Date: Wed, 24 Oct 2012 07:49:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR   Chapter 47   by Donny Mumford

			   DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR


				Chapter  47


			     by Donny Mumford

I see from my iPhone's caller ID that Willie's calling me after all this
time, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm considering taking a
voice message, but then I hit 'talk' and go, "Hi Willie," and just saying
his name and knowing he's on the other end of the connection gets my dick
squirming. That's weird! He says, "First off, I've missed you so much
it's embarrassing. I'm so head over heels in love with you I feel
stupidly helpless 'cause you're all I've thought about the past couple of
weeks. And, I had two opportunities to get laid and passed them both up
because the guys were so infuriatingly inferior to you. No one can stack
up against you, Dylan; you've ruined me for anybody else." I go, "Um,
thanks Willie, where ya been?" He goes, "That's another thing, you didn't
call me to find out where I've been because I told you not to, so good
for you! You did what Willie said; you know how to follow orders. That's
just one more reason you're the best boyfriend ever. Did you think about
calling me, Dylan?" I mutter, "Yeah, I did a number of times, and
wondered where you were a number of other times, too. Where were ya?"
"Did you miss me?" I stutter, "Um, ah, ah... that is, I needed you this
week especially, yeah I missed you. What, you think I wouldn't miss you?"
He goes, "No, heh heh, I have to admit I never thought you weren't
missing me. It's just nice to hear it from you. I was in Montana for two
weeks with the grandparents. Didn't want to stay that long, but granddad
bought me a new Porsche Boxster convertible. It's blue and beautiful, so
I stayed an extra week to show them how grateful I was, and then drove
across country with it. Both granddad and mommom are still pissed at my
parents for not coming to my graduation, really pissed! Hee hee, I may
have added fuel to the fire by telling them about that terrible FED EX
letter father sent me. That's when they bought me the car, as a belated
graduation present." I go, "Huh," but I don't even know what a Porsche
Boxster is, although the name 'Porsche' being associated with the car
means it's expensive, I know that much. I work up some excitement in my
voice, and go, "That's awesome, Willie! Congratulations." He mutters, "I
thought you'd like that." Willie doesn't ask me what I've been up to
because he doesn't care. He only cares about what I do with him and I
already told him about Robby in Key West, so the rest is immaterial to
him; he's a little narcissistic. "Okay, Dylan, I'm going to show you the
car Wednesday. When's your last class?" I say, "We're into final exams
next week. I'm done at one o'clock Wednesday, or earlier if I get through
the exam quickly."  Willie says, "Good. Meet me at the Candlelite Motor
Inn right after your exam. I've got a room with a kingsize bed and it's
got a heart shaped jacuzzi too. Haha, we'll have some fun in that thing.
Remember Key West when you sucked my cock underwater in their jacuzzi? So
cool! Anyway, the Candlelite Motor Inn is right on route 114 about five
miles from Merrimack. I'll be in the Dunkin' Donuts, right next door to
the motel. I checked the place out on my computer and it looks okay, not
great but it'll have to do because it's geographically desirable." "Huh,"
I go, because it's a run-down dive. Robby and me have been to that
Dunkin' Donuts and the motel next to it is a dump! I go, "Ya sure you
wanna stay there?" He goes, "We're staying there, not just me. I've got
another call that I should take, just meet me there!" I go, "I don't have
any way of getting there." Willie says, "I'll call you back." For a
minute I'm wondering if I should spend the night with him. Then it's
like, what?s the problem? Of course I'm staying with Willie that night.
Robby asked me where Willie was a couple of days ago, he wants me going
out with Willie so he won't have as big a guilty conscience about Ryan.

Yeah, Robby wants me to hook-up with Willie about as much as I want him
hooking-up with Ryan, but it is what it is at the moment. Things change
abruptly sometimes, and then they change again. Hell, very few of us
teens know what we're gonna do next. Still, I don't want to go overboard
again with the submissive stuff; Willie takes me too far sometimes with
his dominant ways. I'm a little nervous about that, while at the same
time my dick is twitching and I have a funny, excited feeling in the pit
of my stomach. And anyway, I need to show Robby that I've got options
too. And I'm committed, for the next couple of months anyway, to being
more open to buddy sex; you know, not be as choosey as I've been in the
past. Oh man, I need a cigarette before Willie calls me back. I've got to
plan my approach to show Willie, right from the start, that this ain't
Key West. Out to the stoop I go, and then light up a Marlboro Light. I'm
thinking that my best approach with Willie will be to put my foot down
about something he suggests early on. Refuse to do what he wants me to
do, just to set the tone of how things are going to be now that we're
back in the real world. But I don't have time for any other thoughts
because he's calling back already, and I'm not even half way through my
cigarette. "Oh, hi Willie. That was fast." He goes, "Hi again, Dylan. I
meant to ask you if you've been okay without me?" All I can think about
when he asks me that is the Robby and Ryan situation all last week, so I
mutter, "I've been better, Willie." He goes, "I know, I know. I'm sorry
for staying away so long, but the grandparents trip developed in a hurry,
and on top of that I got that damn food poisoning which ruined our last
day at Key West, but I'll make it up to you. It'll be okay. Now, give me
a landmark near your college and I'll find it and pick you up there. I
don't have a GPS device in the Boxer yet, so be specific about where
you'll be." I go, "Okay, from the Candlelite Motor Inn, take a right on
route 114 and a few miles up the road, before you get to Merrimack
College, there's a strip mall with a Fuddruckers on the far end. I'll be
standing outside the restaurant by one-fifteen on Wednesday." Willie
goes, "Fuddruckers? Great, we'll eat lunch there and then I'll take you
for your haircut. I looked up a place in Lawrence where they advertise
short clipper cuts." As my hand goes to my hair, I'm thinking, 'Ah ha,
this can be where I put my foot down'. I say, "No, I've decided to let my
hair grow out some, not long, but like a buzz cut length maybe."
Unfortunately, Willie's got me so used to not contradicting him that my
protest came out of my mouth like a nervous whine. He says, "Forget that!
You're getting your hair cut the way Willie likes it, so get used to it.
I'll see you on Wednesday at one-fifteen and, Dylan, I can't wait to see
your cute face and fill your pussy with my big dick. I'd like to talk
longer but mother's taking me shopping for summer clothes. I hate going
shopping with her, but she insists, and anyway we're trying to have a
better child/parent thing, so I agreed to go. See ya soon. Bye for now,
baby." I go, "Oh, okay. Bye Willie."  Hmmm, well that was a first feeble
attempt at putting my foot down, but I like that one-eighth inch haircut
so I'll put my foot down on something I don't like, and it'll come out of
my mouth better. I'm feeling kind of good actually; another adventure
with Willie. They're never dull and I need a pick-me-up right about now.

