Date: Sat, 6 Aug 2011 13:05:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: (12) DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR   Chapter 12  by Donny Mumford

			  DYLAN'S FRESHMAN   YEAR

				Chapter  12

			    by Donny    Mumford


Christina and Robby are in the front seat, me and Rose in the back. I'm up
against the window because Rose has situated herself in the middle of the
seat with her legs spread... not very lady-like if ya ask me.  The girls
are carrying the conversation as we drive to the House Of Blues.  With
three beers in him, Robby's silently concentrating on driving... he's
following Chubby and Samantha who are leading the way in the Jeep. The
girls with us in the pickup, Robby's and my blind dates, are roommates from
Boston College and they're talking about how friends back at BC are going
to be jealous when they hear about the private party we're all going
to. During a lull in their conversation Rose slides over right next to me
as she's saying to her friend, "Ya know what, Christina, I just might let
this pretty boy get in my pants tonight." I do a nervous, "Heh heh... "
with Robby laughing a blurted-out, almost choking laugh. Christina says,
"Well, it's not like it's unheard of that someone gets in your pants,
Rosie." Rose goes, "Or yours," with Christina talking over her saying, "Did
you see that girl from the dorm in the room next to Samantha's, the one
with the Afro hairdo?" Rose is like, "No, but let's not go there right now
anyway... okay?" Christina mumbles, "Whatever..." A part of Rose's bare
thigh is pressed against me as she crosses her feet at the ankles. I find
myself gawking at the green stiletto high heels she's wearing, then I look
up to see streetlights gleam off the safety pin sticking through her
bellybutton which causes me to jerk my eyes up further and look right into
Rose's eyes. She's been observing me checking her out so I do a goofy gulp,
my face getting red.  She puts an expression on her face that she probably
thinks is sexy, then murmur real low, "Ya like what ya see, Dylan?  Wanna
suck face?" Trying not to gag, I say, "Not here..." She mutters,
"nonsense," and leans over, stretching her neck upward so she can reach my
face and gives me a kiss on the cheek near my mouth. Her nostril piercings
feel odd against my cheek and her peach fuzz mustache tickles the corner of
my mouth. "Hey, stretch!" she says, "Lean down so we can lock lips," as she
takes my hand and holds it against one of her tits.  Holding my breath, I
lean down and our lips meet briefly... again I feel her mustache and it
occurs to me how odd it is that I should experience this mustache thing
with a girl, especially since none of my boyfriends has grown a peach fuzz
mustache yet.  Well, except for Alan at Stop & Shop who's got a full beard,
but he's not a boyfriend. I have unfinished business with Alan which makes
he smile to myself and Rose apparently misinterprets my smile, saying, "You
like what you see, stud? Stick with Rose, honey; I'll take ya places you've
only dreamed about." Before I can say anything, Christina looks back and
says to me, "You don't have a chance; ya might as well get your pecker
ready, kid, cause Rose will own it soon enough," which gets the two girls
laughing much harder than seems warranted. I don't know what the hell
that's all about, but I've got a feeling the immediate future isn't going
to bode well for me.

The House Of Blues is located on Landsdowne Street across from Fenway Park;
it's a way cool area.  We cruise past it gawking at the huge neon sign
hanging top to bottom spelling-out "House Of Blues" while over the door is
a neon 'BOSTON' to differentiate this place from the half dozen other House
Of Blues across America.  There are other busy bars on Lansdown Street so
it's a hub of activity tonight.  Robby parks the pickup in a parking lot
that charges thirty-five dollars on game days, but only ten bucks tonight.
Walking back to stand at the end of the line, all of us a little excited
now, there's electricity in the air with the crowd's buzzing conversation,
the neon lights, and limos letting people off at the front of the
club. Would-be celebrities that none of us recognize are escorted in
through a yellow door at the side of the building while we wait with a lot
of others in the line at the main entrance. Then, someone gets an arm
around my neck and I know instantly it's Chubby; he's finally arrived after
parking the Jeep and doing God only knows what in the car with Sam. He and
Samantha butt in line in front of us and Chubby kisses me quickly on the
cheek; it's a real quick kiss intended to show the people he butted in
front of that I was saving a place for him.  It's a little awkward, but
Chubby doesn't lack confidence in too many areas.  I go, "Hi Chubby! This
looks cool!" meaning the House Of Blues, and he says, "See!  And to think I
had to nag you into coming." Samantha's talking with Rose and Christina so
Robby joins Chubby and me, saying, "Chub, can the three of us lose the
girls and hang out together tonight?"  Chubby and I look at him for a
second before realizing he's making a joke, Chubby mutters, "I wish, dude,"
and I'm not sure if he's kidding with that or not, then he adds, "But a
deal is a deal, right?" I whisper, "Fuck the deal, lets get the passes from
Rose and run our asses off."  Robby asks, "Ya think we should?" and we look
at him again for a second before Chubby asks, "That's another joke, right?"
We're giggling over dumb little nothing things like this because of the
beer mostly, but also just because we feel like goofing around saying
nonsensical things. The line moves forward slowly; at the door Rose hands
over our passes and this big dude checks them to be sure they're original
copies... another big dude checks our IDs. The ID check results in a bright
pink stamp on the back of our left hands telling everyone who sees it that
we're underage for alcoholic beverages.  Chubby's doing an exaggerated
exhale, staring hard at Rose, who says, "Jeffrey! Don't look at me like
that! They told me it was a private affair so I assumed we'd be able to get
drinks."  We pass by the bouncers at the front door and in we go,
everyone's a little out of sorts now.

Inside the lobby the first thing I notice is how crowded it is and then I
see the big signs congratulating 92.5 FM, "The River", for fifteen years on
the air! Independent radio? What the hell does that mean?  Samantha points
at some people on the second level balcony, and yells, "There's daddy,
maybe he can get us some beers, or something," and off she goes through the
crowd while the rest of us find space against the wall to wait for her
return. A few minutes later she's waving at us to come up the stairs which
are guarded by another bouncer who looks up getting the okay from
Mr. Lovins, Samantha's father. Us boys traipse behind Rose and Christina
exchanging glances like, "This might suck!"  At the top we all mumble quick
introductions to her father and then follow him to an elevator which takes
us up to the third level.  It's still noisy on this level and crowded too,
but just not as raucous. This is the level where all the private suites are
and we go into the one labeled "Lovin's Mercedes Benz Dealership" where
Mr. Lovin passes out one ticket to each of us , saying, "Okay, kids... I'll
allow a chit for one cocktail each, but that's it. Oh, and who's the
driver?" Chubby rolls his eyes and looks away while Robby conscientiously
raises his hand, saying, "I'm driving, Mr. Lovins."  Mr. Lovins takes back
the drink ticket from Robby, saying, "None for you then, son," and off he
goes to shake hands with others of his specie. Robby looks like he's been
slapped so I grab his arm and say in his ear, "Fuck him! Come on, we'll
think of something," and we follow Samantha to stand in yet another line;
this one leading to a bar with two busy bartenders.  Sam's acting smug, as
if she saved the day, until Chubby complains, "One lousy drink? That's it?"
and the two of them bicker about that. When it's finally our turn we all
order vodka and cranberry juice and when the bartender complains about the
underage stamp on the back of our hands Samantha uses the
"boss'-daughter-card", yelling,. "My daddy okayed these drinks, and he's
paying you, so I suggest you use your head." The bartender's looking around
for an authority figure as the other bartender says, "They got tickets,
give 'em a drink.  Jesus! Do ya gotta make a federal case outta everything,
Stu?"." So that worked out okay until it's Robby's turn and this same
bartender asks for his ticket, Robby looks at me as if I have his
ticket. I'm pointing at nothing, saying, "There it is on the floor, you
dropped it," and we both bend over as the people behind us are grumbling at
the delay. People want their booze, ya know? Anyway, the bartender says,
"Alright, alright, here's your drink!"  Robby takes it, thanking the man
politely, and we wander out of the suite where we're met by one of
Mr. Lovin's assistants who guides us to a door that leads to the mezzanine
level where seats are reserved for "Lovin's Dealership". I hear Samantha
saying, "Thanks, Mickey... hey, how 'bout getting us a couple more bar
tickets?" Mickey mutters, "Don't hold your breath, Sam," and it sounds like
maybe he isn't a fan of the boss' daugther. She gets a puss on her face and
I guess Mickey thinks better of his flip remark, because he adds, "I'll try
though," and a fake smile follows.

