, yeah."
There's some kind of weird connection between us, or at least I feel connected to him in some special way. It's a different feeling than I've had for other side-sex buddies I can think of right off the top of my head. Truth is I'd like to have sex with him right now, but obviously I'm not telling him that. He reaches his arm over, looking serious again," I'm a little nervous about the shoot. Would you hold my hand?" I snort a laugh, but take his hand in mine. He was being sincere so I'm sorry I laughed, and oh boy, my dick starts tightening up now. Holding hands with another guy is a very sexy thing to do. Charlie smells the back of his other hand for a few seconds, then says, "Oh my God, Dylan! I'm getting a boner from holding your hand.
That's so weird!" He's so innocently honest I can't help but grin at him.
We're kindred spirits I guess, Charlie and me. He's staring at me again, so I finally say, "That makes me uncomfortable, Charlie," and he asks, "My staring?" I look right at him and have to laugh again, "Yes, your staring.
Whaddaya think I meant?" Still holding my hand, he gets up and sits on my lap facing me with a mischievous expression on his face. I can't help but grin again, "What now, Charlie?" He says, "You like me a lot, don'cha?" I go, "What makes you say that?" He leans down and puts an arm around my neck leaning the side of his face on my shoulder, murmuring, "I'm projecting that you
like me a lot. Please don't burst my fantasy." Jesus! Ten seconds later he turns his head to whisper in my ear, "I love you, and I mean that in a being-in-love kind of way." Oh fuck, that's so sweet! I let go of his hand so I can hug him against me feeling stupid for being so attracted to him. It's crazy! We've know each other for six fucking days, that's all. I finally say, "Don't be in love with me, Charlie. Love me like I love you, as a friend and favorite fuck buddy." He says, "You love me?"
and I go, "As an awesome fuck buddy, yeah." He sits up, "I was hoping I meant more to you than just a fuck buddy," and I say, "Yeah, well actually you do, but we can't be in love for so many reasons it would take me all day to list them all." He frowns, so I ask, "Have ya ever heard of puppy love?"
He grins cutely, "Does someone in puppy love get to sit on the lap of the puppy." I go, "That's a major mischaracterization of puppy love." Then, to change the subject, I ask, "Is your hair dry yet?" He sits up and feels his hair, "Yeah, it is. That was quick," and he gets off me, asking, "Can I look at myself in your bathroom mirror?" I make a dumb 'face', "Duh! Of course you can."
We go inside and he checks himself out, asking, "What do you think?"
Standing next to him, I go, "I think it looks cool, but it's a pain in the ass going through all the steps to get it staying in place like this." He frowns, "Yeah, you're right, but I'd only go through the trouble for special occasions, like when I visit you at college or at your house." I do another snorting laugh because I didn't expect that, and I don't know how to respond to it. I'm not even sure he's serious. Fuck, I hope he's not. He leans against me and, without thinking, I put my arms around him, then kiss him on the cheek. Damn, this kid really gets to me, and I still don't know why I keep calling him a kid when he's only a year younger than me. He moves the side of his face against mine hugging me around the waist, murmuring, "Would you kiss me some more?" Oh man, he feels and smells so good! My hand goes up the back of his head, turning his face towards mine a little so my lips can close on his. He kisses back passionately, and it's a very luscious kiss I must say. We get into a hot make-out with our hands all over each other, me messing his hair as we smear saliva over each other's face.
A three minutes crazily intense make-out leaves saliva dripping off our chins with both our cock's like rocks in our pants. Our sweaty foreheads together, we're panting into each other's face and clinging to one another until we catch our breath. Then another kiss and we both pull down our swimsuits and our bobbing boners dance together for a second. I turn around and Charlie's wet boner head is at my asshole. Oh God I want to feel his nice seven inches of boned-up penis inside me so badly. The head presses a half inch inside my asshole, then Charlie holds my hips and finally humps his hips and we both go, "Oooh!" as the head pushes past my sphincter muscle. "Mmmm, nice cock, Charlie," and another thrust pushes it four more inches up my ass making me bend forward, shuddering. It just feels so perfect as he grunts and humps in the remaining inches of hard cock, bumping against my buttocks so hard I stumble forward with most of his boner pulling out. He whacks my ass, "SMACK!" and thrust his boner back up inside me, moving his hands to my shoulders. I grab my knees as he pulls his cock back almost all the way out, then thrusts it back up my ass pulling me back into the thrusts, and starts fucking me fast and hard, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds filling my ears as sensations explode in my rectum. Some days my ass loves a hard cock even more than usual and today's one of those days. I close my eyes and absorb the sizzling sensations buzzing in my rectum while Charlie does all the work.