Dodger and Vinnie are late so I text Dodger and he texts back that
they're on their way. My mom's ready to go off to work so we kiss goodbye
and she tells me to have fun and that she's looking forward to Sunday
brunch. We'll have it at our condo this week and Chubby and I can plan
something special while we're at dinner tonight. That'll be fun too, so
things are looking a little better for me. I'm putting my concerns about
Robby, Ryan, and me on hold until tonight when I see him in the pickup.
Should I mention my concerns to him then? No, it'll seem like whining, or
that I'm throwing the sex he had with Ryan last night back in his face.
I'll see how things go for a few more days, and I'm not mentioning my
Wednesday night with Willie until Robby's going out with Ryan, which will
probably be Monday afternoon if his pattern holds true. In addition to
Wednesday with Willie, I've got Shaun coming over for a haircut and some
sexy messin' around on Tuesday, and before that Matthew may be coming
over on Monday. He'll text me after my Monday final exam. No sexy stuff
promised by Matthew, but he did say he's been giving it some thought,
so.... ya know, we'll see. Then the doorbell rings and someone knocks
loudly on the door at the same time; kinda like a guy with
suspenders and a belt holding his pants up... redundant! It's gotta be
Dodger of course, and it is. In comes the hurricane named Dodger,
followed very closely by a shy-grinning Vinnie. Dodger has his arms
spread like, 'Ta da! I'm here', and he's talking fast. "Dylan, this is
your lucky day again!" as he's getting his arm around Vinnie's neck now,
and rubbing Vinnie's hair, while talking without taking a breath. "My
lucky day too 'cause I get to watch my boyfriend get his hair cut ultra
short, and I might even have an accident in my pants during that.
Seriously, I'm excited about this. Here's the thing, as your reward,
Vinnie's going to fuck you during the haircut the same ultra cool way I
did when you gave me my last haircut right after your Key West trip with
that rich gay kid, and that was over two weeks ago so you get to cut my
hair again today too. Isn't this just the greatest!?" I go, "I'm sorry,
Dodger, but I wasn't listening. What was that stuff you rattled off?" He
laughs, "Let's get started, and don't worry; I promised you there'd be no
three-way, and there won't be one. I'll just get myself off watching you
cut Vinnie's hair, or during my haircut, maybe both times. My haircut
fetish is a little sick, I know that, but I think it?s kinda cool too. This
might be the best haircut fantasy I could even make up in my mind, except
for the time I cut all Vinnie's long hair into a buzz cut a couple years
ago. Remember that?" I do, but claim I don't so he doesn't get the idea
these are moments for my scrapbook, if I had one, which I don't. With my
hand on the back of Vinnie's head I pry him from Dodger, and say, "Come
on down to the finished basement, Vinnie." Dodger flies down the steps
ahead of us, as light on his feet as a cat, and sees the barber tools I
brought with me from the apartment. He handles the clippers, saying,
"These things, not just yours either, other barber's clippers, too.
They've given me some really good spontaneous orgasms, and all the other
barbers before you were completely oblivious to it. What a fetish! Of
course, since you started cutting my hair it's been even better. Hey, I
thought you'd give me a hard time about Vinnie replicating the way I did
you during my last haircut." I go, "Well, for one thing it's hard to get
in a word because you talk so much, and for another I obviously thought
you were kidding." He goes, "Oh no, I wasn't kidding, was I Vinnie?"
Vinnie goes, "No, Dodger, you've gone over that fuck with me a number of
times, so I know how you did it almost perfectly. I may forget something
though." "Don't worry, Vinnie, I'll remind you," says Dodger, with a huge
smile on his face. Then he asks me, "Isn't this the best fun?" He's
patting the seat of the stool indicating that Vinnie should get up on it.
Vinnie's eyes are big as he looks at the stool, then Dodger, then me.

Finally, Vinnie says to me, "I'm a little nervous about the haircut,
Dylan, 'cause it's so short." I say, "I'll cut it any way you want,
Vinnie. Screw Dodger." Vinnie blushes, and quietly asks me, "Remember
when you and me had our boners up Dodgers ass at the same time?" I go,
"The double fuck? Yeah, I do remember since it was only last weekend, and
it was hot sharing his rectum with you." Vinnie's very likable and maybe
part of the reason I like him is the way he acts around Dodger, it
reminds me a little of how I act around Willie at times. I definitely
need to get Willie and Dodger together though, for yucks. That ride from
the airport doesn't count because Willie was sick then. Laughing out loud
just imagining those two over-confident boys clashing causes Dodger to
ask, "What's so funny, Dylan?" I tell them the joke about the three women
wearing only black bras and black eye masks. At the punch line Dodger and
Vinnie exchange blank looks, then Dodger asks, "Who's Zorro, and why's
that funny?" I go, "Never mind, it's an adult joke. Take your shirt off
Vinnie and sit the fuck down. I've only got an hour, and then I need to
get ready to go out tonight." Dodger pulls up another stool so he has a
close-up view of the impending haircut, and asks, "Where ya going
tonight, Dylan?" Vinnie's pulling his sweatshirt over his head and then
he sits the fuck down, like I told him to do, a very obedient lad.
Answering Dodger's nosy question, I go, "Chubby and me are going out to
have dinner at a restaurant tonight." Dodger says, "Can I come along?" I
go, "No, you can't. Chubby and I don't get a chance to catch-up on each
other's lives very often, so that's what we're doing tonight. Also, we're
celebrating something." I'm plugging in the clippers and trimmers as
Dodger wants to know, "What are you celebrating." I go, "It's personal,"
and Dodger asks, "Is it of a sexual nature?" and I go, "No, it's not,"
and then I ask Vinnie, "What's it going to be?" Dodger mutters, "Cut his
hair just like mine," and Vinnie goes, "Oh, Dodger I'm afraid my mom will
freak out. I think I'll just get a regular buzz cut, Dylan." I say to
Dodger, "It's his hair, and he's my customer at the moment, so I cut it
the way he wants it. Then I'll cut your's the way you want it. That's the
way it works." Dodger stretches out Vinnie's name, "Vinnieeee!" and
Vinnie goes, "Okay, I changed my mind, Dylan. I want the same haircut
Dodger has. Is that okay, Dylan?" I'm getting exasperated, "Tell me how
you want your hair cut, Vinnie!" He's looking at Dodger, mumbling, "Like
Dodger's," and I put an one-eighth inch comb on the clippers and run the
clippers down the middle of Vinnie's head shearing off about an inch and
a half of his dark hair. Dodger grabs his dick, muttering, "Oh yeah." I
say to Vinnie, you smell good Vinnie," and then run the clippers on top
of his head next to the first cut... many more hairs tumble from the
clippers to my hand and then to the floor. Vinnie says, "I took a shower
and washed my hair just before I came over for my haircut, Dylan." I
mutter, "Very considerate of you," and hold the clippers away to feel his
extremely short hair after the two runs of the clippers; it does look
sexy on him. Vinnie reaches up and feels his shorn hair too, going, "Oooh
my God." He's cute in the way Italian boys sometimes are, cute and
handsome. To bolster his confidence about the shortness of his hair, I
put the clippers down and get a hand on each of his skinny shoulders
massaging him a little, saying, "It's just like Dodger's and my haircut.
Well, ours has grown out some, but I'm getting mine cut again on
Wednesday and Dodger's getting his cut again right after you, so we'll be
the three musketeers." Vinnie has a real nice body, smallish but nice,
although he does not have a smallish dick.