As we're taking seats down front I'm breaking Chubby's balls, saying, "All
we can eat and drink... isn't that what you said? Everything's
free... 'compted' I believe is the word you used." He's like, "How the fuck
did I know we couldn't get drinks and there'd be no food?"  then to
Samantha, "Is this it? We sit here and watch the concert? What about the
party?" She's looking flustered for once, "Daddy explained it that way... a
party, he said. Did ya ever hear of a party without free shit?  I figured
there'd be trays full of drinks and food, ya know?" Chubby feels sorry for
her then and rubs her back, saying, "Ah, it's not your fault." No one's in
a very good mood at the moment because this certainly isn't the hot party
atmosphere we'd felt we'd be experiencing. Plus, all we've had to eat all
day is a couple of vegan pizza slices about two hours ago. Plump Rose, my
tattooed blind date, pokes me in the ribs, and whines, "When are we gonna
dance, I wanna snuggle in real close with you and do a nasty grinding slow
dance... something to get you all hot a bothered!"  I'm swallowing hard,
trying once again not to gag at the thought of that, then say, "Rose, I
don't know why we need to sit here, I don't know anything about this
so-called party! Ask your friend." There's probably four hundred seats in
this section and only about a quarter of them are occupied, the rest of the
people are partying somewhere in the building. Rose gets huffy, stands up
and stalks away to talk to Samantha and I'm thinking I could have been
nicer to her, she isn't a horrible person, at least that's what I keep
telling myself, but, ya know, she's hefty and she has a safety pin pierced
through her belly button and ass antlers tattooed on her back, and, jeez,
I'm a tiny bit turned-off by her, ya know... but yet I don't want to hurt
her feelings 'cause she never did anything to me. That damn Chubby! He
should have checked-out Samantha's friends before putting Robby and me in
jeopardy like this.

Now I'm looking around and everyone seems to have settled down: Robby and
Christina are talking away, drinking their cocktails. Lots of talking from
Robby, and he's the one who asked me what to talk about with the blind
dates... guess he figured it out.  Chubby and Samantha are on the other
side of Robby and they're laughing about something as they talk to Rose. A
minute later Rose comes back for her drink... she picks it up and says to
me, "Okay, dude, I'm dumping you temporarily." I frown at that, but I'm
actually getting my hopes up, until she adds, "Not really, but Sam just got
off the phone with her father and there is food.  It's buffet style in the
restaurant on this level, but so far she only has this one chit to get in
so temporarily we'll need to take turns. Since I'm the hungriest, and the
one who got Sam to call her father and find out about the buffet, I'm going
first." I make a face like I give a shit, but Rose doesn't see it because
she's already off for the stairs leading out of the seating area. Good,
that'll keep her occupied for awhile, but I feel kinda conspicuous sitting
here alone. I look over to see Sam and Chubby doing some light making out,
which almost turns my stomach.  Chubby's too good for her!  Fuck this! I'm
gonna explore a little, get away from girls and see if there's a cute boy
somewhere I can ogle.  Waving at Robby, I say, "Be right back, I'm gonna
look around a little." He makes to get up, and I know he wants to come with
me, but Christina gives him a look and Robby waves at me weakly.  Taking a
big swig of cranberry juice and vodka, then carrying the glass with me, I
go up the steps Rose just went up and through the double doors to the
vestibule where lots of people appear to be getting ready to file down to
their seats for the concert. I don't feel psyched about any of this
anymore. Through the vestibule the crowd thins-out a lot and I notice the
walls for the first time: they're all painted in patterns, not solid
colors. The patterns remind me of Aztecs art, or maybe it's more like
Egyptian drawings in the tombs of the Pharaohs... I don't know, I'm no art
critic, but it's certainly unusual. Don't know what I expected the House Of
Blues to look like inside, but it isn't this, that's for sure. As the band
begins warming-up, a band I never heard of by the way, I'm walking randomly
from one corridor to another. Going up a staircase, then another, marveling
at how cavernous this place is.

Turning the corner of a quiet corridor while draining my vodka drink and
feeling a little lightheaded, I bump into a tall man who looks about thirty
years old, dressed all in black. He's wearing black boots with shiny
flowing black slacks that are so full there's enough silky material in each
leg to make another suit with. His outfit includes a black double-breasted
sport coat with a wide black belt tightly belted around his slim waist,
looking extremely odd on the outside of his jacket. A black turtleneck
sweater is under the jacket extending up his entire rather long neck to
stop just under his chin. Thick, long blond hair on the top of his head
with the sides cropped short; the long hair on top is combed forward over
his forehead to cover the top half of rimless eyeglasses so that his eyes
seem to pop out of nowhere; eyes so dark blue they're almost purple. His
face is very pale, the nose too long, and the mouth too wide but his
posture or attitude or maybe it's an air of arrogance, something about him
is scarily sexy and I'm thinking about the promise I made to myself after
that experience I had when I was naked with Alan, the promise, or was it
more a dare, to experiment with an older man if the chance came up. This
guy's probably ten years older than Alan... a really different kind of man,
style wise. At the bottom of his chin is a neat patch of blond whiskers
barbered to a quarter-inch... a strip of whiskers covering the width of his
chin, about one inch wide. I stare at him without moving a muscle. "What
are you doing up here?" he asks me. I go, "Huh?" while, for some reason I'm
handing him my empty glass. I'm prone to boners, I get that; but this is a
weird one 'cause I feel my dick moving and firming up just from observing
this tall strange man, and I have no idea why that is. Extremely manly,
mucho macho, or whatever the proper words are... so intensely macho he
makes Alan Snyder, seem childish. Nodding at the empty glass I'd just
handed him, the man in black calmly says, in a syrupy-smooth deep voice,
"You assume I'm a waiter, is that it?" He has some kind of an accent but he
isn't speaking in an intimidating manner at all; he seems to think it's
funny.  Naturally, I'm not sure what to say to him so I reach for the glass
to take it back, and he says, "Let's get you a refill and then you can tell
me what you're doing up here. Fair enough?" and his hand is on the back of
my neck now, squeezing it lightly, giving me shivers down my back as he
leads me into a foyer, and then into a large empty room.

Empty of people, I mean... there's plenty of stuff in the room... living
room furnishings in the form of a long curving leather-sectional couch with
an oblong glass cocktail table in front. The couch faces a big plate glass
window that looks down on the music hall, five levels below. There's a bar
to one side of this big room with a small kitchen area next to it and a
door leading to another area behind that. On the other side of the room a
complete photography studio has been set-up. Electronic dance music thumps
in the background, heavy on the bass. The man in black is at the bar making
me another drink, he sees me looking at the speakers, and says, "That's a
Detroit style techo beat. Hear the synthesizers and drum machine? Big on
the keyboard machine too, and sequencers." I'm staring at him with a blank
look on my face, so he asks, "You're not into the club music?" I shrug, and
mumble, "It's alright." He uses a metal scoop to gather a lot of little
square ice cubes from behind the bar... they make a clinking sound as he
drops them in my glass. Pouring vodka, he says, "In case you're wondering,
I'm a five percent shareholder in the Boston House Of Blues, which is the
reason I get to have my studio here. I'm a professional photographer, it's
my hobby and my profession." I glance over at the elaborate photography
set-up while he's coming around the bar with my drink, saying, "Obviously
you're not old enough to drink so don't tell anyone where you got this,"
and he's smiling as he says it. I take a sip, it's half vodka and so strong
it makes me cough and spit some out.  The man pats me on the back,
seemingly concerned, "Too strong? I am sorry, here... give it to me." My
eyes are watering as I hand it back to him and he adds more cranberry
juice, saying, "People are always telling me I make drinks too
strong. You'd think I'd wise up!" he's chuckling. His photography studio is
like you'd expect: lots of ceiling lighting on a railing system, big and
small floor lights, a number of those mysterious umbrellas you always see
in a photographer's studio, and two cameras on a tripods as well as a
number of cameras with neck straps on a shelf, all with different size
lenses.

The man gives me the watered-down drink, then holds out his hand, saying,
"I'm Phillip Dellario, and you are...?" I go, "Oh, hello, I'm Dylan.  Um,
Dylan Newman, that is... ah, we got passes, me and my friends, from
Samantha's father who sells Mercedes Benzes.  I don't... that is, we're
blind dates..." As my face turns red, I'm thinking what an asshole I am!!
Forcing myself to stop babbling I do a couple of fake coughs, then look up
at him and when he looks back at me I quickly drop my eyes.  He has to be a
foot taller than me, which would make him six-foot, ten-inches. He says,
"Blind dates are fun, no?" I gulp some vodka and cranberry juice, and
mutter, "Not really," which gets him laughing again... it's a nice easy
laugh, not forced or hurried. After his quiet laugh, he points at the
studio, and says, "A lot of equipment just to take a picture, no? It's
necessary though... I need to accommodate light refraction, reflection, and
absorption. In refraction, the light experiences a change of direction when
passing through a transparent material and..." He stops in mid sentence
seeing the uncomprehending expression on my face and, pursing his lips to
hide a grin, he ends his presentation with a wave of his hand, muttering,
"and so on." I nod my head and gulp some more of my drink, feeling a little
uncomfortable, but not in an anxious way.  Like Alan, this man doesn't seem
threatening at all. He asks, "So, Dylan Newman, why are you up on the
private suites floor?" then he quickly adds, "Although I'm glad you are,
you understand..." I go, "I don't know, I was just wandering around because
Rose used the chit for the buffet..." then I make myself stop the babbling
again, and shrug, "I'm lost, basically... that's about it." He's shaking
his head, then asks, "Ya ever do any modeling, or ever think about it?" I
go, "Um, modeling? You mean like girls do?" He smiles again, saying, "Just
as many guys model as girls." I frown at that because it's obviously
bullshit, although I'm too polite to contradict him. He seems to be always
holding back a grin, a smile, or a laugh. I'm not sure what he's up to, but
it's interesting, in a way. Almost to himself, he goes, "Ah, what the
hell... ah, would you mind if I smoked a joint? I don't drink, but once in
a while I treat myself to a little marijuana." I shrug again, then shake my
head "no", indicating I don't mind, although I'm not a fan of weed because
I don't like the smell. I say, "Yeah, no problem... that's cool." He says,
"Thanks, I don't suppose you've ever tried it... I hope not anyway." He
walks back to the bar saying, over his shoulder, "Sit down if you'd like
to."  So, what the fuck, this is cool... I saunter over to the bar and sit
on one of the four stools in front wondering why he said that thing about
"he hoped I've never done weed," I go, "Well yeah, sure... we do some pot
every now and then... I'm good with it." Shit, I don't want him thinking
I'm a dweeb or something.

