Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2011 09:16:55 -0800 (PST) From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com> Subject: (1)DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR Chapter 1 by Donny Mumford DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR chapter 1 by Donny Mumford We're in our apartment's kitchen making breakfast on a freezing cold Saturday morning in February. No classes today so we slept in and now it's almost ten o'clock. I'm standing in front of the stove with flip flops on my feet, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Our radio's set at 92.5 FM this morning, and "Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons is playing in the background. Robby asks, "Do you like this group, Dylan?" I think for a second, and go, "I don't think I like that Mumford guy, but the sons are okay." Robby laughs, and says, "You don't even know which one is Mumford!" and he's chuckling, like he does a lot. He's a happy kid! I'm preparing blueberry pancakes from scratch; well, to me it's from scratch: two cups of Bisquick, teaspoon of vanilla extract, cup of milk, and two eggs. Mix it all together and pour about a quarter cup's worth onto a greased skillet for each pancake. Then, after pouring the batter, add a half dozen blueberries and some sugar. Doing it this way the pancakes don't turn blue like they will if you mix the blueberries in with the batter. Robby, who's dressed pretty much like me, is well on his way to burning the bacon and since we already have our large Dunkin Donuts coffees, I'm good to go. I begin pouring batter for six pancakes, three for each of us, then the blueberries. It's just Robby and me because Chubby's with Sam again this morning; he spent the night there as a matter of fact. Lately, he's been doing a lot of that. Pancakes don't take much time to cook, so when the batter bubbles, flip 'em. I reach across Robby to warm our plates in the microwave, and Robby grabs my arm to pull up the sleeve of my tee, revealing my cool tattoo, "Should I get a tat?" he asks, with a grin. I go, "No, they're only for big boys and girls," and he squeezes my shoulder, mumbling, with feigned awe, "Someday I hope to be as cool as you." Retrieving the plates, I go, "It's good to have a dream." Everything's coming together quickly, including the butter which has softened to room temperature so it'll ooze all over the hot pancakes, just the way it should. I say, "Put some of the least badly burned bacon on my plate, Robby, the pancakes are just about ready." He goes, "Hey! The bacon's crisp, not burnt!" I mutter, "Uh huh," and slide pancakes onto each plate, slather butter on them and set the plates on the breakfast bar; one plate on the family-room side of the counter for Robby, and the other on the kitchen side so we're sitting across from each other. Our stools scrape annoyingly against the tile floor as we pull then up to the counter, and sit. Robby goes, "Yum!" as he pours too much maple syrup on his pancakes, and then digs in. He's a big eater but ya wouldn't know it to look at him; very slim boy, but strong and athletic. He's as tall as me, almost five feet, eleven inches, and we both think we may still be growing a little too, so we got that going for us. I reach for the syrup and put the correct amount on each pancake. For the best pancakes, it's important to use only one-hundred percent real maple syrup, not that cheap crap, like Log Cabin, which contains only ten percent of the real stuff. Robby's staring at me as he chews, so I stare back into his beautiful eyes; he has bright eyes of multi-shades of blue. There's a touch of sunshine peeking through the kitchen window reflecting off the shiny small stud in Robby's earlobe... it's the one he got after I got mine from Mohawk man in Wildwood... Robby likes to do what I do. Actually, Mohawk man pierced both my ears but I settled on wearing an earring in just the left one and let the other piercing heal over. After a minute of Robby staring at me, I go, "What?" and he points at me with his fork, saying, "I need to give you a haircut 'cause you're looking shabby and I can't conceive of having a shabby boyfriend." I make a face, like "What the fuck?" and then repeat part of what he just said, but say it as a question, "You can't conceive?" He goes, "I'm serious, Dylan!" Ignoring that for the moment, I glance over Robby's shoulder through the balcony's sliding glass doors and all I can see is bright blue skies up above, and an ocean of white below. We've had three major snow storms in a five week period, storms that the weather bureau classified as blizzards, plus a few regular snow storms mixed in among the blizzards, so we've got snow up our asses; so much snow there's no place to put it. Driving is hazardous because the snow's piled high at the ends of both sides of the streets and you can't see cars coming down the street you want to turn onto. Forgetting about the snow, I point my fork at Robby, like he just did to me, and say, "We tried that haircut thing, remember? And it didn't turn out too good." He goes, "Ya mean the haircut I gave you before Christmas?" I go, "Yes, that's the one I mean." He shrugs, like what's the problem, and in a monotone, I say, "I had to wear my peruvian beanie all the time; not only outside, but inside too in order to hide the massacre you call a haircut." He tries not to, but he laughs out loud anyway, then he's chuckling for a few seconds, maple syrup dripping down his chin. His laughter under control, he says, "Okay, that wasn't good, I admit it, but it was my first try at giving a haircut, but now the experience curve will kick in. I know what I did wrong last time." I make another face, knowing he's going to get his way, but making him work for it. Now he's talking with a mouthful of pancake, saying, "Anyway, you were wicked cute wearing that beanie with the ear flaps and tassels," and then he laughs again spitting fragments of pancakes onto my plate. I shake my head trying not to join in but