Date: Sun, 1 Jul 2012 05:17:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR  Chapter 32   by Donny Mumford

			   DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR

				Chapter  32

			     by Donny Mumford


In my dream someone is tapping my shoulder, and it's not clear to me why
they're doing that. And then I open my eyes, realizing there's someone in
bed with me; is it Chubby? My head clears, and I remember last night and
know it's Connor. Still dark outside, so I get up on my elbow and look at
the clock on my night stand; it's ten minutes after four. What the fuck?
It's Connor who's tapping my shoulder. I lay on my back, and mumble,
"Connor, whassup?" He asks, "What happened last night, Dylan. Why am I
sleeping with you?" He sounds scared. I guess a blackout will do that to
you; he got so drunk he can't remember what he did last night. I mutter,
"You had too much to drink at the party last night and I didn't want to
take a chance on dragging you up to your apartment because of that gang
that's usually on the front steps of your apartment complex." Saying all
that gives me a headache. Guess the different alcoholic beverages I had
last night is why I feel a little hungover myself, nothing nearly as bad as
Connor's I'll bet. Surprising I feel like this because I didn't have a lot
to drink, volume-wise. Connor, mumbles, "I remember going to the party with
you and Chubby, then doing shots of something with Chubby and others, but
not much after that. Um, ah, did we, you and me, you know... mess around
together last night in bed?" I say, "No, of course not. You were very
drunk. Please go back to sleep." He quietly says, "I'm so sorry to be a
pain in the ass, Dylan, but my head aches so much I can't sleep. And I'm so
thirsty! I've never been this thirsty before in my life, and I need to take
a piss too. Ooooh, I'm such a loser!" I go, "You are not a loser; far from
it." Turning on the forty watt bedside lamp, I say, "The bathroom's right
through that door, you've stayed here before, remember?" He goes, "Oh yeah,
that's right. I'm not thinking straight and I feel dizzy, and sick to my
stomach too." Feeling sorry for him, I reach over and gently pat his
shoulder, saying, "I shoulda' looked out for you better, Connor." He goes,
"Oh no, Dylan! It's not your fault, I just don't get to many drinking
parties, well a few at college with you, but nothing like last night." I
go, "There's always that first one that sneaks up on you and bites you in
the ass. Look, you take your piss and I'll get you some Gatorade to quench
your thirst, and Tylenol for your headache, okay?" He's like, "Oh man,
Dylan, I never had a friend like you before. Thank you so much, I feel
totally embarrassed about getting drunk like that." He slides out of bed,
then steadies himself by holding onto the headboard, muttering,
"Whoa...". I ask, "Do you need help getting to the bathroom?" Connor gulps,
then mutters, "This is humiliating, I'm never drinking again..." I think,
"Where have I heard that before?" Then ask, "You okay?" He walks
unsteadily, mumbling, "No, but I can get to the bathroom.  Thanks, Dylan."

When he's safely inside the bathroom, he closes the door and I get out of
bed. I'm a little pissed-off, not at Connor exactly, but at the
situation. I'm feeling shaky myself and no wonder, we've been sleeping for
less than three hours. This sucks! Passing my mom's bedroom, noticing her
door is closed, so she's home safely too. In go the kitchen I open the
refrigerator and with only the light from the refrigerator I get out the
half quart of Gatorade that Connor drank from a few hours ago, and the
bottle of Tylenol from the countertop, where I left it a few hours
ago. Dumping three Tylenol in my hand, I give a though to taking them with
the Gatorade, but catch myself in time. Bad idea... I visualize Connor's
puke-stained lips touching the rim of the bottle earlier. Instead I drink
right from the orange juice bottle and take two Tylenol, then dump a couple
more in my hand for Connor who needs at least three. I won't drink from the
Gatorade bottle, but I'll rudely drink from my mom's orange juice
one. She'd no more think of drinking from the bottle than washing her hair
with orange juice, so it's okay... sort of. A one way street... that's me I
guess. Oh well. Back to the bedroom I find Connor sitting on the edge of
the bed with his head in his hands, moaning about his condition. I say,
"You'll feel better the next time you wake up, Connor; not great, but much
better than you feel now." He looks up, "It'd have to be better than I feel
right now." Giving him an encouraging grin, I hand him three Tylenol and
the Gatorade bottle. Actually, I don't know if he'll feel better because
right now he's still drunk. He mutters, "Thanks," then gulps down the pills
and slowly, but steadily finishes the Gatorade. "Oh God," he moans. "Go
ahead and lay down again, Connor. You'll be able to sleep in a few
minutes." He barely nods his head as he's getting under the covers, laying
near the edge of the mattress. I get in the other side, saying quietly,
"Scoot over to the middle of the mattress and I'll give you a hug." He
gives me a slight grin, mumbling, "That'll be nice," then slides over as
I'm turning out the light. Connor's body is a little stiff in my arms for
about ten seconds, then he relaxes and snuggles in to me tightly... that's
the last thing I remember until now when I open my eyes hearing a hard rain
falling against the bedroom window.

Opening one eyes, I see it's nine-thirty. Ahh, that's better, and the good
part is I can sleep some more. Chubby and I usually don't start preparing
Sunday brunch until eleven or eleven-thirty because the moms sleep almost
till noon on Sundays. They usually party a little with their boyfriends
after work on Saturday nights and then Sunday night is often date night for
them. Connor's still next to me, in a deep sleep. My frigin' left arm is
dead, totally numb from being under Connor all night. I work it out from
under him; it feels so weird! Holding it up and massaging it with my other
hand I begin to get feeling back in my 'dead' arm after about a
minute. Scary! When it feels almost normal again, I realize I don't have a
headache... well, okay! I rustle around, getting on my side up against
Connor's back and goof off gently bumping his ass with my limp dick as I
put my arm over top of him. Rubbing my nose in the hairs at the back of his
head, then thinking maybe I'm "perving" on him a little too much, so I
settle down for some more sleep, running over in my mind Robby's and my
craziness in the cupola. Then later in his pick-up too. Memories of last
night give me a boner, which is nice; love my boners! It's funny I didn't
wakeup with one considering Connors right next to me. Next thing I know, my
eyes pop open and I'm feeling pretty good. It's still raining outside, but
now it's ten-thirty; well, that's enough sleep for me, but Connor probably
needs some more, so I ease my way out of bed without jostling him too much,
and pad into the bathroom, then quietly close the door. I need to do
everything you can do in a bathroom this morning, including another quick
shower to perk me up. Well, I don't do everything you can do in a bathroom
because, happily, I'm sexually satisfied. Okay, not totally satisfied
because it has been nine or ten hours since Robby and me last did it, but
I'm satisfied enough where I don't feel I need to jerk-off. And, I'm not
dissin' jerking-off at all. I've had some very nice times doing that as a
younger teen; doing it a ton of very-nice-times actually. When I'm done all
my bathroom business, teeth brushing, showering and the toilet necessities
of life, I'm clean and shiny and smelling good. Just in case Connor's
awake, I wrap my bath towel around my waist before going back into the
bedroom. Connor's awake, a healthier-looking Conner is laying in bed, on
his side, facing the bathroom door. He goes, "Damn! I was hoping you'd
think I was still asleep and come out naked." I smile, saying, "'Morning,
Connor. I'm too modest to walk around naked." He smiles back, going, "Hmmm,
I'm not so sure about that, Dylan." Then, "Is it okay if I take a shower,
and do you have an extra toothbrush I could use?" I tell him about last
night and how I used an extra toothbrush to brush his teeth, and where that
toothbrush is. And, of course, he can take a shower, although I did give
him one last night. He's amazed, "How'd you do all that with me being
comatose, and how come I can't remember any of it?" I go, "Don't know,
dude, but how ya feeling now?" He says, "Not great, but a hundred times
better than I felt at four o'clock this morning. Um, I know I'm nagging,
and I have no self-respect about this, but could we please do something
together, Dylan? I mean after I've showered and all." I look at him,
wanting to, but I've made this promise to myself to use some will power. He
says, "I'm going in the Army next month, just give me some pity sex, I have
no pride anyway when it comes to you, Dylan, you're simply too sexy to
resist." The pity sex comment did it. I say, "You aren't nagging, and you
aren't pitiful, and you have every reason in the world to have
self-respect. I respect the hell out of you and so do our friends. I'm
honored to 'do something between the two of us" or whatever the euphemism
is that you use for screwing. Do you want to screw me, or me screw you?" He
bites his bottom lip, blushing like the Conner we love. Then a small grin
appears, one he's apparently trying to keep from being a big grin, as he
mumbles, "That's what I meant, yep. Um, would you do it to me?" He won't
say 'fuck' or even 'screw', hahaha. I go, "Yep," and he does do the big
grin now, then, "Damn, I'm excited, Dylan. I'll be out as fast as I can".