The man, Philip, is behind the bar again and he now has his hand in a
drawer looking for something, saying, "That you've done some pot surprises
me, but maybe it shouldn't as I see a pack of Marlboro in your shirt
pocket... if you want to smoke, be my guess. You kids grow-up faster they
we ever did." Yes, a cigarette!! I can sure use one, so I mutter, "Thank
you," and light-up as he's firing up a skinny, hand-rolled joint; the smell
is unmistakable. He says, "Let me guess... you're in your sophomore year."
I go, "Nope, I'm a freshman," and he says, "I was thinking that, but I
didn't want to insult you, but you are quite young looking. How 'bout that
model question; any interest?" I say, "Not really, not now anyway." He
says, "Well, you're too young now anyway, I don't photograph anyone, boy or
girl, who isn't at least eighteen years old." I laugh for a second, then
stop when I realize he's serious.  Blowing out a long stream of smoke, I
go,
 "You're kidding, right? I mean, I'm nineteen!" A light seems to go on in
his head and his eyes, just barely visible where his long blond bangs ends,
open wide and seem to shine. He slaps the bar, and says, "You meant you're
a freshman in college... oh man, of course." I'm blowing out more smoke as
the realization drifts into my head that he thought I was a freshman in
high school. I go, "You didn't think... I mean, you thought I was still in
high school?" He's shaking his head muttering, "I'm terrible with ages,
Dylan... just terrible. No, of course you're in college." I'm fumbling my
wallet out of my back pocket, saying, "No, I can tell you don't believe me,
here... look at my license, and my college ID." He's like, "Oh, that's very
nice of you, but I believe you," as he takes my license out and studies it
closely. If he believed me why'd he take my offered wallet? After studying
my license he then checks my college ID and my picture on that, and then,
grinning again, goes, "Yep! You're nineteen... wow, I don't believe I ever
looked this young. I'm forty-one as of yesterday." I mumble, "Happy
birthday," thinking, "He doesn't look that old!" Philip inhales and holds
the smoke in his lungs, then exhales it all, exclaiming, "Wow! That's good
shit.  Here, try it, take a toke," and he passes the joint to me. Still a
bit insulted about the age thing, and not wanting to seem like the high
school freshman he thought I was, I inhale and imitate what he did holding
the smoke in my lungs and this strange feeling comes over me as I'm
exhaling. A dizzy exhilaration is the best way I can describe it. Not
pleasant or unpleasant, but there is a noticeable benefit, which is I don't
mind the smell of the marijuana now that I've had a drag.  "Thanks," I
mumble, trying to be blase, as I'm passing the smoldering joint back to
him.  He takes another hit, holds it, then exhales saying, "It's laced with
some cocaine so it's probably better than anything you've had before," then
another deep inhale as I'm thinking, "Cocaine! What the fuck..." but yet I
feel cool with it... this is an awesome adventure.

Philip finishes his joint, asking, "You want the roach?" and my eyes dart
to the floor, thinking, "Fuck! Roaches... they give me the creeps.." but
from somewhere in the back of my mind I remember that the last piece of a
joint is called a roach, so I shake my head, saying, "Nah, no thanks.  It's
good shit though... like you said." He's very relaxed, smiling at me,
mumbling, "You're delightful, you really are.  And, what a face." Feeling
self conscious for a second, I mug an expression even as I know I'm making
an ass of myself. He smiles for about the hundredth time in the past
fifteen minutes, takes my glass and makes me another drink, saying, "Come
on over to my studio, I'm going to take some pictures of your face and show
you how I can make you look different by using different lenses and
lighting." I go, "Okay, sure..."  because it sounds like a cool thing to
do. Walking over he unbuckles the belt around his sport coat and takes that
and the sport coat off. The black turtle neck is tight to his slender body
making him look even taller than before. When he leans over to fold his
coat on a canvas director's chair his bangs drops away from his forehead
and I see a tattoo there. It looks like the male symbol; a circle with an
arrow pointing up.  His hair is dry and very clean looking, "Let's get you
out of your winter coat," as he reaches over, but doesn't touch, he asks,
"May I?" and I say, "Sure," and he then helps me out of my coat. "Good," he
says, "Stand over here and I'll adjust the lighting. After turning on some
of the overhead lights he goes to touch my head, but stops again to ask
permission, "Do you mind if I touch you?"  I go, "No, it's alright," and he
cups behind my head with one hand and ruffles my hair with the other,
saying, "A photographer is a very touch/feely person where his models are
concerned... we're always adjusting posture, or this or that."  His touch
is light, the palms of his hands are dry and slightly cool to the touch.
He speaks quietly, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you have a
baby face that's so naturally sexy it's almost impossibly for me to believe
it's real, although obviously it is." He does some more ruffling of my
short hair, then says, "And this tough-boy burr haircut you have is so
perfect as a counterbalance to your baby face." Looking closer, he adds, "I
take it your girlfriend cuts your hair for you, am I right?" Without
thinking I say, "Oh no, it's my boyfriend, and he's not too good at it
yet," and I know immediately that the way I said the word 'boyfriend' can
only mean 'boyfriend'... not a friend who's a boy.  Fuck!  His hand stops
moving on my head for a second, then he continues getting the hairs to
stand up as he says, "Well, he'll get better with practice, and anyway the
primitive cutting adds to the contradictory-ness of your look...  ha ha, if
that's even a word." I mumble, "Hey, thanks... I think." I gotta admit I
enjoy hearing all this from a professional photographer who's probably seen
hundreds and hundreds of faces. He pulls his head away from me a little,
maintaining his hold on the back of my head, and turns on another overhead
light. "What a beautiful shade of blond hair you have... two shades
actually." I mutter, "My boy... er, my friend has exactly the same color
blond hair as I have, isn't that a coincidence?" He runs his fingers over
the top of my head again, the tip of his tongue visible between his lips,
but there's no respond to my comment.

Exhaling a big breath and backing away, he takes a camera off the shelf and
adjust a number of things on it while looking through the viewfinder and
aiming the camera at me. "Just look natural, Dylan."  That's easy enough to
do and soon I hear a subtle "click" each time he snaps a picture. He takes
a number of shots from different angles and then he changes cameras and
adjust some lighting, and does it all again.  I just stand here looking at
him, "Look right at the lens, Dylan," he tells me and I do as he
says. There's no flashbulb going off in your face, just the brightness of
the flood lights, or whatever they're called. "Okay, come on over and I'll
download these onto the computer so we can admire you're good looks." He
says all this with a light, casualness to his voice... it appears he's
extremely comfortable with himself, and seemingly having a good time.  I'm
comfortable too and actually kinda anxious to see how I look when a
professional takes my picture. After loading the pictures he refills my
half-drunk drink and lights another joint, passing it to me after taking a
big hit off it himself.  The slim joint's hot in my fingers as I inhale and
hold the burning smoke in my lungs... this is exciting, and I like that
Philip's treating me like an equal; and he's over forty years old, but it's
like we're peers... and the compliments are nice too.  I've definitely got
a buzz going though, whoooeee! Philip taps a button on his computer and my
face fills his LED HD monitor, the picture is so lifelike it scares me for
a second and I gulp some vodka and cranberry juice, then take another
swallow... this stuff is good. "If you don't mind me saying it again,
Dylan, you've got the sexiest face. See the position of your facial
features, your eyes are larger than normal and your lips are full and your
cheekbones and, wow... you're super photogenic!" I can't think of anything
to say except, "Thanks.."  and he taps the computer for another picture.
"Perfection..." Philip mutters, apparently to himself. Another tap, then
another, and Philip excitedly says, "Look at this one, the expression on
your face is marvelous, so natural, but so interesting at the same time!
It's inviting, it's friendly, maybe a little mysterious even... just
wonderful, and... well, Dylan, you must already know how cute you are."
Getting used to hearing the compliments by now, I mutter, "Um, thank you, I
hear that once in a while, yeah..." enjoying myself immensely. Still, I
fully understand I had nothing to do with how I look... or very little to
do with it anyway. Philip passes me the joint, saying, "Don't do what I'm
going to suggest if you have any reservations about it, but do ya think I
could take some pictures of you bare chested?" I inhale and hold the smoke
while nodding my head, and when I exhale, I go, "Sure, I'm pretty thin
though so I don't know how photographic I'll be." He smiles, pats my
shoulder, and says, "It's photogenic," taking another hit on the joint, I
go, "Huh?" and Philip says, "We probably had enough of this," meaning the
joint, and he taps it out in an ashtray, saying, "You're both photogenic
and photographic, so I guess you could say we're both right." Once more I
go, "Huh?"