can't help laughing along with Robby's contagious laughter. Ya know, he's so fucking attractive that sometimes I get a boner just looking at him, and I mean even in the college classes we have together. After laughing along with Robby for a few seconds, I pretend I'm outraged about him spitting on my plate, which is nuts because he and I have exchanged a bucket of spit in our time together, and loved doing it. I yell, "You just spit on my fuckin' food," and he goes, "No problem," and takes my last pancake and eats it himself. "Just how old are you, anyway?" I ask, as I get up and pour four more pancakes on the griddle. Robby finishes his plate and puts it on the bar without saying anything. The silence makes me look over at him, and then I see that special smirk on his face; it's one I know very well, and I think, "Oh boy!" He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my neck, the side of his face next to mine, as he quietly says, "I love you so much it hurts." I say, "You sure it's not a stomach ache from the four pancakes you just inhaled," He kisses my neck, and murmurs, "I'm sure, Dylan... it's you." I feel his hard cock against my buttocks and that gets my own cock turning hard, tenting-out the front of my pajamas. Robby orders, "Turn off the stove," as he slips his hand through the front of the elastic waistband, then down to rub across my hardening penis that he now takes in his fist and slowly strokes it as he sucks a hickey on the side of my neck. Turning off the burner I lean back into him, a low moan slipping from my lips. Robby has become a very confident, dominant lover and I never say no to him; not because he's dominant, but because I like it too much to pass it up. His other hand slips under my t-shirt and across my stomach, his fingers spread and lightly rub over my belly button and a little lower sending shivers scattering around my groin, then he cups my side holding me against him... his other hand continues slowly stroking my boner. I reach back with both arms and get a hand on each of his firm buttocks as my neck's getting slippery with spit. The feel of his moving tongue and sucking lips on my neck gets me squirming and moaning, so he tightens his hold around me. Satisfied with the hickey, he takes his lips away to whisper in my ear, "Pull your pajamas down, Dylan." Breathing raggedly now, I pull them down to my knees and Robby pulls his cock through the pee opening in his pajama bottoms and slides his hard boner up my crack, then presses the head of it on my anus so that it's parting the rosebud lips slightly. "I got ya now," he murmurs as I let out a lot of air, and say, "Do it, Robby... please, don't tease me." I've always been in love with Robby's scent, his natural, personal odor, and now it surrounds me and fills up my senses. His little brother Dodger has a similar smell, it's in their skin, their genes, or something, and acts like an aphrodisiac for me. I've read where a human's odor is a big part of the sexual attraction between him and a perspective sexual partner, and with me that's definitely true. I guess it can work the other way too, but I haven't paid attention to that. Robby takes his hand away from my dick to grip my jaw and twist my head until his lips can reach mine. All around our mouths it's sticky and sweet, coated with pure maple syrup. Robby's tongue comes out to lick my lips clean, and then the side of my chin where there's a drip of the sweet syrup. Cleaned of the sticky stuff, Robby tells me, "I like your normal taste best, you're more delicious than Swedish Fish!" which is his favorite candy treat, so that's quite a compliment. We've been doing it raw for months now 'cause there's something special about that; using lubrication is fun too, but this is more natural and therefore sexier to us. It's also a more difficult entrance, but Robby's blessed with yet another excellent capability, he generates a lot of precum. Some of it's running down my ass cheek right now, but most of it's gathered around my anus as Robby humps inside me with a quiet, "Ohhh, yeah," from him, and a muffled, "Ow," from me. He lets my rectum recognize his cock so the various muscles inside me can relax and allow our friend to come in. Robby's boner's only about four inches long but it's hefty, with a great tulip head, and it all feels awesome inside me. Mostly it's Robby that I'm in love with anyway, I'd love him no matter the size of his cock. After a minute or two he gets both arms around my neck again and pulls my head back, then does a long kiss on the side of my forehead, murmuring, "Oh my god, I love how you smell, and feel, and taste..." and he does some licking and kissing that gets more shivers, nice shivers, running up and down my spine. I couldn't possible mold myself against him and more than I'm doing... the idea is to achieve maximum bodily contact, almost like we're one entity. Robby probably picked-up the 'smell thing' from me, or maybe he's being honest and really does think I smell sexy, although I don't smell sexy to myself. I guess that doesn't need to mean other's wouldn't think I have a sexy scent and, as a matter of fact, the last couple of years I've had quite a bit of experience messin' around with other boys. Probably too much experience, but I've been loyal to Robby so far at college. I say "so far" because there's temptations, ones I've resisted and intend continuing to resist, but I'm human too, ya know. Robby gets his arms below my belly button, to hold me in place, and then forces the rest of his fat four inches of boner up inside me. "Oh gawd!" he mumbles, "Feels so good," and he rubs his nose against the back of my neck twice, then holds my hips and fucks me steadily. It only takes four or five penetrations before he's sliding in tightly, but smoothly; I lean forward then so he'll be pushing over my prostate button and... ecstasy! Robby's a boy who makes sounds of pleasure while fucking, and that's just one more reason I like him fucking me so much. Knowing how much pleasure he's