Dodger's staring at Vinnie's extremely short hair with shiny eyes,
casually playing with himself. I smirk at him, then pick up the clippers
and finish the top of Vinnie's head. Dodger, staring at Vinnie's very
short hair, gulps, then says, "You're suppose to say something now,
Vinnie." Vinnie goes, "Huh? What? Oh, oh yeah! Dylan, would you please,
please, please suck my dick for just a minute?" Due to my current
situation with Robby I've decided to go along with any reasonable buddy
sex that comes my way, and Vinnie fucked me good during our three-way, so
he fits the parameters. But, to tease him a little first, I ask, "Why
should I suck your dick, Vinnie?" He furrows his eyebrows, thinking.
After a few seconds, with me rolling my eyes at Dodger, Dodger says to
me, "He'll remember, give him a second". Then Vinnie goes, "Oh yeah, it's
because I'm so turned-on by this short haircut." I laugh, going, "Vinnie,
you don't have a haircut fetish, so why ya turned-on?" He shrugs his
little well-defined shoulders, muttering, "I don't know, but Dodger said
you'd go along with it. Will you, Dylan?" Vinnie has two levels of
intelligence; the one for school which produces a 'B' average, and the
one he utilizes around Dodger, which is probably closer to a 'D' average,
but he's a sweet kid and I think he and Dodger make a hot boyfriend
combo. But, that's just me. I say, "Oh, okay. That makes sense," and
Vinnie mutters, "Hey, thanks, Dylan!" Putting the clippers down again, I
say to Dodger, "If you think we're going through this charade every time
you or Vinnie gets a haircut you're mistaken. And if you insist on it,
you'll need to find another barber." He says, "Dylan, I'm looking out for
you like I always do. I happen to know Robby's got that damn boyfriend on
the side so I figured you might need a little relief from the over-active
sex drives you and me both have in common." He's serious, which is the
scary part... also, he's right.

Vinnie's squirming on the stool getting his jeans unbuttoned, then
pulling out his thick, five-inch cock. He strokes it a couple of times
and, while digging his balls out, he asks Dodger, "Do I sit on the
stool?" Dodger nods his head, saying, "Yeah, Dylan gets on his knees in
front of you, it's just the right height for him." When I'm between
Vinnie's legs, in front of him on my knees, I rub his legs through his
jeans; the lad's got awesome legs. Looking up, I see him grinning with
his eyes shining now too, like Dodger's, so I grin back and take his cock
in my fingers to stroke it a half dozen times. He mutters, "Mmm, that's
nice," then the head goes in my mouth and I do my usual sucking and
licking, while inhaling Vinnie's clean scent. That describes it
perfectly, clean. Not a particularly sexy scent, just fresh and clean. A
few inches from me, his curly pubes are peeking out from his opened
zipper; pubes that'll be shaved this summer just like Dodger's will be.
When I've got Vinnie squirming on the stool and as he?s squeezing my
shoulders, I suck his whole cock into my mouth and lap at it until it's
firm, then take it in my throat to work on it there and after twenty
seconds Vinnie stands up, going, "Oh, oh, oh," backing away, pulling his
cock from my throat and mouth, knocking over the stool behind him in the
process. Vinnie's stroking his boner while explaining to a chuckling
Dodger, "I didn't want to spunk too soon." Then, remembering what he's
supposed to say, he mumbles, "Please let me stick it in you, Dylan, for
just a minute. I promise I won't cum inside you." I roll my eyes to
indicate this is all very silly, but stand up not complaining, as he's
pulling my sweatpants down and turning me around at the same time. Vinnie
likes me, but he doesn't have any of the deferential behavior with me
that he shows Dodger, none at all actually. Strangely, with my pants
down, I'm not feeling that this is silly anymore; the fact is, I want his
cock up my ass. It's a left over need from Willie fucking me so often in
Key West, and also all the fucking my first week back here when
everything fell perfectly in place for me. I had sex a couple times a day
that first week back. Combine that with an almost barren week of sex last
week and the need is very much there. Never mind that fast fuck Robby
laid on me some hours ago, I'm looking forward to Vinnie's fuck
now, and Robby's fuck in the pickup later tonight. God only knows how
hungry I'll be for it after Willie's done fucking me Wednesday afternoon
and night, plus probably Thursday morning too. Wow! I'll be walking
bowlegged.

Vinnie's pushing at the back of my head, which gets me bending over and
looking back at him. He has a hungry look of his own by now, the grinning
is replaced by a look of anxiousness. Maybe Dodger's fucked Vinnie into
needing sex too, like Willie's done to me. There are worse things, fer
sure. Especially for those of us lucky enough to be born with an extra
strong sex drive. Vinnie asks, "Can you bend your knees to lower your
asshole to the level of my dick? I'm not as tall as you and Dodger." I
mutter, "Yeah, of course." When I'm where he needs me to be there's no
sexy teasing from Vinnie, he simply pushes the head of his boner past my
sphincter, then grabs my hips and pulls me back onto his boner, inch by
inch. It takes only about ten seconds before I feel a hard hump of his
hips, accompanied by a grunt, and Vinnie's pubes are tight against my ass
and his balls bounce against the back of my thigh. He reaches between my
legs, past his scrotum, to grab my nuts with his smallish hand and pulls
my scrotum sack of nuts towards him painfully. I go, "Ow, goddammit,
Vinnie, that hurts." Paying no attention to my complaint, Vinnie holds
onto my nuts, keeping me stationary. After re-gripping my scrotum with a
firmer grip, getting a groan from me, he begins fucking my ass roughly.
The times he's fucked me during our three-ways were both rough. I assume
that's the way Dodger taught him to fuck. It's also a function of
recreational fucking, in my experience anyway. Lover's fucks are much
different, although recreational fucks between lovers can be rough too.
I've come to like it rough of course, so it's all good.

