DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME
CHAPTER 37
by Donny Mumford
After work on Friday I'm driving Chubby and myself home, both of us looking forward to our dates tonight. Chubby's quietly reading stuff on his iPhone, then he goes, "Oh fuck! Listen to this factoid, bro." I go, "Stocking up
on new factoids, huh Chub?" He nods, "Yeah, sort of, I need a couple of new ones to get MJ ranting and raving at her sister's birthday party tonight." I ask, "Where do you get your factoids?" and he goes, "Oh, different places. Last month, for example, I downloaded this app called Astrophysicist's
Mind-blowing Facts. Listen to this one: NASA launched the Voyager I satellite in 1977, and it's still working. Presently it's 11.7 billion miles from earth traveling at 38,000 miles an hour on its way to our closest star system, Alpha Centauri. Here's the really mind-blowing part though: it will finally arrive at the very outskirts of the Alpha Centauri star system in 40,000 years." I go, "Whaaat?" He shrugs, "That's a scientific fact, bro. The closest star to our sun is 4.3 light years away." I'm like, "Jeezus, it'll take 40,000 years to get there?" He goes, "Yep," and I mumble, "Well, please don't tell me any more shit like that, Chub, it hurts my brain."
We stop for a take-out pizza and an order of hot wings for dinner, then eat while drinking a beer in Chubby's kitchen as he reads out-loud more mind-numbing facts about the unimaginable vastness of space. Fascinating facts, although it all sounds more like science fiction than fact. Chubby easily memorizes a few of the more unbelievable of these factoids and he'll regal fellow party-goers with them tonight. I can picture MJ calling 'bullshit' on each factoid, then Chubby Googling to prove he's correct with her still insisting it's all bullshit. She has a problem admitting she's wrong about anything. My prediction: they'll end up in a shouting match in which MJ will tell Chubby to go fuck himself and then she'll stalk out of the party.
Then, before the night's over they'll end up doing the nasty in the backseat of our Jeep. Note to myself: vacuum and Lysol the hell out of the backseat Saturday morning!
Chubby tells me, "Almost all of my dates with Mary Jo result in a fight of some kind, but it's easy making-up with her, and then she's really hot in the sack." I go, "Eww," and he grins, "She's my slam piece, bro." I ask, "What's a slam piece?" He goes, "Um, a girl I'd never marry in a million years but I'd fuck into the Andromeda galaxy." He glances at me, "Do ya know what I mean?" I mumble, "Yeah, I think I get it. It's like gay buddy-sex.
Recreational sex without any real commitment beyond having good sex together." He goes, "Hey, I like the way you put that. It doesn't make me seem like I'm just 'playing' MJ to get in her pants. Yeah, her and me are buddies who do sex together for mutual pleasure." Huh, I'm not sure I like the idea of my buddy-sex being compared to Chubby screwing Mary Jo.
After eating, I go down to my place with hard-to-believe space factoids bouncing off my brain. First thing I've got to do is to get ready for my date with Robby. Tonight he has his normal Friday after-work meeting, then he'll get cleaned-up and eat dinner with his parents, after which he'll pick me up at eight o'clock. That's the plan anyway. I take my time showering and getting dressed, but I'm still ready almost an hour before I expect Robby.
Sitting at my desk I check my cellphone for text messages and find some; none of them unexpected except there's no text from Ryan. He normally texts me every day, but this time I'll text him first. My text is a simple, 'Wassup, Ryan? Do you have your dorm roommate confirmed for next week?" A couple of simple questions to maybe get a dialogue started, but I get no reply so he's apparently otherwise occupied. Ya know, it's weird to think that every single person on the planet, all 7.3 billion of us, is doing something this very second. I wonder what, um, say President Obama is doing right now?
Maybe he's taking a dump.
I read Willie's text in which he tells me he's been thinking about our conversation the other night and he's found that cute prick, Andy's, phone number. I text him back, 'Burn it!' And then hey, here's a text from Dodger's boyfriend, Vinnie, asking about a haircut. That's a first; no it's a second. He asked for a haircut once before when Dodger insisted Vinnie call me.
Huh, I guess he's following through after the last haircut I gave him when Dodger was on leave. Yeah, but the problem with that is he'll want to fuck me afterwards... duh, because that's what Dodger does after a haircut.
Vinnie's like that. I'll ignore his text for now because I'm not 'feeling' us two doing 'it'. If he texts me again I'll deal with it then.
Reading a few more text messages consisting mostly of goofy and nonsensical comments; still, it make me feel good to be remembered. I answer most of them with one-liner replies that I hope are funny. After that I check myself out in the mirror looking closely at the pathetic beginnings of my mustache. It consists of almost invisible pale blond hairs with a few on my chin too. Huh, that's at least some progress.
Restless and anxious for Robby to get here, I open a can of beer and have a smoke on the balcony thinking deep thoughts about last night's awesome date with Robby. Wouldn't it be perfect if we replicate last night's sexual activities again tonight?! It was special last night, but then some nights just go like that. Damn though, I definitely have a serious case of the 'hots' for my boyfriend. Taking my wallet from my back pocket, I pull out the picture of Robby I carry with me and my dick stiffens up looking at his cutely, handsome face. I don't think I've ever been as devoted to Robby, almost lovesick, as I've been since returning from Georgia. He's pretty much the same wonderful boyfriend he was before I left for that Georgia trip, but it's like I'm appreciating him more now... and it's like I need him. What's that poem from ninth grade English class? It goes: 'Only where love and need is one, and the work is play for mortal stakes... then something, something, something' else that I forget. Huh, I still don't get exactly what that poem means, but I get the part about 'love and need is one'.