feeling allows me to be free to concentrate on my own pleasure, and that's a nice combination. At times he'll smack my ass with the palm of his hand while pumping his cock up my rectum and, like I said, he's strong, so he can be a little rough as he nears climax. His penis might be a little undersized, but the amount of spunk he produces is not. Nice balls in a perfect looking scrotum, like a artist rendition of a hairless, pale pink scrotum; that's what Robby's real life one looks like, and the same can be said for his brother. He and his brother have been blessed with almost perfect facial features too, and their body's muscular definition is understated but definitely noticeable, their hair, teeth... you name it, it's all close to perfection. They're freaks of nature. It's unfair to us regular boys, but there it is. As I said, Robby can get rough near climax, but now he's into a zone where I know he's doing what pleasures him the most, not necessarily what gives me the most pleasure. We both turned nineteen in the fall, but that's still too young to be putting your sexual partner's concerns of pleasure totally above your own. That's too mature a concept for us to get into at this stage of life; we just want to have fun, and love each other, and fuck. Part of it's that we're both in love with being in love, so that's cool too. Robby's squeezing my hips with both fists now, then letting up, then squeezing tightly again creating more shivers up and down my back. Fully inside me, he stops abruptly and reaches up to push my head forward so I'll bent over with my hands on my knees, and now Robby begins pounding my ass with wild abandon for a solid minute bringing me to the edge of climax. He stops then, pushes his hard-as-stone wet cock up my ass as far as he can get it, then leaves it there as he goes up on his toes and leans down on both my buttocks with the palms of his hands, compressing my hole on his boner, and slowly draws his cock out, and slowly pushes it back in, then again he pulls it very slowly out, and in again. He's making hissing sounds between his teeth the whole time as if he can barely stand the degree of sexual stimulation he's feeling. My dick's as hard as it can get, dripping precum, drip, drip, drip as I moan, "Robby, fuck me... it feels so good..." He smacks my ass hard, "Smack! Smack!" and reaches around to stroke my boner. I'm taking little breaths now 'cause that feeling, that awesome feeling of impending orgasm, is coming on me fast; it's an almost painful feeling inside my thighs near my nuts, and I start quietly repeating Robby's name, almost under my breath. He answers my plea and begins driving his cock in me faster now, and soon his crotch is slamming into my sweaty buttocks making wet slapping sounds as he grunts and groans as if in pain. I stroke the uncut foreskin on and off the head of my almost six inch boner making squealing noises as my climax builds. Before my orgasm's fully develops though, Robby yells, "AHHHH!" and lays over on my back doing a hard extra hump filling my ass with his seed. With his hot breath on my neck, he does a sloppy pump up my ass splattering cum on my buttocks which then drools down my ass. Robby straightens up again and with a desperate grunt and hump of my cum-filled rectum he produces another long shot of his spunk that overflows my bowels and runs down my ass to my legs. I squeal embarrassingly then as my cock shoots a tight string of cum, it's like I'm peeing cum from my dick, burning my pee slit with the force of it's exit. My eyes squint to slits and I'm clenching my teeth together watching my streak of cum draw a line across the oven door. All my muscles spasm then, and my hips buck as a second string of spunk follows the first and now my brain's caught up with everything, registering the sexual thrill of it all causing my whole body to shudder while squeezing out small squirts of sticky, creamy, teen spunk that splats heavily onto the kitchen floor joining my previous drops of precum. I'm making goofy yipping sounds gasping for breath, still bent over while reliving in my head the sensations I experienced when that pressurized orgasm caused spunk to fire from my super-sensitive cock... there were splashes of color that temporarily blinded my vision, almost disorientating me, and all the otherworldly good feelings around my groin and inside my rectum register in my head with a bang. Damn, I love fucking! Robby pulls out of me, and more of his cum runs down my backside, wetting it. He take a big swat at my wet, bare ass and, "SPLAT!" I go, "OW! Dammit, Robby!" and he pushes his boner back up inside me and humps me another minute or two, while I lazily stroke my softening cock. Then, from Robby, "We're all messy, Dylan," using a little kid's voice. Sometimes our fucking is romantic, very romantic, but other times it's recreational sex between two boys who like doing it a lot! Mostly it starts out with sweetness and then a little of each gets added in; some playfulness, and some romantic love. Robby's pulled his dick out of me and is wiping it first on the back of my legs; then, when that isn't accomplishing his goal, he grabs a napkin from the counter and uses that to clean his dick. When he's feeling extra feisty he'll makes me suck his cock clean and that's good by me, I like a little raunchiness every now and then. I go, "Let's take a shower together," which is what we do, and afterward we clean-up the kitchen and make plans for the day. BIG NEWS! No snow is predicted for today, so whoop-de-doo... it's a miracle! Robby says, "First I'll give you the haircut, and then we can either study and get the freakin' homework out of the way, or we can go over to the student center at Merrimack and see what's up there. Wouldn't it be cool if Tracy has another beer party this afternoon?" I go, "No, beer parties! You can't drink for shit!" He says, "Let's go out on the balcony, have a cigarette, and talk about it." We pull hooded sweatshirts over our heads and go out through the sliding