After only a few drives up my ass of Vinnie's sizable cock, I'm already
biting my lip trying not to moan with pleasure. My hands are on my knees,
and I stay in position to be fucked submissively. My sore nuts are
squeezed harder as Vinnie gets into the fuck, grunting and breathing
loudly, but the great sensations in my rectum have captured most of the
attention in my brain and the pain's been mostly negated. Vinnie's really
going at it and the slapping sound of his groin against my ass, along
with the quiet grunts of pleasure from Vinnie and me, are unmistakable as
butt fucking; a blind person would know what's happening almost
instantly. It's a very satisfying sound when it's being made between
consensual participants; to me it is anyway. After a bit, Dodger mutters,
"Hot, Vinnie! Very hot, you're doing it just right". Then I let a louder
moan slip out as I glance at Dodger who's massaging his junk through his
sweatpants, grinning from ear to ear. Dodger enjoys sex like I do, but I
don't get to watch it very often, which makes me remember how hot it was
watching Robby fuck Ryan, so I know where Dodger's coming from. When
Vinnie hears my louder moan of pleasure, he smacks my ass a stinging blow
and picks up the speed, grunting out a question, "Ya like my cock in your
ass, dont'cha, Dylan?" I don't reply, but two minutes later my boner's
hard against my stomach as Vinnie shouts out, "I'm gonna cum, Dodger."
Dodger says, "Slow the fuck down then, Vinnie. Ya wanna give Dylan the
kind of fuck he deserves, dont'cha? Not some half-ass quickie. You gotta
hold off until you get Dylan's orgasm fucked out of him." Vinnie slows
down, but it's still feeling awesome. His hand is sweaty on my balls and
I realize even his grip on my nuts feels good now. My balls are buzzing,
busy generating sperm, and there's a wet spot of precum around my belly
button as my dick leaks and vibrates nicely. Very enjoyable sensations in
my rectum, balls, and cock and these sensations are spreading out now
too. After a minute of slow fucking, Vinnie mutters, "I'm good," and he
begins that fast, hard slamming of his cock up my ass again. I go, "Oh,
yeah, do it, Vinnie..." He squeezes my nuts a little harder and slaps my
ass again, then really gets a rhythm going and it's constant pleasure for
three or four more minutes. I close my eyes and bite my lip as the
feeling grows and then it?s here and I tighten my muscles to help it
happen. With only a loud grunt from me, cum streaks from my cock
splashing against my belly and Dodger's somehow immediately underneath
me, the top of his head resting in the cum I just shot on my belly and
quick as a flash my cock's in his mouth and he sucks out my next three
strings of cum, swallowing them. Dodger's sucking, coupled with Vinnie's
fucking, creates such sensations of pleasure I can't help but let out
another patented squeal... it feels so fantastic. Vinnie goes, "Gawd!
Umph! Ooh oh," and my rectum is warmer and much squishier now as Vinnie
babbles while driving his boner up my ass in his own young creamy spunk.
Dodger's drained my nuts and now the after-effects of my climax are all
too quickly draining away, leaving me with that familiar weak feeling,
but it's a calm wonderful feeling of satisfaction, too. I take a big
breath as Dodger's standing, laughing, and feeling the cum in his hair.
"That was not a three-way," he yells, still laughing. Then, "Awesome!" It
was too. Vinnie's breathless as he mumbles, "Yeah, it was awesome
alright. Best ass in town, Dylan," and he pulls out stumbling over the
stool he knocked over earlier.

I straighten-up, pulling on my softening cock, as I'm contradicting
Dodger, "Oh, yes it was, Dodger, that was a three-way. Another lie from
you." He goes, "Uh uh, it was a two-and-a-half-way!" I can't help but
laugh. He's dead serious, not being a wise guy; he believes it. Vinnie's
catching his breath, muttering, "That was great, Dylan. Did you like it?"
I go, "I sure did, Vinnie," and he comes up behind me to wrap me around
the waist with both arms and then he slides his half-boner up my ass to
do a hips-only fuck, mumbling again, "Nice ass, Dylan." His bare chest
against my back feels sexy, but I only tolerate this for a minute or so,
and then pry his hands and arms away from me to walk a couple steps away,
his dick flopping out of my ass with the first step. "I've had enough,
Vinnie. It was really good though." I wasn't feeling the encore with
Vinnie, but I let it go on for that minute so his feelings don't get
hurt. He doesn't look hurt; he's beaming at Dodger, waiting for approval.
Dodger gets a hand on either side of Vinnie's face, then kisses him on
the lips, saying, "You're awesome Vinnie, I couldn't do it better myself.?
Vinnie puts his sloppy cock away and zips up, saying, "Yeah, you could,
Dodger, but thanks." In the half-bath I clean the cum off my ass and legs
and then pull my pants up. Some cum will be drooling out, but cum in my
pants doesn't bother me anymore. When I walk out of the half-bath,
Vinnie's back sitting on the stool, feeling the very short hair on top of
his head while Dodger's explaining to him, "No, don't be defensive. Tell
your mom this haircut's the latest style. She's seen it on me and never
said anything about it." Vinnie goes, "She said stuff to me." "What?"
Dodger asks, and Vinnie goes, "She said it was too short, that's what."
Dodger dismisses that with a wave of his hand, muttering, "I told ya what
to say, just say it, you'll see." I've had enough of the Dodger/Vinnie
drama so I pick up the clippers and do the sides and back of Vinnie's
head. Then outline around his entire hairline carefully with the
trimmers. "Do you want a little part shaved in, Vinnie?" He asks Dodger,
"Do I, Dodger?" Dodger says, "No," and that's what Vinnie tells me as I
roll my eyes; then, because he looks so innocent I squeeze his sexy
shoulders, saying, "That's it, Vinnie, you're done and no matter what
your mom says you look cool, dude!" He mumbles, "I'm gonna check myself
out," and he goes into the half-bath to gawk at himself in the mirror.
Dodger sits on the stool and takes his shirt off. Then he says, "Do the
haircut slow, Dylan, okay? I'm almost to orgasm right now, and lets not
talk either because I want to savor my fetish." I ask, "Does your fetish
ever make you feel like you're ten years old, anything like that?" He
turns his head, asking, "What the fuck you been smoking, Dylan? Why would
I feel like I'm ten years old, fer chrissakes?" I go, "Just kidding,
forget about it," and start Dodger's haircut the same way I started
Vinnie's, running the clippers down the middle of Dodger's scalp. Much
less hair comes of with this haircut because I cut Dodger's hair a couple
of weeks ago. It's grown maybe a quarter inch, which is about the length
of the clippings. It'll all soon be back to one-eighth inch like mine's
gonna be after my haircut on Wednesday. The cum in Dodger?s hair makes
those hairs stiff but these are professional clippers purchased a few
years ago, used, on eBay. Maybe five minutes into the haircut, with
neither Vinnie, me, or Dodger saying a word, the clippers the only sound
any of us hears, Dodger's body gets tense as a steel wire with him
grunting quietly and subtly humping his hips. I assume he's having a
spontaneous climax, just like Willie can give me from just making-out
with me and messin' with my anus. After some deep breaths, Dodger goes,
"Ahhh, that was awesome. I just had a orgasm in my pants, and it felt
great. Oh man! What a rush, love this fetish!" For the rest of his
haircut Dodger talks non-stop describing each phase of arousal he
experienced prior to his spontaneous climax. He makes it sound hot, too.