And I really admire Robby too. He always appears to have everything under control, and not only at work but in every other way as well. He's been attending those financial meeting with real business men who are two or three times his age; sometimes he even wears a suit and tie. I couldn't do that shit. Plus, I've come to realize of late what years of boy-watching have been telling me like forever: to wit, there are simply very few guys nearly as good looking as Robby. And he's so fucking sexy too, especially with his skimpy curly soft beard. Well, it's hardly a beard, but he's certainly got more facial hair than me. The point being, Robby's very special and I'm very, very lucky he's my boyfriend... I will not fuck that up!
Putting his picture back in my wallet I start wondering if I'm getting a little carried away here. On second thought though, everything I've been thinking about Robby is true. And oh yeah, he has that nice little touch of bossiness about him now too. Well he's had it since, I don't know, maybe since the last semester at Merrimack. It's carried over nicely to the present and by now it apparently has solidified until it's second nature to him, and not just with me either. He carries himself confidently with the guys on his crew, plus with the other two supervisors, and Chubby too. I see Chubby treating Robby as his boss, being deferential and showing him respect. Heh heh, I sound like the president of Robby's fan club. I seriously better a grip on myself though or I'll have a raging boner when I answer the door, 'Oh, hi there Rob, look at the boner I got from just thinking about you!' Yeah, that wouldn't be too cool! I'd come off looking like a dork if I start treating him like he's a rock star or something.
Done my cigarette, I pour the unwanted remaining half can of beer on the dirt around the balcony shrub, then go in to brush my teeth and gargle again. The doorbell chimes and I get this weird kind of nervous feeling in my balls. It's kinda like just before Ryan's about to give me one of his specialty haircuts and my fetish begins to glow red hot. Yeah, but why in the hell should that apply to Robby? Walking quickly to the front door, then opening it, Robby comes in smiling, saying, "Sorry I'm a couple minutes late, Babe." I grin stupidly as he closes the door, then asks me, "What do you think about this Polo golf shirt I'm wearing? Is it too pink?" He looks so fucking cool and sexy hot I could cream in my jockey shorts! I mumble, "Um, it's not exactly pink, Rob, and it goes perfectly with those light tan cargo shorts you're wearing. You look, ah, awesome, Rob," then I awkwardly give him a hug around the neck with a nice wet kiss on his lips. Awkward because I kinda jumped at him, so he moved back a little not expecting the abrupt hug. Robby goes, "Whoa, thanks, Dylan, but ya caught me off guard there a little bit," then he smacks his lips grinning, and saying, "Cinnamon mouthwash, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I just started using a red mouthwash." Then I babble a little, "It's like, I mean, I like mint better, but I tried this because it was on sale. And ya know, mouthwash cost more, ounce for ounce, than most wines. I'll probably use this bottle up before going back to the minty flavored, um, mouthwash." He laughs, muttering, "TMI about mouthwash, babe," then, "What do you want to do tonight?"
I rub his shoulder, shrugging and saying, "You're my man, Rob. I'll do whatever you say." He goes, "Gee, really? Well, heh heh, I was gonna do this tomorrow after we sign for the apartment, but if you don't mind we'll hit the mall now. I need to shop for a few things to take to college and I'd appreciate your advice." I mumble, "Okay, um, the mall huh? Don't you think we should mess around in my bedroom first?" He goes, "Oh, how about we do that later, Dylan. Do you mind?" Putting a hand on each of his shoulders and looking him in the eyes, I go, "Whatever you say, Rob, but messing around in my bedroom before shopping wouldn't take that long and I could use a little loving from you right about, um, now." He grins, "Well, you are awfully cute and sexy to say that. Plus I suppose taking care of my spouse-to-be's sexual itch should take a priority over shopping." I go, "And..." He runs his fingers through my hairs grinning, then says, "And, like I said, we'll do it later." I make a face, asking, "Are you sure we shouldn't do it now?" He closes his fist on hairs at the front of my head and gives a yank, then uses the fistful of hair to pull my face to his. Our lips meet and I passively enjoy being kissed sexily by Robby. The fact that my hair in front is finally long enough for him to get a fistful of is pretty damn cool too if you ask me.
He's kissing me with his tongue in my mouth while now pushing my head backwards with the fistful of my hair and it kinda hurts, but it's a sexily dominant way to kiss, and that's for goddamn sure. My hands hold onto his waist as I begin kissing back and of course my cock begins getting hard. We haven't moved since he came in. We're still only three feet from the front door as we kiss. His lips slide to my cheek, we both take a gasping breath, then Robby gives a last tug on my hair pulling my head forward sharply, then he lets go of it, and says, "Pull down my shorts." Looking him in the eyes, breathing in little fast burst, I unsnap his shorts and pull the zipper down, then pull his shorts down along with his underwear. Robby steps out of them. That rough hair-pulling kiss has the beginning of a sweet submissive trance forming in my mind. Going down on my knees, I pick up his semi-firm cock and suck it into my mouth sighing. Sucking Robby's cock has been one of my very favorite things to do for a couple of years now. It takes less then a minute to suck his stubby penis into a hard fat boner, then I lap at his nuts while his wet hard cock slides across my face leaving a streak of precum in it's path. Lifting his nuts, I lick near his asshole which is as sparkling clean as it usually is. I smell the lingering scent of bath gel from his recent shower, but that'll wear off in time and I'll be able to smell his personal scent, which I much prefer.