glass doors to the snow-covered balcony. Our two bedroom, two bathroom apartment is on the second floor. Last October Chubby attached a thermometer to the balcony's railing; he donated the thermometer after obtaining it via a five finger discount at the Home Depot, and today it reads nineteen degrees. We're sharing a Marlboro light that we pass back and forth, and in between drags we make snowballs and heave them haphazardly toward the parking lot where there may or may not be an innocent bystander to clobber with one of our icy bombs. We do this because we're nineteen, and nineteen year old boys do stupid things just for the hell of it... and because we can. Robby's a baseball player with a great arm and his tossed snowballs can reach way on the other side of the parking lot where no one would believe a snowball could possibly have come from here. His third heave gets results... we hear someone yell, "What the fuck? Who threw that?" It sounds like another college student so that's cool. Robby and I smirk, and then he asks, "Are we getting more childish as we grow older?" I say, "Apparently," and we go back inside. It's so awesome being away from home living on your own, and especially being with the boy you're in love with. Doing nothing is fun if I'm doing it with Robby. The same thing is true with me and Chubby although sometimes I don't feel nearly as close to him as I used to, then other times my eyes water just thinking about how much I love him. It's not clear to me how my love for Robby is different from my love for Chubby; maybe it should be, but it isn't! One love should be a romantic love, and the other more like a brotherly love, it should be that simple but it's not 'cause with Chubby it gets confusing at times. I'm not sophisticated enough about love to be able to differentiate a love that's as deep as my love for those two boys is. Some time ago, for more then a year, I was under the impression I was in love with Willie Worthington too, and in a way I was, but in that case I was finally able to differentiate a love for a friend, even a special one who introduced me to new aspects of life and exciting things I'd never experienced before, and who just happened to have an eight inch cock with which he fucked me very, very good... the difference between that kind of love and true romantic love. I finally recognized the difference, is what I'm saying. I love Robby for himself, period... he doesn't need to shown me new stuff, or have an eight cock, or nothing; just be himself. So, while I loved Willie in a sincere way at the time, as soon as I discovered romantic love with Robby, I knew it was a far, far different thing and there's no real comparison between the two. Okay, I admit it did take me a while to realize that, probably much longer then it should have, but then there was that eight inch dick to consider... just kidding. Inside now, Robby says, "Okay, Dylan, get the barber clippers out, and no more stalling," I whine a little, "We just took showers a half hour ago, fer chrissakes! We'll get those little hair clippings on us if you give me a haircut... they'll be all down my back driving me crazy all day." Robby ignores my complaining and walks over to the closet to begin his own search for the barber supplies. I try logic, "Chubby's been giving me haircuts since we we're ten years old, he knows how to do it." From the closet, a muffled, "Chubby's never here, he basically lives with Sam, and anyway your old boyfriend, Willie what's-his-name, dictated what kind of haircut you got and there's no reason I can't do the same!" Coming out of the closet with a ski parka hanging off one shoulder, then stumbling on his own baseball equipment and cursing, he holds up the box of barber stuff, saying, "Take off your shirt and pull one of the kitchen stools over under that light," real bossy like, and it makes my dick move. Damn! It's a turn-on for me to have Robby take charge, and he's getting good at it too. He knows I get a kick out of it 'cause I've told him I do, but I'm thinking he's liking it too. On his high school baseball team Robby was a real take charge guy so it's not like he's new to it. And, let's face it, I'm not about to ruin our Saturday by being a hard-ass about this, it's only hair, so I pull my t-shirt over my head, then pull a stool over where the light's good, like I was told to do. Robby goes, "Hop up on the stool and be quiet." Okay, that last part wasn't necessary, but I'll be damned if my dick isn't firming up on me. I look over to see Robby frowning with concentration as he lays out scissors, combs, clippers with attachments, and the trimmer. He picks up the trimmer and, with a straight face, asks, "The attachment goes on this thing, right?" No, not right! The trimmers only use is to outline around the ears, and stuff like that. My eyes open wide as I'm about to explode with; "Ya don't even knowing the difference between clippers and trimmer?!" but Robby burst-out laughing first... he's teasing, saying, "I know what they're for, but the look on your face was priceless!" I say, "I knew that you knew!" then, "What kind of haircut am I getting, Robby?" He takes a comb and runs it through my wavy, two-tone blond hair, mumbling, "You'll find out when I'm done," and I add, sarcastically, "Which is when you'll find out too, right?" which makes him snort a laugh, then chuckle. Then, with fake sternness, he says, "Stop messin' around, I gotta concentrate!" It's like the weirdest coincidence ever, but Robby and I have identical hair; we both have wavy two-tone blond hair, like we're twins... although we don't look anything alike. The guys on the lawn cutting crew a couple of summers ago used to call us the Bobbsey twins; I've already forgotten who the Bobbsey twins are. Anyway, the older kids called us that because we have the same hair, and because Robby got his haircut the same as mine... sweet, huh? Oh brother, the things you do when you're that young and clueless! On the radio there's been a series of commercials, one after