With both haircuts completed, I help by rubbing hairs off Dodger's and
Vinnie's shoulders, enjoying the feel of their youthful skin texture.
They then put their shirts on and we go outside for a cigarette, and to
compare climaxes. Vinnie's climax seems to be the most explosive, and
while I did exaggerate mine quite a bit to make Vinnie feel good, it was
pretty hot to begin with. Certainly it wasn't up there with the best
climaxes I've had, but good enough. As I always say: the worst orgasm I
ever had was pretty damn good. We goof around for a while, but then I
need to shoo them on their way so I can clean up the hair clippings and
take a shower. Gotta get ready for my dinner with Chubby. Right now I'm
feeling the best I've felt since finding out about Ryan. It's a
combination of things: one, Robby fucked me a quickie this morning, and
he's doing a better one tonight in his pickup; I hope he is at least, he
said he would. There was a time I'd stake my life on Robby's word, but
lately Ryan's clouded Robby's thinking and his word hasn't always meant
what he said. The second reason I'm feeling better, though not great, are
the prospects I have lined up for this coming week, which include the
hottie Shaun, and possibly even Matthew. At the very least there will be
two very nice heads of hair I'll get to cut, and that's fun and sexy for
me. The third thing is Willie on Wednesday, which I'm getting more
excited about the closer I am to it. I'm going to let myself go again
with Willie, but not to the degree I did in Key West. Truth is, I want to
experience that ten year old feeling again. It's an indescribable state
of mind, calming and dreamy and sexy, and there's a scary little bit of a
powerless feeling associated with it too. At least that's how it's been
with Willie. And the forth thing making me feel better about things is
the fact we're almost finished with our freshman year, and we're all
doing pretty good with the grades. So, my life's looking much better than
it did yesterday or the day before; things are trending in the right
direction. The hair cleanup is no problem and the shower is just what I
needed to perk me up further. Out of the shower and dried off, I check my
watch and see it's only six-thirty so I'm in good shape time-wise, too.

Light tan kakis, blue button-down-collar shirt, dark blue Merrimack
V-neck sweater, and oxblood loafers is my outfit for Ken's Steak House.
Chubby calls me on his cell phone saying, "I got home earlier than I
expected, so I'm showered and dressed already. Our reservation's not
until eight o'clock, so come on up and we'll do some front loading 'cause
we sure as shit won't get served booze at Ken's." I go, "I'll be right
up, Chub." First I'm checking myself out in the mirror while trying to
brush my quarter-inch long hair. I'm thinking, 'Looking good, dude'. My
earrings are cool, two little gold hoops, and I again think of that hot
stud I met on the Wildwood boardwalk a couple of years ago; him and his
sexy cute boyfriend, Richie. Cool dudes and I'm feeling kinda cool myself
tonight. A little too dressed-up maybe, but I'll rock the preppy look
tonight. I'm wearing the oh-so-cool watch that Willie bought me in Key
West and the cross necklace too; it's hanging around my neck, laying on
the sweater looking sexy. Last thing is to check that I've got my wallet
and money, and I'm good to go. Upstairs at Chubby's condo I remember I
forgot cigarettes, but let myself in anyway and see that Chubby's wearing
almost the identical outfit I'm wearing. He says, "Ah ha, brilliant minds
think alike", meaning we're dressed the same. I go, "You look marvelous,"
saying it like that guy on Saturday Night Live does in the old reruns of
that show. Chubby's got two shot glasses set-up on the kitchen bar along
with a bottle of Maker's Mark 46 bourbon, two unopened pony bottles of
Rolling Rock beer, and a can of Planters honey roaster peanuts and
cashews. I'm like, "Oh no, not shots and beers!" Chubby laughs, saying,
"Yeah, but we're not in a contest defending the drinking prowess of
Merrimack students tonight, so we should be okay with a few shots and
beers." That gets me muttering, "I'm not worried about me 'cause I know
my limit, but shots and beers have been known to be your downfall,
Chubby." He goes, "Give me a hug, and shut the fuck up with the lecture,
mommy." I chuckle, saying, "We need to adopt the Dickers? brothers quick as
a wink kiss; you know, when we meet after a long separation." Chubby hugs
me, asking, "What qualifies as a long separation?" I'm like, "Four
hours," and I do the quick as a wink kiss on his lips making Chubby
smile. He goes, "Looks like I don't have much say in the matter," as he
wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Hey!" I yell, "You just wiped
my kiss away. We'll need to do it again, and this time leave the fuckin'
kiss there." He imitates my eye-roll and stands there while I kiss him
again, and this time it's longer then a quick as a wink kiss. Chubby
asks, "We good now?" I say, "I guess, but you're supposed to kiss back."
He mumbles, "The boy's never satisfied," as he pours two shots of his
mom's Maker's Mark bourbon, then takes the caps off the seven-ounce
bottles of beer and holds up his shot glass of bourbon, saying, "To us,
the best friends the world's ever seen... to quote you." I'm like, "Well,
I'll toast to that," and pick up the other shot glass to touch Chubby's
shot glass, and we both go, "Cheers,"  then dump the whole ounce and a
half of bourbon in our mouths and swallow. I'm immediately gagging as all
kinds of saliva invades my mouth and the feeling of hurling coming on me
fast. I grab the beer bottle and chug a few swallows, tempering the
danger of vomiting just enough to avoid throwing up; then I gobble a half
dozen sweet nuts to further kill the taste of the bourbon and beer.
Gasping, with tears in my eyes, I exclaim, "That was awesome!" Chubby's
smirking as he sips at his beer, then says, "You almost tossed your
cookies, didn't ya?" I'm indignant, "Surely you jest. Shots and beers are
one of my favorite things," as I'm burping and wiping the tears from my
eyes, adding, "I need a cigarette after that."