Waving my hand at him, like it's no big deal, and nodding my head with a
smile, Connor waves a little wave back at me and steps into the bathroom;
the door closing behind him. It's funny, but I'm surprised I'm not more
"excited", like Connor is. I guess it the frequent sex I've been having,
everything has been falling into my lap lately, or maybe it's because
Willie's fucked me into my submissive role, until now, it's become the role
I want to be in. I'll do Connor the best I can though because he wants it
and it's something I'm proud to do for him. What an I saying? I'll love it
too! I know there's more to Willie's tactics in making me so submissive to
him, more than just fucking, but that's the one that resinates with
me. Being honest about it, I am disappointed Connor didn't want to be the
one doing the fucking. Well, even if he did, no way does Connor have it in
him to be dominant. Also I gotta admit, it does distracts from the
exoticness of sex when someone seems as needy as Connor, but God knows he's
the nicest, most sincere kid I know and he has needs too, like all of
us. Connor's been dealt the short hand all his life and has handled it with
a smile and a grace that I can hardy image anyone I know, including me,
handling nearly as well. He's worth admiring, and I do. I remember back to
when Carl first fucked me, yeah, yeah, he took advantage of me, and all
that. The thing is, I became dependent on Carl because he's the only one I
knew who was gay at the time. So, after he'd broken me in on gay sex and
excessively fucked me, I came to need it. Maybe like Connor needs it, only
he needs it because he can't get it. Connor, like me at the time, knew only
one gay boy; me for Connor and Carl in my case. So we beg a little to
satisfy the strong pull of our sexual urges, our constant craving for it.
Back then I had no self respect either, not when it came to sex; I ended-up
walking the four miles to Carl's house not even knowing if he was home, to
sort of beg him to fuck me if he was home. In the beginning of our
relationship Carl couldn't get enough of fucking me and made concessions to
me so I'd cooperate with the sex. But when I began begging him to fuck me
he lost interest and it was like, "Oh, okay. Get your pussy up to my
bedroom and get totally naked and wait for me there." Stuff like that, and
you do lose your self respect, like Connor said about himself, so I get
where he's coming from. What I'm not going to do is be like Carl. I'm going
to make it special for Connor because Connor is special.

I get into bed naked, thinking about Connor's body and his awesomely cute
face and now I am getting excited. I don't get to do the fucking part of
gay sex very often, and it is a different kind of thrill; not as hot as the
other way as far as I'm concerned, but pretty friggin' good just the
same. The romantic in me loves a subtle kiss, that no one sees, and then
the boy gentle fucking me the way lover's fuck... that's how I roll, it's
awesome! Like Robby and me, when we do our lovers sex together. That
thought gets blood slipping into my dick, and then I look up and see Connor
with a towel around his waist, just out of the shower, and I'm getting a
little more excited. He's probably got the towel around his waist because I
did the same thing when I came out of the bathroom... sweet kid, fer sure!
I love Connor, but certainly not like a lovers love. It's definitely a
friendship love, but it's love just the same. Not like when I mess around
with someone like Ray Ellis, Elliot's brother, 'cause that's strictly sex
and a climax, then, "See ya around". No love of any kind involved. Except
of course the love of my climax. Connor's looking more alert and gleaming
clean, as he says, "Can you give me a haircut today, Dylan?" I go, "That's
fer sure, dude. Have you decided what style you want?" He goes, "What
should I get, Dylan?" I say, "How 'bout the haircut Chubby's rocking'?"
Connor goes, "Oh, I mean, between a buzz cut, like last time, or your
haircut?" I shrug, and say, "Go with the buzz cut this time, you looked hot
with that buzz cut last time, and then just before you leave for basic
training I'll cut your hair like mine. How 'bout that?" He says, "Perfect!
I wanna see how I look in that bad-boy haircut you have... at least once
anyway, before I get the recruit's haircut at basic training. I'm wondering
if I'll look as cool as you do. Probably not, but I'd like to try it once
anyway." Sometimes Connor can seem so innocent I that wanna hug him and
tell him everythings alright, and that he's wonderful.

He's standing there in front of the bed, not sure what to do next, so I
say, "Come on back to bed, and we'll mess around until it gets
messy. Whaddaya say?" He nods and smiles, then walks around to the other
side of the bed, turns around and takes off the towel to fold it neatly,
and then gets into bed backwards. It's like he doesn't want me to see him
naked, which is funny since we're going to be fucking together. And now I'm
excited for real. What a great looking, sweet kid; hell, I should be
excited. He flips over onto his side, looking at me. I say, "Damn, you're
good looking," and he grins, with a little blush, then says, "Look who's
talking... but thanks." He hesitates, then goes on, "I look mostly like my
dad, wherever he is. I have pictures of him before he left, when I was
ten." I ask, "Why'd he leave?" Connor drops his eyes, sucking on his lips,
then mutters, "Um, mom kinda got hooked on drugs, I guess, so he left. But
he was a terrible dad and a terrible husband before that. That's probably
part the reason mom's got into the junk, ya know? My dad wasn't home hardly
at all and he never paid much attention to me when he was home." I ask
myself: 'Why the fuck did you ask that question!!'? Damn, I'm dumb. I
mutter, "Sorry to hear that, Connor." Then to change the subject, I ask,
"How'd ya like our freshman year at Merrimack, this far, anyway?" He
answers right away, "It's been the best year of my life, and I have you to
thank for it." I say, "That's not true, Connor. You have yourself to thank
for it, you figured out what you needed to do." He shrugs, "If you want to
believe that, that's okay, but without you showing me how to fill out all
the forms and telling me what needed to be done, I never would have been
talking about it to my boss at the restaurant, and he never would have
known I needed a cosigner for my college loan." Okay, that was the second
dumb question I've brought up in a row.  Both answers make be feel bad for
Connor. Why'd his boss have to die, anyway?! That was another stupid
question, so enough with the questions, except this one, "How about we
recreate that kiss we had in the cupola?" He blushes again, mumbling, "I'll
try not to shoot off, this time," and he says it with such sincerity it
strikes me funny. Laughingly, I say, "Oh my God, Connor, there's nothing
wrong with shooting off; it's sort of the goal. Didn't ya ever hear of the
double shot?" He asks, "What's that?" I go, "Well, I was actually making
kind of a metaphor out of a thrill ride on the Wildwood boardwalk, and
cumming a second time during the same sexual experience." He goes, "Oh,"
but I don't think he gets it. I'm not doing any good with the chitchat, so
I run my fingers through his soft hair, then gentle pull his head towards
me as I move mine towards him and our lips come together lightly for a
subtle kiss that no one sees, then a full kiss and Conner gets one arm
around my neck and pushes his tongue against my teeth making a quiet,
"Mmmmm" sound.

