Date: Sun, 12 Feb 2012 19:45:45 -0800 (PST)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR Chapter 17 by Donny Mumford

			   DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR

				Chapter  17

			   by  Donny    Mumford


Well, Thursday's finally here so there's only a late morning class, and an
early afternoon one, then I'm off for spring break. I need a break from
college, we all do.  The bad part is that Robby flew to Arizona last night
with his family, and I won't see him again for ten days. He's there
already, he's there without that asshole equipment manager
boyfriend-on-the-side, I might add.  Robby's pissed that Ryan Wilcoxs
insinuated he was going on the trip; it was never even considered, and
Robby chewed Ryan's ass out about that. Not that I ever thought it was true
in the first place. Anyway, the good part... well, I hope it's going to be
good anyway, is I have something exciting to do during spring break; I'm
going to Key West, Florida, with Willie Worthington. But that doesn't
happen until tomorrow morning. Right now I need to deal with today, the
last day of class, and that includes dealing with this terrible so-called
trim Robby did to my hair. Jesus! Okay, it'll have to be a hat again today;
wearing a hat is the only short term solution I can come up with. Damn, I
love that boy with all my heart, but he's gotta be the worst barber in the
United States; maybe the world! I look like such a dork...  oooh man! A
couple of guys kidded me about it yesterday, but whatever...


After peeing, washing up, then brushing my teeth and getting dressed I grab
Robby's Merrimack College Baseball cap this morning and pull it down to my
ears, covering most of the damage at the sides of my head.  Nothing to be
done about the damage at the back except be a good sport at the
ballbreaking about it. Even though I'm kinda pissed, I can't help blurting
out a laugh remembering the concentration on Robby's face as he was
butchering up my hair... it's ridiculous!  And he says my hair's "hard to
cut", hee hee... he won't admit he can't do something.  Oh well, let me get
through these last two classes and I'll stop at a barbershop, which will be
uber embarrassing also, but I'll tell the barber it was a fraternity
thing. Frankly, why I give a shit what total strangers think baffles me.
But then, what doesn't baffle me, ya know? I can tell myself it's stupid,
but I still care what people I don't know think about me. Dumb!!


When I come out of the bedroom I find Chubby whistling in the kitchen as
he's frying a couple of eggs for our egg-and-cheese breakfast
sandwiches. "Morning, Dylan... two more classes and we're done for a whole
week." I go, "Uh huh, ya outta put some onion and green pepper in with
those eggs." He gives me a look, like, "How 'bout you getting them then?"
so I do, and dice a little of each to throw in the frying pan, and then
just to break his balls a little, I mutter, "Ya really should have put the
onion and green pepper in first." He goes, "Yes, Emeril," and stirs things
around in the frying pan as I put English muffins in the toaster. "When are
you leaving for Key west?" Chubby wants to know, so I say, "I'm really not
sure... it's either tomorrow or Saturday, but Willie's picking me up
tomorrow morning in either case.  I don't ask too many questions 'cause
Willie always has everything planned-out to the last detail." Chubby says,
"Jesus, I gotta work ten-hour days all through spring break and you get an
all expenses paid trip to Key West... does that seem fair to you?" I go,
"Well, if you didn't spend all your money, and some of mine, on your dumb
girlfriends maybe you could come with us.  Or, you and I could've gone
someplace together; that'd be my first choice." Chubby's like, "Yeah,
yeah... water under the bridge. Next year for sure though, you and me and
nobody else. Okay?" "You got it bro," and I hug him from behind, and then
annoy him with a big kiss on his cheek." He mutters, "You'll never change,
Dylan..."  When I feign hurt feelings by going, "Awwww," he leans back into
me, adding, "And I hope you never do ," which gets him another kiss.
Chubby pretends he doesn't like me showing him love and affection, but it's
an act on his part; he likes it just fine.


After breakfast, even though it's a beautiful morning for walking, we take
the Jeep, with me driving, and we get to Merrimack early. We're killing
time in the parking lot, smoking, when Connor comes strolling up from the
quad with his asshole roommate, Josh McDonalds, and their friend, who we
only know as Homer, which isn't his real name. When the trio's ten feet
from us, Connor waves, and yells, "It's been five days, but I'm still
tasting that awesome Easter dinner.  How you guys doing?" I offer Connor a
cigarette, which he takes, as I'm saying, "We'll be doing a lot better
after these last two classes... boring!" and Josh says, "If you pay
attention in class and study properly maybe it wouldn't be boring to you."
I'm looking at him, like "Say what, asshole???" and Connor sorta smiles
awkwardly, knowing that everyone thinks Josh is an total loser. He says to
Josh, "They know that, Josh, they pay attention and study... don't ya
Dylan?"  Blowing smoke toward Josh, I go, "Duh! Pay attention and study?
Oh, is that what we're supposed to do?" Josh, waving at the exhaled smoke,
mutters, "What a geek," then says to Connor, "See ya at the dorm after
morning classes, we'll do lunch together." Connor shrugs, and mumbles, "Uh,
I might not... well, I'll text ya if I can't make it, okay?" Josh points at
Connor, and says, "Just be there, Connor... see ya."

Chubby's silent, smoking his cigarette with an expression on his face like
he's smelling something offensive. He can't stand Josh either, and Josh
knows it and for some reason is afraid of Chubby... he never addresses him
directly. Now that Josh has gone, Chubby wants to move on to something else
quickly, so he asks, "Homer, freshman year's almost over, what the fuck's
your real name, dude?" Homer fakes being confused by appearing baffled by
this question, as he's saying, "I've been told, it's Homer," and he says it
with sincerity, looking to Connor for comfirmation. Connor quietly says,
"It's Alfred Zinklekoff, but he prefers Homer," and of course Connor's
being sincerely-sincere about it because that's the way he almost always
is.  Homer says to Connor, "I didn't know that, Connor... thank you."
Connor smiles, and says, "Riiight...!" then to Chubby and me, "Hey guys, we
gotta walk all the way over to the Siles Building so we need to get moving.
Hope I see ya later..." He and Homer drift off with Chubby chuckling,
saying, "Zinklekoff's da bomb with that Homer shit," and I go, "Yeah, it's
a funny bit. Connor says Homer's a real good guy though, they hook up a lot
together," and as I say that, I'm thinking, "Hey, maybe Alfred's gay," but
I don't really believe he is...  that would be too easy, and anyway
Connor's gonna join the Army so it doesn't really matter much now anyway.


Chubby and I step on our cigarette butts and wander toward our next-to-last
class, anxious to get it over with.  As we enter the class room, Ears
Henderson and his shadow, Scott Tinsdale, are trying to enter at the same
time and a Three Stooges routine follows with all of us trying to get
through the door simultaneously. I mutter, "This may even be a tad too
immature for high school students, never mind us". Safely inside we all
bump fist, muttering "Good luck on spring break," which is foremost on
everyone's mind. Then Ears asks, "Whadda you think the chances are of me
acing this course?" and Chubby dryly remarks, "About the same as a squirrel
successfully landing a 747."  We chuckle as Ears mutters, "So you're saying
there's a chance, huh?" Ears, who's real first name is Walter, and his
friend, Scott, are inseparable, but not gay by all accounts.  They have
this class with Chubby, Robby and me, plus another class with just Robby
and me... both guys act like goof-offs, but have excellent GPAs.

In class the professor springs a spot quiz on us which proves easier for me
than Chubby because he's still working at his when I'm turning my test
paper in.  This spot quiz is a lucky break because it means a short
class. Finished, I give Chubby a subtle wave and a nod of my head, which he
and I know means I'm leaving, but I'll be outside in the immediate area
somewhere waiting for him. He mouths, "Fifteen minutes," and I give another
nod.  Actually, Chubby and I didn't even need to do any of that... we both
know what the other will do. Like the Fray say, "Can you read my mind?".


Anyway, as I've mentioned, it's a real nice day, weather wise, so I meander
up toward the quad, just to be doing something, and spot Jarod Mellincamp
sitting on a bench alone, smoking his last cigarette. He's that tough
little bastard who knocked my hat off starting a vicious fight which
ended-up being a four-way brawl that included dip-shit Dick Verris and my
hero, Robby. Yeah, Robby almost took Verris' head off... hee hee. By the
way, I'm just assuming it's Jarod's last cigarette because I watched him
crush the empty cigarette pack, and it's like he's taking frustration about
something out on the innocent cigarette package. I haven't seen Jarod
around for a while now; we don't have any of the same classes anymore.  He
and that piece of shit, Dick Veris, bailed-out on the course we'd taken
together after first semester.

Being fairly confident Jarod's not going to start another fight with me
now, because the few times I've passed him on campus in the past he's
turned away from me, as opposed to confronting me.  Usually I'm not the one
to make the first move in a social situation, but that time I saw Jarod
after the fight he'd just gotten a new haircut, a new short hair style for
his light brown hair, and it changed his whole appearance... kinda cute, ya
know?  I love that shade of light brown hair; sometimes I think it's more
attractive than Robby's and my two-toned blond hair, but come on... no way,
although light brown hair on a boy might be the second best natural hair
color... unless second best is light red hair which, on a boy, is so
fuckin' hot!  Anyway, Jarod's kinda hot too... he's real slim, and I know
he's taut and tough from firsthand experience.  He's got thin arms and
knobby elbows with over-sized hands... strong kid.

Today he's wearing shorts so I can verify his almost hairless legs are
skinny too, and his knees knobby, with feet that are too big for his
height, and to further exaggerate the bigness of his feet he's wearing big
sneakers. That description doesn't sound very hot, I know, but it is on
him.  Sitting on the bench he's got his legs crossed in that way some guys
do it... the top knee right over the lower leg's knee, the hanging leg
right next to the one underneath it.  I don't know, but that looks a little
bit famine to me. Jarod's recently gotten himself another crisp haircut,
like the last one, and he's definitely someone I'd check out twice... like
I'm doing right now.  The question I'd normally have in a situation like
this is, "Should I cut off before I get to him, or walk right past him?
Hmmmm?