Getting off the barstool a wave of dizziness hits me and I bump into
Philip, who says, "Is it okay if I toss out the rest of your drink? I don't
want to sound like an old fart, but I think you're getting a little drunk."
I go, "Do you have coffee?" and I can't believe I had the nerve to ask for
that. He goes, "Just instant, would you like some?" I go, "After my photo
shoot," and Philip laughs out loud at that, then says, "You're priceless!"
I'm not sure what he's referring to but grin anyway, nodding my head like
"I get it!", but I don't. Taking off my shirt, then pulling my T-shirt over
my head, I ask, "Where should I stand?" and Philip stares at me for a
second before saying, as he's slowly walking towards me, "Yes, you're very
slim but you've got a wonderful body."  He looking at me, and then from
Philip a loud, "Oh shit! That's fantastic! Absolutely marvelous!" I'm like,
"What? What?" and he says, "Your tattoo, that's what." I go, "Oh yeah,
cool, huh?" He goes, "Cool indeed. Your sexy baby face and the tattoo are
so contradictory, just like the rough burr haircut and your innocent sexy
face. You must have the boys, er, the girls pounding down your door." I
heard the inference and, what the fuck, I'm cool... so I say, "You were
right the first time, it's boys.  I'm gay and proud of it!" and I don't
know where the fuck that came from either! I never boast about being gay,
and I never regret being gay... it just is, like my appearance just is. He
says, "Me too, not that I advertise it all that much. Even at my advanced
age my dear parents still aren't positive one way or the other. I tried
fooling myself by getting married to a rather snooty girl, a pretty thing,
but it didn't work out." He tells me all this in a confidential way, like
he'd tell a contemporary and I'm flattered once again.  Flattered, but
unable to come up with an appropriate response.  What I do say is, "Oh,
that's a shame," which makes him smile.  Maybe he smiled because I said it
with too much feeling... I was kinda dramatic when I said it. Things are a
tad fuzzy right now. Philip says, "Thanks for your concern, Dylan... and
congratulations to your lucky boyfriend." I go, "Thanks for saying that,
Philip!" and feel so stupid! Why'd I say that? Damn!

He quietly goes, "How 'bout you stand over here." Happy the subject has
changed, I enthusiastically say "Sure thing, Philip!" which makes him smile
his warm smile again. Lights are turned on and positioned, then there's the
subtle 'click' 'click' of his cameras with me just standing here looking
into the lens.  After a half dozen shots he comes over to me, a camera
dangling around his neck, his hands up, "May I adjust your pose a little by
touching you?" I say, "You can touch me, I like being touched," and he
smiles a wry smile taking my head in between both his hands and tilting it
to the side, then gently rubbing the palm of his hand up the back of my
head while squeezing my shoulder with his other hand.  It feels good, and
then, after taking a deep breath, he asks, "Ah, I wonder... can you look
mysterious?" I put an expression on my face that I think might be
mysterious and he squeezes my shoulder again while trying to conceal a
grin, "Maybe just a little less mysterious than that, relax and do
something with your eyes like this," he shows me what he means and then
takes more pictures. Then, letting the camera hang on it's strap around his
neck, he comes back over to me again to rub and squeeze my biceps this time
and murmurs, "Nice guns, Dylan...", then runs his fingers through my hair,
before once more adjusting my body... this time so that I'm leaning back,
my crotch jutting out, my knees slightly bent, and my arms crossed on my
chest. "Click" "Click" then a flurry of pictures, "Clickclickclickclick".
More adjustment with lots of touching, and as he's adjusting my position
one of his hands subtly caresses my chest, neck, shoulders and
head. There's a calmness and gentleness to his touching, rubbing, and his
squeezing of my body; some touches come close to my private parts but never
actually go there completely and I'm feeling so good I wish he would
massage my dick a little.
 My cock is either boner hard or semi-hard throughout all this so-called
'model' positioning, but Philip never acknowledges it or looks at it. This
time he's close to me silently ruffling my hair back with his right hand,
attempting again to get it standing-up, while he holds the waistband of my
pants with his left... the back of his fingers against my bare belly
tickles because there are slightly stiff hairs growing on the back of
Philip's fingers; his long fingers are quite a ways down inside my
underpants. It has me puffing out little bursts of air, shifting my feet,
my boner poking out the front of my pants and bumping his thigh as he's
busily caressing me under the guise of positioning my body for the next
picture. Strangely enough, it's not freaking me out.

Finally acknowledging that he feels the head of my hard rod bouncing
against his leg, Philip raises his eyebrows and looks down at my tented
crotch bulge, but he still doesn't touch it. I'm sucking on my bottom lip,
aroused and randy as the music in the background continues pounding out a
strong beat. Looking into my eyes with an expression on his face that I
can't interpret, he leans his head to the side while pulling on my ear a
little so that my head leans over like his. As I pant with anticipation, he
nods his head one time, perhaps confirming to himself that I'll do whatever
he wants me to, then he backs away pulling me with him using the hand in my
pants. I stumble a step or two before he slowly pulls his fingers up from
my underpants, rubbing and tickling my belly as he does it. His hand free,
he looks questioningly at me and I look down and do another fake cough.  He
busies himself changing cameras as I grope myself and then, holding my
crotch, I bizarrely begin dancing to the music; dancing hot and
suggestively sexy, the way Willie taught me to do it. Phillips eyes get big
behind his rimless eyeglasses as a grin forms on his lips and, without
saying a word, he pulls his turtle neck sweater over his head and dances
with me, bare chest against bare chest, and now his groin begins pushing
against my boner matching the steady beat of the music... this is so cool,
and at the same time, so hot! There's a patch of blond chest hair between
Philip's pecs that appears to be stiff the way some guy's pubic hairs are
stiff; the way the hair on the back of his fingers are stiff. It's not what
I'm used to certainly, but nothing about this experience is what I'm used
to. He's an awesome dancer too, moving his hips and shoulders so smoothly
and effortlessly... there's a flow to each movement and it seems every
muscle in his body is involved.  I don't know why I should be surprised
that a forty-one year old man can out-dance me, but I am.  While dancing he
reaches over to a shelf for a remote control which turns the music up
louder and now Philip really gets his groove on... I can hardly keep up
with him. Staring at me the whole time, his expression is one of joy and
there's a gentleness to him that shows through, yet he's got something sexy
about him too, in an exotic way and I think of Gary from Wildwood for a
passing second, then discount him because Philip's in another league. I
move in close to him and he encircles me in his arms and our dancing now is
basically dry-dock fucking... my hardon feels sticky and wet at the
head. The dancing winds down as sweat bubbles pop out on our foreheads then
roll down our faces. He smiles at me in a confident way, then leans in and
kisses me a brotherly type kiss, then a wet kiss on my mouth and I go,
"Oh!" He says, "Ahhh, how I wish I were your age again, Dylan... I'd never
let you out of my sight." The first kiss was sweet and the second one kinda
hot, but it didn't have nearly the heat for me that my gay friends create
when we kiss. Still, that first gently kiss gave me a feeling that Philip
might be lonely or sad about something. I don't mind being held by him
'cause he's sexy, but it also has something to do with the continuing
overall manner he has of treating me like an equal. It's basically been my
experienced that adults are incapable of treating teenagers as peers and
frankly I don't blame them because we do dumb things and make poor choices
all the time, but that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying being treated equally
by Philip. I say "treated equally" but that's not to imply he doesn't have
the dominant role here, he has it by default for one thing, and because I
can sense he wants it, for another.