It's not a wild kiss, it's an imitation of a lovers kiss, with only one of
the participants in love with the other; in love like lovers are in
love. Connor thinks he's in love with me. He told me that last night when
all his inhibitions were down due to the many adult beverages he'd
drunk. Like I said before, I love Connor like a friend, but I try to kiss
him like his lover; his temporary lover. I do it for Connor, and because
it's sexy too, and he deserves to be in love even if this time it can't be
truly reciprocated. I'll pray that the next time he's in love it's with a
mutual lover that's worthy of Connor. That might be hard to find. And, I
don't consider my alley-cat-self worthy of him, no way. As this wonderful
kiss continues our bodies just naturally come together; Connor already has
a hard five inch cock pressing against my semi-hard one. Mine will be as
hard as his shortly though because I love me a cute boy with a sexy smell,
and Connor's all of that and more. We kiss, then I move my tongue from his
mouth to lick around his lips and suck on his top lip, pulling it out a
little, then pushing my tongue back in his mouth against his awesome
tongue, which is not too firm and not too soft, it's just right. Connor's
moving his head slightly all through the kiss; his, "Mmmm," becomes a more
desperate, "Ooohhh," as we continue. Then, unexpectedly, he pulls away,
saying, "I almost had an orgasm again." He says it like he's embarrassed,
which strikes me as so sincerely funny I need to hold my breath so I don't
laugh. He's so sweet it's ridiculous. While I'm holding my breath, getting
myself together, he asks, "Can I, um, you know, with your thing?" I let out
my breathe, asking, "You want to suck my dick?" He drops his eyes again,
murmuring, "Yeah, if that's alright." Quietly I say, "It's more than
alright, I'd love it, if you want to do that." He nods, then looks me in my
eyes, and asks, "Should I go under the covers?" Oh my God, he's precious!
So special that if anyone takes advantage of him I'll get Chubby to help me
hunt the bastard down and make that fucker sorry for the day he was
born. To Connor, I say a simple, "Yes," then add, "Promise me you'll write
or email me often when you're in the Army, and especially if someone is
giving you a hard time, 'cause, you know, I might have some suggestions on
how to handle it, or something." Still uber serious, he goes, "Thanks,
Dylan! I'll do that, I promise." I nod, waiting for him to go under the
covers, his boner is wet at the head, pressing against my thigh near my
ever-hardening boner, so I'd like very much to feel his lips on my cock,
but I think he's waiting for me to tell him it's time. I go, "How 'bout
now, I mean going under the covers now," and he shakes his head, saying,
"Oh, right, here I go," and he does.

Under the covers he doesn't hesitate putting my dick in his mouth, but he's
totally inexperienced and it's not really all that hot for me. Too much
scraping of his teeth and not enough sucking or licking going
on. Thankfully, it doesn't last long. His head pops back up, and there are
dark spots of red on his cheeks, he says, "That made me almost cum too." I
go, "Okay, you get your back to me, and I'll put my thing in your thing."
He smiles, and goes, "What things are you referring to?" Chuckling, I say,
"I'll figure it out when you turn around," then I remember lubricant. I
really should use some with Connor. I pat his ass when he's on his side,
and say to him, "Stay just like that, Connor, I'll be back in a second, I
forgot to get the jelly. He asks, "Jelly?" I say, "Ky jelly, it makes for a
much better fuc... um, way to do it. Two seconds," and I squeeze his ass
this time. Great ass! It takes more than two seconds, but not a hell of a
lot more and I'm back in bed with a slippery boner. I stroked lube on
myself coming back from the bathroom and and I've got myself a nice boner
that's very slippery. Plus, I've got some lube on my finger. The finger
with the lube goes right to Connor anus and when I first touch him there he
jerks away for a second, then moves his ass back towards me and I lube his
hole, then push my finger in. Connor goes, "Ooh," so I say, "That's just my
finger." I finger fuck him real good, then line-up my cock and press
against his asshole until the head of my cock gets past his sphincter,
which he's clenching at the moment, for reasons unknown. Another, longer,
"Ooohhh," from Conner. I ask, "You okay, Connor?" He mumbles, "I'm more
than okay, Dylan, but I'm going to cum any second now." I assure him that
that's fine, maybe he can have two climaxes. This amazes him, but he seems
all for it, so I slowly press in further, and when I'm halfway in, he says,
"It hurts a little now, Dylan," so I wait a bit, then press on. It'd be
hard for me to stop now, but I will if he continues to hurt. No more
complaints so I keep going, but very slowly. My cock's getting harder by
the second and when my hairless groin touches his hairless buttocks I bite
my bottom lip to keep from moaning, and then press tightly against his ass
cheeks getting as far up his ass as I can, then hug him around his belly to
hold him in place. Connor groans, so I wait, and then ask, "You okay,
Connor?" He says, "I'm a hell of a lot better than okay, Dylan. I'm in
ecstasy." I say, "Lets do better than that," and pull back about four
inches then press back in and Connor goes, "Ahhh, ooh, I just about shot my
load!" I go, "Shhh, try to whisper, okay?" He's like, "Oh, I'm sorry, I
forgot all about your mom being home." "No problem," I say, and do a full
hump, out and in two times, and his body is moving, so I hold him tighter
around the waist and fuck him a half dozen times. With my last pump up his
ass his hips jerk out, I see his hand come up to cover his mouth and a long
hissing sound escapes his lips as he jerks his hips forward again,
obviously climaxing. His hips jerk forward five or six times and the
hissing sounds have changed to whining sounds almost like he's in
pain. I've made those sounds myself during especially good climaxes, so I
know that it's not pain he's feeling, it pure unimaginable pleasure, just
this side of pain.

Connor can't talk and from the movement of his arm under the covers I can
tell he's stroking his cock after a great, for him, climax. I fuck his ass
in the meantime, not nearly ready to cum. He finally gasps for breath, his
chest heaving, his back pressing against my chest with each deep breath he
takes. Then he finally calms down enough to whispers, "That was the best
one I've ever had. I thought the head of my thing would come off when that
first and second stream of stuff flew out with such force. It almost scared
me for a second there," and a little happy giggle follows that. I try for
enthusiastic, saying, "Awesome, Connor!" Then I go, "Ya want to try for a
second one?" He goes, "Oh yeah, I hope it works," like we're doing an
experiment. I'm a little past the point of no return anyway, I mean he's
got a great ass and he's off the charts likable, so I don't know what I'd
have done if he'd said, 'No thanks on the second one, I've had enough...'
haha.  I'm totally into it by now, fucking him steadily. After a few
minutes of enjoying myself immensely, my cock sliding nicely up his ass
creating an awesome sensation, feeling fantastic, but I get an idea. I say,
"How 'bout getting on your hands and knees and I'll do you that way for
awhile." He eagerly goes, "Okay, yeah, that sounds cool." I throw the cover
off the bed and stand-up on the bed as Connor gets on his hands and
knees. As I'm getting behind him, he says, "Oh man, I miss feeling you in
my rear end." I say, "Feel better now?" as I bend my knees and slide my
slippery boner back up his slippery rectum. I muffle an, "Oooh," but Connor
doesn't, he goes, "Ooooh yeah, Dylan," a little too loudly, so I whisper,
"Shh, whisper," and he whispers, "Sorry," so low I can hardly hear him. I
smile, then begin pounding his ass... oh yeah! In two minutes, he whispers,
"I got another aching boner, Dylan," and I grunt, "Me too, Connor." I'm
probably going to cum before Connor gets his second climax because now the
feeling is coming on me fast. I'm speeding up, desperate to climax, with
Connor going, "Oh, Oh, Oh," constantly, as his body rocks to and fro, then
I hump hard into him and fire off a long burst of spunk, an awesome shot of
cum tantalizing the head of my cock and creating that almost pain stab at
the inside of my thighs, near my cock! Connor goes, "I felt that!" and he
begins stroking his new boner as I hit his ass with another slam of my
crotch and shoot another shot into his bowels. He does deep grunts, "Un,
un, un, oooh!" Then more desperate sounds slip out of his throat, before he
announces, "I just spunked again, Dylan!" I want to tell him to whisper,
but I'm in the middle of a very nice orgasm. Without thinking I smack his
bare ass twice and cum some more into his rectum, then it's just my boner
slushing in my cum as I wind-down feeling all the fabulous sensations of
climax in my groin and my stomach, and a general buzz comes over most of
me. Then the let-down drifts-in, the one that usually occurs after the
almost shocking and awesome sensations of climax fade away. Never lasts
long enough, does it?