Hell, I'm not afraid of him, and I want a closer look. So, lighting a
cigarette, I casually wander down to Jarod, pretending I'm interested in
something that's going on to my right.  Jarod's on my left and when I'm
next to him, he says, "Yo, Newman!" Looking over at him, I'm like startled,
"Huh, wha... oh, Jarod, whassup?"  He gets up to dump the crushed cigarette
package in a trash container, then sits back on the bench taking a drag
from his cigarette. He's looking at me like he's got something troubling on
his mind, then he mutters, "What's up is: I think I just bombed-out of this
'Critical Writing' course. We got our midterm grades back and mine sucks! I
got no feel for the writing." With smoke drifting from my mouth, I'm like,
"Sorry to hear that, Jarod. I didn't elect that course 'cause I can't write
for shit either." He flips his cigarette butt in a nice arch, it lands on a
drainage grille, then topples through the grids... nice!


Not looking at me now, he mumbles, "I didn't even want to go to college;
it's because of my parents' pressure that I'm here."  Since he's not
looking at me I have the perfect opportunity to study him. He's not tall,
but long limbed just the same, although in a gawky way, but like I said, it
works for him somehow.  And, now that he's got this clean-cut look going
for him, he's a very nice looking boy, especially that wonderful pale skin
of his. There's also an edge to the expression on his face that I like;
something edgy about him overall that's intriguing to me. This is no
mommy's boy or wimp, yet his voice is kinda sweet sounding and I smile
recalling him saying, "I give," when I was kicking his ass during the
fight. That's after he kicked my ass pretty good too, but still, who says,
"I give"?  I mean, after the fifth grade.


What the hell, he seems tame enough today so I'll try a little fence
mending. Taking a chance, I sit down right next to him holding out my right
hand, saying, "Hey, I've been wanting to say there's no hard feelings about
the fight." He turns his head and grins at me now, and wow! That's the
first grin I've ever seen from him and, oh my... his dimples, and rosy red
lips, and super white even teeth; all that, in conjunction with his
slightly wrinkled forehead and sparkling green eyes bring his face totally
alive, and my dick moves, like it's been known to do around attractive
boys.  Jarod's entire face gets involved in his grin, as he says, "No hard
feelings? That's fucking big of you seeing how you and your buddy kicked
our asses."  I grin back, shaking my head, "No way, it was an even fight. I
was sore for three weeks, you're a tough kid!" He puts his hand out and
takes mine turning his grin into a smirking expression that indicates he
thinks I'm full of it.  He says, "Oh, riiiight! The fight turned out even,
my ass..." Then he does a little hand shake, holding my hand for a second
longer then he probably should. Awkward, but nice. I asks, "Friends?" He
grins again and pulls on my arm, squeezing my hand, saying, "Sure,
friends!" and then lets go of my hand... wow!


Okay, I admit it, I'm flustered right now 'cause I love holding hands with
boys... palm to palm is so sexy. I'm flustered, but Jarod's totally cool
with it. How is that everyone seems so much more at ease with the world
than me? Taking a deep, silent breath, and then letting it out slowly, I
ask, "You wanna get a drink or something at the quad, I'm waiting for my
roommate to finish his quiz?" He looks at me openly now, friendly as hell,
his distress over the "Critical Writing" course temporarily forgotten, and
asks, "Your first name's Robby, right?  No, wait, that's your
roommate... you're Dylan, like that old time folk singer." I chuckle, then
explain, "Yeah, I'm Dylan. Robby's one of my roommates, the other is Chubby
Romero, Jeffrey Romero actually.  'Dylan's' the last name of that old guy
you're referring to, so it's not exactly the same thing; he's Bob Dylan. My
mom didn't like the name Bob so she named me after his last name. She loves
his old shit, not his stuff after the eighties or something. And, by the
way, I don't think he actually considers himself a folk singer."  Jarod
shrugs, ignoring most of that, and with a grin on his lips, says, "That's
quite a weird haircut ya got going for ya there... who's your barber, I'll
stay clear of him." I pull Robby's cap down tighter, a little blush coming
to my face, and mumble, "Ah, he's just a friend who isn't too good at
cutting hair. I'll get it taken care of this afternoon at the barbers." He
goes, "No, it's just, ya know...  kinda noticeable, but hey, and don't take
this the wrong way, I'm not gay or anything, but guys as good looking as
you don't need to worry about their hair. Actually good looking guys are
usually stuck-up, but you're the opposite... and while I'm at it, I admire
your guts too." I go, "Huh? What's that?" thinking maybe he's dumping on
me. He's energetic, saying, "No, I mean it, you got guts because when you
sucker punched me you knew damn well Veris was right behind me, and that it
was gonna be us two against you... that take's guts, or maybe you're just
nuts," and he laughs a little, in a friendly way.

It turns out that he's easy to talk to, and that surprises me although I
don't why it should.  The problem often is that most of us tend to make a
snap judgment of someone from one little thing they do and then, no matter
what, we stick to our first impression, usually forever.  Jarod and me just
made an exception to that unfortunate human trait, and it makes me feel
good, and temporarily optimistic about relationships in general.  The
compliment about my appearance is best left alone, but to the rest I say,
"That fuck-head Dick Verris had been harassing me, bullying me, whatever
you want to call it, for parts of three semesters and I'd had it with
him. I always saw you with him so when you knocked my hat off it was like
Verris did it, and I snapped...  didn't give a shit if I got my ass kicked
or not, I'd had enough." He goes, "Okay, you're gutsy and nuts!" Grinning,
I go, "Bingo, that's me," and we bump fists.  Jarod says, "Yeah, fuck
Critical Writing', lets get a Snapple or something.  Can I bum a smoke off
you?"


As we walk toward the quad we both light up a cigarette, although I don't
really want one, with Jarod saying, "Me and Dick had a falling out. I got
sick of his constant negativism; everything sucks as far as he's
concerned." I go, "How'd ya get hooked up with him anyway; did ya grow-up
together?" Jarods like, "Nah, I didn't know anybody here and he was in my
dorm and sorta introduced himself and one thing led to another, but... um,
he's an asshole, and so was I, but my brother talked with me about things a
few weeks back and advised me that guys like Verris are losers and other
guys are gonna associate me with him and think I'm a loser too." To keep it
light, I ask, "You mean you're not a loser? I didn't know that," and he
laughs, saying, "Well, maybe I am, but Verris was making it
worse. Everybody can't be popular like you." I go, "Whoa, that's a leap,
but thanks." He says, "I'm gonna try hooking myself up to a big man on
campus, like you, and ride your coattails."

We're both mostly messing around, and we both know it, but it does indicate
to me that Jarod's good people. Self deprecating humor is a sure sign of a
hot shit.  I say, "Wow, do you ever have me pegged wrong, but don't change
your opinion on my account." We get Cokes at the quad and shoot the shit
about our freshman year experiences, and then a little sports talk, until
Jarod goes, "It's been great getting to know you a little, Dylan, after
spring break lets hook up and double date or something." I go, "Well sure,
if you don't mind double dating with a couple of other guys, I'm gay." He
goes, "Get the fuck outta here!" and punches my arm lightly, adding, "Your
gay, my ass!" but I think he begins to believe me when I just look back at
him.  He goes, "Really?" and I say, "Really! My roommate, Robby, who was in
the fight with you guys, is my boyfriend and has been since before we
started college."  Jarod's mouth won't close as the reality sinks in, then
he says, "You're the first guy I've ever known who came right out and said
he's gay.  Damn! I admire the hell out of that too!"  and he holds his fist
out for a fist bump, then goes, "Yeah, a double date with three guys,
that'll be so different, and shouldn't attract any attention at
all. Hahaha... Jill's gonna love it." I'm guessing Jill's his girlfriend,
and I'm not sure if he's serious, so I mumble a noncommittal, "No problem,"
then see Chubby walking into the quad, and wave to him. He comes over
looking at Jarod with a puzzled expression, probably thinking, "Isn't that
the kid Dylan had a fight with?" I say, "Chubby Romaro/Jarod Mellingcamp,"
and they bump fist, as Chubby's asking, "Aren't you the kid who kicked the
shit out of my bro here?" and Jarod says, "Well, it wasn't exactly like
that... actually it was just the reverse of that, but I've forgiven him,"
and the three of us talk awhile, then wandered up to our Jeep; Jarod's
gonna join us for lunch at Fuddruckers.


I'm driving. On the way, Jarod, with a smile, asks Chubby, "Are you gay
too?" Chubby looks surprised for a second, surprised Jarod knows I'm gay I
guess, then says, "No, I let Dylan be the captain of that team, I've got a
girlfriend... two of them, actually." Jarod says, "Hey, maybe it's you I
should double date with," and it's light ball-busting stuff like that until
we're inside Fuddruckers, where we run into Connor and Homer, aka
Alfred. They're in the back of the line waiting to place their lunch orders
so we don't need to butt in line, which we would have done if they were up
closer to the front. Instead, we just walk up behind them, and I say to
Connor, "Not dining with Josh for lunch? I believe he ordered you to do
so." Connor squeezes my neck, grinning, as he says, "I'm in trouble now
alright," and Homer says, "If that asshole was here for lunch I'd be
someplace else." Connor makes a face, like, "Aww, he's not that bad,"
although I think he knows Josh is, in fact, that bad.  We do quick
introductions for Jarod, Connor, and Homer without formal handshaking or
anything, and Jarod asks Homer, "Is that your first or last name?" Homer
looks like he's thinking about it, before saying, "I'm not sure, which one
is it Connor?" and this time Connor doesn't correct him, just says, "How
the fuck would I know, Homer?" That struck Chubby and me funny, maybe
because Connor doesn't drop the 'F' bomb all that often. Waiting to place
our orders, Connor tells us a joke: "Hey, did you all hear this one?" and
he tells us:


    Sister Mary Katherine entered the Convent of Silence. The Priest said,
"Sister, this is a silent monastery.  You are welcome to stay here as long
as you like, but you may not speak until directed to do so.  She nods her
head and doesn't speak a single word for five years until the Priest says
to her, "Sister, you may speak two words."  Sister Mary Katherine says,
"Hard bed."  "I'm sorry to hear that," the Priest said, "We'll try to get
you a better bed." Another five years passes and the Priest tells her, "You
may speak two more words. "Cold food," is Sister's reply. The Priest
assured her the food will be better in the future. On her fifteenth
anniversary, the Priest again calls the Sister into his office, to say,
"You may say two words today. "I quit," said Sister Mary Katherine.  It's
probably best," said the Priest, "You've done nothing but bitch since you
got here!"