We stop dancing and he lets go of me, saying, "That was the most
extemporaneous fun I've had in a long time. You're an exceptional person,
Dylan Newman," and again he pulls on my ear, and I get the feeling he's
doing that to prove to both of us that he can do that, or anything else
whenever he wants to.  But still, there he goes again with the compliments!
Who wouldn't like being praised all the time? I'm feeling very adventurous
so, speaking of teenagers making poor choices, I ask, "Ya ready for another
drink and maybe a toak of that excellent marijuana?"  Philip stops in his
tracks, thinking about something, then cups behind my head with both his
hands, asking, "You do pot regularly, right?" I go, "Well, not every day
but you know... I mean, I'm in college." He does a squeeze, then let's go
of me and shrugs, "Okay then, if you can handle it, why not?" and he heads
back over to the bar with me following. We haven't bothered to put anything
on to cover our chests, the perspiration gleams on Philip, but I'm just
damp on my face. Damp and feeling like a total hot shit too because it's
obvious Philip finds me enticing and it's neat having a man twice my age so
interested in little old me. To see how far I can take things, I go, "Yo,
Philip, how 'bout instead of a hit off a joint we do a line of coke?" Truth
is I'd be too scared to ever try cocaine if sober, but I'm not sober and I
want to prove to Philip he's not making a mistake treating me as an
adult. He says, "Wow! You're full of surprises!  Okay, but just one... I
don't think I have more than a couple of twists left anyway." He rustles
through the same drawer he got the weed from and I climb up on the bar
stool feeling sophisticated, but maybe a little nervous now too. Philip
mutters, "There you are," talking to himself, meaning the cocaine I assume,
but then he stops, like he's thinking about things again. Turning around,
he says, "I found my little stash, but I don't want to do it. If you had
your own I'd let you snort it or do a gummer here, whatever... but I don't
want to supply it to you because you're too young, and I hope you know it
has nothing to do with the cost of it." Relieved, I go, "I'm good with
that, do your thing, dude! Hey, how 'bout that other joint then," and
that's what we do. We share another joint while I try to forced down a
bottle of Samuel Adams larger... ghastly stuff! The pot has me really
mellow though, I'm talking about Robby and me, but without getting into
details of our love making... just general stuff.  Philip doesn't tell me
much about himself, just that he'd recently broken-up with someone he'd
been in a long term relationship.  The other man was quite a bit older than
Philip and apparently Philip was deeply in love with him, but the other guy
just fell out of love. Then we talk about his photography and the talk gets
around to nude photographs which Philip said he's done some of, but only
when commissioned to do so... not as a hobby. Being in a confused, randy
state of mind, I asked, "Would you take some nude pictures of me tonight?"
He's dumbfounded by the question, and I should have been too, but my brain
is totally scrambled. Truth is I feel bad for Philip because he's sad over
his lost lover... also I like him, and I'm horny, so maybe subconsciously I
want something more to happen between us. It's egotistical of me to think
that me having a sexual encounter with him will be the remedy for getting
his mind off his lost love, but it might do that temporarily at
least... plus his age intrigues me mightily and I'm wondering if sex with
someone twice my age will be different than sex with my peers. Also, I like
the way he treats me on an equal basis, but yet was still protective enough
of me that he wouldn't allow me to do the cocaine.

I'm waiting for Philip's response regarding the nude photography as he's
silently thinking again, and looking concerned about whatever it is he's
thinking about. Finally he quietly says, "Is that a proposition?" and I
say, "God, no! I just think it would be cool to run around naked. Don't you
like being naked?" He goes, "What if things escalate and get sexual? After
all you're extremely attractive and I haven't been with another man for
almost three months now." My heart begins beating harder because I think I
do want things to escalate, and also... he said, "another man" inferring he
considers me to be a man, which I am according to the law, but you know
what I mean. I say, "I can take care of myself and I'm probably too young
to be of interest to you anyway." He laughs at that, mumbling, "Well, I've
been with a lovely man twenty years older than me for many many years, but
you're still attractive to me... very attractive." The pot and booze is
clouding my thinking, I get that... but still, I feel good that Philip is
impressed with me so I force the issue, "Well, nude then?"  To his credit
he's not pretending to be uninterested, he comes right out with "Hell yes;
I'll take nude pictures of you. I'd love to, in fact. It's just that I
don't want you thinking of me as a dirty old man." I'm not exactly sure
what he means by that since it was me who asked him to take the
pictures... I nod my head and leave it at that.  We quickly finish the
joint off, although no way can I get the rest of my beer down. My
nervousness is completely gone, I hop off the stool and sway slightly
before getting my balance; it seems like my mind and body are in very
different places for a couple seconds there, places I've never been to
before. My mind's functioning well enough to realize it's the pot, and
therefore I should be wary, but just the same I'm thinking everything is
clear, bright, and totally right in my world. And, as if it's the most
normal thing in the world to do, I drop my pants and underwear; then,
sitting bare ass on the floor, I take my shoes off so I can get my pants
all the way off.  Standing up wearing only my socks, I ask, "Whaddya
think?" and spread my arms.  Philip's like in shock standing there with his
lips parted, staring at me with an expression of disbelief on his face.  He
unconsciously gropes himself and tries to say something, but only air comes
out, so I repeat, "You like, Philip?" He nods his head, mumbling, "You're
an amazing young man, truly amazing. At your age I was shy and backwards."
Feeling smug and ignoring how weird this is, I'm thinking, "This is way
cool! Nobody else but me would be so adventurous!!" Then, the strangest
thing: for a few seconds I can't remember where I am or how I got to be
naked, standing in front of this tall bare-chested man. What the...? A
murky awareness slides into my brain and I remember the blind dates, and me
wandering away from the group... and, oh yeah, the biggie... I remember the
pot smoking and that I've been drinking vodka too! That explains it and it
brings on a feeling of relief as if simply being aware of these bizarre and
dangerous facts makes everything alright. Wondering what I should do now, I
kinda cover my crotch with my hands and tap my foot, looking for Philip to
guide me. His tongue's licking around his lips as he picks-up the remote
for the music and this time uses it to turn the music off. We look at each
other in the silence then as I'm trying to smile, but it's so strangely
quiet my smile is replaced by a questioning frown. I clear my throat while
Philip's making a project out of returning the remote to it's proper place
on the shelf. With the music silenced, listening carefully I can just
barely hear the band performing in the music hall below, and that helps me
put things in perspective...  there's a normal concert and party going on
out there somewhere, an affair I should be at. This awareness makes my
current naked state even more uncomfortable, 'cause I'm going to need to
explain my absence eventually and I sure as hell won't be able to tell them
the truth.

Philip appears to be gathering himself as he walks up to me and puts a hand
on each of my shoulders directing me to the center of the screen, quietly
saying, "You want a nude photo shoot, and you shall have it?" Actually I've
changed my mind about that, but I pretend to be blase, muttering, "Sure,
why not... I'm kinda smashed a little, but it's cool... I'm good." He stops
and squeezes my shoulders, asking, "You sure you're okay? We don't need to
do this, or we can do it another time; how 'bout that?" It's tempting to
put it off, but dammit I don't wanna be a wimp so I say, nervously, "Well,
since I'm already naked, let's take a couple of pictures that I can give to
my boyfriend for his birthday... heh heh heh." Philip grins and then
reaches down to cup my cock and balls in the palm of his hand, which really
takes me by surprise. The fingers of his other hand lightly feel where my
pubes have been shaved and then he squeezes my nuts causing my dick to
stiffens and grow even as he's looking at it. I'm biting on my bottom lip,
my face getting red as I begin making a quiet, "Mmmmm," sound in my
throat. Dropping my package, he says, "Okay, Dylan... how about you cover
those with both hands and lean as far back as you can" and when I do, he
goes, "Good! Now look at the camera with a blank expression," which I do,
and all of a sudden I'm feeling sexy and hot all over again. Lights are
adjusted by Philip, then there's that same subtle "click, click, click" of
the camera as he takes a dozen pictures. He's back over to me now rubbing
his hand across my chest, asking, "Do you mind if I make your nipples
erect," I wet my lips, and say, "No, not at all," and when he begins
twisting them between his fingers my cock bones-up some more. He says, "You
get erections easily, don't you?" I huff out some air, and say, "Oh, I
don't know about that."  His other hand is massaging my belly, as he's
saying, "I absolutely love the shaved pubes look, but yours have grown in a
little, like a five o'clock shadow," and he laughs, maybe because he
mentioned 'five o'clock shadow' and I don't even have peach fuzz on my
upper lip yet. Except for the hair on his chest, Philip's body looks
inviting and I realize I'm getting turned-on by him, maybe I've been
turned-on for awhile now. Leaning my chest against his I feel his chest
hairs; they're a little bit wiry, but I like it okay... it makes me think
of Alan, although Alan's body hairs are soft.

Frankly, this whole deal is so fucking different from anything I've
experienced I don't know what to think about it from one moment to the
next.  Oh, it's sexy as hell alright, and that's partially true I suppose
because it's so different, but I'm betting most of the sexiness is a result
of the banned substances in my system, and somewhere in my brain I know I
wouldn't be doing this with Philip except for the drugs, but so
what... it's new sexy fun! Tell ya the truth, I wish there was a touch of
danger associated with this, but Philip's so damn considerate and nice to
me there just isn't any chance of that. He says, "Taking you at your word,
Dylan, I'm assuming you're sexually experienced, and therefore I'm
interpreting your actions as an invitation for me to have sexual relations
with you. Am I mistaken about that?"  Right then I'm realizing that he
isn't mistaken about that, and it's like a slap-in-my-face of reality; what
a surprise...
 this is real and I can't help myself now 'cause it's gone too far. I
mutter, "Maybe..." and he puts a hand on each of my shoulders pushing me
away from him a few inches, "Look at me, Dylan," so I look up into his eyes
feeling like a little kid, my dick almost a full blown boner now... he
says, "It's not nice to tease, be totally honest with me: are you inviting
me to have sex with you?" Now I'm biting my bottom lip, thinking, "Am I? Am
I inviting this nice older man to have sex? If I am it needs to be safe
sex... that's what Robby says!"  Somewhere in my brain I know I just
brought Robby into this mess using distorted logic, assuming he'd be good
with me doing this as long as it's safe sex. I mutter, "Yeah, I am... but
if you don't want to, that's okay too." He hugs me to him, his wiry chest
hairs squished against me, as he's saying, "Thank you for the invitation,
it's a huge ego builder for me, and I really need that. Of course, I
probably shouldn't take you up on it, but I'm only human, and
you're... well, you're very special."  I gulp, but it makes me feel good he
thinks I'm special, and it seems I'm doing a good thing helping him with
his ego, so with that additional rationalization going for me, I allow
myself to be excited again. I'm committed to it now, so in addition to
being excited, I'm kinda proud I didn't punk out. Mentally patting myself
on the back, I congratulate myself, "Ya didn't punk out with Mohawk man
either, and that turned-out good... well, except for the spanking, so this
might rock too!"