I'm limply flouncing around as he pulls me back against his thrusting cock then pushes me away as he withdraws it, and immediately another thrust and pull. It's exquisite sexual pleasure and it's the only thing on my mind.
I like how rough Charlie can get as his arousal grows stronger. His boner's at its fattest and longest now and it's five or six minutes of pure ecstasy for me as my prostate gland throbs and my anus purrs, both sending out sexual pleasure in huge doses... nothing can beat these sensations popping all around my private parts as Charlie and I sing a duet of pleasure sounds, "Ooh, mmm, ooh, aaah, aaah, ooh my God," to go with the, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of our bodies smacking against one another maintaining the beat for our song. My cock is doing it's indescribable throbbing thing with precum dripping, each drip imitating a small orgasm and I'm in a total trance, transported to some place where everything is brilliantly bright as my body shudders and I float in a sea of wonderfulness with my climax building disturbingly quickly. Charlie's relentless thrusting quickens as his climax comes on him and then he makes a desperate whining sound. Leaning over me, he does what we've been doing to each other during our sex together. He gets his arm around the front of my neck and pulls up under my chin lifting me until my back's against his chest, and he's rough about it as he slams his boner up my ass faster and harder. We climax within a second of each other, both our bodies getting stiff, his crotch against my butt cheeks humping against it until I feel his hard stream of semen hit inside me, Charlie making a big pitched whiny sound as I squeal, struggling to hump my hips, cum streaming out in a straight line, then again and there's that feeling of insane pleasure... then calmness and another shudder as we both relax, gasping for air.
I lean back against him, Charlie's sweaty forehead on my shoulder. Our chests are heaving for half a minute, his heart pounding against my back, then he steps away pulling his limp cock from my ass. I turn around and we fall into each other's arms, laying against one another, the sides of our faces together. I'd like to suck his cock clean, but that would freak him out.
He smells and feels awesomely good. I can't understand the level of affection I have for him although it's a really nice feeling having layers of affection for him rolls over me and play tricks with my mind. I keep telling myself I hardly know him so why this connection? I don't want to step away; it feels too good with our hearts beating together against each other's chest. Charlie finally murmurs, "What am I going to do without you, Dylan? Can you tell me that?" Oh fuck, I don't know. I straighten up and mess up his hair some more, saying, "It's merely infatuation we're feeling my awesome sex-buddy. It's like you haven't been able to fulfill your sexual desires until this week and now you're misinterpreting fulfilled desires for love."
That actually sounds like there's some truth to it for Charlie, but what's my explanation? Why am I so infatuated with him? We act goofy rubbing our hands over each other's shoulders and head, mumbling, "I can't get enough of you."
Then Charlie lifts my arm to look at my wristwatch, and says, "Oh shit! You need to fix my hair again so I'll be on time to meet Lee. It'll only be for a half hour, then I'll see you back on the beach. Okay?" We clean ourselves in my bathroom, then I sit him down on the lid of the toilet and re-do his hair using a comb I held under the faucet for a second to add dampness to the gel again. As I do that I'm wondering what happened to, 'He won't go if I don't want him to'. I ask, "Do you mind at least telling me where you're meeting him?" He goes, "Oh fuck, can I borrow one of your shirts. Mine got wet during the shampoo." I shake my head, "All I have are shirts I've already worn, except one and I need that for tonight." His hair looks okay so he gets up ready to go. I ask again, "Where are you meeting Lee?"
Walking out of the bathroom and continuing to the deck, Charlie tells me, "I don't know where he'll do the 'shoot', but I'm meeting him at his van and we'll drive to the spot he's picked out. Thank you for all your help, Dylan, I love you, but now I need to go over to my place and change my shirt."
I'm shrugging, frustrated that he's being evasive about where he'll be, then Charlie turns around and gives me a quick kiss on the lips, saying, "Really, thank you, Dylan! I gotta run now or I'll be late. See you on the beach in half an hour." I'm sort of frozen in place just looking at him and feeling something strange. Then he stops and turns around again, saying, "Um, Dylan, this afternoon, just a couple of minutes ago, it was the most fantastic time I've ever had in my life," and he's down the steps and scampering across the alley to his place. I watch him running up the steps of his deck; he looks over giving me a beautiful smile, then he waves at me before going inside. He could be a model actually. That fucking smile of his is a beautiful thing. Lighting a cigarette, I'm waiting at the railing, half expecting him back out on the deck wearing a fresh shirt, but he apparently went out the front door. After ten minutes I give up and walk to the beach. What I should have done, as soon as he went inside, was go to where the van was parked earlier. That's probably where he's meeting this Lee character and I could have gotten there before him. In hindsight it's always obvious what I should have done. What I need to develop is the ability to figure out what I should have done before the hindsight knowledge of 'what I should have
done'. Yeah, I think that makes sense.