We all laugh out loud while doing a little roughhousing, jostling Connor
mostly, who's laughing the hardest.  Naturally, adult-type people in for
lunch, salesman and that sort, gawk back down the line at us with looks of
disgust on their faces, like, "Those fuckin' spoiled college kids have no
manners!" The rest of lunch was great too; Jarod fit in just fine... it's a
good feeling making a new friend, it really is. And now I won't need to
wonder about running into him. Better yet, without Jarod as his sidekick,
Dick asshole-Verris, is sorta neutered... hee hee. Outside, after eating
our awesome cheeseburgers, we wish each other a great spring
break... nobody mentioned anything about Connor's joining the Army during
his break.

The afternoon class is especially boring, and then it's mercifully
over. Chubby and me hook-up at the quad to drive back to the
apartment... it's officially spring break! At the apartment we pack-up a
few things to take home with us to Framingham, and then hit the road.
We're having a real early dinner this afternoon at the restaurant with the
moms; it's a goodbye to me dinner, more than anything else, I won't see
them tomorrow morning. Chubby's due at work by nine o'clock, but the moms
will see him on the weekend. Willie's picking me up at ten, so it's mostly
'sayonara' to the moms for ten days. Not that we see them much anyway,
being away at college like we are.


In Framingham, Chubby and me take showers at the condo and then hustle out
to the restaurant for our five o'clock dinner date. Occasionally we'll have
dinner with them at five-thirty or six o'clock too.  Yeah, that's early for
dinner, but this is a down-time for the restaurant and so that's when the
moms get time off. The place is almost empty, but there's a table in the
bar area set-up for us, and the moms are waiting there when we walk in.
Kisses and hugs all around, including me and Chubby doing a mock hug and a
kiss. We all sit and Chubby's breaking a roll, looking at the moms, saying,
"You both look hot tonight!" Tris says, "We put makeup on to impress you
boys," which makes the moms giggle. My mom says, "You two boys look hot
too." Together, Chub and I go, "Oh, gee whiz... really?" like goofs, and my
mom adds, "Except for your hair, Dylan.  Did Robby try his haircutting
skills again?" Chubby chuckles, mumbling, "You never learn, Dylan," as I'm
answering my mom, with, "I know, I should'a waited for Chubby!"

Unfortunately I never got to the barbershop after last class like I planned
to do, time wasn't on my side. Then both moms say about ten different
things about how wonderful Robby is, never mind that he can't cut hair.
After each compliment for Robby, I go, "Robby?" as if I can't believe they
think he's so awesome.  It's funny, I can tell Jarod I'm gay, but it seems
an impossible task to tell my mom.  And that's not to say mom isn't a
fabulous person who would totally understand, but I guess I'm afraid of the
unknown, and why mess-up the status quo when it's working so well?


The moms order Caesar salads as Chubby and I smirk at each other,
like... who eats a salad for dinner? Neither of us is particularly hungry,
but we both order a king size portion of prime rib of beef, medium rare,
horseradish sauce on the side.  That includes baked potato with butter and
sour creams and fresh snipped chives... plus whole kernel corn dripping
with butter, which is one of a very few vegetables we consider
eatable. Corn on the cob being the other one... ripe, summer tomatoes are
delicious too, but everyone knows tomatoes are a fruit, not a
vegetable. Mom says, "It's good to see you boys eating so healthily,
keeping the cholesterol down and all that," and both moms laugh at that,
shaking their heads. Chubby and me consider this meal a one hundred percent
healthy trip into the various food groups; a square meal far superior to a
cheeseburger and red Gatorade that we've had many a night at our college
apartment.  Chubby asks, "Whaddaya mean?" and mom pats his wrist, saying,
"Nothing, honey... just kidding."

During dinner Chubby regales us with some Snapple factoids, which is a
surprise seeing how he dumped on Dodger for spouting out a few of those
very things. He goes, "The White House in Washington, DC, was originally
called the presidents palace, it was changed to the White House in 1901."
The moms pretend to find that sooo interesting. Chubby, trying not to laugh
at my expression of boredom, adds, "Yeah, and did you know there are more
chickens in the world than humans?" Both moms find this fasciating, but I
cry, "Mercy, Chubby, mercy!"  Chubby stops and then the moms, not
surprisingly, express interested in what are midterm grades are, and that
led into how proud the moms are of Chubby's and my college experience in
general, and most importantly the fact that we get 'B's towards a high 'C'
GPA... our goal is a straight 'B' GPA by graduation.  My moms say,
sincerely, "You both are awesome and I was telling Stella in the kitchen,
while Bobby was setting up our table, about how the two of you, and blah
blah blah....." She goes on and on about how Chubby and me did all the
background on our college loans and secured the apartment in North Andover
etc. etc...  Triss, says, "Yes, all we had to do is sign on the dotted line
as cosigners." I roll my eyes at Chubby because we've heard this a dozen
times. It strikes Chubby as funny, and trying to hold back a laugh he
coughs up a bite of prime rib that flies out of his mouth and lands on my
plate. I immediately fork it into my mouth and eat it, saying, "That never
happened... what you just saw did not happen."

Basically, I'm trying to get Chubby into one of our silly moods because
he's been a little 'off' lately; his word, not mine.  When I eat the spit
piece of meat, Mom goes, "Gross," and then, "Dylan!!," but pats my arm to
show she didn't mean anything bad by it.  We settle down and talk seriously
about what's going to be happening for us on spring break. The moms feel
bad that Chubby needs to work ten-hour days during his break, but we all
shrug, including Chubby, like... "Ya wanna live above your means, sometime
or other ya gotta pay the price..." but no one comes out and says that.


After a minute of dead air, as we all digest the conversation and our
dinners, the moms take over by filling us boys in on the latest guys
they're dating.  Usually it's an ever-changing scene, but Tris has been
going with the same guy for a long time now... very rare. Tris says, "Yep,
Chubby, you might have a new daddy soon; Rocco's getting ready to pop the
question, I can just feel it, and I just might say, 'yes'.  Chubby groans,
but I know him so well and can tell he's making a conscious effort to get
in a good mood. He asks, forcing a grin, "Is he the one with the shirt
hanging open, hairy chest, and all those fake gold chains around his
neck... the auto mechanic, or something?" Tris is like, "Oh Chubby! No,
months ago I had a talk with Rocco about that. Didn't I, Ann, remember?  It
was on our Boston harbor cruise; your last date with that hottie, Jake."  I
flash back to Jake, and my shoulders shudder, but no one picks up on it, as
Tris tells Chubby, "I've got Rocco down to wearing only one fake gold chain
at a time, and he's not a mechanic, honey!  He's a body shop man, fixing
cars that have been in an accident." Chubby grins at me, and goes, "Oh!
Well, that's different then," as he's rolling his eyes. Then he adds, "Why
can't you date a lawyer or something? Someone with big bucks..." and my mom
swallows a tiny bite of chicken, saying, "Chubby, honey, Rocco makes much
more money than most lawyers, he owns the body shop, but the important
thing is he's the gentlest, nicest man we've met in some time.  He'd be a
wonderful step dad." Chubby says, "He's rich, huh? Well, that's different
then, fer sure... it's about time someone in this family had some coin, eh,
Dylan?" We bump fist, as I ask, "Whatcha gonna call him, Chubby?" Chubby
says, "I'm leaning towards PaPa, but maybe a simple, 'Daddy' is the way to
go." I'm like, "As in, Daddy, can I have some hundred dollar bills for my
date tonight.  Pleassssse..." and I say, "Pleasssse," the way a four year
old says it when asking for a cookie, which gets Chubby and me
chuckling. He says, "Exactly what I had in mind... a new car too, which
goes without saying," and the moms chime in with, "Oh, you boys!' but
they're smiling.


After eating half their salads the moms need to get back to work.  By then
Chubby and me have eaten everything on our plates, so our waitress clears
the table while the moms are covering Chubby's and me with kisses, leaving
a few outlines of their lipstick kisses behind on our cheeks, then they're
hurrying off to set-up tables in the dining room.  The moms are a couple of
hardworking, upbeat, happy, wonderful women, and that's what Chubby and me
say to each other about them when they've walked away. Dee, the waitress,
hears us say it and smiles sweetly at us.  It makes us blush realizing she
overheard that mushy sentiment, but it gets us a dessert: coffee, and white
cake with white icing and multicolored sprinkles on top, which has always
been Chubby's and my favorite dessert at this restaurant.

All in all, a good beginning to spring break. Outside the restaurant Chubby
and me lean on the Jeep and share a cigarette, kinda quiet. After a minute
or so he looks at me with a wry smile, like he wants to say something, but
instead he squeezes my hand, muttering, "Love ya, bro," then, "Lets cruise
the mall, see if we run into any of the guys." We do that, mostly killing
time being together, but we do run into Elliot and his slightly too-gay
boyfriend, Jay. They go to community college and we exchange some
experiences of our freshman years for a bit before moving on to hook-up
with some guys from high school, who we shoot the shit with about our high
school days before heading for home.  It's cool running into guys ya
haven't seen for a year, but the best part of tonight's mall experience is
that Chubby didn't run into even one of his giggling girl friends who think
he's the coolest thing since the invention of rock 'n roll.


We drive back to our condos around eight-thirty, and then hang out on my
deck smoking for awhile. During the ride I'd asked Chubby to help me out
with my haircut, but then remembered the barber equipment's at the North
Andover apartment. I'd told Robby the barber tools were here, and I see
where that got me. Chubby says he doesn't feel like cutting hair tonight
anyway; well, he isn't really a big fan of haircutting in the first place,
it's just something he and I have done for each other, seemingly forever.
I don't press it because, crazy as it sounds, Willie usually has haircuts
factored into our date somehow anyway.