He's laughing, muttering, "One of your favorite things, my ass!" and I
go, "That too," and goose his ass as we're going out on the balcony. In
the fresh cool air my head clears and my stomach settles down. Chubby
says, "My mom says that when she was our age everyone smoked in their
houses, cars, bars, at work... you name it; there was cigarette smoking
going on, and most people smoked back then too. Now smokers are like
outcasts." I mumble, "Stupid social mores rule our lives. Humans are
lemmings." He says, "Well, that ain't the way I roll, lemmings-wise I
mean. I think for myself, which reminds me; how about we hit the mall
tomorrow 'cause I want to get my other ear pierced. That's a cool look."
I go, "Uh huh, where'd ya ever get that idea?" He's indignant, "Not
because you have both ears pierced, if that's what you're inferring. I
had the idea way before you even got your first ear pierced." I've got an
expression on my face inferring I'm dubious about that last statement,
Chubby lights a cigarette, muttering, "Think what you want, but, like I
said, I was thinking of getting both ears pierced before you got your
cute ear pierced." He takes a drag as I'm saying, "I believe you made fun
of my pierced ear initially, and then got your left ear pierced just like
mine a couple of weeks later." He exhales smoke through his grin,
mumbling, "Revisionist history," and I grin now too and, taking the
cigarette from his fingers, ask, "How'd your day go with Mary Jo's
father?" After I take a drag Chubby takes back the cigarette, "Mary Jo
and I now hate each other so the day was pretty awkward actually, but I
made seventy dollars. Seven hours of work at ten bucks an hour. If I'd
worked slower I could have dragged it out to eight hours. Her father
can't hire anyone as cheap as I work, so he's stuck with me. He even
offered me a job this summer, but it's a part time gig and I'd rather
work with you and Robby full time this summer." He burps up some bourbon
and spits it over the balcony. I go, "Cheap bourbon," and Chubby says,
"The hell it is, the price tag on the bottle says thirty-one dollars." I
exclaim, "You're shitting me," and he goes, "I shit you not, take a look
when we go inside." To get the last word, I say, "Your mom got robbed,
dude." We finish the first cigarette and Chubby flicks it twenty feet out
from the balcony. Back inside we grab our pony bottles of Rolling Rock
beer, then back outside again to light a second cigarette, which we'll
share like the first one. This time we do the childish exaggerated
lipping of the cigarette's filter each time we pass it back and forth,
which gets us giggling like nine-year old boys. I don't know why we think
that's so funny, but we do. Gulping down the rest of our seven-ounce
beers, I take a last drag off the cigarette butt and flick it off Chubby,
but it does go over the balcony after hitting him. I laugh, saying, "I
did that on purpose." He goes, "You're gonna set me on fire one of these
days, bro," and I get the last word in again, "You're so hot, Chubby, I
expect you to spontaneously burst into flames every time I see you." He
squeezes my hand and we go inside for another beer.

"These pony bottles are the way to roll, Dylan. Ya don't get as drunk
drinking these." I'm like, "That's insane! Ya just drink more of them,
it's no different than drinking from twelve-ounce bottles." He taps his
head with his forefinger, "It's psychological, my friend." I go, "It's
idiotic, is what it is." Taking the offered second bottle from Chubby, I
ask, "How come you and Mary Jo went from being boyfriend and girlfriend
to hating each other? Isn't there some middle ground? I mean, Robby and
me are at some sort of crossroads, but we'll never come close to hating
each other. That's inconceivable. And we're never going to be
just-somebody-that-we-used-to-know either; we'll be lovers or, at least
good friends forever." He shrugs, takes a long pull on the pony bottle,
and says, "Maybe you'll think differently if you break-up. And it beats
me why Mary-pain-in-the-ass-Jo and me hate each other, Dylan. All I know
is I hate her and she hates me." I ask, "How 'bout Sam, do ya hate her
yet?" He chuckles, saying, "Pretty much," then laughs some more,
shrugging his shoulders again. I mutter, "Weird," and Chubby explains
that he's never been close to being in love with a girlfriend, and he
thinks that's the difference; Robby and I are in love. I'm like, "It may
just be a 'straight' thing too, the hating. I've read that husbands and
wives who've loved each other, and then get divorced for some reason, can
often hate each other. So it's not just when there's no love was
initially involved, it's that it was straight love." Chubby says, "You're
giving me a headache. Why do you always need to over-analyze everything
when some things are just the way they are? And anyway, all straight
marriages that end in divorce don't end with the two hating each other."
I go, "Some do," and he says, "Some gays probably do too." It's my turn
to shrug, as I mutter, "You don't know that." Chubby's grinning as he
pours us another shot of bourbon, then he says, "Your turn for a toast,
mister get-the-last-word-in." I smirk at him thinking how cool he looks,
then pick-up my shot glass, and say, "To friendship and our love of a
lifetime." We click glasses and swill down the vile booze. It's horrible
this time too, but the urge to throw-up isn't as noticeable, although
sweat does break out on my forehead. I guzzle the beer to kill the taste
of Maker's Mark 46. When my stomach stops heaving, I say, "Just a
suggestion, but your mom might want to consider trying Maker's Mark 47
next time. This is a little rough." Chubby laughs and plops half a
handful of peanuts in him mouth and chews them, going, "Mmmm, good!" Then
he says, "This is a top of the line booze. There isn't a 47 variety." I
mutter, "I knew that," and Chubby says, "Last-word-Dylan. That's what I'm
going to call you from now on." I look at him with affection in my eyes,
and say, "I love doing things with you, Chubby. We gotta do more stuff
together, just you and me." He gets up, ruffling my short hair, saying,
"I gotta use the little boy's room. Ya wanna do that together too, just
you and me?" Realizing the booze is affecting me a bit, I say, "Splendid
idea, Chubby," and follow him into his bathroom to exclaim, "Oh my God,
Chubby! When was the last time you picked up in here?" He takes out his
dick while lifting up the toilet seat, mumbling, "I'm gonna clean up in
here soon, mister neatnik." Pulling out my dick, I start peeing, crossing
streams with Chubby's pee stream, asking him, "Do ya notice a difference
in our dicks?" He yells, "That's a low blow, Mister Big Dick!" And I say,
"Stop calling me names." Finished his pee, Chubby hugs my shoulders and
kisses my cheek, saying, "I love you, Dylan Big Dick." I can't help but
smile, muttering, "Me too, Chubby."