Robby squats down a little, bending his knees so I can lick over his asshole, his scrotum full of nuts lying on my forehead. That causes Robby to gasp and steady himself putting his hands on my shoulders. More rimming has him shuddering and doing a breathy exhale before stepping back, very aroused, "Get your shorts off." Standing, it takes me a couple of seconds to get bare-ass naked; my shorts, underwear, and shirt are in a pile on the floor next to me. Robby pulls his pink Polo golf shirt over his head and our naked bodies come together hugging face to face, then we do a sexy open mouth kiss spreading our mixed saliva all around our mouths. I imagine in my head Robby's skimpy mustache scraping against my upper lip, but in reality it's too soft yet to actually feel it.
As always, I got a tight, hard boner from sucking his cock and licking his asshole, so our hard cocks duel now as we sway, kissing and rubbing our hands over each other's body. Raging hormones, among other factors, create intense sexual desire so it's not long before Robby turns me around and sticks the wet head of his extremely tight cock against my asshole. He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me steadily back unto his boner. I moan quietly as a spurt of precum plops from my cock. His hard organ goes up, up, up my ass as my head lies back on his shoulder and I'm limp in his strong arms as his crotch humps hard against by buttocks, his cock fully up my ass now. It hurts and feels fantastic simultaneously. Robby rubs his nose on my cheek murmuring, "Mmmm, you smell so good, Dylan," and he squeezes his arms around me tightly while arching his back lifting me up on my toes, then humping his crotch against my ass hard. His fat cock's pressing against my prostate making me shudder and moan, "Oooh, oooh." Bending back a little further Robby lifts me off the floor completely now and I drift off into a tasty submissive trance feeling totally dominated by Robby.
A few more humps against my ass and his boner expand a little inside me.
The lips of my anus are stretched around the fat root of his boner creating sexy vibrations of pleasure that spread all over me. He straightens-up setting me back on my feet, then gets an arm around the front of my neck pulling my chin back and up and, with me completely under his control, he starts fucking my ass with those, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds in my ears as I float in a cloud of submissive sexual pleasure. Our bodies meld together as the side of Robby's chin slides against the side of my jaw with every hump of his hips driving his now harder, fatter boner back and forth in my super-sensitized rectum. Oh the sexual pleasure of it all! I moan his name hoping this will go on for a long time, but it doesn't.
My heavy-lidded eyes see my boner sticking straight out from my shaved groin pulsating with pleasure as my climax comes roaring on me and I shudder and gasp, then Robby cries out, his body stiff against my back and with a whinny-sounded groan Robby fills me up with his cum and my insides get sloppy and slippery. He's humping against my buttocks shooting a second load of his creamy cum inside me when I squeal and struggle in his grasp, choking as I try swallowing with his arm tightly against my throat. My hips spastically hump again with cum streaking out this time and all the stars in the vastness of space appear behind my eyes and for a second or two I'm in an otherworldly state of mind, then again! This time it's a supernova of sexual sensations spiking as another streak of cum travels up and out of my rock hard boner, a boner so hard it doesn't even quivering as cum streaks out of it, and then two more little streaks and I'm shaking and moaning while soaring for an instant to the mountain top of sexual ecstasy.
It's quickly over though, and the reality of life comes flooding back into my brain as I go limp again, marveling at the powerful effects of orgasm.
Such a mighty force, but sadly it's only last for a few fleeting seconds.
The back of my head lulls on Robby's shoulder now as he's kissing and licking my ear. My hand comes up so I can rub his cheek and sort of hold his face against the side of my head. We're both taking deep breaths as I try keeping the sensation of climax fresh in my mind, but like always it all drifts away leaving me wanting more, but contented too. Taking a deep breath, I gasp, "Oh Rob! Man that was wonderful. It always seems new and exciting with you." He nods his head, murmuring, "I love you so much, Dylan," and we slowly let go each other. I feel kind of dizzy when I step away from Robby, and then more realty hits as his cum begins drooling out of my ass. It's a return to reality alright when Robby grins, saying, "I think I hurt my fucking back lifting you like that." Pulling on my dick a couple of times, I mumble, "Then maybe you should do some exercises or something, Rob, 'cause I loved the way you did that. I got all submissive to you, and it was really fuckin' sexy-hot."
Robby nods toward my bathroom and we walk to it with him saying, "I haven't heard you mention that submissive stuff for quite a while." I go, "Oh?
Guess I don't need to mention it since you're doing the dominant part so well." He laughs, "Only in your head, Dylan, only in your mind. But that's okay. If you think we're doing that, that's good enough for me. That you're happy is all I care about." Looking behind me, I'm wiping my ass with a damp washcloth, muttering, "You're doing a hell of a job of making me happy, so don't change anything." He takes the washcloth from me and wipes the back of my legs and up my ass crack, muttering, "Yes, boss," and I go, "You're the boss, Rob. Jeez!" He laughs again, then says, "Oh, fer sure. Let's see now: I say we're going to the Mall and you say we're messing around first.