the other, so Robby turns the radio off, mumbling, "We don't need this distraction!" So it's quiet in the apartment, which is a rare occurrence. The truth is, not only do I like it when Robby bosses me around, but it also feels good having someone messing with my hair; it's very intimate when being done by this special boy. Robby combs through my hair from the nape of my neck up and over the crown, and down through the bangs in the front; then back the other way... he's playing with it, showing me he can if he wants to. Halfway on it's journey the comb's pulling my hair against the grain, and halfway it's with the grain, and I'm totally good with it. There's an almost hypnotic state that I slip into when someone does something that sorta gets me into a serene peaceful trance-like state of mind, and this lazy combing of my hair is one of those times. We're both quiet and we can soon hear the static electricity crackling in my clean dry hair. After a while Robby begins breathing a bit heavily... I close my eyes to better enjoy being where I am right now and, after maybe three minutes, Robby puts the comb down and uses his fingers to massage my scalp. The combing had my scalp tinkling and feeling very alive, and now the massaging creates a deeper sensation, down to itch upon my very skull. I'm lulling my head back towards Robby and soon it's laying against his chest, partially supporting me and keeping me from falling backwards off the stool. Ya wouldn't do that unless you had one-hundred-percent confidence that the person behind you would never let you fall; a metaphor for how I think of Robby in everyday life too. His breathing is getting a little raspier now as he massages my bare shoulders, and down on my chest to rub my nipples and bend his head down close to mine, whispering, "I love your body, Dylan. I love everything about you, especially your cute nose... oh, and," with a chuckle, "also your cute chin," and he's kissing me, as I'm thinking, "Hey, this haircut's wasn't a bad idea after all..." More fingers through my hair and then some squeezing at the back of my neck that gets a cascade of shivers flying down my spine. The back of my head is against Robby's chest with his hands tightly rubbing up my sides and across my chest. As he rubs, squeezes, and massages me, he coos, "You have the smoothest, softest skin and it has this awesome, healthy pale pink tone to it too, and..." and then he's out of breath, nuzzling the side of my neck and licking where he did the hickey earlier. As he's trying to catch his breath, he helps me sit upright on the stool again... my body's alive and vibrating, and it's just the most perfect feeling! Robby blows out a lot of air, then says, with a little laugh, "You're gonna need to pull your pajamas down again, Dylan. I've got a hard-on that's gonna split open if it doesn't get inside your bum pretty quick." I hop off the stool, pull my bottoms down, and bend over looking back at Robby, glancing at the wet spot at the front of his pajama bottoms, then up to his eyes. He smiles, and says, "You're almost too hot for me, Dylan. You must have given your last boyfriend all he could handle." I go, "Can we do this in bed?" Robby's pulling his bottoms down to his knees, saying, "No, it ain't gonna last long enough to make it worthwhile getting in bed!" my eyes go to his boner and it does look really hard sticking straight out from his groin, the skin's so tight it's shiny. He pulls my hips back to him, and without further ado, pushes his cock up inside me. It went in easier then last time, but there isn't any waiting around now that it's in. Robby's sex drive is cranked up again and he gets right into pumping my ass with that fat four inch boner of his and it feels oh so fine almost from the first thrust up my ass! Robby keeps up the fucking without slowing down until he's making desperate, scary breathing sounds; then he bends over me so that his forehead's pressing hard at the back of my head gripping me around the chest with both arms so tightly I can barely breath, and rabbit fucks me for thirty seconds before streaming spunk up inside my bowels for the second time in less then two hours. It happened too fast; my bone is sticking out with a drip of precum at the pee slit, but no orgasm. Robby loosens his death grip around my chest, breathing hard, and puts his chin on my shoulder so his forehead is now against my cheek. He feels hot and he's perspiring lightly. Then, with a sigh from Robby, his dick slips out of me, and he moans, "That was even better then the first one today." I'm stroking myself, a little fired up myself, I go, "Do ya think ya can help me out here, stranger?" Robby's like, "Huh? Oh, what a shame. I shot off so fast I let my boyfriend down," all that was said while smiling, and it's obvious he's feeling real good after his two orgasms in one morning. The color's coming back into his beautiful face, including that darker blush of rosy pink at each cheekbone that's always there; he's so fucking cute it's ridiculous! Robby has the complexion of a ten year old boy, that's how clear and new and clean it always looks. He says, "Let me help ya out here, before ya hurt yourself," and he gets down on his knees in front of me and gives me the greatest blowjob in the history of mankind. I'm up on my toes, "Ooohing, and aaaahing," with electric buzzing flashing around my balls until I blow a little stream of spunk into Robby's mouth; it felt like a much bigger load than it was. Awesome! Robby sucks on my dick trying for more creamy spunk, but I'm dry. I run my fingers through his short hair, loving the silky feel of it. He finally gave up on the flattop around Christmas time and let me cut it another way. Fairly short, combed down on top and flipped up in the front; too cutesy for a nineteen year old actually, but I like looking at him with this boyish haircut. I tilt his head up and lean down to put my tongue in his mouth and we French kiss for a bit, sharing the last of my sticky cum between our tongues. We