Connor's still pulling on his cock, and now I'm able to mumble, "Whisper
Connor, okay." He whispers, "I did the double shot you told me about,
Dylan; not much cum, but it felt almost like the first one where I spunked
all over your sheets." Another little happy giggle, then, "Sorry 'bout
that. I'll wash them for you." Reluctantly I pull out and stifle a moan
when my cock head pulls free with that little sucking sound getting past
Connor's still clenched sphincter muscle. He goes, "Oh my Gawd! I'm wide
open back there and your cums drooling down my legs, it's awesome." I say,
"Forget the cum, just lay next to me; we'll take another quick shower
before we get dressed" He lays next to me, muttering, "Ewww, all the
spunk's under me," then another giggle. I can't remember Connor ever being
this happy. For something to say, I ask, "You wanna help me with brunch?"
He goes, "Sure, I'd love to, but can we kiss a little more first?" Oh yeah,
I forgot for a minute; I'm thinking buddy sex, and Connor's thinking lovers
sex. I go, "Oh, okay," and this time he lifts his head, and goes up on his
elbow, looking down with his face over mine. He's serious, "Thanks for
doing that with me, Dylan. You have no way of knowing how important it is
to me." I don't want to get emotional, so I whisper, "Sure, Connor, it was
awesome for me too." The whites surrounding his beautiful dark blue eyes
are a little bloodshot. Temporary result of his hangover. I ask him about
it, "How's the hangover?" He says, "Didn't even notice I had one when we
were doing it. Now I have a faint headache, my stomach feel funny and
generally I feel beat-up, but what we did has helped a whole lot." And he
leans down for a kiss. We kiss sweetly for a few minutes, then Connor lays
back saying, "I was getting another boner. Do you think somethings wrong
with me?" He serious again. Trying for a joke, I reply, "Well, if there is,
I've caught it off you because I'm getting another boner too, but we gotta
get cleaned-up and make some brunch." He goes up on his elbow again,
looking at my face, and asks, "Can I tell you a joke first? I thought of it
because of what we did a little while ago." I chuckle, muttering, "Oh, that
thing we did together." He says, "Twice." I'm like, "Yeah, twice. What's
your joke, I'd like to hear it. He says, "I tell it with and Irish accent,"
I go, "Oh goodie," and he laughs, then tells this joke with a perfect Irish
accent, to my ears anyway, I don't know a real Irish person:

"Well," Connor tells me, "Mrs. Donovan meets Father Flaherty on O'Connell
St. in Dublin, and the Father says, 'Top o' the mormin' to ye'. I marry ye
and yer hoosband two years ago, if memory serves. Be there any wee little
ones yet?' She replies, 'Sadly, no, not yet, Father.' The Father says,
'Well now, I'm going to Rome next week and I'll light a fertility candle
for ye and yer hoosband.' Some years later they meet again. The Father
asks, 'Well now, Mrs. Donovan, how are ye these days?' She replies, 'Oh,
very well, Father.' The Father asks, 'And tell me, have ye had any wee ones
yet?' She replies, 'Oh yes, Faher! Two sets of twins and six singles, ten
in all.' The Father says, 'That's wonderful! And how is yer loving hoosband
doing?' She goes, 'E's gone to Rome to blow out yer fookin' candle, that's
how E's doing.'

I give him a good chuckle. It's not laugh out loud funny, but Mrs. Donovan
saying, "yer fookin' candle" to the priest is pretty funny. Connor smiles
his great smile, one happy boy. Me too. I rub his hair, asking, "You want
another shower?" He says, "God, yes. I'm covered in fookin' cum, ya know."
I laugh harder at that than the joke. Connor pads off to the bathroom,
naked as a jay bird, but not seeming to be self-conscious of it anymore. Oh
man, I hope that went as good as he seems to indicate it did. Then I think
of Perdo, and him wanting me to fuck him to lose his cherry. Hmmm, maybe I
should advertise on one of those cheesy cable networks, "Need a good fuck,
but there's no one you can turn to? Call me at the number at the bottom of
the screen. Only uber cute boys need apply." Haha. Nice way to make a
living. Then I thought about it seriously, wondering how many lonely gay
boys stay in the closet thinking no one they know is gay like them. A sad
thought.

Connor was quick with his shower; while he's in the bathroom I'd scrounged
around and found clean sweatpants, boxer shorts, socks and a valor
pull-over that I never wear, for him to put on; they're clean at least. He
can keep the valor thing, I don't even know where it came from. Connor's
got the towel around his waist again, looking all steamy and clean. He
goes, "Really, Dylan, I feel bad nagging you for sex like I did. Do you
think I'm horrible?" He's second guessing himself after the glow's faded. I
say, "No, I don't Connor, I think you're wonderful! And that's because you
are wonderful. Luv ya, dude, like a brother." Maybe that'll clear things up
in his mind, just in case he's under the impression that this is the start
of something big; bigger than it is. He seems happy with that though, and
mumbles, "Thank you, Dylan. You are too; wonderful, I mean." I show him the
stuff I've got for him to wear, than go into the bathroom, but don't take
another shower because I wasn't laying in cum like Connor. I'll just clean
up, starting with my dick... haha. When I'm all cleaned-up; back in the
bedroom I put on some boxer shorts and a short bathrobe, then lead Connor
into the kitchen. After scouting out what's in mom's refrigerator, I plan
today's brunch in my head. Chubby and me have been making Sunday brunch
forever, so by now we have ten or twelve different versions of brunch. This
should be a good one. I take the first things I need out of the
refrigerator, with Connor looking on. Then I ask, "Ya want some orange
juice?" He says, "Can I have that cold can of Coke instead?" I pat his
shoulder, saying, "You can have whatever you want, Connor, 'cause you da
bomb." He asks, "What's that mean, anyway?" I go, "I'll be dammed if I
know. Okay, dude, here's the Coke, now I'm putting you to work. Please get
this ham slice out of it's vacuumed sealed packaging and cut it into bite
size pieces. Then mince up a quarter of this red bell pepper and about half
a cup of that sweet onion. Can you do that?" He smiles and says, "Duh! What
should I use, a spoon?" I grin, saying, "How 'bout this paring knife?" He
goes, "Oh okay, I'll try that." Then he adds, "I've only been cooking for
myself for the past nine or ten years." I go, "I knew I could count on
you. I gotta take some clothes I washed last night out the dryer and the
sheets with your stuff on them in the washer." He goes, "Oh, okay. I'll get
started on my prep work," he's in a happy mood again, so I squeeze the back
of his neck, saying, "That was fun this morning, thanks, Connor. Get's us
off to a good start for the day!" As I'm going into my bedroom for the
sheets, leaving a beaming Connor to get the brunch started, he calls after
me, "It sure does!" God, it's a good feeling making him happy.