I go past my normal entrance to the beach and continue walking to the spot Lee's van was parked earlier. It's not there now of course, and I didn't think it would be because I'm late getting here, but what if I didn't check and it was still here. Would I have said to myself, 'In hindsight I should have looked'? Wandering down to where our chairs are set-up on the beach I see everyone's back from their various travels. I get an awesome greeting and a hug from Chubby, then everyone says 'Hi' with Charlie's mom asking, "Is Charlie with that photographer fellow?" I say, "Supposedly. That's what he said anyway. He'll be back pretty soon though. It's only going to take a half hour." She shakes her head and conveys somehow that it's all my fault.
I want to scream, 'What was I supposed to do, tie him up?' Balls, that pisses me off! I don't even sit down because after saying 'Hi' everyone goes back to whatever they were doing before I showed up. Feeling restless I walk down to the ocean, but don't go in. Instead I walk towards the end of the beach where the alcove is located. I'll feel better if I know they're not there, and maybe I'll even bump into them along the way. At least now I feel like I'm doing something. The urge to talk with Chubby about my concerns was strong, but it just might be my overactive imagination, plus I can't go running to Chubby every time something concerns me. I used to do that when we were younger, but we're not 'younger' anymore.
The walk to the end of the beach seems to take much longer walking there alone. When I get there no one's in the alcove of course; just the condoms.
Okay, by the time I walk back to where everyone's sitting Charlie will probably be there with a hundred-dollar bill in the tiny pocket of his bathing suit, maybe keeping a condom packet company. I'm walking back faster, almost jogging, but Charlie's not there, and I can see he's not a hundred yards away. So, fuck, now what do I do now? When I walk up to the group Chubby's grinning, saying, "You're back again! Wanna do some body surfing, bro?" I mumble, "In a minute, Chub," thinking to myself, 'I'll text Charlie!' What a brilliant idea! Taking my cellphone out of the beach bag I see a few texts for me, but none from Charlie so I text him, 'How's it going, Charlie?' Staring at my cellphone and seeing the text is delivered, but not read.
Chubby's standing next to me now, quietly saying, "I can see you're troubled, Dylan. Is it Charlie?" I motion with my finger he should walk with me a little. We walk toward the ocean as I tell him my concerns about Lee and the so-called 'shoot' with Charlie. Chubby asks, "How long's he been gone?" I look at the time on my cellphone, then mutter, "Almost an hour." He says, "Call him." I try that but get switched to voice mail, so I leave a message: "Charlie, it's Dylan. Call me!"
"What should we do, Chub?" He takes my iPhone and searches for Wildwood photographers looking for any that might have 'Lee' as part of the description. Shaking his head he goes, "There's a dozen photographers in town, but none with 'Lee' in their name." Emotionally I don't know how to begin processing this situation. There are shockingly horrific possibilities, unsavory ones, and yet maybe it's nothing. That's what I tell Chubby, "I'm probably blowing this all out of proportion. What are the chances this guy, Lee, is some pervert or serial killer? I mean, seriously!" Chubby says, "You're right, but refusing to accept the possibility of foul play means we do nothing.
Do you feel okay doing nothing?" I shake my head, "No, but what can we do." He goes, "Without panicking we need to decide what we can do, and the most obvious first step you've already done by trying to contact Charlie on his cellphone. He didn't respond so maybe he didn't take it with him." I go, "What's the next logical step?" He says, "Lets walk to his condo and see if he's there. We'll eliminate the most obvious possibilities before moving on to desperate ones" I'm like, "Okay, lets go."
Back at our group on the beach, we get our t-shirts and sandals, mumbling, "We'll be back for our chairs and stuff a little later." Tris says, "Would you bring back some cold drinks back with you, boys?" I nod, "Sure," and Mrs. Barns asks, "Have you heard from, Charlie?" I go, "We're on our way to his place right now," which doesn't answer her question, but infers he's there. What good would it do to get everyone bumping into each other panicking and not knowing what to do any more than we do. The first thing they'll want to do is call the cops, which is the worst thing to do at this point."