Which of those two things did we do?" I go, "What you wanted us to do obviously. If you didn't want to mess around with some sex, we would have gone to the mall." Another snort of a laugh from him, then he says in the form of a question, "And now we are going to the mall?" In a fake, extra-serious manner, I say, "If that's what you tell me, then that's what I'm gonna do!"
He grabs a hand towel to dry my ass and the back of my legs, saying, "Damn right we're going to the mall, and you know what we're doing afterwards?"
As we walk back to my bedroom, I shake my head, "What are we going to do after the mall?" He says, "We're going to a gay dance club in Boston." I'm like, sarcastically, "Oh boy," because he can't dance. As we're getting dressed, I suggest, "We should practice dancing together here before dancing in, um, public. Don'cha think?" He says, "Practice dancing? No, we're going to the mall now." I'm like, "If you say so, Rob, but doesn't it make more sense, since we're here already, to practice before we go to the mall." Taking a page out of my book, he fakes a serious expression, asking, "So we're not going to the mall now? Is that what you're telling me?" I go, "Not if you want to practice dancing together first." He laughs and hugs me, "If I want to practice first, uh huh." I go, "You mean now?" and he laughs again, then says, "I know I dance like shit, Dylan. I was actually thinking about taking some lessons if I knew of a place that taught today's dances." We go down to the finished basement and I dial up 'Jealous' by Nick Jonas because it's got an easy beat. I start by doing one dance move, then have Robby do
it.
At first both of us feel goofy as we do the next dance move, then repeat it adding another step, and do it over and over, but after a few minutes we're getting into it. The thing is, Robby's an excellent athlete, very coordinated, but he doesn't move well to a dance beat. I try some Avicii tunes and after twenty minutes of concentrating on a limited number of variable movements of his arms, feet, hips, and head, we see some progress. Finally we settle on basic body parts moving in a repeatable dance routine, kind of boring, but much improved over his previous random, sometimes uncoordinated jerky movements. Basically he needs to feel the beat, with a bit of an attitude, one arm moving with the beat, same for bobbing his head and bending his legs slightly while getting the hips involved. Not big movements, just moving with the beat. He's not doing it as smoothly as I'd like, but it looks okay.
It certainly doesn't come naturally to Robby, but whaddaya gonna do?
Willie had an easy time teaching me, but with Robby I settle on the fact he at least knows a few moves and he's doing better. We'll give it a try later tonight, but first the mall. We're both sweating from all that, um, dancing, so we're in the little half bath washing our faces. Robby goes, "Thanks, Dylan, I feel much better about dancing to a fast beat. Slow dancing is simple, and I like slow dancing with you. I always felt geeky fast dancing." I go, "You've never looked geeky in your life, Rob." He goes, "Thanks, but I feel better after practicing with you." I'm like, "Dancing's fun, but I'm not some kind of fanatic about it like some guys, and of course all girls love to dance."
Outside, going down the steps to his pickup, I go, "Aside from the dancing, are you at all nervous about going to a gay club?" He goes, "Yeah, I am, but I want to see what it's like. Don't you?" I nod, "Yeah, sure," but of course I've already been in four or five gay clubs with Willie and then the one in Georgia. None of them had a WOW factor as far as I'm concerned, but then a lot of those gay guys are mainly interested in picking up someone to have sex with. Also, there's gay elements I don't feel comfortable with, like the biker and leather crowds, or older gay men. They intimidate me.
What I'd really like is a gay bar with only guys in their twenties who are more like a frat party crowd, only they'd all be gay. That's what I'd be very comfortable with, but then I've no experience to speak of in any other kind
of environment other than frat parties and the like. And I'm not dissing anyone... to each their own. For all I know a frat party crowd would bore the shit out of most guys in a gay bar.
At the mall, the parking lot's pretty full, which isn't a surprise for a Friday night. Robby doesn't like shopping for clothes so, after parking, we just check out Macy's men's wear, avoiding the Polo department this time of year because everything is overpriced there. I've found some good Polo items on sale, but at this 'going-back-to-school' time of the year nothing's on sale in the Polo section except summer stuff. Robby's interested in some every-day casual stuff to wear to class this winter. He buys two pairs of Lee's skinny jeans, a hoody sweatshirt, and two long sleeved pullovers.
Total cost is $149.00, and ya can't do much better than that. Every single item was on sale, but then that's the beauty of Macy's... everything except Polo is almost always on sale. I'm carrying one of the shopping bags and Robby's got the other one as we head back to the car, with me saying, "That was painless, Rob," and he goes, "Yeah, it was, but I'm having second thoughts about the gay club in Boston." I shrug, "We should do it so we can say we did. We're twenty-one now so let's see what we've been missing."
Robby was online checking out the gay bar scene earlier today and he decided on the twin bars called Machine Nightclub and Ramrod. The second one is a leather cruise bar, which we're not interested in. Machine is primarily a
dance nightclub although they do have a pool table and electronic games floor too. We drive down route 9 east, connect with the Mass Pike and drive directly into Boston with the Boyalston Street address of the Machine nightclub in Robby's GPS. As it turns out the nightclub isn't far from Fenway Park so there's parking aplenty to accommodate fans when there's a Red Sox game. We park a block away and walk back to the nightclub smoking a cigarette feeling a little bit out of our element, but we've come this far so we're committed.