I throw the sheets in the washer and fold everything in the dryer,
including Willie's panties, thinking, "I could use a cigarette. Ya know, a
smoke after sex... yeah, that's the ticket." So, back upstairs, I go in my
bedroom and dump the folded clothes on the desk chair, then hide the
panties and find some shorts to wear, and the sweatshirt from last
night. Sneakers, without socks, finish my outfit. Damn, I wish I had more
clothes here at the house. Then I think, "Chubby's clothes!" In the kitchen
again, I say, "Connor, you're doing a great job," as I get a mixing bowl
and a quiche pan out of the cabinet. Then add, "I'll be gone a minute or
two. Going up to Chubby's to steal some clothes for myself. It's too cool
this rainy morning to wear shorts, and my other clothes are at the
apartment. When I get back we'll grab a cigarette, okay?" He nods his head,
then says, "This is so much fun, Dylan. Hangin' with you, I mean." I go, "I
love it when you hang with me, Connor, 'cause you da bomb!" He says, "Oh,
yeah, I'm da bomb." The rain outside is little more than a mist now as I
quickly scale the steps up to Chubby's, where I take the key from the
mailbox, who would ever think to look there, and unlock their front
door. Returning the key to it's secret hiding place, I quietly open the
front door. The silence inside is so deep it echoes in my ears. I tip toe
to Chubby's room, the door's now open a little. I closed it last night when
I checked on him, but Tris must have checked on him when she got
home. There he is on his bed, still fully dressed... heehee. I go over and
look at him closely. Disheveled, but still cute, my favorite face in the
whole world. I'm about to kiss him lightly on the cheek, but getting close
to him I catch a whiff of his horrendous breath as he exhales, and back
away almost laughing out loud. Robby didn't take care of Chubby like I took
care of Connor, that's for sure. Connor got Chubby home safe though, that's
all I care about. Holding my nose between my thumb and forefinger, I lean
down and kiss him as he sleeps his drunk away. I won't wake him, Connor and
I can do the brunch. Chubby's going to be hungover, that's for sure.

First I look in his chest of drawers, finding my own freaking' sweatshirt
there; I thought I'd lost it. It has a hood and "MERRIMACK COLLEGE" across
the chest. That thief! I take a pair of his sweat socks, then see a package
of two socks in their original wrapping so rip the binding holding the two
pairs together, and take a pair. Yes! Brand new socks. And realize what an
idiot I am; I've just taken clothes out of the dryer, I could have worn
those, and for some reason this is making me giggle. Glancing at Chubby and
seeing that he hasn't moved a muscle, I figure I'll see what else hubby got
of mine, and open the next drawer and see an awesome pair of cotton sweat
pants with a little logo on the front hip section that also says,
"Merrimack College", in much smaller letters. Perfect, a matching outfit. I
go over and ruffle Chubby's hair, the haircut I gave him looks so
professional, and cool. His earring is like the one I had before Willie
bought me these gold hoop ones, and it makes me think of the many, many
times Chubby will make fun of something new that I do, like getting my ear
pierced or getting my little tattoo, and then he does the same thing,
telling me, "We're like two peas in a pod, Dylan," like it was all his idea
in the first place. I look at him now, thinking again about all the things
we've done together and a maudlin feeling comes over me. My eyes sort of
tear-up and I hate when that happens, but I've got such a deep love in my
heart for that boy! It's overwhelming at times. I back out of the room
wondering what came over me. Taking a deep breath, I shrug it off and
quietly go out the front door, pushing the lock before I close it so it'll
lock itself again. Wow! What was that maudlin feeling all about? Down I go
and join Connor in the kitchen where I put the clothes I've just collected
from Chubby on the table. He's done the things I asked him to do, so I say,
"Hey, you're good!" He goes, "Yeah, it was soooo difficult!" A smile, then,
"What's next, Dylan?" I tell him, "First a cigarette outside, then, um,
you'll be shredding up some Jarlsberg cheese and some mozzarella
cheese. I'll get the cheeses from the refrigerator when we come back
inside. Grabbing an umbrella from the front closet, and handing it to
Connor, I say, "Let me change into these clothes I stole from Chubby first,
and grab my cigarettes; I'll only be a second. I change in my bedroom, then
get the cigarettes from my bedside table drawer and hustle outside with
Connor. I go, "It's just misting, but it would eventually get us wet so
we'll stand under the umbrella. As we smoke Connor tells me again how much
fun he's having and how sorry he is that he messed-up last night by getting
drunk. With me Connor can be chatty at times, but if someone else is with
us, or a number of other people are with us, he's very quiet. It's
enjoyable seeing him so outgoing and effervescent.  I tell him again how
much fun it is hangin' with him and that we should do more of it, and then
I wish I hadn't said that because he might misinterpret it to mean I want
to fuck him more, which I would if I weren't in love with Robby as well as
being involved with Willie. We finish our cigarettes and go back inside,
leaving the umbrella on the tiles that are right inside the front door. In
the refrigerator I find the blocks of cheeses we need, and a grater for
Connor to use shredding the cheeses. He jokingly asks, "When do you start
doing something? You said we'd do it together." I go, "I'm doing the hard
part; planning and organizing and supervising. Lots of pressure on me,
dude." He chuckles, and I say, "Did I tell you, you're doing great?" He
goes, "Yeah, con man, I believe you mentioned that a couple of times." I
go, "That's because you are doing a great job."

Connor's soon has two piles of shredded cheeses, approximately the correct
amount for each. This isn't brain surgery; eyeballing the amount of each of
the ingredients is the way we do it here... you don't need exact
measurement when cooking. I nod at him and he grins back, asking, "How am I
doing?" I go, "You're doing great, Connor," and we both chuckle again,
having fun goofing around. I get out the eggs... there are ten eggs, but we
only need eight, so I put the remaining eggs in a little ramekin bowl and
return it to the refrigerator, saying, " It seems like I'm doing everything
here". Then I look Connor in the eyes and ask, with a straight face, "Do
you know how to crack an egg, Connor?" He asks, "Do you mean, on your
forehead?" I go, "No, no. In these two bowls. Crack four eggs into each
bowl?" He asks, "Which bowl gets the four eggs first?" I have to laugh a
little at that, enjoying that Connors joined me being a wiseass, then say,
"Either one, numbnuts, they're the same size." As he's doing that I get a
pint of half and half from the refrigerator, saying, "We'll need this whole
pint," and then grab a tin of nutmeg from the pantry. Also the red pepper
and paprika containers, mumbling to myself, "What the fuck else goes into
these two concoctions?" Then, I remember a very important one, and get a
package of Betty Crocker hash brown frozen potatoes from the freezer and a
package of cheddar cheese. The only cheddar cheese mom has today is Kraft
extra sharp, but that'll work. Connor's finished his stuff, and he's now
watching me, and waiting for more instructions. I look at him, wiping my
forehead, muttering, "I'm freakin' exhausted digging all this stuff up,
plus I have to remember all the ingredients, which ones go in which
dish... it's a bitch; plus, Chubby and I never write down our recipes for
fear they'll be stolen, and I'm dealing with a slow, barely competent
assistant, so it hasn't been easy." I say all this ridiculous bull shit in
a very serious manner. Connor makes a face at me, then smiles and dabs at
my forehead with a paper towel, saying, "You must be exhausted. How do you
do it all?" I go, "God knows, it's how I roll, and I do it without
complaining, but my backs killing me and my barely competent assistant's so
cute he's giving me a hard-on. So, you know, I need to do everything with
wood between my legs. But I never complain; I hate complainers." He smiles
again; that kid smiles more than anyone I've ever met... maybe even more
than my mom and Tris, who are world class smilers.