Walking off the beach onto the street, Chubby asks, "Do you feel alright not involving Charlie's parents?" I shrug, "I wouldn't know what to tell them. All I could say is Charlie's a half hour later then he said he'd be, and I think Lee's 'off'. That's weak, and anyway I'd feel like I was being disloyal to Charlie." Chubby goes, "Plus, you and I have always handled problems ourselves without involving parents." I go, "It's what we've always done, yeah, and we've been successful so far." He mumbles, "Yes, except Charlie's not you or me, and our parents aren't his." I mutter, "I know, but..." But what? I can't think of anything to finish that 'but' with.
We come around from the front of their condo and see Charlie very slowly going up the steps without a shirt. Chubby and I exchange 'looks' while I'm feeling equal parts relief and overreaction. Obviously I overreacted, but so what? He seems safe, that's all that matters. Chubby says, "Be cool," and I nod my head. We go up the steps at a normal pace and at the top Charlie turns around quickly, like he's startled. He looks scared for a second like he's afraid it was someone else. Obviously something's not right when he mumbles, "Dylan, um, what are you doing here? Hi, Jeff, um, what...?" I say, "Oh, you weren't on the beach so I was wondering where you where, that's all. Um, I missed you." He nods his head with a distracted expression on his face, quietly saying, "Oh, yeah, thanks." Looking at him closer I think he's been crying. It looks like he has dried tears streaks on his face. I can't think what else would make those marks. Walking over to him, I ask, "Ah, what's on your face, Charlie?" He rubs his face with both hands, mumbling, "Nothing! I'm gonna take a quick nap, but I'll see you on the beach later."
I gently put a hand on each of his shoulders, murmuring, "What's wrong?"
and his face scrunches up like he's going to start crying, then he falls against me hugging while doing some quiet bawling. I rub his back, murmuring, "It'll be okay. Chubby and I will handle whatever it is that's upset you.
Is it Lee?" He nods his head sniffling while holding on to me tightly.
Chubby comes over to give Charlie and me a joint hug, saying, "Charlie, how about if you make your famous strawberry daiquiris for us, get a joint for yourself, and then the three of us will talk about why you're upset.
C'mon, Dylan will go inside with you." It's a good idea to get him doing something. Charlie steps toward the door and I step with him, then Chubby puts pressure on my back getting Charlie and me moving. We stop hugging and walk inside as I hear a Bic lighter flick as Chubby lights a cigarette, and oh man, I could go for one myself. Whatever happened between Charlie and the sicko, Charlie looks okay physically. Mentally it's apparently a different story.
Inside I say, "Let me help you. Where's the blender?" He's wiping his eyes with his forearms, then points to a cabinet. I get the blender, then look in the freezer and take out a half bag of frozen strawberries, asking, "What else goes in a daiquiri, Charlie?" He takes a deep breath, then says, "You were right, Dylan, I shouldn't have gone alone." I go, "Let's get a boozy drink and we'll all calm down, then you can tell us about it. The three of us will decide what to do, and trust me, Chubby and I are good at doing something about a problem." He nods, "Good! Um, the tequila is in that overhead cabinet." I get that as he gets the other ingredients and then the blender is making it's earth-shattering noise grinding up the ice and frozen strawberries. It makes a pretty reddish drink with frost on the outside of the blender. With me carrying three plastic cups and Charlie carrying the blender of daiquiris we join Chubby on the deck. Charlie says, "With you guys here now, I don't need a joint, but could I bum a smoke from somebody?"
I pour the drinks while Chubby lights a Marlboro for Charlie. We all swallow some freezing-cold daiquiri. Damn, you could get a popsicle headache if you drink this frozen concoction too quickly. Chubby and I sit down as Charlie, smoking his cigarette like a girl, exhaling smoke out the side of his mouth, leans up against the deck's railing. I say, "First of all, are you okay, Charlie?" He shakes his head, "No, not really, I'm not okay at all,"
and he tells his story succinctly. He met Lee at his van parked across from the liquor store; the one we've used couple of times. Charlie gets in the passenger seat and they drive for ten minutes with Lee jabbering the whole time about taking some shots of Charlie to send to a guy he knows who's making a movie short. He's not sure, but Charlie thinks Lee said he might get a part in the movie. They stop in a wooded area that Charlie's not familiar with, but from there he could see the New Jersey Parkway in the distance.