It's nine-thirty now and the club doesn't even open until ten. When we get there there's already a line consisting of groups of male friends, most likely gay. There are a few guy and girl couples too, who could be straight.
Robby tells me the reviews for the club indicates we'll find people who frequent the Machine nightclub come in all shapes, sizes, and genders with a variety of sexual orientations. They come to enjoy the vibrant dance party atmosphere. So all types, but it's primarily known as a gay club and I'd guess of the fifty-plus people in line most of them are gay guys, ages from early twenties to maybe mid-thirties.
It's a rather raucous line of people we're standing with. In front of us are three gay friends in their mid-twenties who've obviously done some front loading before getting in line. They're a bit intoxicated, laughing and giggling at every stupid thing any of them says. In fact most of the people in line appear half drunk, or maybe more than half. Robby and I exchange 'looks', but say nothing although we're both wishing we had a few drinks in us. Four older guys get in line behind us laughing about someone named, Marcus, who has the longest cock any of the guys had ever seen. I light another cigarette inching forward, a little closer to Robby. After a couple of minutes the guys behind us stop laughing about Marcus' cock and start talking, too loudly, about a disturbing trend at the Machine Nightclub; they feel it's becoming overrun by twinks. They're obviously saying this for Robby's and my benefit because we look young for our age. We studiously ignore their taunts until one of the guys taps me on the shoulder. I glance back seeing a big African American dude. The hair down the middle of his head has been dyed copper color. He asks, "Is this your first time at the club?" I nod, and he says, "Well then, I've got the first dance with you." Like that makes any fucking sense.
He has a pronounced lisp, as well as being big and intimidating. The three guys he's with are white guys who look older. They're passing a joint around as they watch us with smirks on their faces. The black dude asks me, "What's your name, twinky?" I mumble, "Everyone calls me Cupcake." Robby laughs out loud, then turns around saying to the black guy, "You do not have the first, second, or third dance with Cupcake, 'cause I do." The black guy puts his hands up in the air and says in a soprano voice, "Don't hurt me!"
His friends laugh and then the one with a ring through his nostril, says, "Why don'cha leave the boys alone, Jaquann?" He's passed the joint and he takes a pull off it, then says, "I'm looking out for Cupcake tonight, that's all I know. He's under my motherfuckin' protection." Other than that, nobody pays any attention to us. Everyone I see in line is with at least one friend and in most cases more then one, and except for that little exchange with Jaquann there isn't much interaction outside of the individual little groups. That's fine with Robby and me.
The line starts moving at ten o'clock. By then there's more people behind us in line than in front of us. At the door two bouncers are checking ID and collecting a ten dollar cover charge. Our bouncer is a good looking musclebound preppy-looking guy who says, "Thank you," when we each give him ten dollars, then he mumbles, "Enjoy, but no drugs, guys." We go in and follow the sign with an arrow pointing downstairs. Going through the door at the bottom of the steps there's an immediate assault on our senses. Heavy bass thumping, colored lights moving through the room, fifty bodies already gyrating to the DJ's remixed and house music. We walk further inside as more people come in behind us. Looking around I see three bars and a DJ up above us in an open booth. In addition there are four platforms with poles where go-go boys dressed in bright colored boxer briefs and florescent body paint dance sexily. Three of them look to be in their late twenties and not especially interesting to me, but one of them is probably too young to be in a nightclub. He's slim with a pretty face and shoulder length shiny light-blond hair that he constantly needs to flick his head back to keep it off his face as he humps the pole. I stare at him for a few seconds until Robby takes my arm and we head for one of the bars.
Robby shouts above the noise, "You're the designated driver tonight, Dylan. I'm going to need to get drunk if you expect me to dance." He orders bottles of Coors and a shot of Jack Daniels for himself. Flashing down the bourbon, he says to me, "You stick with beer tonight so you can drive us home?"
I go, "Gee, no shots for me?" He chuckles, "I know you hate shots," and I go, "Yep, I do. I'm more than fine sticking with beer." Within a half hour there's at least a hundred and fifty guys and maybe thirty to forty girls in here with the majority of them dancing. Most of the girls appear to be lesbians, but not all of them. The decibel level seemingly increases with each new dance number the DJ blasts from a half dozen speakers. Around the perimeter of the dance floor are leatherette booths with cocktail tables in front. We share a booth with two other couple. One gay couple who aren't very
attractive, and the other is a gay guy with his best friend; a straight girl with a big nose. They're telling us about other gay clubs around Boston, mostly in the Back Bay. In their opinion Machine is the best nightclub for dancing and the attached Ramrod club is cool too, but only for spectating the leather crowd, who are constantly cruising each other trying to make contact.
By eleven o'clock, Robby, who can't drink booze for shit, is on his third shot and beer. He's loudly telling the gay couple and the gay guy with the straight big-nosed girl about his career as a star pitcher for Framingham High. Robby needs to shout to be heard. It's almost comical because I can tell the guy and girl are waiting for an opportunity to get up and dance.
When Robby takes a break to chug some beer they excuse themselves and exit the booth leaving the unattractive gay couple to hear more about Robby's high school. I've never heard Robby brag about himself before. The gay couple finally excuse themselves to get fresh drinks. Robby watches them go, then leans over and says, "I can't believe I just said all that shit. Did I sound like an asshole?" I shake my head, "Noooo! They were interested. Didn't the girl say her cousin went to Framingham High?" He shrugs, looking confused, so I put my arm across his shoulders and give him a hug. He shakes his head chuckling and mumbling, "'I'm such a jackass."