Looking at Chubby, both of us out on the balcony, I have these wicked close
feelings for him, and I;m worried about him a little too. Maybe it's that
sometimes I get kinda maudlin after spending dinner with our little
family... I feel happy for us, but a little sad for us too because it
hasn't been an easy ride. Chubby seems wistful, which is unusual, and it
bothers me. Putting enthusiasm into my voice, I say, "It was fun eating
with the moms tonight, wasn't it?" He blows out a long exhale, "Yeah,
they're so nice and ya know, it's corny, but you can feel the love and the
closeness we all feel for each other, ya know?" I go, "Yeah, exactly what I
was thinking." Then he's pensive again, so I energetically try to start a
conversation, "The moms rock, but do you ever get the feeling their kinda
naive about stuff?" He goes, "Um, I guess, but they probably seem that way
sometimes because they're always agreeing with everything we say, always
upbeat, looking at the world as half full, the glass as half full, I
mean. They want us, you and me, to be happy more than anything.  It's
sweet, but I don't think they're necessarily naive where life in general is
concerned; just with us." I go, "Uh huh."

Chubby's looking up at the night sky; it's covered in a blanket of
starlight tonight. After a pause, he wistfully mutters, "Too bad happiness
ain't always easy to find, and is hard to maintain."  This is definitely
not a normal frame of mind for him, so I ask, "Everything okay, Chubby?" He
looks at me and smiles his smile, the one that makes the girls get
squirmy... it makes me get a little squirmy too, and it's impossible for me
not to smile back when he smiles at me this way. Then he shrugs, and says,
"Everything's great, why do you ask?" I shrug back at him, then look away
to say, "You told me you were sorta 'off' a few weeks back, and I'm just
wondering about that, and I'm a little worried about it too, that's all."
He squeezes my hand, mumbling, "Don't worry about me, Dylan, I'll be fine,"
and then another drag on his cigarette as he looks back up at the stars.


We're silent for a minute as I watch him smoke in the
moonlight... moonlight has a way of attaching itself to his face. It's
magical, and I get a funny feeling in my stomach, I'm a little lightheaded
too. Lightheaded like when I know I'm going to say something that might not
be appropriate, certainly not appreciated, but should be said. "Umm, ah,
Chubby, remember how you and I used to get sexy with each other?" He looks
over at me with that expression, like, "Not this again," but lets his lips
curl up into a grin just the same, as he mutters, "Yes, when we were kids
and didn't know any better." Talking quietly, looking him in the eyes, I
say, "Not just when we were kids, and we did so know better. You explained
it very well I thought. You said we were the two closest buds in the world,
who have been through an unusually tight childhood together, a once in a
lifetime childhood together, and it's therefore totally natural that we'd
share ourselves with each other." Chubby stares at me for a few seconds,
and says, "As kids we were experimenting with our developing sexuality. You
and me are so close we have the right to do that, like I told you, but the
experimenting is over... we know all the answers now." I go, "No we don't;
not all of them." He shrugs, uncomfortable with this conversation.

Now comes the part where I say what was making me squeamish, "Ah, I know we
never talk about it, but... you know, were you still experimenting with
Ricky that summer we were saving our money for our drivers licenses?" My
eyes are tearing again, which I hate! Chubby blows out a big breath, and
mumbles, "I try not to think about that, Dylan. You know that." Not willing
to let it drop, knowing somehow that it needs to be talked about, I quietly
say, "I've always wondered about you telling me how you hated what he did
to you, but you said it felt okay... felt good, you said." He's shaking his
head, not looking at me again, "It was brainwashing or something, the way
his father manipulated all of us; starting innocently enough, and then
adding a little of this and a little of that, like it was a game. And then
there was the money thing; the window washing job paid almost twice as much
as that job at Stop & Shop, so I didn't want to lose the job." Letting that
rationalization hang in the air a minute, I murmur, "But you said it felt
good." He drags on his cigarette, shrugging again.

After a bit, I ask, "Don't you ever think about you and me doing that? I
mean, we did a little bit that time; that wasn't so bad was it?" He looks
over at me now, and says, "Nothing's bad with you, Dylan," and I see his
eyes are wet too.  He adds, "But that stuff just isn't what I'm interested
in." Unwilling to let it drop, I ask, "Not even with me?" and he says, "I
know you're gay, Dylan, and I know you love me, and I feel the same way
about you, but it's just not right... or, I don't think it's right for me,
I mean; that's all I'm saying." Then Chubby flips his cigarette butt over
the balcony, and comes over to hug me. "God, I love you, Dylan, but I can't
be everything you want me to be." I sense he's feeling some of what I'm
feeling tonight, that closeness, that specialness we've always had,
emphasized further by our family dinner together... maybe, like me, he
almost feels sorry for all of us... sorry we've had to struggle for the few
luxuries of life, like the simple matter of eating out. And maybe he has a
little bit of a guilty conscience for not spending as much time with me as
he should, knowing how much it means to me. So this might be a vulnerable
moment; not that I want to take advantage of it, but something's bothering
Chubby and it's my job to get his mind off it, whatever it might be that's
had him 'off' for a few months now.


I take a drag, my mind going a mile a minute as I try to come up with
something to help, and even as I'm thinking, I know I'm not good in these
situations. The only thing I can think of is to press on with the closeness
thing; to push for something from the past, whether he thinks he wants that
or not.  Maybe he'll feel better if he's does something that he knows is
uber important to me. Okay, maybe I'm being selfish, but he's my Chubby, my
brother, the most important person in my life and I'm going to see if he'll
budge just a little bit. So, I quietly ask, "Will you at least sleep with
me tonight? I'll be away all next week and I'm feeling lonely for you." He
steps over and hugs me again, real hard this time, muttering, "You're
incorrigible!" Then, letting go of me, he adds, "Yes, my gay best friend in
the history of the world, I'll be glad to sleep with you tonight... I'd
like to, as a matter of fact." Well, surprise!

Trying not to smile too hard, I flick my cigarette butt over the railing
only to have it bounces off the top rail and hit Chubby's leg.  It eases
the tension a little, as I go, "Oops!" and he chuckles easily, kicking the
butt off the deck. Pushing things further along, I go, "Can we mess around
a tiny bit too?"  I ask that using a baby voice in case he gets pissed-off
at my pushiness. He's laughing at it though, as he goes, "Jesus, the gay
boys in town are in trouble... you're so fucking cute too! And, what the
fuck, you'll do some messing around whether I agree to it or not, so,
sure." I mumble, "You're the best, Chubby! Luv ya, bro!" And, he does seem
more upbeat now, when he says, "First thing though... I gotta inspect your
feet.  You've always neglected them, and they're so important!" I chuckle,
saying, "That sounds familiar!" and inside we go with Chubby mumbling, "Oh
man, how do I let you manipulate me so?" I say, "He ain't heavy, he's my
brother," and, as the sliding doors to the balcony close behind us, Chubby
mutters, "Well, you're pretty fuckin' heavy sometimes."


We're in my condo with me trying to take charge of the situation, when it's
with Chubby, I can usually do that okay because we're tight. I say, "Text
your mom that your staying here tonight, okay?" Chubby, who seems in a
better mood than he's been in all night, mutters, "Yes, boss..." and
smiling at me, he takes out his cell phone, muttering, "I need me some foot
action." He leaves a text for Tris and when he's done he pats my bed,
saying, "The evil twin bed," and then, "What's next, Dylan?" He's going
along with the program, so far, so good. To keep the mood light, I jokingly
suggest, "Perhaps it would be best if you addressed me as 'Sir', from now
on," to which Chubby says, "Perhaps I shan't!"  I go, "Shan't? What kinda
word is that?" and Chubby goes into a phony lecture mode, "Well my good
man, it obviously means 'shall not' as in 'I shall not, under any
circumstances, be calling you, sir." I'm squinting at him, like, "What the
fuck...? as he grins, holding a finger in the air and continuing his
lecture, talking with a awful English accent, "The word evolved from
sha'n't, with two apostrophes. Later the first apostrophe disappeared and
it became shan't. It's more common in British English than American
English, I would think." I go, "Where do you get this shit?  Oh, never mind
that, just get everything off, but your jockey shorts... and, by the way,
that's the worst English accent I've ever heard." I'm undressing as Chubby
continues with the bad accent, going, "My dear fellow, how rude..." but
he's taking his clothes off.  When he's down to his shorts, he does an
exaggerated, "Uh oh!" as if something's wrong. He says, "I'm wearing boxers
tonight, not Jockey shorts!" I go, "Better yet!" and drop my clothes on the
floor.

Dropping the accent, Chubby asks, "What nefarious things do you have
planned for me tonight, Dylan?" Counting them off on my fingers, I go,
"First, we do our bathroom rituals of washing, brushing, and peeing; then,
if you're good, you get to examine my feet to your hearts content, and...."
He interrupts, "My feet need examining too!" As we're walking into my
bathroom, I say, "That'll be taken care of too, that'll be before we get
into the third, more serious, part of the evening. Tonight we settle all
the family business, and please, don't tell me you're innocent, Chubby."
Chubby says, "Actually the line is, 'Today I settle all the family
business, so don't tell me you're innocent, Carlo.'''  I blurt out a laugh
because this is like the normal Chubby, a ball buster to the end, and I'm
so happy he's acting like his old self. While taking a pee, I say, "I know
what the line from 'Godfather Part Two' is, I adapted it to us." Chubby
mutters, "Just saying..."  He stands next to me and whips-out his four inch
dick and pees into the toilet along side of me, asking, "What family
business do ya have in mind?"


I say, "A little of yours and a little of mine." Done peeing we wash up and
share my toothbrush to brush our teeth; then, taking over, Chubby says, "My
business first. Lets get on your bed, on top of the covers." We both climb
up with me feeling a buzz of anticipation; and, can I believe this is
really going to happen? I'm not referring to the foot fetish stuff either,
we've done it many times before... I mean, what comes after. Chubby sits
indian style, his legs criscrossed under each other. "You lay back on your
pillow, Dylan, and let me have one of your feet. I'll see what we have to
work with here." I lay back on my pillow with my hands behind my head,
concealing a grin because Chubby's getting excited. Feet don't do a thing
for me, but Chubby's always had a thing about my feet... his too, and maybe
everyones, for all I know. There are some few things that are secret
between us, all of them developing when we got separate jobs and were no
longer together 24/7.  I know he was working on Ricky's feet, and maybe
others there at the end of his window washer days, but he was really
screwed-up back then; his mind was totally fucked. I mentioned Ricky once
tonight and got away with it; maybe it even had something to do with me
getting my way a little bit.  You know, if he did 'it' with Ricky, why not
do 'something' with me, who he loves?