When he takes a breath, I ask, "Did you feel worried or scared?" He shakes his head, "Not at first because he seemed so sincere about everything, telling me it was his chance for a big break of some kind, and then it all went down hill so fast. We get out of the van and Lee sets-up a camera on a tripod, then gets a camera hanging around his neck. Next he gets a few things out of a bag in the back of the van smiling, and explaining the type cameras he's using. A video camera and a digital still one and blah, blah, blah, with him referring to me as 'the talent'. All the time complimenting me on my perfect looks for photography. I'm just standing there and he turns me away from him and asked me to open my mouth. I do it without thinking and the next thing I know there's rubber ball or something round pressing against my mouth. He kept pulling back on straps until the ball got past my teeth and then the straps were Velcro, which he closed behind my head. I was confused more than anything until I felt my hands tied with a strip of plastic behind my back. It took like three seconds." Chubby murmurs, "Is this for real?" Charlie nods his head, "It's for real alright. I turned around but couldn't say anything. Lee looked different then, like a new person. He was licking his lips and playing with his junk. It looked to me like he already had a boner in his pants. I was very scared then and thought I was going to pee in my swim trunks. He stopped talking and did everything quickly. It was just so fast between his excitement about his big chance in the movie and me being incapacitated. I could hardly believe it. I felt my face getting red as I tried to get my hands apart. Then he slapped my face so hard I fell over. He grabbed my arm pulling me up snarling for me to stand still.
He said he wasn't going to hurt me if he didn't have to, but he already had. I could taste blood in my mouth."
Chubby asks, "Did he take pictures?" Charlie goes, "Oh yeah, about a hundred before he was done, but first he pulled my swimsuit down and grabbed my balls threatening to squeeze the shit out of them if I didn't step out of my bathing suit. He'd pulled it down to my ankles and I stepped right out of them because by then I was so frightened I did pee right there. I could 't help it. Lee laughed and called me a cunt. Then that fucker took out a pocket knife that was sharp as a razor and slit my t-shirt in half and then cut it off me so I was naked." Charlie's getting all choked-up again, trembling with tears running down his cheeks. Going over to him I put my arm across his shoulders, "Why don't you sit down, Charlie. Take it easy. You don't need to go on right now if you don't want to." He shakes his head, mumbling, "I can't sit down, and I want to tell you what happened." I sit back down and he goes, "That sick fuck dropped his shorts and he had this ugly looking fat cock that was curved and hard. It wasn't very long, but he stroked it a few times before reaching down to slip the belt out of his shorts laying on the ground. He stroked himself again as he snapped the belt in the air ... a wide black belt. I took a couple off steps back but he grabbed my arm again and bent me over. He's a strong mother fucker!" Charlie lifts his right arm, saying, "See the bruises his fingers left on my arm?" Chubby and I are frowning, hardly believing our ears. He goes, "Then he beat my ass with his belt and I was screaming in my mind, but just saliva spray was coming out of my mouth around that ball and mucus pouring out of my nose." That sick fuck was giggling saying something like, 'I guess I am going to hurt you after all... ha ha.' It was like, um, I don't know how long he strapped me, but look," and he turns around carefully pulling his bathing suit down.
Chubby and I both gasp. There are ugly dark red welts crisscrossing his buttocks and some on the upper part of his thighs. I go, "Holy shit!" Normally I'd never get the police involved in anything, but this might be the exception to that rule. Chubby just stares with this look of incredulousness on his face like he can't believe it.
Very carefully Charlie pulls up his swimsuit while sort of reading my mind, saying, "No! Don't call the police. That guy fucked me twice. Both times wearing a condom. The first time with that bent cock of his and the second time he used a big black dildo, taking pictures all the time. I don't want my parents or sister to know about any of this. It's humiliation that would never go away if they knew. Especially my mom 'cause she'd freak out yelling that she told me not to go alone." I can hardly believe this, as I ask, "Didn't Lee say anything?" Charlie mumbles, "Yeah, when he beat me with the belt he kept saying, 'You shouldn't have gotten your hair cut' and then he'd strap me with the belt and say it again and whack me with the belt, like that over and over." I mutter, "And then he fucked you twice?" He nods his head, "Yeah, once with a dildo like I said. I've never felt pain like I did with that belt-strapping, and my asshole was bleeding so he called me a cunt saying I was having my period. You can't belief how sick that fucker is. Scared the living shit out of me. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack, seriously," and Charlie starts crying again covering his face with his hands." Chubby and I are both up and over comforting him. I feel so helpless and I'm in such a rage my head aches. Charlie gets it under control, and in a pissed-off voice, says, "First the strapping and then the hard mean fucking. My limp dick was flopping around as I cried with snot drooling out of my nose. And I could hardly breath with that ball in my mouth."