We've been frequenting the same bars all night and leaving the bartender, Henry, some fat tips. When it's my turn to make my way through the crowds to the bar, Henry sees me and says, "Two Coors and a shot of Jack, right?"
I tell the guy, "Just the beers, Henry, my boyfriend is drunk enough." When I'm back with the two cans of beer Robby doesn't even notice I omitted the shot of bourbon. Burping, he shouts in my ear, "I need to take a piss." I get up, telling the straight couple who just returned, looking hot a sweaty from dancing, "We're gonna hit the head, then do some dancing, so would you save our seats?" The gay guy, who has his hair in pigtails nods his head and shouts something I can't hear. Nodding at Robby, I shout at pigtails, "Um, this is the first time he's ever drank liquor, so excuse his glory days stories, although they're true." Pigtail waves, yelling, "No problem.
You're an adorable couple." I mutter, "Oh, thanks. You too," and I head into the crowd.
Robby follows me, saying in my ear, "Fuck that glory-days bullshit. I was just making conversation." I nod, ignoring that and mumble, "I gotta take a
wicked piss too. There's a sign for the lavatory in back of Henry's bar."
Making our way there and going inside we discover it's just as loud and crowded inside as outside, plus it's a unisex bathroom. That's not something we've run into very often. Girls coming out of the stalls are fixing their make-up at a sinks right next to guys at a urinal with their dicks in his hands pissing. Apparently it's no problem. Some of the gay guys are even talking to the girls as they piss. Awkward doesn't cover it for me, but I've got no choice. When a urinal is available I hop right to it. The guy next to me blatantly looks over at my dick, then mumbles, "Nice looking cock."
Without looking at him, I shout, "Thanks." Done my piss I can't find Robby.
Then I hear someone throwing up in a stall and figure it's gotta be him, so I work my way to the stall past guys making-out, and past one couple that really needs to get a room. I find it is indeed Robby who's throwing up.
He's wiping his mouth with toilet paper, then looks up and mumbles, "I can't drink for shit," which makes me snort out a laugh. We wait for an available s ink, then Robby rinses out his mouth and washes his face.
Outside the bathroom, I go, "Did you get the impression some of those guys spend most of the night in there?" He goes, "I didn't notice, but I'm feeling better after throwing up. I could really go for a bottle of water though." They sell bottles of water for five bucks, so we're back at Henry's bar for water. He gives it to us and waves off my offered five dollar bill.
It's always good to tip bartenders because they'll serve you ahead of other non-tippers, and once in a while they'll give you a 'round' on the house.
We've been here for an hour and a half by now, but have yet to dance which is
part of the reason we came. The other part is so Robby could see what a gay nightclub is all about. I already knew, and this one is pretty much like the others I've been in, although this place is maybe even tamer than the others.
Standing against the wall watching the dancers, Robby sips on his bottle of water as I nurse yet another beer. Finally I say, "We gotta dance some time and this tune's got an easy beat, so..." He shrugs, "Okay, let's try it." It takes a minute for Robby to get into it, but then he's okay, especially in a crowd where everyone helps him keep the beat; it gets kind of contagious and Robby seems to be enjoying himself. We dance to three long club music sets of pretty much a repeated heavy beat. Club music is only good for dancing. Actually this club could do with some new music because every cut they play sounds like all the others. Not that most of these people give a shit because they're mostly drunk. It's hot and steamy but still kind of fun too, you know, jostling against strangers. After the third dance though we're sweating and ready to take a break.
Standing against the wall again I'm observing all the making-out and groping going on, and all of it's being done by either gay or lesbian couples.
No straight couples feel the need to do it, but then they can do it anywhere. Part of the reason for gay clubs is so gay and lesbians can feel comfortable being themselves here. I'm contemplating another beer when Robby says, "Let's get outta here, Dylan. It's so fucking loud, and too fucking crowded!" He's right too. It's midnight and this place is packed. We go out the closest exit where there's a sign warning, "NO RE-ENTRY W/O PAYING ANOTHER COVER CHARGE" Nice of them to mention that. Outside it feels awesomely refreshing and we take in big lungfuls of cooler air. There was a smoking section inside, but we vetoed going in that room when we saw the thick cloud of smoke floating around everyone.
We both light a cigarette while gawking at the line of people still waiting to get inside. Huh, the bouncers are walking down the line picking out people they'll let in. Jesus, that must piss-off the people in front of them in line. Walking to the pickup, I ask, "How ya feeling, Rob?" He goes, "Much better now, thanks." I'm like, "Well, after tonight I don't feel we're missing much by not going to gay nightclubs, do you?" He shrugs while exhaling a long tunnel of smoke, then says, "Not really, but I'm glad we came. Now I know." I nod, "Yeah, now we know."