We do a third shot and then Chubby puts the bourbon away, saying, "That's
about all we need of this dangerous substance," and we finish our third
beer on the balcony smoking again. We're both pleasantly affected by the
booze, but we're not drunk. Now if it were Robby, he'd be drunk. Funny
how some guys have a better tolerance for alcohol than others. Finished
the beer and cigarette, we go back to Chubby's messy bathroom to take
turns with his toothbrush, then gargle to lesson the smell of booze on
our breath. Chubby says, "I'm feeling great and I'm hungry too, but we
gotta stop for cigarettes 'cause those were my last two." I go, "Good
planning, Chubby. You could have bought a pack in Salem, New Hampshire,
which is six miles from our college, where they cost five dollars and
change. Instead you're cleverly buying them in Framingham where you gotta
pay eight dollars and change, plus they add the sales tax, they're taxing
taxes, fer chrissakes. I'll get a pack from my condo." He says, "That's
the second lecture from you tonight. You've reached your lecture limit
for the evening, and I'm buying my own pack. I don't mooch." Shrugging, I
go, "Suit yourself," and expect Chubby to say something about me getting
the last word again, but he squeezes my hand and smiles instead. He was
thinking of saying something though. We go down one fight of stairs to
the level my condo's on, and then down another longer flight of steps to
our Jeep that's parked at the curb, and I get in the driver?s side, asking,
"Where ya wanna get the cigarettes?" He says, "Joe's Variety store," so I
drive there using my will power not to say something along the lines of
'Not only are you paying way more for cigarettes in Massachusetts, but
you're buying them at a convenience store where the price is jacked-up
further on everything'. It's not my money, but it's not real smart. I
park at Joe's and Chubby says, "Come in with me, Dylan, so I don't do
anything else that's dumb." I go, "I'm sorry if I inferred that, Chubby.
I don't think you're dumb; far from it." He gets his arm around my neck
affectionately, mumbling, "I'm kidding you." I go, "I knew that," and we
go inside where I spot Ray with one of his friends. Ray comes right over,
to say, "Hiya, Dylan. Um, do you think we can get together this weekend?"
I ask, "Where's our hug?" We do the one arm hug with a pat on the back,
then I say, "Maybe, Ray. I've got a lot of stuff I gotta do though. It's
final exams week, but I'll call your cell phone if I can find some free
time. I'd really like to help you further in your quest to determine if
you?re bi. What's your cellphone number?" He gives it to me and as I'm
typing his number into my cell phone, he asks, "Have ya given any more
thought to us being, you know, boyfriends? I'll drop the girlfriend if
that would help." I pat his shoulder, saying, "I'm kinda tied up with
boyfriends and girlfriends right now, Ray, but it's a long summer so ya
never know. You're cool for asking though, dude." He smiles, "Thanks, you
too. We'd be good together 'cause you're a bottom and I top awesomely,
don't ya think?" I go, "You're hot alright." Chubby's got his pack of
cigarettes now, so he comes over, asking, "Yo Ray, you do anything weird
lately?" Ray shrinks away from Chubby, muttering, "I don't do weird
things," then to me, "I gotta see what my bud's up to. See ya later,
Dylan." I shoot him with my index finger, asking Chubby, "Why are you so
mean to him?" Chubby shrugs, "He's weird, that's why," and we have no
more to say about that, except to get my last word in, I mutter, "He's
not any weirder than most."

Back in the Jeep Chubby says, "We're late again, it's five of eight." I
answer with, "It's not necessary to be there exactly at eight. Anyway,
they keep us waiting sometimes with that bull crap about,? and now I mimic
a person at the reservation station when they give the line, "We're
setting up your table now. It'll only be a few minutes." At the
restaurant we get seated right away which is disappointing because I
wanted my prediction to happen. Well, we're ten minutes late so I guess
they had time to set-up our table during those ten minutes. All the booze
I drank is now into my bloodstream, and I'm feeling it. Booze loosens up
one's inhibitions, so while we're looking at the menus, I ask Chubby,
"How many times a week do you have sex with one of your girlfriends?" He
says, "If I'm lucky once or twice, how 'bout you?" I blush, saying,
"That's kind of a personal question, isn't it?" Chubby laughs, muttering,
"You are one of a kind, Dylan. I love ya, dude." I'm thinking, 'Jesus,
twice a week? If I don't get it twice a day I'm moping around.' In a
serious manner, 'cause I'm seriously interested, I ask, "Is twice a week
about average for straight guys?" Chubby says, "Hell no! It's way above
average for the majority of guys that I know, not that we have frank
discussions about it. I'd say there's probably only fifteen percent of
guys at college who will stay virgins right through college, but that
don't mean they're getting it regularly. Some maybe get laid randomly
only a few times by the time they graduate, and that includes random
fucks they may have managed in high school." That makes me think of Ears
Henderson and his roommate Scott Tinsdale. Scott told me neither of them
has 'scored' all year. Glad I'm not straight. Before I can say anything
else, a waitress, looking a little like Chubby's mom, says, "Hello boys,
what can I get for you tonight?" Chubby asks, "What's the prime rib look
like tonight?" Our waitress says, "All the rare slices are gone, but we
have some that are almost medium rare." Chubby looks at me and I go,
"Nah, why take a chance?" Then to the waitress, "I'll have Ken's
special-cut steak on the rare side, french fries and the house salad."
She says, "You get a choice of vegetables too," and I go, "Do deep-fried
onion rings count as a vegetable?" She laughs, "For you they do, good
looking," and I blush slightly, mumbling, "Thanks, I'll have those."
Chubby goes, "I'll have everything Dylan's having, sounds good." She's
writes stuff on a little pad, asking, "Something to drink?" I go, "Iced
tea with lots of sugar and two slices of lemon." Chubby asks, "What beers
do you have on tap?" and she smiles, saying, "I hope you have a good fake
driver?s license because you look way too young to be ordering beer." I
say, "There's actually no age limit for ordering it," and she laughs
again. Then she says, "No, you're right there, Dylan. Are you two
good-looking boys brothers?" Chubby goes, "Are you kidding? He's a foot
taller than me." She's a real nice lady, telling us, "My two sons look
alike, but one is five inches taller than the other, and they?re over
twenty years old so their growing years are over." Chubby's like, "No
kidding, but we're not brothers. Instead of beer, 'cause I left my fake
ID at home, I'll have a Coke. That goes with steak, right?" She has such
a nice easy smile as she's saying, "Coke goes with anything in my book.
Thank you, guys. It'll be a few minutes, we're busy as hell tonight."
Chubby and I mumble, "No problem," and she says, "Your drinks will be
right up, along with a basket of rolls."