I don't know about Chubby, but I'm so pissed-off I feel like I'm going to throw up. I've got tears in my eyes and I'm feeling really shaky. I can only imagine how Charlie must feel. I want to say something but my thoughts are incoherent. Chubby says, "I'm so sorry, Charlie. We'll get him," and I hear the emotion in his voice too knowing he's feeling a rage like mine.
Charlie's sniffling again, then says, "When he's done he get really contrite saying how sorry he was and asking if I'm alright, then he'd snicker, like he
was full of shit about being sorry. I couldn't talk of course and I could hardly stand. He put his shorts on, then smacked my leg to get me lifting my feet so he could put my swim suit back on me. When both my feet were in the legs of the swim suit he pulled it up roughly torturing my blistered ass, then smacked my ass a few times with me trying to get away from him. I tried screeching, but I still had the gag in my mouth and he laughed his balls off at that. Still chuckling, he let my hands free, but told me if I tried taking the gag out he'd beat me with his belt again, then he dragged me into the van.
Horrified, I ask, "You had to sit on your beaten ass?" Charlie shakes his head, "No, he did show mercy by getting me to kneel in front of the front seat, you know, facing away from the windshield with my arms on the seat so I wouldn't need to sit on my ass. I probably won't be able to sit down for a fucking week." Chubby says, "He wasn't showing you mercy, Charlie, he didn't want anyone seeing you sitting with a ball gag in your mouth and tears running down your face." Charlie just looks a Chubby, not comprehending and in his condition I don't blame him. He says, "Anyway, he drove me back telling me over and over how disappointed in me he was, then he'd snicker and say he was just kidding. By the time he dropped me off he was crying non-stop, it's like he was insane. One minute he's calling me a crying cunt and the next instant he's calling himself a sick mother fucker asking me to forgive him. Then he abruptly pulled over and dropped two hundred-dollars bills on the seat in front of me telling me to take them and put them in my bathing suit. I frowned at him and he slapped my face, yelling, "Do it!" so I did and he took pictures of me picking up the money and putting it away."
Chubby says, "Yeah, so if you call the cops on him he'll say it was a paid prostitute arrangement for rough sex between two consenting adults." Charlie looks at Chubby again, "What...?" He's in a fog.
Charlie shrugs, "I was so glad when he let me get out of the van I just stood there watching him drive away, then I took out the ball gag and dropped it in the street and cried. There wasn't a soul around." I want to ask if he got the license number of the van, but I know he was in too fucked-up a condition to think of that, so I don't ask. Charlie's smelling the back of his hand for a second, then says, "So, I stopped crying and didn't walk two blocks before some lady yelled that I needed to wear a shirt to walk around town. Real nasty like. It's like she woke me up, the cunt, and I started shaking all over and bawling like a fuckin' baby again. It's like the world is so cruel, ya know?" He gulps some daiquiri and starts silently crying again. Chubby and I look at each other with Chubby nodding his head toward Charlie, meaning, 'Get over there again and comfort him'. I walk over and lightly hug him and Charlie lays against me hugging the breath out of me.
All I can do is rub his back. From a casual glance at Charlie you wouldn't think there was a thing wrong with him, but it's all about his rectum and buttocks, and brain, plus bruises on his bicep. Neither Chubby nor I ask for any more details because we don't want to hear anymore. I couldn't handle anymore.
When we're finished our latest hug, and Charlie's just sniffling, I say, "There's stuff at the drugstore we can get to help with the welts pain, don't ya think, Chub?" He goes, "Yeah, there's gotta be something." I tell Charlie, "Come over to our condo and lay on my bed. Ya know, in case someone comes here. I'll get an ice pack to put on your, um, welts. I'm pretty sure that's the right thing to do." Charlie mumbles, "Whatever you say, Dylan." I want to take care of him so badly it's like an ache inside me. The only stronger emotion I'm feeling is hatred for that sicko, Lee. If that's even his name. I say, "After we get you comfortable, Chub and I will go to the beach and casually tell everyone that we just left you and you're taking a short nap or some BS like that. Then we'll ask the pharmacist what we can buy to help relieve the pain. Okay, buddy?" He gives me a little grin, nodding his head. Man, I was worried about him, but I never expected anything this bad. This was a fucking nightmare for Charlie.