Philip lets go of me, saying, "Okay, this is good, but lets not force
anything... if it happens, it happens... if not, it wasn't meant to be.
Now, lets get some more photo shots of you." He positions me sideways, my
boner bobbing in front of me. Philip's chuckling, "Dylan, I've never known
anyone who gets erect quite as easily as you," then, with a hand near my
crotch, he asks, "Do you mind?" In a fog, I shake my head that I don't and
he puts a fist around my cock and strokes it a few times, saying, "This is
an excellent penis; your foreskin is even loose with your erection's out
this far." I conceal the groan I want to make, but can't stop myself from
humping against his fist. Feeling me humping against his hand he strokes me
more energetically for fifteen seconds before turning away to adjust
himself, then say, "I'd like to get some shots that bring your pubic
stubble into play, also the rough haircut you have 'cause, like I said
earlier, it'll all contrast with your baby face." I go, "I don't have a
baby face; I know I'm nice looking but nobody else ever says I have a baby
face." Philip's sincere when he apologizes, "I'm sorry!  To you and your
friends perhaps the term 'baby face' wouldn't pop into your heads, but I'm
more than twice your age so it's all relative, ya know?" I'm not sure what
that meant, but I say, "Okay, then, just so ya know..." and he tries hiding
a grin, saying, "Sit on this bench with your legs spread a little, one hand
at the side of your thigh near your privates, put a tough boy look on your
face and let me have the shoulder with the tattoo hunched forward a little,
and flex your biceps."  Doing what he said gets him to exclaim, "That's
wonderful! Just like that... I want the contrast of your, er... good
looking youthful face, and the rough parts... the tattoo, the ragged
haircut, and pubic stubble... hold," and as he moves this way and that,
holding the camera at different angles and heights, I hear only the subtle,
"click, click, click, click," of the camera, then, "Wow, Dylan, you're a
very hot looking young man! Oh my God, you need to think about a career in
modeling. You're perfect for Abercrombie & Fitch right now.  I can
recommend an agent." Sitting up straight and playing with my now semi-soft
cock, I say, "That's very flattering, but I'm going to college now, ya
know." He laughs a little at that, then says, "Yes, I know, but that
doesn't mean you couldn't also have a career that can pay six figures
easily." I say, "I'll think about it, it's a big decision," which has him
laughing again. "Yes, please think about it.  I'll give you my card and you
call me when you're ready." I say, "Thanks, but I can't promise anything
'cause I've got a lot of homework this weekend so it won't be the next
couple of days." He's laughing again... this guy has a weird sense of
humor, but it's a pleasant laugh, nothing mocking about it... so,
laughter's good.

He takes more pictures; then, while leaning close to my face, asks, "Would
you mind going into my bathroom and doing a fresh shave of your pubic area?
My shaving gear is on the sink... I'd like to get some shots of a smooth
groin area now; should be very erotic." The drugs have clicked up another
notch by now, so I say, "Would you do it for me?  It's awkward shaving
there myself." He tries to say something, but it sticks in his throat
again. I shrug, feeling relaxed now as I grope my cock waiting for him to
get the words out. Then, noticing how his long thick blond hair that's
covering his forehead looks so clean and soft, I casually reach up and pull
it all to the side exposing the male symbol tattoo in the middle of his
forehead.  The lights reflect off his round, rimless eyeglasses as he takes
my wrist, pulling it away from his hair, saying, "The tattoo is a poor
choice I made while doing crack one night ten years ago. Me and Raymond
were in our wild period then; it was after my first photography book was
published." As he's telling me this he pulls my hand over to his lips and
kisses the back of it and then a long kiss on the palm.  Looking down at
me, he adds, "I've been fighting an addiction problem ever since..." I suck
on my lips, not sure what to say. Letting go of my wrist, he exclaims,
"You're a birthday present, aren't you? Was it Sydney? Sydney Denoltey... a
short fat man who's always smiling? Someone paid you to perk me up on my
birthday. I know it!  It's the only thing I can think of that makes any
sense... you're too special to just wander in here and offer yourself to
me." I'm not following too closely, but I'm not totally out of it
either. I'm aware he's unsure about why I'm here, but that just makes us
even because I'm unsure too. I go, "Huh?" Philip says, "Okay... can I kiss
you?" I shrug again and he holds my face between his hands and kisses me on
the lips. I do a half-ass kiss back but I'm not really into romance with
this old guy, just a new sexual experience maybe, a la Mohawk man,
maybe. After the kiss he grins, then says, "Not into that, are ya? That's
alright, I enjoyed it. What the hell, I'm gonna enjoy my birthday present."
I mumble, "You said your birthday was yesterday. What present are you
talking about... me? I'm not a present." He goes, "Have it your way."

Standing then, "Come on, let's shave those pubes of yours." As we're
walking to his bathroom he stays in a good upbeat mood, "It was an
epiphany...  when you asked me to shave your pubic area it just came to
me."  Frowning at that, I say, "What's that mean?" and, with his arm around
my shoulder holding me against him as we walk, he explains, "Epiphany is, I
don't know... um, an intuitive insight into something.  All of a sudden the
reality of something hits you over the head and it becomes obvious.  Like
you coincidentally just showing up a day after my birthday when I'm
depressed about my breakup with Raymond, and then you come on to me. That
would never happen normally so one of my friends, trying to cheer me up,
had to have arranged for you to be my companion tonight." Inside his
bathroom, I say, "You mean I'm getting paid for this?" He laughs, saying,
"You're delightful.  Now, how do I do this?" I explain about soaking the
pubic hairs, then shaving them etc. etc. He says, "Right! Just like shaving
one's face... why did I need you to tell me that, I wonder?" and he laughs,
obviously in a very good mood now.  He rubs across my cock, saying, "Mmmmm,
guess I'm a little bit in the bag." He has me stand on the toilet's seat
lid and then silently concentrates on doing the shaving. It doesn't take
long and I'm soon smooth as the day I was born. He rinses the remnants of
shaving cream as I ask, "Ah, Philip... um, will that friend of yours know
where to send the money? I mean, do you want me to leave my name and
address?" He looks at me with a confused expression, "Are you serious?
You've not been hired by someone?" I shrug, "I don't know anything about
it, and I don't care for the inference I'd expect pay for sex, I'm just
saying if someone insist on giving me money... you know, then what can I do
about it?" He shakes his head, and goes, "Maybe I didn't have an epiphany
after all.
 I'm too fucked up to figure this out, to tell you the truth.  Come on
though... let me get some shots of you with that pretty smooth groin area
of yours." And he does.

In a minute or two I'm losing interest in the nude model routine, and I've
also lost a lot of my enthusiasm for a new sexual experience because of
that talk about getting paid for it.  Not that I have anything against
money, but I'd never be a boy whore, or whatever they're called... not for
money anyhow, and that qualifier I just included "not for money" implies I
might be a boy whore for the fun of it, but not for money... hahaha. It
makes me laugh to myself, which tells me Philip isn't the only one in the
bag. Surprising myself again, I ask, "How about another vodka drink? Do ya
got any orange juice?" He doesn't, but he has grapefruit juice which is
okay if you add sugar, which he does.  We're at the bar smoking and
drinking again, me smoking Marlboro Lights and Philip sucking on another
joint and drinking a Coke. I'm still stark naked except for my socks and
Philip's still bare chested.  As I'm absently playing with myself, Philip's
rubbing across his nipples, then running his fingers through his chest
hairs. Mostly we're talking about sex and from what I can tell from Philip,
the voice of experience, it doesn't matter if you're nineteen or forty one,
gay sex is still a hot topic. Guess the same can be said for straight sex
too, and while we're at it we might as well extend the age out to whatever:
sixty, seventy. Philip tells me about some old guy who used to be on TV, a
guy named Larry King. This dude's been married like eight or ten times and
has five or six kids, the most recent one, a boy named Cannon... yes,
Cannon, was conceived when Larry King was like eighty years old. He's
eighty-eight now and he's presumedly still screwing, although that's hard
to imagine. First off it's encouraging to know ya can still spring a boner
at that advanced age, but the really amazing thing is that the old guy can
still find a woman who'll agree to fuck with him.  Maybe that don't apply
to gays, but I don't know why it wouldn't.  As we talked about it, a
picture formed in my head of what the woman Larry King talked into to
fucking with him might look like.