At the pickup Robby says, "I'm okay to drive, Dylan." I think he is too, but I go, "You sure?" and he unlocks the car, saying, "Hurling up my guts and then the bottle of water helped a lot." He drives okay and when we're back in Framingham we stop at a Dunkin' Donuts for decaf coffees and drink the coffees outside leaning against the pickup discussing our gay nightclub experience. Robby goes, "I never realized how many unattractive gay guys there are." I say, "There's usually something kinda cute about every guy when they're young, but I have to agree I didn't see many good looking guys tonight. But then, looks aren't everything." He nods, and pats my cheek grinning and mumbling, "That's true, but I don't need to worry about that because I've got you, so I'm always going to have a cute face to look at." I go, "Oh, you mean when you look in the mirror." He laughs, "Yeah, that's exactly what I meant, you nut."
We're probably a little too pleased with ourselves as boyfriends; I know I'm more than pleased having Robby as my boyfriend. A thought drifts in my head as I look at Robby, it's a thought that's never far from my mind: I'm wondering if he'd be interested in a pickup truck fuck like our days of old, so I say, "Are you ready, as the future head of our household, to take care of your future spouse's itch again?" Stepping on his cigarette butt, he goes, "I'm always ready for that. Ya wanna do it in the pickup?" I mumble, "You read my mind again," and flick my cigarette butt almost hitting a man and woman with the lit butt as they're going in Dunkin' Donuts. Robby chuckles at that and we get in the truck with me suggesting, "The reservoir?" and
Robby mutters, "You got it, Babe."
When we get to the reservoir we see four other vehicles scattered around the area with occupants who probably have approximately the same idea we have. Robby parks as far left, and as far away from another car as possible, then we get in the back seat and rustle around undressing each other. He sits on the seat naked with his legs spread, grinning and saying "Being head of the household certainly has some perks." I'm on my knees on the floor facing him, holding his flaccid penis. Pulling back the foreskin and looking closely at the fat pink head, I mutter, "I'm always willing to do my part, Robby." Then I use my thumb, index, and middle fingers to stroke his fat organ a few times. Robby murmurs, "That feels good," and I suck his cock into my mouth and run my tongue all around the head. Robby squirms on the seat making a hissing sound exhaling through his teeth. Taking some of the shaft inside my mouth, then all of it and the head pokes past my gag reflex area. Robby lifts his ass off the seat making that hissing sound again.
My nose is in his pubic hairs for ten seconds before I back my head off a little and his cock's head comes out of my throat and now I can smell his clean personal scent; no more bath gel scent. Bobbing my head on his ever hardening cock I slip into a sort of trance sucking and licking his sex organ until it's hard as granite. Robby's groaning and moaning and moving on the seat while running his fingers through my hair. My cock is sticking straight up, tight against my belly and almost as hard as Robby's. Oooh, it feels so good! I like sucking Robby's cock so much... my main man's fat awesome cock tastes and feels good in my mouth and throat. Saliva's running down my chin but I can't stop deep throating him; then, feeling like I'm going to climax, Robby's orgasm shoots out of his balls and down my throat with him gasping and pulling my hair. More of his cum gushes down my throat and when I back off another streak of creamy cum coats my tongue. Swallowing it, I sit back as he breaths deeply, then says, "That felt awesome! Holy shit, that was good!" Taking hold of his semi-hard prick in my fingers, I put just the cream-covered head back in my mouth and tongue it until Robby pushes my head away, groaning, "It's too sensitive, babe."
Getting up on the seat next to him I snuggle against his side, saying, "I'd do that any time you want, Rob. You just say the word and as a tiny indication of how much I love you and look up to you, I'll suck you off." He puts his arm across my shoulders, murmuring, "I believe you, Dylan, I really do. I'd be lying though if I told you that like a mere six months ago. I mean, you loved me then but not in the committed way you do now, and I can't begin to tell you how much that means to me. And I've come to realize you're serious about looking up to me too, and because of that I feel a lot of responsibility to do right by you." I ask, "Do you love me?" and he laughs, then says, "That's been established and set in stone a couple of years ago."
Kissing the side of his cheek, I murmur, "I know that, but I like hearing it." He nods, squeezing my shoulders, "Ya know, I was prepared to go as long as I had to, and do whatever it took to get you to love me the way you do now. Frankly, I'm not at all sure what was the turning point, but I've been feeling true love from you for a while now, and you show it to me in the most special ways." We nestle together, almost smug about our love affair.
Robby breaks our contended silence, quietly saying, "We were kidding around about this earlier, but just so you know: I am fully committed to your vision of me being the head of our household, as you put it, and I'm willing to make the decisions in our lives that are bound to come up. Your part will be to support me in those decisions even if you aren't crazy about them at times." I mumble, "I know that, Rob. I'm already doing that, and we're not even married." When he talks seriously like that I get this delicious feeling, almost a submissive trance. Oh man, I can't describe it but it's awesome and makes my dick tighten up. We're in the mood to cuddle and quietly reminisce about some of our hundreds of experiences together. Time floats by
for an hour or so, neither of us wanting the night to end. Somehow we slip into another sweet lover's make-out that goes on and on with our hands rubbing over each other's body. Finally our arousal is too great to resist and Robby fucks me again, slowly this time. I'm on my stomach with him on my back mostly, the sides of our faces together. A slow luscious fuck and my eventual climax is fantastic leaves me shivering with pleasure. After Robby moans and shoots his latest load up my ass we get on our sides to hug and make-out some more. It's after two o'clock before we finally get dressed.
We're the last car here by the time the pickup bumps over the dirt road getting back on the blacktop.