Anyway, he takes the foot I'm holding up for him and holds the heel in the
palm of his hand, then leans over to sniff it.  "Ahh, a very excellent foot
odor here, my fine friend.  And a very nice foot it is too! You really do
have the best feet I've ever seen." I chuckle, and he looks up to say, "No,
really awesome feet!" He's getting more excited by the second, upbeat now,
more like himself. He points to my foot, saying, "Totally without a single
hair, it's pink, and formed perfectly.  The toes from big to little are
perfectly sized.  Actually, the only other feet that reminds me of yours,
are my own." I jokingly exclaim, "Didn't know we had similar feet; that's
awesome!" He goes, "You really don't pay enough attention to feet; I've
been telling you that for years now... not nearly enough attention," and he
pressed my toes to his nose, inhaling the odor. Then he fondles my foot
with both hands, saying, "Uh oh, you have the beginnings of a callus on the
side of your big toe."  He closes his mouth over my big toe and the one
next to it, and sucks on them; it feels good... haha.  This is a little
weird, but who am I to judge a person's fetish.

After about a minute he pulls off the toes, and says, in a serious manner,
"Just softening it up so it's isn't uncomfortable for you." I say, "I never
noticed it, to tell ya the truth." Chubby ignores that, and explains, "I'm
interested in feet, as you know... mostly guys who have a foot fetish, also
like footwear, and I can see the attraction of a sneaker that's been worn
all day, or especially a loafer, but my main interest is bare feet, like
yours... especially yours." I mumble, "Glad to be of service," and then he
begins gently licking my foot while massaging it with both hands.
Sometimes the massaging he's doing is very hard, kneading his fingers into
it, but it feels wonderful. Maybe he's right, I should pay more attention
to my feet. He drops my left foot and picks up my right, saying, "God, your
feet smell good. It's that generic foot smell I'm referring to, not a bad
foot odor, I don't like that as much.  Just the normal smell of a foot, one
that's been incased in footwear all day... awesome!"


Chubby works over my feet and then asks me to massage his, and as I'm doing
that he plays with his dick through the material of his boxer shorts, and
after a minute or so I take a tentative lick at the sole of his foot and
his boner pops out of his boxer's fly.  He goes, "Oops!" and laughs out
loud, adding, "This is awesome, we gotta do this on a more regular
bases. Look, I sprung a stiffy." The last time we messed around a little, I
jerked him off and that was a big turn on for me, and for him too if the
size of his ejaculation is anything to go by, but jerking him off isn't
what I have in mind for tonight. I ask, "Is it my turn yet?" and in a
kidding manner, he says, "It's always about you, isn't it?" I go, "Yes! I'm
the important one." Chubby pulls his foot away, saying, "But seriously,
thanks for letting me fondle your feet, Dylan, and for playing with mine
too! Feet rock my world, your perfect feet especially.  It's a goofy thing,
I admit that, but that don't change the fact that the smell, the look, the
feel of feet is a huge turn-on to me." I'm still massaging his foot when I
ask, "When did you first notice you liked feet?" He chuckles, saying,
"Around age eleven or so, it just slowly crept up on me... I began noticing
the tingling in my groin when we'd wrestle and your foot was on my body in
some way, any way... it felt soooooooo good.  Hell, I used to think
everybody felt about feet the way I do. Remember that time we were shopping
with the moms for school sneakers, just before our first year at middle
school? The saleslady was helping us try the sneakers on; our feet were
growing back then and the size was always changing. I pitched a bitch
because I wanted to help you get your sneakers on. I threw a stupid ram
when the saleslady insisted on doing it herself. I was yelling and
screaming in the store, and no one could figure out what brought that
on. Well, it was the first time the urges were so strong they controlled
me."

Chubby's looking a little pensive telling me about that. I do get how big a
deal it is to him, but I never realized how significantly a thing Chubby
was dealing with.  Back then he struggled with his newly discovered foot
fetish, along with everything else we needed to deal with as thirteen year
olds. He didn't tell me about it until a year or so later.  Ya can't tell
by looking at someone what challenges their mind has presented them, and we
all have a secret demon or two, although I don't think Chubby feels his
foot fetish is a demon. When he discovered he was the only one he knew that
cared about feet the way he did, it must have been scary. I ask Chubby if
he messes with his girlfriend's feet, and he goes, "What? Nooo, only guys
feet do it for me. Jeez, maybe I am gay... hahaha! Whaddaya think?"  I go,
"Only you know the answer to that, Chubby." He looks at me with a grin,
"You're too nice to say what you really think, but you're wrong anyway
'cause I'm not... not gay, I mean." I drop his foot saying, "All done,
let's get under the covers, it's chilly tonight.


Chubby doesn't argue. We get under the covers and I get my arms around him,
like I usually do.  Chubby rustles in my arms getting comfortable, his back
against my bare chest, then he says, continuing his role as the world's
best rationalizer, "Just so ya know, I don't claim to be an expert on foot
fetishes in general, but just the same I'll bet every male salesman in a
lady's shoe department has a foot fetish, and I've read that a foot fetish
is the most common of all fetishes, so it's not like I'm a rare
weirdo. With those guys it's woman's feet, with me it's guys feet." Then
with emphasis, he adds, "In neither case does that automatically make us
gay." I mutter, "Still, I'll bet a lot of guys who like guys' feet are
gay... you're the exception Chubby." He goes, "Yes, in so many ways."  I
say, "Uh huh, and just a heads-up for you, Chubby: if I hear the words
'foot', 'feet', or 'fetish' during the next hour I'm gonna scream... just
saying." He laughs easily, and I gotta admit I'm surprised Chubby's
switched from his mopey mood to this up-beat one so quickly and easily. I
add, "So, okay, it's official, it's my my turn now." He goes, "Whaddya
got?"

My reply is quick, but light; I say to the back of his head, "I'm going to
be upfront with you, so ta speak; there's a well guarded secret among gays,
and this is gonna be rather shocking to an allegedly straight boy like
yourself, but I'm gonna let you in on the secret anyway, and here it is: we
gay boys sometimes, well, to be more accurate, as frequently as humanly
possible, like to either have our pee pee up our buddy's bum hole, or the
other way around, depending." I say that wondering if Chubby will bring up
the nefarious Ricky, like I did a little earlier, and he does, sort of. In
a mild, almost casual way, he says, "I've heard that rumor, as a matter of
fact, and I've had a pee pee up my bum already, and if you did it too I'm
afraid I'd think of the other person who did it, and there's no way I want
to think of you and him in the same thought; you are my identical twin, as
you like to say, who I love, and he is the devil, so one would probably
contaminate the other." I go, "Uh huh, and sooooo?" He says, "Soooo, if I
only have the two choices, I choose my pee pee in your bum." I go, "Okay,
lets do that then," and he goes, "Okay, for you I'll do it." He adds, "I've
had my pee pee in quite a few girls', ahh, pee pee holes, and it's kinda
interesting to compare the difference... ya know?"  "Okay," I mutter, "So,
it's not a matter of you just doing me a favor, right?" Chubby chuckles
again, "Not totally although that's a humongous part of it; my curiosity is
the other tiny part." "We did it once before, remember?" I ask, and he
goes, "I was drunk, I don't really remember it all that well." Great
rationalization, but I let it go because I'm excited that I'm getting my
way.This sex, while Chubby's totally sober, will cement our bond even
tighter... see, I'm no slouch when it comes to rationalizing either!


There's a problem though, I know that Chubby won't go for a sexy make-out.
Oh sure, he kisses me occasionally, but a full-blown make-out won't work
with him, and without it things can get a little awkward. I mean, there are
times a boy and me will screw without any foreplay to speak of, but only
with boys I've had a history with, like Dodger recently, or with someone
who's so horned-up they don't need foreplay, like Connor that time he
climaxed in less then a minute. Oh boy, that was something. What I shoulda
done a few minutes ago is morph right into the "my turn" thing when Chubby
was boned-up from the foot fetish stuff, but it's too late for that
now... so, how to make this work? Hmmmm? Then, Chubby comes to the rescue,
says, with a chuckle, "You gotta get my pee pee hard first.  How ya gonna
do that mister gay guy?" Stalling, I go, "You'll see how I'm gonna do it,
mister allegedly straight guy, you'll see soon enough," but I'm thinking,
"This isn't how I visualized and fantasized Chubby and me fucking!  Maybe I
shoulda figured-in some booze."

Instead, I reach over him and insert my hand inside his boxers and rub his
now limp four inch cock, wondering,"Why is it that so many boys I know have
four inch penises?"  Not that there's anything wrong with four inch
penises.  Chubby flinches when I put my hand on his dick, but he doesn't
move away. As I'm rubbing it, I ask, "Chubby, do you always wear a condom
when you're putting your dick inside a girl's body? I hope you do." He
says, "You asked me the same question after graduation, which was the last
time we messed around like this!" I go, "So what's the answer? I forget
what you said."  He says, "The answers the same as I told you then. Yes, I
always use a condom" I go, "good!" Chubby says,"And back then I asked you
if you always used a condom, and you never were clear about that." Ah ha!
He said he didn't remember that time we did it, but he remembers that. I
go, "Never mind that now, you're the one dipping your wick inside me, do
you wanna use one?" I'm hoping he doesn't, but for some reason I think I
should ask.  He says, "No, nothing about you turns me off."  Well, that was
an odd reply.  Does he mean sticking his dick in a girl turns him off?
Another, ah ha! But, it'd be stupid of me to pursue that possible freudian
slip right now. Anyway, his dick is firming up pretty damn fast as it is,
which is probably why he's blowing out little, almost silent, puffs of
air. Then he says, "You know I get a boner quickly, don'cha? It's not just
now, I always do." I do a fake cough, because I'm getting a boner myself,
and then I manage to say, in almost a normal voice, "No, I didn't know
that," although I do.


With semi-hard dicks in my hands, my own in one of my hands, and Chubby's
in the other, has both of our cocks sticking out through the fly of our
boxers. I breathlessly manage to say, just so the silence doesn't begin to
feel awkward, "Don't ya prefer the feel of my near perfect body against
yours, over the soft feel of a girl's?" and he does my fake cough back at
me, making us both chuckle, before he grunts back, "You do have an awful
nice body, except you've got tiny tits." which we both pretend to chuckle
at. I continue using my thumb and forefinger to stroke his foreskin on and
off the head of his cock and now I can feel Chubby leaning back against me,
and his aroma is becoming a factor too; it's getting me aroused even though
we're continuing with this nonsensical banter.