I've been here over an hour by now and feeling real relaxed... feeling no
pain.  The sex talk has me a little horny, but not the type of horny I get
around a cute boy my own age.  This is a different kind of horny, but it's
horny just the same. Philip seems more under control than me in this
regard, but it's apparent he likes the sex talk. I'm thinking maybe he'd be
turned-on a little more if I were closer to his age, which is a thought
I've never had before... the idea that some men prefer guys their age over
youth has never entered my mind before this... ya know, you gotta be
kidding me, but maybe it is true. The surprising things you learn about
life, and they keep coming and coming.  Anyway, as he's snubbing out his
latest joint in an ashtray, he says, "How 'bout standing up, Dylan, and let
me get a good look at you. I've barely had a glance at your ass." I hop up
and step back from the bar feeling loose, and up for just about anything.
 It's fun being half drunk and half doped-up on pot, the two halves equal
one hundred percent of something, but what? I realize I'm in a goofy mood,
a mood like I can't remember ever being in before. Then I hear, "Over in
front of the lights, if you don't mind." I go, "Oh, yeah.." and stumble
over.  Philip goes, "Let me play the part of the photographer... you know,
as if this we're a real shoot; you be the model, obviously." He has a hand
on each of my shoulders positioning me right in the middle of the back
screen. He says, "The photographer's the boss, okay, Dylan?" I like the
sound of that, and go, "Un huh, that sounds good." A hand under my chin,
"Look up at me, please," I do, and he says, "I've decided it's your eyes,
there's something about your eyes that makes me think... "SEX", in capital
letters." His hand travels back through my short hair then, "Gorgeous!" is
all he says. Then his thumb is on my bottom lip pulling it away from my
teeth slightly, "May I see your teeth please," and I show him them as best
I can. He pushes the pad of his index finger across my bottom teeth,
muttering, "You enjoy being submissive to me, don't you?" I feel a familiar
hypnotic trance-like state slip into my head.  It's the quiet in here and
how he's deliberately slow when doing all this inappropriate touching,
that's what's puts me into this dream-like state of mind.  I mean, come on!
Who puts their fingers in your mouth? Whatever, my cock is hard again as he
quietly says, "I used to be like you too... of course, with Raymond I had
little choice. On the other hand, before Raymond I was always the aggressor
where matters of sexual relations are concerned, so I can be a very
dominant partner for you, Dylan... is that what you want?" He's running the
pad of each thumb across my narrow eyebrows starting from above the bridge
of my nose and drawing his thumbs outward, then the tips of his fingers are
behind my ears touching here and there, squeezing my earlobes and playing
with my earring, and then down to my shoulders for more squeezing.
Philip's doing what he feels like as I stand naked before him, because he
knows he can. I let a lot of air out standing tall for him, my arms at my
side, totally involved in this drama. His hands travel down my sides, and
at my waist they move across my belly, tickling the skin lightly, meeting
at my crotch where, without hesitating, he again cups my scrotum in one
hand and my hard cock in the other. "I asked you a question, Dylan." It
isn't said in a demanding way, just a natural tone of voice, "Do you want
me to be your dominant sex partner tonight?" I try to say 'yes' but it
comes out, "Shees," and as one of his fingers probes behind my scrotum to
rub across my anus, he goes, "What was that?"  and I mutter, "Ya, yes.."
His finger pushes at my hole so that just the pad of the finger is parting
the lips of my asshole. "Okay, Dylan, if that's what you want," and he
pushes the tip of his finger inside me a quarter inch as his head comes
down to mine, forehead to forehead, and he quietly adds, "But just so I'm
sure, you need to clearly tell me what you want," and I say, so low I can
barely hear myself, "I want you to be my dominant sex partner," he kisses
the side of my forehead then while pushing his finger inside me another
inch, saying, "Good. I'll do that for you then."

My boner hurts, the skin is stretched to the point of splitting. Pulling
his finger from my asshole, he murmurs, "Stay like you are, please,"
leaning down and into me so that our bodies are touching, his stiff chest
hairs crackle against my chest, I feel his erection through his pants; it's
bumping my thigh as he's reaching behind me with both hands to grope by ass
cheeks. "These are perfection, Dylan. In case you've wondered, it's not
just your eyes... it's your natural facial expression, and your lips, and
your perfect bubble butt that screams "SEXY!!!" to anyone inclined to
interpret the message. I saw it immediately but thought you were fifteen or
sixteen and I don't go there; that's too young for me." Squeezing fistfuls
of my buttocks and then pushing a finger inside me again, and this time it
keeps pushing until my anus is pressing against his hairy knuckles, "Feel
good?" Philip asks. I'm laying my head against his shoulder feeling
submissive, which I really don't have a choice about anyway because my
cock's taken over my brain. It just feels too good... all of me feels good
right now.  I go, "Uh huh," and he says, "I'll open your sphincter ring
with my fingers and then give you a good hard fucking like you've been
asking for, okay?" Falling deeper and deeper into this dreamy trance-like
mood I let my drug induced brain form the words, "Yes, but promise me you
won't be gentle," and his shoulders shake as he has a good chuckle at that,
then says, "Just so ya know, I'm back to being positive one of my friends
set you up for me, but I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it just the same.
That corny line, 'promise me you won't be gentle'... hahaha.... convinced
me you're a set-up, but I love it!" I guess he's saying I'm a boy hooker
and apparently nothing I say will change that.  What I really am is an over
sexed gay boy who's enjoying his sex life to the fullest. Another finger
goes in my ass forcing me to abandon my situation analysis and stifle a
groan of pain instead. Both fingers probe my hole stretching it sideways as
well as up and down, feeling good now.

Strangely Philip has no discernible scent, no odor that I can detect except
a faint smell of cologne, one I've never smelled before. "You're quite
tight, do you mind if I use an expander? It'll make for much smoother anal
intercourse, and I'm rather well hung," and another snicker from him. He's
different from earlier and of course it's the laced pot he's been steadily
smoking. I recall from somewhere that pot makes you hungry and gives you
the giggles. I am hungry, but I'd be hungry without the pot because the
only thing I've had to eat the last eight hours is two slices of vegan
pizza. I ask, "What's an expander?" and he chuckles again, then says, "It's
what Raymond and I call dildos." Nodding at him, I'm thinking how I've had
a couple of dildos up my ass and they aren't bad at all, so I mumble,
"Well, okay, if you think it's a good idea." Anyway, I'm not gonna say 'no'
to him because that would break the mood of Philip being in charge. He's
getting more and more confident and I like that. As he pulls his fingers
out of me leaving me with my anus twitching, he says, "Stay..." and then
hustles into the bathroom. A minute later he's back with a generic, ridged
dildo, saying, "Bend over please," as I do, he adds, "This has been cleaned
meticulously, and I've just lubed it. I'm going to twist it all the way in
so you'll just need to take it... I'm really caught up in this now and
stopping isn't an option," which gets him giggling again, and this time the
giggling almost sounds like a woman's giggle, which isn't a good thing. On
the other hand, I like what he said about "stopping isn't an option" even
though I don't really believe him 'cause he's too nice. I know if I
insisted we stop, we'd stop... not that I want to. I'm caught up in it too,
but please... no more giggling.

Philip screws the dildo up my ass a couple inches and it's already feeling
huge. My cock is still hard but lacks the tightness of my earlier boners.
Philip stops twisting the dildo and pulls on it instead... I go, "Ummmmm,
oohhhh," and he pushes it in then pulls it out an inch and I'm leaning
forward stroking my cock going, "Mmmmmmmmm, yeaaaah!" He lets go of the
dildo, gives my ass a hard slap, saying, "Stay like you are," another hard
slap and then he pulls something from his pocket and hands it me.  "Hold
this," he says, and I take a black and gold square packet from his fingers;
it's obviously a condom, which I'm happy to see. "Hold onto this until I'm
ready for it; it's a condom and you'll roll it onto my erection when I tell
you to." I murmur, "Sure. Do you want me to open it?" "Not now, when I tell
you, and don't speak until spoken to," and he slaps my ass again, kinda
hard, adding, "Please wait for me to tell you what to do, I turned the
music off because when sex is involved I like to concentrate, and
conversation at this point just detracts from the proceedings.  You've
obviously bought into this so we're going to be doing it my way from here
on out." I say nothing, but he keeps talking, "That's a five dollar Sagami
Original 0.02 Premium condom you're holding... it's Japenese. They've
developed this condom to have three times higher bursting pressure and two
times higher tensile strength than normal latex condoms, and the way I'm
going to fuck you we'll need the extra strength." He begins twisting the
ever thickening dildo up my ass once more as I'm replying to his condom
lecture by mumbling, "That's interesting," and he goes, 'Shhh! What did I
just tell you about talking?' and another smack on my ass. This is getting
hot, and I need to stroke my boner again.  The dildo, his dominant
behavior, and the ass smacks are just right to get me greatly aroused, and
my cock is a hard bone that again is aching a little from being stretched
too tightly, but at the same time it feels wonderful.