Connor asks, "What's next chef?" I take a deep breath, like I've just run
up a steep hill or something, and mutter, "That should be obvious, "This
rectangle of Sharp cheese needs to be shredded like the other two
cheeses. Jesus, I need to sit down!" Connor laughs, saying, "It's fun
cooking with you, Dylan. Can you come live with me, or better yet, can your
mom adopt me?" I spray the quiche pan with Pam, saying, "To tell ya the
truth, Connor, my dick would fall off if you were around me every day
'cause I couldn't resist you." He mutters, "Oh, I'm so sure. One pity thing
with me is probably all I'd get." That was too serious, so I get an arm
around his neck and kiss his cheek. He leans against me as I say, with my
lips to his ear, "That awesome, um, sexual encounter we had this morning
has nothing to do with pity. I was in lust for you." He goes, "Oh, I'm so
sure!" I nip his earlobe, and say, "Connor, you're hot, don't put yourself
down." Ruffling his fuzzy hair, which has grown out to an inch and a half,
I step back, adding, "You just haven't met the right boy yet, and you're
not alone with that situation either; I've just been lucky as hell. It's
like this: I was lucky to have a random encounter with an experienced gay
sex partner, which led me to my first real boyfriend, and that opened the
door to meeting other gay boys etc.. It seems once I was sexually active I
began putting out vibes that boys with gaydar picked up on; that's the best
way I can explain it. Ya know, as soon as a couple of guys knew I was gay,
one thing led to another and now I know a number of gay boys, most of whom
are way, way deep in the closet, or partially in there at the very
least. I'm partially in there myself, meaning some people obviously know
I'm gay, and some are probably suspicious that I am, but I haven't
announced myself, so there are many that don't have a clue I'm gay. Us gay
boys tend not to 'out' each other, that's a no-no. Now the hard part for
any gay boy, is the first part... meeting the right random sex partner. If
you don't meet that first one, it's unlikely things will develop the way
they have for me. As I said...I'm was just very, very lucky." Connor's
paying close attention and when I stop talking, he says, "But, don't you
count as my first random gay encounter?" I go, "Hmmm, ya got me there,
Connor. Theoretically I suppose I should count as your first random sex
partner. Maybe not enough time has elapsed though." He goes, "You
introduced me to that strange, but sorta exotic boy, the one who goes to
Berklee College, but that didn't work out." I go, "Yeah, what you're
missing, that I had going for me, is the 'luck' part." He goes, "Yeah,
that's for sure, except for meeting you, and my job at the restaurant, I
got no luck." I hug his shoulders, saying, "Your luck will change,
Connor. You got too much going for you, you'll win out even without a lot
of luck." He mumbles, "Thanks, Dylan; I sure hope so."

My mom, in her bathrobe, silently comes up behind us, saying, "Good morning
boys," and we jump, startled. I'm hoping she didn't come out of her bedroom
while I was telling Connor my sex history. Seeing us jump, mom chuckles,
"Boys, it's only me, but don't look at me, I'm hideous. Just want a glass
of juice and two Tylenol for my little headache." She kisses my cheek, "Oh,
Dylan, can't wait for your brunch," then to Connor, "Connor, honey, you
look so handsome. I hope you've recovered from whatever made you sick." She
knows what made him 'sick', the same thing she needs Tylenol for. I pour
mom a small glass of juice and hand her the Tylenol bottle as Connor's
saying, "Yes, ma'am, I'm feeling better, thank you." Mom adds, "I'm taking
a bubble bath, Dylan sweetheart, I'll be an hour or so. Is that alright." I
go, "Well the soufflé will probably deflate by then, but I'll make do."
She pats my cheek, saying, "I know you'll manage, darling. Oh, you're such
a lovely boy." She pads off to her bathroom, with me going, "Mom! I've got
company!" Connor mumbles, "Dylan, the lovely boy of Merrimack College." I
smirk, going, "The loveliest boy of Merrimack college, actually." He
mutters, "You are, too." Then in a normal voice, he says, "Your mom is, um,
very different, in only the best ways, compared to mine." I go, "I know,
Connor. I'm sorry you haven't found your 'lucky streak' yet, but you will."
He shrugs, smiles, and asks, "What are we cooking here, Dylan?" I go, "Well
it sure as shit isn't a soufflé. No, what we're making are two items
that we'll bake in the oven: A ham and potato casserole, and a basic cheese
quiche. We'll toast some English muffins just before we all sit down to
eat. Oh, and you and I will drive to Dunkin' Donuts for coffees while this
stuff is baking. It's the Chubby and Dylan, world-famous Sunday brunch,
minus Chubby. The 'Chubby' chef will be played by a guest chef this week,
the world-renowned, Connor Neary." Connor takes a fake bow, then says,
"You're very chipper this morning, Dylan." I go, "That's because my day got
off to an awesome start, Chef." He goes, "Oh, yeah... that, um, thing we
did together," and he blushes slightly. Damn, I've been encountering boys
who blush lately, if I don't watch out I'll lose my number one spot for
blushing boy of the year; as a matter of fact, I already lost that spot to
Connor. Yeah, he definitely blushes more than me! I smile at Connor,
repeating what he said, "Yeah, that thing we did together earlier this
morning."

Preheating the oven to 425 degrees, I say, "Time to assemble all these
ingredients. I suppose I should give you something to do so you can feel
you've at least helped a little with this brunch, so I'll call out the
instructions and you do everything else. And, to test your cooking skills,
you'll have to guess which bowl gets what. Okay?" With fake outrage, he
yells, "So I'll have something to do? I've done everything!" I'm like, "Oh
my God, don't be silly, you've done a little basic prep work, that's
all. Plus, I just turned-on the oven, didn't I?" He goes, "Oh, I forgot
about that. Okay, what's the first ingredient?" I go, "Don't get ahead of
yourself, chef. The ham and potato casserole needs to cook for about forty
to forty-five minutes. The quiche needs only twenty-five minutes at 350
degrees. So it'll be your responsibility, I can't be expected to do
everything, to keep tract of the time and twenty minutes after we put the
casserole in, you need to turn the over down to 375, we'll compromise on
the temperatures, for the quiche. Shouldn't you be taking notes?" Connor
roles his eyes, grinning again, and goes, "No, I think I got it." "Okay
then, but if this gets fucked-up, it's on you, chef-dude." He says, "I'm a
bundle of nerves, but I'll do my best." I mumble, "Here goes then, and this
should be obvious, first dump that package of Betty Crocker hash brows in
the proper bowl. You'll need to figure out a way to open the package first,
so that'll be your first challenge." He's grinning, as he easily rips along
the perforated edge of the plastic package and dumps the hash brown in a
bowl, asking, "Shouldn't we have made the hash brown potatoes ourselves
from scratch?" I say, "No one likes an impudent assistant chef." He goes,
"Oh, I see," and I add, "Plus you put the potatoes in the wrong bowl." He
laughs now, then says, "Both bowls have four eggs, so what's the diff? The
quiche needs the proper balance of eggs and cream to properly set, and two
cups of half and half need four eggs too." I go, "I knew that. It was a
test. Now put the ham in a bowl. Think carefully before you decide on the
correct bowl." He says, "Hmmm, this is hard, but this is a ham and potato
casserole after all, so I'll take a chance and put the ham in the bowl with
the potatoes." I mutter, "No cheating, chef!" He laughs, and adds the
shredded cheddar to the bowl too. I go, "Stop! You got lucky and guessed
the correct cheese, but there's a cup of water that should have gone in
first." Another roll of the eyes as the grinning Connor measures out a cup
of water and pours it in. "Now for the dash of nutmeg," and Connor puts it
in the other bowl, the one that will be our quiche. I mumble, "Another
lucky guess," and, "Where will the remaining two cheeses go?" He scoops up
the Jarlsberg and mozzarella and plops all of it in the quiche bowl. He
does know what he's doing, but he asks, sarcastically, or as sarcastically
as he's capable of, "How am I doing, Dylan?" I mutter, "You're doing great,
I already told you that." He says, "Yeah, four times, but ya haven't said
it the last two minutes."