At my house, parked behind the condo, Robby and I hug and kiss until I moan, "Please," and pull down my shorts. Robby pulls his semi-hard cock past his zipper and I sit on it facing him. I need to help get his cock up my ass, pushing it with my fingers because it's not a boner yet. When it's up my
ass I lay against him with my arms around the back of his neck, the side of our faces together waiting until I feel his cock get harder and harder and fatter and fatter, then I ride it whimpering with pleasure. Robby's grunting a little so I imagine his cock's getting sore by now, but I can't stop and keep it up until I do a muffled squeal with my mouth against the side of his neck as I climax. I don't think Robby climaxed before he lifts me off his cock. Breathing deeply, I seriously ask, "Do you want me to suck your cock to get you off, Rob?" He snorts a laugh, muttering, "No, that's okay, I'm good." I don't want to leave him, but he finally quietly says he's gotta get to bed. After a thirty second kiss goodnight, I get out and watch him drive away.
In bed I worry I was way too clingy tonight, and maybe I initiated too much sex even for Robby. The last two nights have been perfect from my point of view, but perhaps a little over the top for him. There have been nights when Ryan would fuck me four or five times, but maybe I need to dial it back some before Robby starts having second thoughts about living a life with an oversexed person, no matter how cute he thinks I am. That's food for thought. Better yet, I'm going to come right out and ask him if he thinks I'm oversexed, and if he does, does he mind that I am?
Saturday morning, yawning frequently, Robby picks me up and drives us to North Andover. We get our apartment situation finalized without much hassle.
Robby sent the first and last month's rent back in June, so we knew we had an apartment. It's just a matter of choosing from the apartments still available. We get lucky again this year and get a newly renovated one-bedroom apartment with brand new furniture. It's was only completed three days ago and we're the first ones to see it. We signed for it immediately. There's a faint fresh paint smell and new carpet smell n the bright apartment that's
nice. Next Saturday we'll bring our own pillows and linens for the double bed, plus lots of other personal stuff. Very happy with the apartment, we're congratulating each other we go on campus to look around. The campus looks awesome, especially the two new dormitories. While walking the grounds I reconsidered asking Robby if he thinks I'm oversexed. He'll tell me when and if he thinks I am. After all he's the head of the fucking household.
The last week of summer vacations flies by uneventfully. I work on Robby's crew all week with only a half day on Friday because in the afternoon there's a company cookout thanking and saying goodbye to the summer part-timers. Mr. Dickers is good about things like that. Little touches that make us feel appreciated, and the bonus checks the cherry on top. During the week Robby and I got together only Monday and Thursday nights, and neither date came close to matching last Friday and Saturday nights, but any date with Robby is always special.
Robby was busy with work Tuesday night so I hung out with Chubby and the other guys on our crew shooting pool and drinking pitchers of draft at a dive bar Chubby somehow knew about. It was fun. Then Wednesday after work I politely turned down Bean's request for a haircut even though he came right out and said. "Um, I'd really like fucking you like we did last fall. Maybe we can start that up again just between you and me, and nobody else.
Whaddaya say?" I hesitated for a moment remembering his long thin cock and how good it felt up my ass, but then a picture of Robby flew by my brain and I begged off. Bean sounded disappointed, saying, "Maybe another time, huh? Like
last year." I told him, "I don't know, Bean. Um, the haircut for sure though." I had mixed emotions afterwards. On the one hand I was proud of myself for turning down another opportunity for some friendly, harmless buddy sex, while at the same time admitting to myself I really wanted to do it with him. He fucks differently than anyone I know. It's a weird thrill somewhat along the lines of getting fucked by Timmy's two inch cock with the fat hard head right on my prostate a hundred percent of the time.
Thinking about that for a while I almost call Bean back, then think about Robby and I stay in Wednesday night washing and ironing the clothes I'm taking to college. It's no big deal for most guys, but me going two days without sex of some kind; oral, topping or bottoming, isn't pleasant no matter how awesome Robby fucked me two days earlier. Friday night after the cookout Chubby and I spent an hour and a half cleaning the Jeep. We filled up a trash bag with fast food wrappers, pizza boxes, empty coffee cups, soda cups, and general trash from the back seat. How he can have sex in the back seat with all the trash back there is a mystery to me. We vacuumed every inch of the Jeep, then used a car cleaner on the seats, dashboards, doors, and every fuckin' place we can reach.
Satisfied the Jeep shined inside and out, we took showers and ate dinner together at The Cheesecake Factory, a restaurant at the Natick Mall. While eating we compare our finances deciding how much we could both contribute to
a newer car, eventually deciding maybe we'd trade in the Jeep after next summer... and then again, maybe we won't. Because of the money we made this summer neither of us needs to work a part time job at college, but if an opportunity came up I'd probably take it.
Back at the condos we begin packing electronics and things of that nature in our sparkling clean Jeep, getting a head start on Saturday morning.
We'll finish packing tomorrow morning, then wait for our moms to get up so we can say our goodbyes again, and then we'll finally be off to Merrimack.
Robby won't be in North Andover until Sunday, so I'm going with Chubby tomorrow. I'm anxious to get started and, as a surprise for Robby, I want to have our refrigerator stocked. Here we go...
The end.
Beginning in about two weeks, please look for, DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE.
Donny Mumford: thinat20@yahoo.com (mailto:thinat20@yahoo.com) OR... donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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