We slowly walk to our place and I get Charlie on my bed laying on his stomach, then using the ice crusher in our refrigerator door I fill up a gallon Ziploc bag with crushed ice. Moving the crushed ice in the bag getting it flat, I gently pull down his swimsuit and lay the ice pack on Charlie's ass, telling him, "Move it from one spot to another when, um, a spot feels numb I guess. Okay?" He goes, "Okay, that's really fucking cold though." I nod, "Yeah, it's good for bruising like you have back there." Making a face, then he grins and bares it. I ask, "Can I get you anything else?" He says, "What about the mess we left in the kitchen at my place?" I go, "Oh yeah, but ya know what? I'll tell your mom we had a strawberry daiquiri which is why you felt like lying down for a few minutes." He goes, "Yeah, okay, but why am I laying down over here?" Chubby's smirking at me, enjoying watching me scrambling for a story to tell. I'm like, "Um, I'll come up with something, don't worry. Try to relax." He goes, "Ha! That's a good one." I pat his shoulder, "We'll be back in ten or fifteen minutes."
On the way back to the beach, Chubby says, "It's stupid to say he's lucky, but it could have been even worse if the guy was crazier than he is, and as it is that fucker's crazier than a shit house rat." I go, "Yeah, that's an experience Charlie will never forget and I mean in the most negative way.
I'm half thinking we should tell his parents in case he needs psychological therapy or something like that." Chubby says, "No, I've come around to your way of thinking; absolutely do not tell his parents shit. That's Charlie's decision to make, not ours." I nod, "You're right." On the beach the first thing Charlie's mother says to me, "Have you seen Charlie, Dylan?" His father looks concerned now too." I'm like, "Charlie? Yeah, we just left him. He made us some deliciously refreshing strawberry daiquiris, but he got a Popsicle headache drinking his too fast. He's laying down for a little bit." She goes, "That's happened to him before, and I don't know how many times I've told that boy to slow down, and I mean about everything. He's like a live wire." I kinda force a chuckle, "Yeah, he's something alright," and she's like, "But what about that photographer man?" I go, "Oh him. Charlie said the guy took a couple of photos but decided he wasn't going to use them. I guess now he's looking for another All American beach boy." She nods her head, "I didn't have a good feeling about that man," and she looks at Mr. Barns, asking, "Did you get a bad vibe from that man, Lovey?" Her husband shakes his head, muttering, "Another Charlie moment, Dear, that all. We should be used to them by now." What the fuck? She calls her husband Lovey? Chubby talks to Ellie for a couple of minutes and I learn from mom and Tris we're having a joint goodbye-to-Wildwood cookout dinner tonight with the Barns family on their deck. Balls! I smile, "Hey, that'll be great!" We take the opportunity to leave when the six adult-adults wander down to the ocean. Chubby and I drift up the beach and then to the street looking for a drugstore. I say, "I'm feeling shaky as hell, Chub. I thought I was gonna throw up when Charlie showed us his whipped ass." Chubby shakes his head, "I haven't been this bull-shit pissed-off for some years now. We need to give some thought how we're gonna serve a little justice on that pervert's ass."
We both know very well the last time Chubby was this angry, but neither of us talks about it. There's a Rite Aid drugstore in the first block we come to. Inside we wait for the druggist to explain everything there is to know about medications to an elderly woman. Every time I think they're done, she
asks another question. Meanwhile Chubby's looking at medications in the pain relief aisle.
Finally, the elderly woman pats the druggist's hand telling him he's a sweet man, then she takes her little white bag containing her bottles of pills and walks away. I'm staring at him now as the druggist takes a deep breath rolling his eyes, finally asking, "What can I do for you, son?" I hem and haw asking about pain relief for bruising, "Like welts for instance?" He looks suspicious, "Welts? Who has welts and how'd they get them?" I mumble, "Hypothetical welts." He nods his head knowingly, then says, "Apply cold compresses, definitely not hot ones. Look for Arnica gel for pain relief in aisle six. Then when the pain's reduced apply an Aloe based cream or lotion.
Mostly, don't do whatever it is that caused the welts in the first place! Are these welts on a child?" I mutter, "No, they're hypothetical, like I said. Thank you." Just what I needed, a lecture from the pharmacist. We find the two items he recommended and check them out at the register. Walking to our condo we switch from a healing mode into revenge mode. I ask, "Chubby, how the fuck are we going to find this guy out of fifty thousand people?"
He goes, "We probably can't, but a place to start looking is the spot that sick prick took Charlie. The guy drove right to the spot so maybe he lives around there." I go, "If Charlie can get us there."