He's good! I ask, "Where do you suppose the salt and pepper go?" He says,
"I'd put it in both, but the quiche for sure, maybe the ham is salty enough
though, so no salt for that casserole." I ask, "You must be good at
multiple choice quizzes, you guess good." He smiles and, without being
told, pours the pint of cream in the quiche bowl, saying, "Actually it's
not luck, I study my ass off for tests." He picks up the whisk and mixes
all the ingredients for the quiche, then pours it into the quiche
pan. Quiche pans have a bottom that can be pushed up when the quiche is
done to get the quiche from the pan without turning it into scrambled
quiche. I say, "It gets easier now, chef." He goes, "I'm quite nervous, but
shouldn't all the remaining ingredients go in the casserole bowl?" I
mumble, "Good guess," and Connor's smirking now, as he asks, "Um, didn't
you forget the dry mustard, I believe this casserole should have a teaspoon
of dry mustard, and how 'bout a cup of mike, which you also didn't get from
the refrigerator." "Ah ha!" I go, "Another test, which you have barely
passed," as I get those two things out and hand them to him. He adds the
rest of the stuff and then whisks that bowl, asking, "Where's the casserole
that this goes in?" I say, "If you're so smart, you tell me." He goes,
"Hmm," looking at the cabinets, then looks in a lower cabinet and pulls out
a Corningware casserole, asking, "How 'bout we use this oven friendly
Corningware casserole dish?" I can't help but smile at him, mumbling,
"Ain't you the clever boy though!" Connor pours the mixture into the
casserole and puts the ham and potato casserole in the oven, saying, "We
need to turn down the oven and put the quiche in at elven fifteen." I go,
"Bingo!" Then all kidding aside, I say, "You're a good cook, Connor. Thanks
for doing the brunch," and he unexpectedly leans in and kisses my lips,
then says, "This is the most fun I've ever had, Dylan. The last twenty-four
hours I mean. Thank you." It almost brings a tear to my eye, as a matter of
fact I do one of my fake coughs so I have a reason to cover my mouth and
then sneak my hands up to rub the moisture from my eyes. Damn, how can
doing something mostly routine, like Connor and I have been doing the last
twenty four hours, be considered the 'most fun he's ever had'? I say mostly
routine because, of course, having gay sex can't be considered 'routine' I
don't suppose, although it should be. My heart breaks just imagining the
daily life Connor experienced all through high school. At least he's had
this last year to live a more normal life, although he still needs to take
care of his mother too. Jesus!

We go outside for another cigarette. It's not even misty now, just cloudy
and damp. I tell Connor how impressed I am with his chef skills, and then
ruffle his hair again, saying, "It'll be fun giving you a haircut,
Connor. You've got awesome hair." "So do you, Dylan, um, when you have
hair," and he rubs my head too. I go, "Hey, do ya wanna call your mom, I
mean she'll be worried you didn't come home last night, won't she?" He
laughs without it seeming like a laugh, and says, "No, she's not
worried. She hardly knows I'm there when I'm there. Anyway, I didn't bother
to mention I'm on spring break. I was gonna stay at school, but no one's
there and it was pretty depressing and boring, so when I got a chance for a
ride from a guy in my dorm, I took it." "He drove you home?" I ask,
thinking of Connor's neighborhood. He shakes his head, "No way, I wouldn't
put him through that, he's not really a friend, more an acquaintance and,
ya know, it'd be kind of embarrassing showing him where I live." I think
immediately of Cory Dunlevy who walked five miles from his house to the
Rite Aid drugstore were he told me to meet him when we went bowling that
time. Connor's head is down, and he's mumbling now, saying, "I asked him to
drop me off at the mall." I go, The mall, huh. How'd ya get home from
there, is there a bus that goes near where you live?" He says, "Not
hardly. I walked, it wasn't too cold and it felt good walking." I'm
shocked, "Connor, it's got to be almost ten miles, or more maybe." He
shrugs, "I didn't have anything else to do and walking is good for you."
Why do I keep asking him questions? The answers make me sad, and probably
make Connor sad too, but I ask another. "Why the hell didn't you call me,
Connor? I'd get you a ride even if I didn't have the Jeep." He looks at me
and says, "Because I'm always asking you for favors and I didn't want to
bother you." I'm like, "You gotta be kidding me!  That's what friends are
for. I called a friend to pick me up at the airport after my trip, and the
airport's a bigger pain in the ass then getting someone at the freakin'
mall!" He shrugs again, and then I remember that Connor and I went bowling
too, a year or so again, so I ask him, "Hey, ya wanna go bowling with me
and a friend I made. My new friend works at Stop and Shop; I mean when I
work up at Merrimack? We could go next week maybe." He asks, "Um, how much
does it cost, I forget how much it was that time you and I went. That was
the last time I bowled actually, I'm not very good at it." "It doesn't cost
much, about three dollars, and you're better than me at it. I've only gone
bowling once with Cory, that's the kid's name at Stop and Shop. He's really
good at candlepins." Connor pulls my wrist to him so he an see my watch,
then he goes, "Whoe! Cool watch, it looks expensive." I poo poo that,
saying, "Nah, I picked it up in Key West, as a memento.  How 'bout the
bowling?" Connor says, "I'd love to, Dylan. But now I need to put the
quiche in the oven and adjust the temperature." We'd finished our
cigarettes ten minutes ago, so we both go inside where Connor reduces the
temperature and slides in the quiche.

After that we drive to Dunkin' Donuts for five coffees; two large for the
moms, and three mediums for us guys. Connor tries to pay with the eight
dollars he has left, but I insist he's my house guest. Anyway, the coffees
cost more than eight dollars and I don't want to see him embarrassed. Back
in the condo I put the coffees on the table, saying, "We'll microwave them
to heat them up for brunch. The only thing left to do now, Connor, is toast
the English muffins and we won't do that until we're ready to eat." He
says, "Oh, let me do that so I feel I've helped with the brunch a little,"
I go, "Yeah, it's the least you could do." We smile at each other, and for
a second I'm afraid Connor's going to kiss me again. Then he says, "I gotta
use the bathroom, can I use yours?" I go, "No! There's a gas station three
blocks down, see if they'll let you use their bathroom." Then I punch his
arm lightly, saying, "Of course you can use my bathroom! What a question!"
He mutters, "I'm sorry, I'm not a houseguest very often." I say, "This will
give me time to get Chubby up. We have about twenty five minutes until our
fabulous brunch needs to come out of the oven. If I'm not here when you get
done with the bathroom, grab another Coke or something and make yourself
comfortable." Then I try my high school Spanish with, "Mi casa es su casa,
Connor." He smiles, and says, in better accented Spanish then me, "Gracias
mi amigo!" Cool! See how handy those boring Spanish courses can be! Connor
goes into my bedroom and I go up to Chubby's condo. Letting myself in
again, I walk down to Chubby's bedroom hearing Tris' shower running in her
bathroom. My mom better finish with her bubble bath pretty soon. Chubby's
on his back now, but still fully dressed in last night's outfit. I go right
up to him and rub his hair, massaging his scalp. He sputters, "Hey, mom,
what the..?" Then opens his eyes and smiles, "I shoulda known it was you,
Dylan. How ya doing, bro?" "Probably better than you, Chubby. Come
on... get up we need to fix brunch!" He's like, "Oooooh, no! I'm fucked-up
Dylan. Hey, how'd I get home. No, never mind, it was Robby. I remember, but
where were you? Where's my main homeboy when I need him?" I go, "Well, you
got poor Connor so drunk he didn't know his hat from his glove." Chubby's
like, "What? What are you talking about now, Dylan? Hats and gloves? My
head hurts." I say, "Connor was worse than you. I had to just about carry
him home, so Robby volunteered to see you home safely." Chubby goes, "Oh,
yeah. I think he told me that. I am never touching rum again in my freakin'
life, dude!" I say, "I don't blame ya. I'll get you some Tylenol. Whaddaya
want to drink with it?" He says, "The biggest bottle of iced cold Coke you
can find. And, thanks."