As the back of his head slides against the side of my face, the side of his
forehead rubs my cheek; both of us doing subtle body squirming. He says, a
bit out of breath, "It's crazy, bro, but with you everything seems okay;
even this. Isn't that nuts?" I go, "It never has been, Chubby. You've
explained it to me for years." "Explained what?" he asks, as he takes a
deep breath and humps his crotch against my hand. I continue slow stroking
of his now hard cock, saying, "Since we were nine or ten years old you've
told me it's okay for us to do stuff that would normally be considered
'gay' because we're special best friends. I mentioned this earlier." Chubby
sounds out of breath when he goes, "Oh, that. Yeah, it's true, but it
seemed to apply more when we were kids." He's definitely becoming aroused
now as a quiet, "Ah... oooh," slips out between his lips and his body
blends into mine.  After a few more seconds, he mumbles, "This ain't so
bad, bro, but we better move on to part two before I spunk all over your
hand." Taking a chance, I kiss the side of his forehead and when he doesn't
protest, I kiss him again and hold the kiss as my boner trembles and my
mind takes me deeper into the moment, and when I let-up on the kiss I need
to consciously hold back a moan of pleasure.

The unusualness of this situation is fading, becoming more comfortable, and
the heat of passion grows inside me.  I kiss the side of his cheek and he
turns his head so I can just reach the edge of his lips. He croaks, "Come
on, Dylan... I'm gonna lose it..." so I let go of his boner and take my arm
from around him, muttering, "Let me get some jelly from under the bathroom
vanity, where I hide it from the prying eyes of a certain mom." Chubby
doesn't answer, just blows a lot of air from his lungs; he must have been
holding his breath.


As I hop out of bed, Chubby turns over onto his back and I see his hard
nipples sticking out from his hairless chest. He says, "I didn't expect to
be this, I don't know... this, into it, Dylan.  You're really something, ya
know that?" My face is hot as somewhere in my brain I'm thinking, "I can't
believe how well this is going!"  Quickly into the bathroom to retrieve the
KY lube, then right back in bed against Chubby's body, I fumbling the cap
off the tube and squeeze way too much lube on my fingers, then reach down
to grab his cock. Chubby helps by pushing his hips towards me. It's a good,
hard boner and I stroke it from end to end, applying the lube... lots of
it. The head of Chubby's boner is engorged, but not as large as Robby's,
and as hard as I try, I can't remember what Chubby's boner felt like inside
me that other drunken time we did 'it'... maybe he was telling the truth
about not remembering much of the experience. I feel the anticipation in
the air though, Chubby's matching mine, if I'm not projecting again.

As soon as I take my hand away from his boner, I flip over so we're both on
our sides now, my backside towards Chubby's front. He pulls the back of my
boxer shorts down to hook under my buttocks, then presses his crotch
against my ass, his slippery boner ends-up between his crotch and my left
buttocks, and then he squirms against me, his entire body from head to toe
is involved in the squirm and it feels so wonderful, skin against skin is a
totally wonderful thing when another boy is involved. Chubby's breathing
raggedly in the background and it makes be take a deep breath myself. I do
a huge inhale, the nonsensical chatter completely mute now. When I feel
precum on my back side Chubby pulls his hips away and guides the head of
his cock to my waiting, quivering, anus, and without hesitating pushes
inside me... I almost climax that very instant, which would have beaten
Connor's record. All the way up my ass goes his boner, feeling longer than
four inches; feeling wonderful and my shoulders shudder as I go, "Oooooh,"
and he blurts out a saliva ladened exhale; maybe to keep from moaning with
pleasure, like I just did.... or is that yet another projection on my part.
I don't think it is, but my perspective is probably slightly prejudice at
the moment.


Both of Chubby's arms are now tightly around me holding me against him, my
hands gripping his wrist as I push back into his thrusting cock. Then he,
almost silently, lets out, "Ohhh, yeah..." as he begins fucking me harder
and faster, his cock growing thicker with each thrust inside me. Soon we're
both perspiring and it becomes slippery between my back and his chest
creating an even sexier scenario for me. The "Smacksmacksmack" of his
crotch against my ass, the full-feeling of his engorged cock sliding
steadily up and back inside my rectum, the fat head massaging my prostate
with each thrust and withdrawal, his aroma and the feel of his leg over
mine, his body so tight against me, his grunting and quiet moans of sexual
pleasure; all these factors are all more than magical to me; they're a
dream come true, a real life fantasy with a boy who means more to me than
life itself, and I let out a sigh of pure sexual pleasure.

My boner gets hard up against my belly, but as Chubby presses his lips to
my shoulder, fucking me faster and faster, my cock grows even harder and
begins moving away from me until it's sticking straight out in front, and
my mind is finally fully able to embrace the concept that it's my best
friend, Chubby, who's fucking me, and he's doing it with what appears to be
great feeling and passion. Following a full body shudder of pleasure, I let
myself go entirely, and moan, "Ohh, Chubby... fuck me... it feels so good,"
and I sense his increased desperate desire for climax as his erratic,
frantic humping of his crotch against my ass increases, driving his boner
inside me almost out of control. When, after maybe only five minutes, he's
going, "AHH! AHH! AHH" with each wild penetration, I know he's into the
final seconds before climax, and then one loud final grunt of, "Ahh,
agghh," Chubby fills me up with his awesome spunk, spunk that feels
creamier and in larger amounts than I can remember from any past sexual
encounters. The first sloppy humps following his orgasm bring on a hard
orgasm from my balls, one that burns wonderfully with the intensity of the
force of it coming out in one lone string, shooting over the side of the
bed.  The sensations in my cock are enormous and I reach down to stroke
myself pulling up drools of creamy cum that runs over my fist as I gasp for
air while concentrating on every erotic sensation in my body.

All the sensors in my body are alive and overactive, particularly the ones
from my ass to the tip of my cock.  There's a frantic tingling going on
that takes on a life of it's own bringing goose bumps on my arms, as my
shoulder shudders and my toes tightly curl.  Chubby slams his cock up my
ass making grunting, almost pissed-off-sounding noises before he slows
down, and then he just lays his head against my shoulder, his cock still
inside me.  His chest heaves against my back, his heart pounds a mile a
minute as be both take deep breaths, savoring the flying electricity in our
young bodies.  Only now do I realize my vision; it's like looking through
the wrong end of a telescope... pinpointed.  Things come back in focus
slowly and the notion comes into my head that this is the point where
Chubby might be having second thoughts about how "into" the sexual escape
he'd allowed himself to become, and maybe I should say something to ease
any possible awkwardness for him; head-off something that might ruin this
perfect experience... but what?

Not knowing the right thing to say, I try, "Thanks, Chubby, that was
exquisite. you're the best bud ever, and this just proves you were right
all along; we are special enough that we can pull something like this off,
even though you're straight and I'm gay." He's still taking deep breaths,
then, as he pulls his cock from my ass, he says, "Told ya so, you didn't
used to believe me..." Ah yes, I'm a genius... that did it, I gave him the
'straight' line he needed to rationalize his straightness.  A face saving
parachute from me! Hey, he can't be completely straight and I've known that
for a while now; he's probably bi, which I'll happily accept. And, tonight
opens the door to another time for us, perhaps... and just for the record,
it's not just for my benefit, Chubby's too... whether he wants to admit it
to himself or not.


After a couple of minutes, Chubby says, "The moms won't be home for a
couple hours, let's grab a smoke on the balcony." As we're getting out of
bed, I'm wiping my ass with tissues, getting some, but certainly not all,
the teen spunk in my rectum. Then, pulling up my boxers, I ask, "On the
balcony, dressed like this?" but Chubby's already in my closet pulling out
a sweatshirt. He goes, "No, not like this; it's too cool outside for boxer
shorts!" and he's shaking his head chuckling, then adds, "You'd go out
there in just your shorts if I said so, wouldn't ya?" I pull on a Wildwood,
New Jersey, sweatshirt going, "Why duh, sure. You're my hero!" and we get
back into silly moods. My ass sticky with Chubby's cum and it's still
drooling out, wetting the back of my underpants; the front of my underpants
is sloppy with my own cum droolings and it's sticking to my crotch. Neither
of us mentions it, as we pull on sweat pants; I don't want to change my
undies anyway because, well because I don't, that's all. I like the feel of
it.

Chubby brings the Marlboro Lights and we smoke his cigarettes and talk
quietly about everything except our sex together; it's like it didn't even
exist. I don't want it to just evaporate into thin air so I finally say,
"Well, how was it?" even as I realize I'm fishing for compliments like
Robby does after sex. Chubby looks puzzled for a second, then smiles and
says, "Oh that..." as if he's forgotten about it already. Then he looks up
like he contemplating it, before saying, "It was... um, it was different,
that's for sure.  Different from the other kind of, ah, screwing." I look
him in the eyes, asking, "And....?" He looks down, then grinning, he looks
back up at me, and says, "It was pretty good, kinda hot actually, but just
because it's with you... I wouldn't do it with anyone else.  I mean, ever
again." He's referring to the devil, Ricky. I raise my eyebrows, like, "Are
you sure?" and he says, "Well I wouldn't." I say, "I don't want you to do
it with anyone else, dummy... just me." He laughs and mutters a vague,
"Well... yeah, I know... sure."

That's not too bad of a response from Chubby so I quit while I'm ahead, and
ask what he thinks about me deciding to try another so-called date with
Willie.  We discuss that for a bit, and the long and the short of it is:
Chubby thinks it's okay for me to try another so-called date with Willie,
just not a week in Key West, or anywhere for a week. He yawns after
finishing a second cigarette, and says, "Gotta get up early for work
tomorrow, Dylan.  Let's hit the sack, bro." And, after brushing our teeth
again, that's what we do.  Chubby doesn't even suggest he sleep at his
condo, just gets back in bed with me.  I wrap him in my arms, feeling the
wetness of mu spunk under me, and Chubby's spunk behind me, and we both
fall asleep quickly... me with a smile on my lips.  In the dark I can't
tell about Chubby's lips, but tonight couldn't have gone much better, few
sure.