get our shit together after that. It's nice feeling sexually satisfied, so relaxing and dreamy. After pulling on our hooded sweatshirts again, we go out on the balcony for another smoke, smiling and smirking at each other. Robby asks, "If you had your choice, which you don't by the way, how would you like your hair cut." I think about it in an exaggerated manner, my forefinger pressed to my lips and my eyes squinting with concentration. "How would I like it cut, hmmm?" Finally I have the answer, I brighten-up, and announce, "I'd like it cut by Chubby, that's how I'd like it cut." Robby looks hurt, "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" and I go, "I'm kidding with you, Robby. I'd like whatever kind of haircut you want to give me. How's that?" He's like, "Perfect! Let's go inside." Inside I take my sweatshirt off and sit on the stool and this times Robby starts cutting. He's using a comb and scissors to cut a lot of my blond hair off; it's piling up on my shoulders and lap. As he progresses further and further into the haircut Robby's getting more and more frustrated; obvious to me from his mutterings. Finally he puts the comb and scissors down too hard, and exclaims, "Your hair grows funny! I'll use attachments with the clippers, that'll even things out some." I'm thinking, "Uh oh!" but can't verify the damage because Robby won't let me hold a mirror during the haircut; he says it's unnerving having me watch every hair getting cut; also, he claims that sometimes it doesn't look right until he evens things out. Meaning, he fucked it up and doesn't want me to see it, like now; he's using the clippers to try correcting the mistakes he made with the scissors. I sit and bear it because Robby hates to be embarrassed and I'm afraid this haircut isn't turning out any better than the last one, which he'll be embarrassed about. He's probably pissed-off at himself right now and anything I say will be taken as criticism, sorta like me rubbing it in by saying, "I told ya so!" All I can do is sit silently and hope for the best. After five minutes of clipper cutting, using various attachment, he shouts, "Damnit! These stupid clippers!" and he shuts them off, mumbling, "I give up..." he's defeated and feeling bad. I sit there not even wanting to ask if he's finished because I feel bad for him and, I don't know... I'll just wait to see where Robby goes with it. We've had such a great morning and it'd be stupid to let this ruin it. After examining my hair on all sides, Robby makes that exasperated sound in his throat, like an 'I give up!' sound, and starts brushing the cut hairs off my shoulders, then stops and gets the comb and scissors for one last try at it... maybe. He does a few cuts, lets out a long exasperated exhale, drops the comb and scissors in disgust and hugs around my neck for a few seconds. Then, with his lips on my right ear, he whispers, "I'll get your peruvian beanie," and then a quiet, "Sorry, I just can't do it right. I thought I could, but..." I grip his wrist with both hands to tighten his hold on me, and say, "It's okay, Robby, I don't give a shit about it. I like you cutting my hair." A quick kiss on my cheek, then he says, "That's the spirit! I get better each time; next haircut will even be better." Damn, I overdid the compassionate part... I was hoping he'd throw in the towel on his haircutting career, but still, it makes me laugh 'cause that's so like Robby. He's very competitive and hates when he can't do something. That's nice for him, but it's my hair, ya know? I'll drop it for now though, mostly because he's a bit vulnerable at the moment. As I'm standing, brushing hair clippings off my lap, I can now see my refection in the mirror over the couch... the sides are cut like shingles... shingles on the side of a house. How the fuck did he even do that? Somehow managing not to gasp, I say instead, "You mentioned something about getting my cap..." Robby blushes, and says, "Don't be mean, Dylan, I did the best I could." He's getting sensitive so I smile, and say, "It's an awesome haircut! Fuck the hat!" He mutters, "oh sure.." but I get to see one of Robby's little-boy shy grins of relief, so that's pretty nice. My cell phone rings, which is good timing 'cause it break's the tension by changing the subject. While Robby sweeps up my hair I check out the caller ID, it shows my mom's cell phone number so I click the "Talk" key and pretend annoyance. "Are you going to be calling me every five or six weeks like this? I'm living large now, in my own place and everything, I'm not ten years old anymore." Mom ignores all that, and says, "I miss you so much, honey... well, maybe not your attempts to be funny, but everything else! How are you, dear?" Mom calls, or I'll call her, at least once a week and Chubby and I get home for Sunday dinner at least twice a month. Our moms are so awesome. Maybe a lot of the reason Chubby and I think they're awesome is because they've let us grow-up on our own a lot, they initially trusted us on our own and we didn't let them down so we found ourselves on our own while growing up much more than the average kid... and I'm talking about beginning at around eight years old. Of course to be honest, mostly it's been from necessity, the moms work fifty-hour-weeks waitressin' at a bar/restaurant from middle of the afternoon to late at night, and we have no other relatives in the state to watch us, so what are ya gonna do? Anyway, we're tight, the four of us are family; two boys and two moms. Mom quizzes me on the normal things: grades, eating properly, staying out of trouble, health, etc. etc. Then, "The main reason for this call is for you to get your best bud to call home. Tris is pissed, excuse my language, but Chubby hasn't returned calls for over a week. Ever since he hooked up with that damn Sam Lovins he's been an airhead!" Mom didn't say it, but nobody likes Sam... except Chubby. I don't tell my mom that Chubby hasn't been back to the apartment since Thursday; instead I say, "Roger that, mom. Tell