Philip has the dildo way up my ass, just the nub end protrudes from my anus
and it's painful at the moment. Bend further forward, please," Philip
instructs, "Grab your ankles and maintain in that position until I request
a different one." I do as I'm told and it eases the pain in my ass somehow,
maybe this stretches my hole." He's got a hand on the inside of my thighs
saying, "Spread your legs," which I do until I'm on the verge of toppling
over, "That's good, I'll hold you up when I'm fucking you... be very docile
unless I tell you to tighten your sphincter muscles." I hear a zipper being
drawn down and some rustling of clothes so I look behind me and see Philip
has pulled his baggy pants and bikini underwear halfway down his long
thighs. I've honestly never seen a pubic patch as dense as his, the hair
even stiffer looking than his chest hairs. "Hold steady, Dylan," as he
takes his semi-hard seven inches of curved penis and rubs it under my ass
pushing and pulling it along my crack, probing at the stub of dildo as he
moves over it.  A minute later his penis is a long hard banana poking the
back of my balls, then pushing my bag of nuts up to my boner and I'm gaging
with arousal. The thought of that long, fat, curved cock inside me has me
scared and eager at the same time. "Would you like to suck my cock before
putting on the condom?" and the answer in my head was an immediate, "NO!"
which surprises me because I like sucking cock, but for some reason, that
I'll need to figure out later, I don't want to suck his. I mutter, "No
thanks," and he goes, "What if I insist?" and I say, "Then I'll do it, I
guess." He walks around in front, "I insist... how much are you getting
paid anyway?" With his big cock poking my nose, I answer honestly,
"Nothing, I'm not getting paid," he goes, "Uh huh! Head up," so I strain my
neck raising my head while still holding my ankles, and open my mouth,
"Good boy," as he slides his cock into my mouth.  The head is curved so
severely his piss slit rubs against my tongue while the top of the curve
slides against the roof of my mouth. "Suck!" and I tongue and suck the best
I can, losing a lot of my boner in the process. It didn't look or feel like
the cute boys' cocks I'm used to. When his cock is dripping with my saliva
he pulls it out, giggling again, "That cock's too big for your mouth, isn't
it?" I go, "I guess so," with spit running down my chin. "Let go of your
ankles for a second and roll the condom on me." I'd dropped the packet next
to my foot when he told me to grab my ankles, so picking it up off the
floor, I ask, "Should I straighten up?" he says, "Just waist high," which I
do, then roll the condom onto his strange boner. As he walks behind me, he
says, "Grab your ankles again and no talking, please."

Okay, I'm anticipating it now.  Sometimes I get so I just need to have a
cock up my ass and Philip's got me primed and ready for it, so let's go!
The unusualness and newness of this sexual experience is at it's peak now,
but even as I anxiously and submissively await my fucking, I'm
realistically expecting it'll be hot while it's happening and then not so
hot afterward. With Robby, Willie and my other sex partners it's hot as
hell having sex, getting fucked, but then afterward I can also experience
the heat all over again in my mind.  With Philip I don't think that'll
happen, but we'll see. The dildo comes out twist by twist and when it's all
the way out I feel wide open back there... not for long though. Philip's
given up the giggles for panting and heavy breathing. First, three hard,
loud slaps on my ass that really sting, and when I don't make a sound, he
mutters, "Good boy, Dylan... you know the drill." I'm scrunching my lips
and eyes closed because those slaps hurt, then the head of his cock is at
my hole.  He grabs both my hips and pulls me back into him as he's
thrusting forward and the wild curve of his boner makes it feel like a cock
five inches fat is pushing up my asshole.  I'm yelling out, "Awwwww!!!
Ohhh!!!" but he just tightens his hold on my hips finishing the penetration
and then immediately pulls back all the way out before slamming it back
inside my burning anus.  I'm squealing but can't get away from him, two
more thrusts and he leaves it up there.  "You're tight for a rent-boy," as
I yell, "For the tenth time, I'm not a prostitute!" Tears are running down
my cheeks, but like so many times before it's already changing from pain to
pleasure in my ass as my rectum expands accommodating this
intrusion. Philip doesn't even mention my screams of pain which turns me on
some more.  I didn't expect that he'd be so stern, so hard... I'm
impressed. He goes, "Ssshhh! No talking!"  and then he steadily fucks my
ass until it's feeling mighty fine.  After two minutes he mutters, "Oh my
goodness, this is fantastic! What an ass you have here.  I'm going to lift
your feet off the floor, so balance yourself on your hands," my feet come
off the floor and he easily hold me there as he drives his cock inside me
for another four minutes or so before I squeal like a girl, something I
hate when my sex partner does it, and a string of spunk burns my pee slit
flying from my pecker. The ejaculation draws a fast moving line of creamy
cum from my belly button to my left nipple, and then a second stream
follows the same path with me making a sound so high pitched only dogs can
hear it.  My vision is blurry and it's like I'm hearing things in an echo
chamber. Philip grunts, "All fours now," and drops my feet back to the
floor. I get on my hands and knees as two more spurts of spunk fly from my
cock. Philip has a leg on either side of me as he mounts me again and
pounds that odd, hard, curved boner up my hole widening it the most I've
ever experienced in my life and it's feeling awesome! I'm hopping off my
knees trying to get that weird fat-feeling cock further up inside me.  When
he cums he drives his cock up my ass so hard I flatten on the floor with
him flopping down on top of me.  Thank God he's slim! Laying on me his cock
actually does go further up my ass and now he really does a number pumping
my hole before running out of steam and just laying on me.

We lay here for a bit, then he says, gasping for air, "In the old days with
Raymond, he'd be able to go again in ten or twenty minutes, and that's when
he was the age I am now.  I never could... one and done for me." As I'm
looking back at him, he pulls his cock out of me and I see that the
condom's drooping with it's load of semen. "Here, let me help you up,
Dylan... that was an excellent fuck!" This is true... my ass has certainly
never been this opened-up before; now I'm glad he started with the
dildo. As I stand he holds my wrists together and smacks my ass a few more
times, spanks me hard with his still stiff cock bobbing in front of him and
the bulge of spunk in the condom swinging under his dick. Spanking me hard,
he's grunting from the effort, saying, "I loved it when Raymond would spank
me... spank me like I was a naughty boy, do you, Dylan... do you like it
too?" I mutter, "A little, I guess... but it stings a lot," which gets him
to stop and mutter, "Oops, sorry about that.  Guess I was getting carried
away." he pulls off the condom, ties a knot at the end and throws it at a
waist basket, but misses. In his current pot headed state of mind he waves
at the condom on the floor and mutters, "Fuck it..." Philip's done with the
giggles and apparently done with me too, as he looks at me, saying, "Well,
it's been wonderful, but would you be terribly offended if I asked you to
get dressed and take off now so I can lay down? I did way too much grass
tonight... you excited me and, well... I overdid it, is what I did, but it
was worth it." I say, "No, I don't mind. That's good actually 'cause I
gotta hook up with my friends...  and, you did a good fuck too." He says,
"Oh, thank you my dear boy.  I'm feeling like I'm on the back nine though,
forty-one is a long way from twenty-one." I'm putting my clothes on,
asking, "Whaddaya mean, back nine?" He waves his fingers like, it's
nothing, and says, "It's a golf thing," he's looking pale so I guess he did
overdo. I ask, "Are you alright?" and he brightens a little to say, "Aren't
you nice... um, I've never been with... ah, someone like you before.  Is it
traditional that I tip you or is that included in your arrangement with,
whoever?" There's that lonely, sad thing coming from him again, so I
mumble, "It's included." I'm quickly at the door feeling rushed out of
here, he says, "You've been great, Dylan... quite remarkable and I'll
remember this birthday forever." Opening the door, I say, "Happy Birthday!"
and then I'm in the quiet hall and Philip's heavy door clicks locked behind
me.  It all seems so anti-climatic all of a sudden. You don't suppose he
fucked me more for my benefit than his own, do you? Or maybe because he
thinks his friend arranged this so he went along with it so as not to seem
unappreciative... was that it? Damn! I don't know what to think, but I know
this much: my ass is still tingling, my anus is still gasping for more
cock, and my cock and balls are feeling good too... so what do I think
about that. One word comes to mind... bizarre!  Bizarre, and I don't really
care why he fucked me... it was a unique experience and I liked it, but
already I can see I was right about it not being a hot memory long term,
but so what? Oh, maybe I wish it never happened, but that fucking pot
screwed-up my brain! And the vodka...  I turn back to look at the door
wondering if there's any chance he'd want to do a quick second round, but
drop that stupid thought immediately.  It's just that it was over so
abruptly... and my ass is still twitching and all.  As I'm reaching back to
rub my hole, I'm wondering, "What the fuck am I gonna tell the guys?"
Checking my watch I see I've been gone for over an hour and a
half... tapping my fingers on my thigh, already forgetting Philip, I'm
trying to come up with a story to tell everyone, and concluding, "This is
gonna be awkward!"

to be continued...

Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com