In the morning my alarm goes off and Chubby groans, curses under his
breath, and then gets out of bed, and goes into my bathroom without closing
the door.  First I hear his pee hit the toilet water, then he flushes and
the sink faucet comes on; he washes his hands, then brushes his teeth with
my toothbrush for the third time in ten hours, then I hear the shower. Ten
minutes later Chubby comes out shiny, clean, and naked.  His hair combed in
the latest hair style I cut for him, it's short but long enough to comb
down on top and flip up the front, really cute. This morning his cute face
is stern looking. Chubby's not a morning person. I watch him going through
my clothes picking out clean underwear, socks, khakis, and a long-sleeve
Polo shirt. He slips into his sneakers and, knowing I've been watching his
every move, he turns to me and points at the pile of his dirty clothes from
last night, saying, "I want these cleaned and pressed for me by the time I
get home from work." I give him the bird, saying, "No fuckin' way, dude!"
He smiles and comes over to me, leans down, and kisses my forehead... then
looks at me seriously, and says, "We can't do that thing from last night
too often, okay, Dylan? It's not really right for more reasons than you
understand. Okay?" I nod my head looking appropriately chastised, mumbling,
"Not too often, okay," and he laughs out loud at that. Then says, "I knew
you'd pick-up on the part about 'not too often'.  You'll never change,
Dylan" and then we do an awkward hug with me still laying in bed.  "Have
fun with nut-job Willie...  I'll be thinking of ya, bro. Call me and let me
know how you're doing!  Love ya!" I watch him go, feeling a little lost for
a second because with Chubby leaving, the two people I love, trust, and
depend on the most, being him and Robby, will be out of my life for over a
week.  It's a rare situation actually, now that I think about it.
 Rare yes, but not as rare as it used to be for Chubby and me. Feeling
melancholia, then happy about last night, I get up, put on a bathrobe and
go out on the balcony.


Lighting a morning cigarette, leaning against the deck railing, I'm looking
at the blue sky and thinking that it's the same sky I'll be looking at when
I'm in Key West, but how different it'll seem. Hmmmm.  Last night takes
over my mind and I go over every detail in my head, getting a boner in the
process. Chubby was such a good sport to go along with me, but he liked it
too, I could tell.  Ya know, maybe I'm fooling myself, but I sincerely
believe Chubby's still recovering from that Ricky incident and that Chubby
and me doing it helps him get over it, and last night will lead to more of
the same... he did say, "We can't do it too often." not "We can't ever do
it again.".  I bet he doesn't admit that to himself openly, doesn't admit
that he wants to do it with me, but subconsciously he must realize it, or
else why would he leave the option open for us to do it again? Of course,
maybe Ricky has nothing to do with it, and Chubby just likes it... haha,
hope so!

Could Chubby and me be true lovers though? And is that what I truly want in
my heart of hearts? I really don't know the answer to the question on my
mind... haha, that line's taken from a Killers song.  Wandering inside I'm
feeling light and lucky and happy.  My mind's on Chubby, the way he felt
against my bare body, and how he smelled and the feel of his arms around me
and his lips on my shoulder... his penis, hard and engorged, up my ass.  Oh
my God, I got a wicked boner now, but I'm not gonna jerk off... and why
not? Ahh, I know why not... my subconscious mine has drifted to Willie and
the sexual exploits we're likely to have together. Jeez, spring vacation's
just started and already Chubby's made it a huge success, and now
Willie... what about Willie?


Yes, what about him...  all the dates and adventures I've had with him
can't be ignored; they happened, and many of the things we've done together
were wonderful.  I grew-up, sexually-speaking, with Willie... he's an
awesome lover, but with Chubby it had been such a different
experience. Almost a religious one for me, not that I'm religious... unless
sex can be a religion. But it'll be a totally different kind of sex with
Willie, one that can't compare in importance with the sex Chubby and I just
shared... maybe no one can compare with what Chubby and I experience; maybe
not even Robby and me. Chubby's and my love for each other has always been
a very different thing, occupying a special separate place in my heart and
soul, a place where only Chubby can enter. Robby's right there, but it's
even a little different with him. Something like that!

I hate to get overly dramatic about this topic, even though it's on my mind
a lot.  Maybe it's impossible to be overly dramatic about anything
involving me and Chubby. As usual, definitive answers to all this escape
me... confusion abounds in my brain. But for now let me think about Willie
for a second; a very different thing, like I said, but not a trivial matter
at all. Willie's a great sex partner and as I'm thinking that, I
unconsciously push at my dick and decide to let myself off the hook a
little and simply try to relive a little bit of yesteryear with my first
lover, my puppy-love boyfriend, Willie Worthington. What's the harm?  Back
in those early days it was hard candy sweet with candy kisses lips... a
cotton candy love affair, all that corny stuff; back then I was in love and
lovin' every second of it. Well, most seconds of it anyway.

All of that's true enough, but I feel so much older and maturer now,
although, at the same time, I'm very much aware of being only nineteen
years old, so I still don't really know much of life, or even much about
love maybe... more then I did back then though. Compared to back then, when
I'd just discovered my true sexual nature, and at barely seventeen years
old to boot... well, that situation compared to now; come on, there's a
noticeable difference, or will Willie prove me wrong about that.  Maybe
nothing changes and he and I will still be the same as we were on that
first date.

The more I think of me and Willie during those two years we were going
together, the harder my dick gets. Willie's special to me, in an unusual
class by himself really... not meaning he's better than Robby, no way! And
forget about Willie being more important than Chubby; that's not happening
in this lifetime. Robby's my man, my main boyfriend, for the rest of my
life maybe. He's a boy who I'd do anything for, and Chubby's simply the
most important person in my life.  No, it's a very different kind of thing
with Willie. There's that word again, "different", but it's the best word
to describe how I feel about all this. Willie's uniquely sexy, and I'm
excited about the next week, and our history together can't be ignored or
forgotten, but he never was and never will be in Chubby and Robby's
caregory. Still, that doesn't mean Willie's not special in his own way,
because he is.


Back inside, taking a shower and shaving my pubes carefully, conscious of
wanting to please Willie, I'm thinking how I wish I'd kept at least one of
his gifts so I could wear it today. I'm determined to relax this entire
upcoming week and just let Willie run the show. I'm curious to see if we
can recapture what was magical back then. As if I have anything to say
about him running the show anyway... hahaha. Yipes, a trip down memory
lane, this could be a lotta fun!  Willie's full of energy and he pulls me
into it with the force of his personality.

Packing my best summer stuff I realize I don't have too much 'best' of
anything at the moment to pack. My few new pieces, that new Polo dress
shirt that Chubby borrowed, and didn't return, and the stuff of mine he
wore this morning constituted the best of what I own.  For the first time
in awhile I let myself feel embarrassed about my clothes; then, thinking of
Connor and Cory, I tell myself to get real, snap out of the self pity! I
have plenty of decent clothes to wear. Sure, Willie will be rocking his
expensive designer teen clothes; stuff that intentionally look beat-up, but
this works to my advantage because my inexpensive outfits are pretty
beat-up from repeated use to begin with.  And, the thing is: only rich
teens can tell the difference between new old-looking, such as ripped
designer outfits, and my actually old, ripped regular clothes, so I'm gonna
be good in most cases.  Oh well, I am who I am anyway... I'm good with it!

Taking a deep breath, I convince myself to chill and follow my own
advise... relax ad enjoy the ride. My satchel's packed, along with cargo
shorts, bathing suit, and some tee-shirts, plus my other pair of khakis and
a short sleeve dress shirt in case we go someplace fancy. I'm as ready as
I'll ever be, so outside I'm sitting on the front steps smoking, waiting on
Willie. Damn, I'm a little nervous and a little bit turned-on; the buzzing
at the head of my dick testifies to the turned-on part, and my sweaty palms
verifies the nervous part. Again my mind drifts to Chubby and me doing it
last night. and a good calm feeling comes over me.  He did it mostly for me
I guess, but it was so super, so fantastic that everything else seems
almost insignificant. Mmmm, that was something alright!

Yeah, but even though Chubby just fucked me last night, I've admitted a
hundred times that I'm over-sexed, which explains why my mind drifts right
back to what Willie and I might get into sexually this week. Well, what am
I suppose to do about being over sexed, have a guilty conscience about
something out of my control, something that I was born with? That don't
make any sense to me, I'll enjoy myself as long as I'm not hurting anyone,
or myself... what else would you have me do?


Finished my cigarette, I begin to feel geeky waiting outside like this for
him, like I'm an anxious school girl on her first date. So, back inside I
go, but I can't resist gawking out the window looking for him as the
anticipation grows inside me.  I'm looking for that Porche he was driving
the time he visited me some weeks ago, but instead see him driving down the
street in a two or three year old, four-door Subaru. What the fuck? He
parks down below, gets out and looks around; maybe because he's hoping no
one sees him getting out of that car, haha!  Now he starts up the steps to
my condo and, damn, he's kinda striking looking with his longish, kinda
pretty face. Actually, his head is longish too, as opposed to roundish or
oval like most of us... even from here I can see his bright brown eyes
shining.  He's really quite intelligent ya know, and you can see it in his
eyes.

Willie's back to wearing his light brown hair in the long style of the
seventies and eighties; lots of the prep school kids rock that hair style,
which looks good on Willie, by the way. Just yesterday I was admiring
Jarod's light brown hair, forgetting that Willie's is almost identical. Now
I'm smiling at Willie's longish nose, which actually goes perfectly with
the rest of his face, and is quite cute with the sprinkle of freckles
across the bridge of it where he wrinkles his nose laughing. Willie's at
least an inch taller than me, and slender.  He's on the sidewalk now where
his slenderness makes him look taller than five feet, eleven
inches. Walking confidently in his basic teen swagger he shows off his nice
athletic body. He's unique alright, not like anyone else I know, and I'm
getting that squirmy feeling I had the first time I met him, when out of
the blue he asked me if I'd like him to blow me.  Holy shit, did that take
me by surprise.  Of course he knew I was Carl's 'boy' at the time so he
knew I was gay. Willie has never seen anything unusual about being gay; he
came out as a gay boy to everyone he knew during his first year at middle
school. I've always admired that about him. Now he's sorta straightening-up
to his fullest height, standing at my front door. He takes a deep breath,
then rings the bell.  I've watched him from the window right up till now,
so it takes me a few seconds to answer.  I wonder if he's squirming while
waiting for me to answer, like I am for him. This is going to be fun... I
hope.