Tris I'm all over it! She'll get her call today." Whether I can back that statement up or not remains to be seen, but it sounds good. Mom asks about Robby and then we say goodbye, love ya, etc. etc.. None of the adults, Robby's parents or the moms, know Robby and I are gay, but they probably are beginning to suspect it. Chubby and Dodger know of course, Dodger's gay himself; as for Chubby's primary sexuality, that's to be determined. Various other kids also know about me being gay, but not the vast general population. "You're not mad at me, right?" Robby asks as he passes the smoldering Marlboro Lite to me. We're walking off the grounds of the Royal Crest Estates, which is the name of our apartment complex. I take a drag of the cigarette, then tell Robby, "Absolutely not! I love my haircut!" I pull on the tassels of my peruvian beanie to be sure it's on tight. The hat is actually a wool cap that doesn't turn up like most wool caps do because it has earmuffs with a tassel hanging from each one. The tassels would be tied under my chin if I were a geek, which I'm not. I like the hat, Chubby gave it to me for Christmas thinking I'd consider it a gag gift, but I've made it my favorite hat instead. Our apartment complex is situated in North Andover, right on route 114, as is Merrimack College although the exact address for the college is different. It's back off route 114 on a secondary road that runs parallel; there's names for all the roads within the campus, names I haven't paid much attention to yet. Robby and me are walking the quarter mile from our apartment to the Sak, which is actually the Sakowich Center, a 130,000 square foot building that's the centerpiece of campus life: dining areas, clubs, meeting spots, media rooms, whatever. We've got a group of guys from our major that we hook up with sometimes, our major is 'Communications Arts & Sciences'. We usually run into these guys and girls at the Quad which is like a burger joint; food to order, music, and some pinball type games for those who have too much spendable income. Communications Arts & Science is sort of a generalized major that is appropriate for many career paths, at least that's what they told us. Truth is, neither Chubby, Robby, or I are real serious students. Oh, we do our work and shoot for some B's, but none of us has any idea what we'll pursue once we graduate. Robby's pretty sure he'll stay with his parent's business but ya know what, ya never really get out on your own if you end up working for your parents. That's what Robby says, and I can sure see his point. Chubby insists he's going to pursue a career as a Jazz pianist after graduation, except he can't play the piano and he wouldn't know jazz from shinola. There are about two thousand students attending Merrimack of whom seventy-five percent live on campus, so it's a busy place, especially on weekends. Our feet sink two feet into the snow banks as we scramble up the other side of route 114 and enter the campus grounds proper. For walkers, as opposed to drivers, there's a cool entrance consisting of a long brick walk leading to a New England style church with a steeple and a bell. There are old fashioned looking street lights every twenty feet along the brick walk and when we're not experiencing an ice age, like now, both sides of the walkway are planted with seasonal flowers in bloom. Past the church are the dormitories, which go on for a while, and then the Sak building and then the Rogers Center which is a professional theater where broadway type shows perform, as well as all sorts of cultural stuff like concerts, none of which interests any of us at all... oh, except for Connor who's a closet lover of all things music, including jazz and classical shit... the poor kid! The classrooms and lecture halls are behind these other buildings and there's a lot of common grass areas under the tons of snow at the moment; it's a really nice campus although some parts look like parking lots you see at big malls like Rockingham Mall. I flick our cigarette butt into a snowbank, and bitch, "It's freakin' cold!" You can see our breath as we hurry along the brick path. Looking at the church, Robby asks, "How come we're going to an Augustinia Catholic college?" Huffing and puffing to keep up with Robby, I gasp, "Why, what kind of Catholic college did you want to go to?" He grins that grin that makes my dick move, and says, "You know what I mean, we're not Catholic, none of us." I go, "The Catholic part never came up when we were doing the campus visits, we just liked this place the best." Robby thought about that for a second, and asks, "Ya think we're maybe just pussies who didn't want to be too far from home, so we chose this college?" I go, "No! I don't think that; we're gay, but we're not pussies!" He nods his head as if he likes that answer. The college is in a good location: an hour from our homes in Framingham and twenty-five miles north of Boston. Merrimack College was named one of the best liberal arts college in the northeast by Princeton Review for 2011, so there's some bragging rights for when we're arguing, "My college is better'n your's" like we used to do in high school. There's two fraternities on campus: Phi Kappa Theta and Tau Kappa Epsilon, neither hold any interest to any of us. There are also fifty-seven clubs including the obligatory diversity ones, but we're not joiners, so they're of no interest either. Finally there, we push through the doors of the Sak and the warmth in the lobby feels too hot initially so we pull off our hooded sweatshirts and stomp our feet to rid them of snow. "Let's grab a Snapple," Robby says, and we go over to the convenience area where many types of vending devices are dispensing all matter of food and drink. We only use the vending machines for drinks 'cause who the fuck knows how long the food stuff's been in there? As I'm sliding a dollar bill in the Snapple machine someone snatches my hat off my head, saying, "Who the fuck wears a hat like this?" then, "What'd ya do, Newman, give