Charlie's on the bed exactly the way we left him. "Do you feel any better, Charlie?" He goes, "Yeah, I guess, but my ass is frozen. What'd the druggist say?" I pull out the Arnica gel, saying, "First thing he said was to put cold compresses on the welts, which we already did." He mutters, "Thanks to doctor Dylan," and I say, "This tube is for pain," holding up the Arnica, "Then after that we have some Aloe cream to sooth the shit out of your boo-boos." We take away the ice bag that's now half melted ice water. After drying his buttocks gently, I spread Arnica cream evenly over the welts that already look smaller and less red than before.
Ten minutes later Charlie's up on his side, supporting himself on the bed using his elbow while describing where it was Lee stopped to assault and rape him. We evaluate the possibility of calling the cops again, but again eliminate that as a possibility because Charlie accepted the money, and anyway it would be a he said/he said situation, plus it would bring all kinds of attention to his family and the whole thing would get messier and messier.
Chubby says, "If you're involved with the police you lose all control of the situation. They are not here to protect and serve you. They're mostly concerned with protecting their asses and getting promoted." Charlie says, "Wow, you guys don't like the cops, huh?" I mumble, "They've never been a help to anyone we know." Chubby goes, "Anyway, we all agreed they'll be no cops involved, right? So where'd he take you, Charlie?"
He thinks he can take us there. I ask, "Can you sit on your sore ass?" He goes, "Yeah, it feels better already. Kind of amazing actually." He gets off the bed and I go, "Don't pull your swimsuit up. I brought pajama bottoms with me, although I never used them. They're soft shorty PJ's." Charlie puts the soft pajama bottom on. It's nice to see him grin as he murmurs, "Soft," then sits gently on the edge of my bed, mumbling, "Not bad. I'm okay, thanks, guys." As we walk out to the Jeep, Chubby says, "That asshole knew exactly where he was taking you, Charlie, so it's possible he's staying in that vicinity. Maybe he lives there year round, or has a motel room in that area. We're mostly looking for his van."
That's all we have to go on. Our plan is to drive around the area where the pervert parked, street by street, looking for the sicko's van. In the Jeep Charlie's sitting on a folded blanket we found in our bedroom closet.
"How's it feel, Charlie?" "Okay, I'm okay." then he tells us, "He drove four blocks away from the boardwalk on the street the package store is on." We do
that and Charlie says, "Yep, I remember that church on the corner. Take a right and keep driving and I'll recognize the spot." He's sitting in the back with Chubby driving. I'm riding shotgun smelling the back of my hand wondering what we'll do if we find the van. After ten minutes or so, Charlie mumbles, "No, we didn't go this far. Could you turn around and I'll try to remember where we turned off. I thought we went straight." Chubby does a U-turn and we drive back slowly until Charlie goes, "Stop. I see the Parkway from here, so we're close." The parkway is like a quarter mile away to our left across a portion of the bay. Charlie mutters, "It's around here some place." For fifteen minutes we drive up and down sides streets until he goes, "There! See the wooded area with the chain link fence around all that electrical stuff." We drive around the block and then we're there.
We get out and look around although I don't know what we expect to find.
There aren't any homes close by, just the encaged power plant stuff or whatever it is, and other than that it's wet lands that connects to the bay. I say, "We came into Wildwood on that road," as I point to a bridge on the other side of the bay. Charlie says, "Look here. There's the marks in the ground where he set up the tripod." We're nodding our heads, as Chubby mumbles, "Yeah, but there aren't any motels or houses near here." Back in the Jeep we start going street by street again, circling every block looking for a Chevrolet van. It takes a half hour before we see the first motel, but it's not particularly close to the 'spot' of the attack. Discouraged, I say, "He must live here in one of these older houses with garages, and the van's inside." Charlie goes, "I don't know what else we can do." It's almost six-thirty and we're supposed to be meeting everyone on the Barns' deck for drinks at seven.
Chubby says, "It was a long shot from the start. Dammit though, I hate to give up." Charlie gets a cellphone call from his sister. His mom wanted her to call him and remind him about the farewell dinner. He talks to her for a minute, lying about where we are. I chuckle because his lie sounds so weak, but his sister buys it telling him she's glad he's with Chubby and me and to get home soon. We're still circling blocks, not willing to give up but with fading hope of success when we see the van go by a cross road with Lee driving. Chubby goes, "Hello!" and he goes through a stop sign following the van. I'll be goddamned, we found the sicko! Of course It might have been a good idea to have given some thought as to what we're going to do now that we found him.
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumgford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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