I check out the contents of their refrigerator and there isn't any Coke. I
only had one Coke left in my condo and I told Connor to take it, so I pick
up the quart of Canada Dry ginger ale, and get their bottle of Tylenol from
where they keep it with the other over-the-counter medications, and then
take them to Chubby, feeling like nurse Nelly. I'm as familiar and
comfortable in Chubby's condo as I am in my own. It's been like that for as
long as I can remember. Chubby's sitting on the edge of his bed, his head
in his hands. "Oh, I feel like shit, dude. Um, Dylan, my best friend of all
time, can't you do the brunch by yourself today? Dude, I'm hurting." I
twist the cap off the ginger ale and hand it to him. "You don't have any
Coke, Chubby." He goes, "This is good, probably better in my condition,"
and he chugs a half dozen big swallows. I hand him three Tylenol, saying,
"I did the brunch already. Had to break my ass making it too." He says, "I
knew you probably did, because look at the time. You're too conscientious
not to, and anyway I had to do it by myself last Sunday." I go, "Ah, poor
Chubby." He takes the Tylenol, muttering, "I slept in my freakin'
clothes. Did Connor sleep in his?" I'm indignant, "Most certainly not! I
undressed him and gave him a shower; brushed his teeth too. I was afraid
he'd have breath in the morning like yours." He chuckles, then asks, "Can
you keep me company while I take a shower?" My response is, "Oh boy, can I
bath you?" He squeezes my hand, mumbling, "You wish," and I follow him into
his matching bathroom to mine. He strips off his clothes, totally
uninhibited. When naked he plays with his dick as he's brushing his
teeth. Then he adjusts the water temperature and steps under the shower,
muttering, "I won't be long," and he isn't. He steps out looking clean,
asking, "Will ya get me a towel out of the linen closet, this towel is
getting' raunchy." I ask, "You use the same towel over and over?" He goes,
"Yeah! I gotta do my own laundry. At our apartment I let the dirty clothes
and towels pile-up until you take mercy on me and do a couple of loads of
wash, including mine." I say, "I found my Merrimack sweatshirt in your
fucking drawer." He laughs, then he shouts,"You burglar!", as I get him the
towel he asked for. He dries himself then; and still naked, hugs me, "I
love you, Dylan. I really do, dude." I want to suggest that he sleeps with
me again tonight, but remember we'll be back at our apartment
tonight. Instead, I goof around, saying, "Chubby loves me," and then I
sneak a quick kiss on his lips. Chubby wipes his mouth with the back of his
hand, saying, "Down, boy. Behave yourself, Dylan, if you can. Then puts his
arm around my shoulders, saying, "So what did we prepare for brunch today?"
I go, "WE?" and then as he gets dressed, I tell him. Chubby says, "Boy oh
boy, we outdid ourselves today!"

From her bathroom, Tris says, "I'm coming out boys, and you do not want to
see me without my makeup on and my hair done. What time's brunch." I yell,
"Fifteen or twenty minutes, but no rush. The casseroles will stay hot." She
says, "Is your mom up?" I yell, "She's taking a bubble bath. I had to get
her a glass of juice and Tylenol first though. What were you two up to last
night?"" Tris says, "Just the usual, and you are so considerate helping
your mom out like that, Dylan. Are you taking notice of how considerate
Dylan is, Chubby?" He yells, too loudly, "Who do you think taught Dylan
everything he knows about being considerate!" She laughs, "Oh, I'm so sure,
honey." We troop on down to my place, but no Connor. I say to Chubby, "I'll
bet Connor's hiding in my bedroom, afraid my mom will come out before I
come back." Chubby goes, "Yeah, he's just a little bit shy." Sure enough,
Connor's sitting in my desk chair, looking out the window. Big smile when
he sees it's Chubby and me, and not my mom. Maybe he was afraid of being
attacked by mom like at the restaurant last night... haha. Chubby goes,
"Hiya, Connor. We kicked some ass last night, didn't we. We drank those
toads under the table!" Connor chuckles, "It was me under the table,
Chubby, but it was fun until I hurled in the bushes." Chubby's like, "All
part of our plan, Connor. Let them get overconfident of victory, and then
Wham! I do the double shot. Shots back to back and all they could do was
applaud. Unfortunately, you where spaying the bushes with rum, so you
missed our moment of glory. Then killjoy Robby comes over and kidnaps me,
and dude, someone musta tripped me or something because I fell on my face
walking to the car with Robby, or maybe it was Robby trying to hold me up
that threw me off balance, but dude, I fucked up my pants when I fell. Yep,
ripped my jeans at the knee. Small cut on my knee too, like we used to get
when we were little kids, remember, Dyan, but..." Interrupting his rant, I
go, "Chubby, any chance you could shut the fuck up?" He goes, "Anything for
you, Dylan. My lips are sealed," he's obviously still a little
drunk. Chubby claimed his lips were sealed, but they weren't. He has us all
laughing our asses off at brunch; the brunch that he took most of the
credit for preparing. As soon as my mom and Tris arrived at the table, he
made a project out of toasting the English muffins and putting butter and
jam on the table; stopping once to say, "Oh man, I'm beat. Dylan wasn't
much help today 'cause he had a couple too many beers at the party last
night, so I'm a little worn out from doing almost everything." My mom said,
"Dylan, don't drink so much, honey... you're not even old enough to drink
yet." I go, "Good advise mom." Chubby babbles on about the long line he had
to wait in getting the coffees, as Connor and I roll our eyes at each
other. As I said, I think Chubby's still a little drunk, maybe more than a
little; it can happen. His real hangover is coming though, it's
inevitable... hee hee. When I woke him, that was just the pre-hangover,
like Connor experienced at four o'clock this morning when he woke-up dying
of thirst, needing Tylenol, and to take a piss. He obviously didn't have as
many shots of rum as Chubby either, so he recovered better with the early
morning Tylenol and Gatorade. Plus Connor went back back to sleep for
another six hours. Chubby had more to drink than Connor, but Chubby's a
more experienced drinking the adult beverages so didn't experience the
'black-out' Connor experienced. Soon enough Chubby will crash, probably in
a couple of hours when the booze is finally out of his system and then his
body will extract it's revenge.

Three or four times Tris and my mom compliment me and Chubby for an
outstanding brunch, while Connor and I exchange more glances and
grins... it's fun. At times the moms are laughing so hard at Chubby's silly
comments he steals the show even though Connor and me did all the work.
Connor beams with pride seeing everyone going back to the casseroles for
seconds. Our brunch was a big success, Connor looks so proud of himself and
so happy, I was happy for him. This is a big deal to Connor; for Chubby and
me it's routine, which it just isn't for Connor... and that's so sad. Later
in the afternoon, we get stuff together that we want to take with us for
our last month in the apartment. Yeah, just one more month, and then our
sumer vacation enticingly looms ahead for us. Conner stays with us because
he hadn't brought anything home with him. He sticks close to me the whole
time even when I go down to fold the sheets from the dryer and he helps me
make-up the bed again.Then it's time to leave and we say our goodbyes to
the moms. I'm driving us back in our Jeep; Chubby's hangover caught up with
him an hour after brunch and all he did was moan and bitch about
everything. He'll probably sleep all the way back. Right now, as I'm
driving down route 9, his head is against Conner's shoulder. I never got
around to giving Connor his haircut but I'm bringing my barber equipment
back with me so I'll do it at college. Here we come Merrimack, our last
month of our freshman year is finally here. What a great spring break this
was, everything considered, and at least Connor had these past two days of
the break to enjoy. Robby drove his pickup back to Merrimack, probably with
Ryan Wilcocks as his passenger. They needed to go back earlier today for,
what else, baseball related reasons... or was it for other reasons? What
does the last month have in store for all of us at Merrimack? Ya gotta
wonder, I know I do.

to be continued...  Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com

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