yourself a haircut?" It's that asshole Dick Verris. I go, "You're such a dink! Give me the fuckin' hat!" and I grab it from his hand. So far as I'm concerned, Dick and his flunky, Jarod, are the only bad things about Merrimack. Robby pushes Jarod out of his way, saying, "Why do you gotta be such an asshole, Verris?" Dick says, "You two guys are gay, aren't ya? Well, aren't ya? You're always together." "Fuck you!" is the only thing Robby can think to say to that, which is more than I came up with. I've got my hat back on, my face a little red from the haircut comment 'cause a few girls looked over when Dick yelled out about my haircut and they all giggled. I'm like, "Come on, Robby. Let's get outta here." Dick and Jarod try blocking the way but we push past until Dick gets my collar and pulls my head to him, saying, "You piss me off, ya know that. I hate guys who look like girls!" and he pushes my head with his big paw knocking my hat off again and this time there are lots of snickering. Robby's pushing that big ape away, as I slip away red-faced again. We're walking down the corridor away from the vending area toward are normal hangout spot, but the glow of earlier in the day is gone. Robby asks, "Why's he hate you so much?" I say, "He claims I look like a girl, and that pisses him off." "Whaaaat?" Robby asks, incredulously... I just shrug. Dick's in one classes with Robby and me, and the truth is I think he feels I dissed him in front of a group before our Social Science class the first week of college... and I guess I did. That's the course Chubby's in too. First fucking week in college and I gotta deal with an asshole like Verris! We were outside the classroom where Chubby's chatting up some kids; he makes friends without even trying, wherever he goes. Me and Robby are shy in the early going, not much shier than most kids, just not outgoing like Chubby. This big clod, Dick Verris, obviously the high school bully type, interrupted Chubby's story, saying loudly, "Hey, are you sure you're old enough to go to college? Shouldn't you be in Merrimack high school?" Chubby and me look young for our age, so does Robby but not to the degree we do. Chubby smiles at Verris' comment, and says, sweetly, "Go fuck yourself," and Dick goes, "You don't know much about sex do ya, youngster? That's impossible to do, fucking yourself." The group of guys around us get that shiny look in their eyes, hoping for a fight or something; any kind of interesting thing they can tell their friends about... something unpleasant that they're not involved in. I say to this large freshman asshole, "Sure, you can fuck yourself if you're a hermaphrodite!" The hermaphrodite word is from one of Chubby's factoids, one that stuck with me. Before hearing Chubby's factoid about a hermaphrodite I'd never even heard the word spoken, never mind knowing what the damn thing meant. Dick's head had snapped around then to gawks at me and I got a good look at him for the first time. What I noticed first was that his medium length hair was real course and stiff looking, like maybe the cavemen used to have, and the second thing that hit me was that he looks like a bulldog. He gave me his impression of a smug look, liking that he'd attracted a crowd, then turns to look at the kids around us to say sarcastically, "What are we, baby-sitters?" Some nervous titters from the group; there's nothing more awkward than someone trying to be funny, who just isn't! Dick pokes his finger in my chest, and says, "We're not talking about dinosaurs here, sonny." and that had brought on real laughter from those in the group who knew the definition of hermaphrodite. The laughter was more or less mocking Dick and he had looked confused for a moment, not sure of himself anymore. Then, milking the moment, I said, "Dinosaur? Ha! That's what you think a hermaphrodite is?" More laughter as others informed the uninformed of the meaning, and somebody yelled out, "Oh no! Lady Gaga's a dinosaur!" Dick got really red-faced now, confused and thin-skinned enough to be pissed. He's someone who takes himself very seriously. Chubby's grinning and I'm enjoying my small triumph, so I lecture the ignorant caveman, "Just so ya know, dude... a hermaphrodite is a animal or vegetable with both male and female sex organs, and that's why I said they might just be able to 'go fuck themselves', like Chubby told you to do." The group goes, "Oooooo," trying to get Verris to start a fight or something but it didn't happen and the group lost interest as the infuriated Dick tried to recoup by saying, "No shit! I knew that, I was yanking your chain, if ya got one." But the bell had rung and everyone was filing into the lecture hall. From that day on he's been a bully whenever I run into him. And no, Chubby and me are not going after him with a lead pipe; that was in our wild days, responding to a real life-threatening situation. Something should be done about Dick though 'cause he's ruining my freshman year a little bit, but so far I haven't thought of what that something should be. My first choice would be for him to just lose interest and forgets about me. Two minutes after the unfortunate encounter with Verris, we spot some of the guys we know; they're sitting around the lounge area. Robby says, "There's Chubby and Sam... ya see one, ya see the other." That used to be Chubby and me too, now it's Robby and me, but I don't bring the obvious up to Robby. Chubby yells, "There's my identical twin brother now!" Everyone looks past us not realizing Chubby's referring to me. We don't look anything alike, Chubby and me; plus, Chubby's almost five inches shorter than me. We sometimes refer to ourselves as identical twins, we did when we were younger anyway, but only because we were so much alike then and we did virtually everything together. Chubby and I do a handshake, hug, pat-on-the-back sort of thing, I say, "Bro!" and then, with much less enthusiasm, "Whassup, Sam?" to be continued.... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com who's Sam?