Opening the door my mind dwells on the last thing I want it to think about,
my horrible haircut, the big negative of my appearance at the moment. Then
Willie's saying, "Hi, Dylan," and there's that smile of his... it's the
cutest most innocent smile ever, and I say that even though I know very
well he's not innocent.  Still, that smile kills! I go, "Willie! Great to
see you... come on in," and when he does he leans his head over and we do a
kiss on the lips, sweet! He says, "You look wonderful, cuter than ever." No
mention of my screwed-up haircut so I'm impressed at his restraint. And,
I've always loved his voice; it's so boyish, like Robby's. Willie's wearing
a small loop earring in his left ear, just like mine. There are Air Jordan
5 retro sneakers on his feet under a pair of Paul Smith slim jeans with a
rip at the knee, and on top he's wearing a Buell Mountain red and black
plaid hoodie over a Fitch tee-shirt... cool!! I only know those brand names
from being Willie's boyfriend for almost two years. Of course, one hundred
percent of my other friends wouldn't have a clue about any of it, which
doesn't say anything bad about them... not at all. Strangely, Willie's not
coming on with that dominant stuff, he's sorta hesitant, like he doesn't
know what we should do next, and frankly I'm disappointed.  It's always
been fun for me letting Willie run the show, with me basically going along
with most of his crazy ideas, only rejecting the really far out
stuff... it's an adventure every date. This morning he's different.
"Everything okay, Willie?" I ask, and he brightens, saying, "Of course it
is... I'm psyched!"  and he almost sounds psyched too. Picking up my
satchel, smiling, I say, "Let's go, what's first?" as out the front door we
go.


On the way down the steps Willie takes the satchel from me and passes it to
his outside hand so he can hold hands with me as we continue down.  Well
okay, awkward, but that's more like Willie.  He says, "Um, tell me if you
hate this idea, but I'd really, really like to try and recreate our first
date together, starting with matching haircuts," and before I can say
anything, he squeezes my hand, and adds, "I know it's kooky, and weird, and
all that, but, Dylan, I just have this thing about us having the same
hairstyle, ya know?" He's almost whining, the old Willie would have driven
us to the hair salon and told the stylist how to cut my hair. I go, "It is
a goofy idea, but my boyfriend, Robby, kinda feels the same way about us
having the same haircuts, or he used to anyway; plus, he messed up cutting
my hair, so sure, lets do it."

I wanted to let Willie know he's not the only kook in town, while at the
same time reminding him Robby's my boyfriend. He goes, "See, it's not just
me, then he leans in close, saying ,"Thanks, sweetheart, you've always been
my favorite and I hate myself for fucking that up!" and then a kiss on my
cheek.  Then, with the hand holding my hand, he pulls me to a stop and
wraps his other arm around me, the satchel bouncing against my back, his
face close to mine, he asks, "Can I, Dylan?" and his wonderful personal
scent wafts past my nose bringing back so many memories of young love and
awesome climaxes.  I mumble, "Uh huh," and Willie closes his lips on mine;
we're halfway down the steps from my condo. My mouth automatically opens as
vision of me cumming in my pants from kisses like this from him fly by in
my head.

His kissing is never panicked or out of control, but constant, always
constant movement of his tongue, lips, head, shoulders... he's completed
involved in kissing me; nothing else in the world has any importance to him
right now except me and this kiss.  It's a powerful thing if you're able to
absorb it, and I think I get it, and it gets me too. My cock gets hard as
his tongue conquers mine and I become docile in Willie's arms, completely
oblivious to the world around me. Finally, something else like the old
days... kissing with another boy right in front of my condo for all to
see. Jeez!


What's not like the old days is that Willie only holds the kiss for thirty
seconds, then breaks away gently, muttering, "Thank you for that,
Dylan... you're delicious.  No one kisses like you and I've never loved
kissing anyone nearly as much as I love kissing you." Staring at his lips
as they move while he talks, I'm dizzy with desire for more, but Willie
says his piece and then pulls me by my hand down the rest of the steps, as
I'm mumbling, "You're a great kisser too, Willie," to which he says, "Why
thank you for saying that. The truth of the matter is we're perfect for
each other in almost every way." I don't know what to say to that, so
instead I ask, "What's with this car?" He opens the passenger door for me,
which reminds me of all the things he does like this... all kinds of things
a straight boy would do for his 'date' in like the fifties or sixties.
Corny stuff, like: walking with his arm around my waist, calling me 'honey'
or 'sweetheart'... that sort of thing.  I smile to myself, it's kind of
sweet, ya know?

He puts my satchel in the back seat and gets in the driver's seat. "This is
Martha's car, Martha Windell, the housekeeper... you remember her, right?"
I go, "Uh huh," and he adds, "My convertible is in the shop and father and
mother are both out in their cars. This was handy." Starting the car, he
goes, "Light us a cigarette, will ya?" and so I do, mumbling the obvious
question, "It's okay to smoke in here, is it?" Willie says, "Why not," but
he does roll down all the windows. I pass the lit cigarette to him, as
Willie says, "I've picked-out the perfect old fashioned type barbershop for
our flattops.  That's what we were rocking when we first went out
together," and, with smoke curling from his lips, he looks at me smiling,
looking happy for the first time, really. Well, I had a flattop and so he
got one; it wasn't like we both just happened to have them.

I'm not gonna bust his bubble about that minor detail, but I do mention,
"Your choice of barbershops have been disastrous in the past, Willie." He
looks hurt as he passes the cigarette back to me, smoke streaming from his
nose, "That's cruel, Dylan. I give a lot of thought to which barbershop we
should go to, and that one time in Sea Isle I got it wrong, but how about
all the awesome cuts we've gotten from Leonard at prep? Huh, how 'bout
those?" Well, he's got me there, but I ask, "Does it have to be flattops
though?" and he says, "You choose if you don't wanna do flattops, but I'd
really, really like us to get flattops so I can turn back the clock to
better days." That doesn't sound too good, 'Turn the clock back to better
days' I wonder what he means by that? I'll go along with him 'cause he may
have worries on his mind, and fuck it, I don't really care anyway. Robby
and I had flattops for a long time and I looked good with it, if I do say
so myself.  Mom really likes me in short hair and then there's this wicked
bad mess at the sides and back of my head, thanks to Robby, so I say,
"Sure, if it's important to you, flattops it is." Willie leans his head
over, so I lean mine towards him for a quick kiss, as Willie, keeping his
eyes on the road, says, "Thanks, baby."


After a short ride he parks at a strip mall of older looking shops. One of
them, Anthony's Barber Shop, is our obvious destination.  It's got the old
cylindrical, red-white-and-blue striped barbers pole rotating around
outside the shop.  Willie says, "Here we go, are ya nervous?" and oddly, I
am, but I say, "Why would I be nervous getting a haircut?" and he mutters,
"Oh, I don't know, I am." He follows-up that rather bizarre remark with a
nervous chuckle.  I'm getting bad vibes about this whole thing. Following
Willie inside we see a barber cutting an old guy's white hair, plus two
other old guys waiting for haircuts, reading newspapers. Fuck!  I hate
waiting in a barbershop, but Willie sits down in the first seat and leans
over to me when I sit next to him, saying, "You go first," and I go, "No
way, it's your idea, you go first." Willie nods his head in agreement which
is so out of character, I have to wonder, 'What's up with Willie?'

The barber isn't as old as the other three gentlemen, but he's probably
pushing sixty, although I'd go broke at one of those booths on the
boardwalk where they guess your age and weight for a dollar, 'cause I can
never tell how old someone is. There's little hair snipping going on by the
barber, mostly a lot of chit chat between the barber and the client. Of
course, there isn't much hair to cut as the man in the barber chair is
mostly bald except around the fringe from ear to ear.  Nevertheless it
takes another good fifteen minutes to finish the haircut and then the
goodbye and interplay between one of the old guys waiting, and the
departing man and the barber takes another five minute.  Finally the barber
pokes up nine dollars on a very old cash register and the transaction is
mercifully completed.


Willie and I exchange quick glances, like, 'What the fuck...?' and then the
barber lights a cigarette, saying, "You're up, Bart.  Seen Nicky lately?"
and they talk about Nicky for awhile before the cape even goes around the
guy.  It soon becomes apparent this is a social hour for these old
timers...  not that there's anything wrong with that; we're just in the
wrong fuckin' place as we usually are when Willie picks out a
barbershop. The second guy's haircut follows the pattern of the first,
lasting more than twenty minutes, and then the last old guy is in the chair
with Willie giving me a look and a nod, that I take to mean, 'Not too much
longer' encouraging me to hang in there.

We hang in there while the barber smokes two more cigarettes in between a
lot of clipper work and six thousand words regarding the manager of the Red
Sox, Terry Francona, who they call 'Francoma' meaning, I guess, that they
think he's in a coma when he manages. Finally done the third haircut, the
guy pays in agonizingly slow fashion and then slowly leaves.  The barber
looks at Willie and me for a few seconds, blows smoke in our direction,
then says, "It's my lunch hour. You'll need to come back after one
o'clock... what kind of haircuts do you want anyway?" Willie and me
exchange another, "What the fuck...?" glance, as the barber says, "Just so
ya know, I don't do layer cuts or any of that Bieber shit." This guy's got
some shity customer-relations technique going for him.  Before I can say,
"Go fuck yourself" Willie says, "After one o'clock? Um, okay we'll get
something to eat too... and, to answer your question, we both want old
fashioned flattops." The guy's stubbing out his cigarette in an overloaded
ashtray, shaking his head. Then he says, "I don't do flattops anymore
either, too much trouble." Getting up, I mumble, "Fuck you, pal.  Why
don'cha put a sign up or something that says that?" Willie's like, "This is
outrageous, you let us sit here for an hour and a half, then tell us you're
going to lunch?" The barber's waving his hand at the door, shouting, "Out!
Get the hell out before I call the police." I'm walking out the door as
Willie's asking, "Police? Are you out of your mind?" but we're ushered out
with the door slamming behind us.


This is not starting out anything like a normal "Willie date"!!  It sucks,
actually... what's next?


to be continued...


Donny  Mumford         thinat20@yahoo.com