When she leaves, Chubby's like, "That's a good waitress," and I tell him
about the coughing waitress-from-hell Robby and me had last night at the
second restaurant we tried. He says, "You guys did the right thing in
walking out. Usually us teens get no respect." I go, "I think it's a
tipping thing; some teens aren't into tipping, ya know." Chubby's like,
"Assholes. Hey, did I tell you my mom's already rented a place in
Wildwood again this year?" I go, "Hot shit!" although he'd already told
me some time ago. I go back to my alcohol-assisted frank discussion about
sex. "Chubby, um... that is, you and I have experienced my kind of sex a
couple of times, how come straight sex is better?" He goes, "Fuck, I wish
I had another beer," I go, "And a cigarette." He makes a face, then says,
"It?s hard for me to really differentiate the two, Dylan. Gay and straight
sex, I mean, and not the beer and cigarettes." We're not slurring our
words in the least, but the booze has loosened our tongues. I ask, "Why's
that?" and Chubby's like, "Because I'm prejudiced where you?re concerned
and I haven't done it with any other boy, so I'd say having sex with you,
while it's not a good idea because it gives you false signals, is just as
pleasurable for me as having sex with girls. I don't have anything else
to compare it with except you and the girls I've been lucky enough to
have sex with." I ask, "How 'bout Ricky?" He says, "You know I hate
talking about that, Dylan. It's the low point in my life, and anyway I
never fucked him; it was always the other way around." Pressing my luck,
I mutter, "You told me you were getting to like it." He gets a disgusted
expression on his face, then says, "Goddammit, Dylan, will you ever let
me forget that? I was brainwashed or something. Him and his father were
master manipulators of all us window washer boys. We were seventeen fer
chrissakes! It was the money crunch, too and I wanted to make my share
because you were making yours. We needed driver's licenses and that meant
driver?s training costs, then we needed to buy our Jeep, and that meant
auto insurance. All that shit cost money. I let money fool me into
believing in Ricky and his father, maybe because I wanted to impress you
by contributing more than you to our cause. I don't know, but it's a
humiliation that will stay with me all my life. And it started out like a
simple game of merits and demerits; I told you all about it. Spankings in
jest became real spankings, then it was bare ass spanking after awhile,
then we had to take our pants off completely. It's was like, every little
new indignity I'd think, ?Well I've come this far so what's a little more??
And then the playful fingering of assholes of the guys who were that
day's demerit leaders, with the rest of the crew laughing and egging
Ricky on until penetration and then, you know..." Chubby's got tears in
his eyes by now, so I say, "We paid those assholes back, Chubby. They're
the ones who won't forget that payback all their miserable lives." He
nods his head, "Yeah, thanks to you we paid them back," and that makes me
remember Jake's rape of me. He took care of the payback with my promise
not to tell anyone about him raping me, and we both kept our word. Chubby
goes, "The payback you arranged scared the shit out of me, to tell you
the truth. Burning their house down and kicking the living shit out of
them was maybe a little over the top. How'd you manage to get in touch
with that motorcycle gang? I forget." I go, "Through my mom's boyfriend
at the time. Neither he nor I mentioned that to mom though." Then we're
both pensive and I'm wishing I'd never brought the subject up. In my
convoluted thinking I was hoping to get around to somehow convincing
Chubby that boy-on-boy buddy sex wasn't so bad, and so maybe later
tonight... you know. But now I can see I accomplished the opposite, and
it was a stupid booze-induced idea in the first place because I'm going
to be with Robby later tonight anyway.

Another waitress interrupts our pensiveness by putting a basket of French
rolls on the table along with a saucer containing balls of butter in ice,
then she asks, "Who gets the Coke?" Chubby raises a finger and she puts a
large glass of Coke in front of him and a similarly sized glass of iced
tea in front of me. We mumble, "Thanks," and both take a drink, then grab
a roll and butter it. With a mouthful of roll, I say, "I'm sorry I
brought that Ricky memory up, Chubby." He rubs his nose, then says, "No,
it's okay, Dylan. I was just thinking about how the memory doesn't cause
me as much anguish as it used to. Maybe I've rationalized in my mind that
I couldn't have done anything differently than I did at the time. I
finally stopped putting up with it and then, before I could get fired,
you brought hell down on their heads when I told you about it. The only
thing I hate is that I didn't figure things out sooner, but I learned a
lesson. If something doesn't seem right for any reason, I'm not doing it.
I'll bet nobody will ever be able to fuck with my head like that again."
I grin, saying, "I'm sure you didn't over-rationalize anything. When have
you ever used convenient rationalization?" He spits out some crumbs of
roll laughing. Then chuckling, he goes, "Okay, fine... once in a while I
rationalize. It's a very useful tool." We both grab another roll, as
Chubby asks, "What would you imagine the first product in America with a
bar code was?" I guess, "Condoms?" He says, "Good guess, you're close,
but it was Wrigley's gum." I mutter, "That was my second choice." He
asks, "In a deck of cards which king is the only one without a mustache?"
I guess, "King of diamonds?" He says, "Oh my God, everyone knows the king
of diamonds has a mustache. It's the king of hearts, of course. Use your
head." I laugh, asking, "How many planets rotate clockwise?" Chubby
drinks some Coke, then says, "Just one, Venus." I go, "Yeah that was too
easy," thinking, ?How the fuck did he know that?' I looked up a couple of
factoids online knowing we were going out to dinner and I wanted to turn
the tables on him. Chubby's the king of factoids though. He's got
another, "This is an ironic one, Dylan. What scared Walk Disney more than
anything?" I'd really like to get this, so I'm thinking ironically, and,
thinking about Mickey Mouse, I come up with, "Was it mice?" Chubby goes,
"I forget," and we both laugh. Good, I finally guessed one correctly.
Then our food comes and we dig in, and it's delicious. In between a big
piece of steak and a french fry, Chubby mutters, "Good choice, Dylan,"
and that makes me think of Willie always ordering my food for me when
we're at a restaurant.

During dinner, we talk mostly about our freshman year at Merrimack
highlighting the good times, which consists mostly of living on our own
and the parties, and the low points, which consists mainly of long boring
classes and the unexpected amount of out of class work we need to do at
night. See, college would be almost perfect if there wasn't any formal
education involved! But, as I always say, few things are perfect. We eat
everything on our plates as we talk, and maybe our so-called vegetable
was the most delicious part of the meal, which is saying something
because all of it was excellent. After the table is cleared by an
average-looking and slightly stuck-up busboy, our cheerful waitress
appears, asking, "Any room left for dessert, fellows?" Chubby asks, "Do
you still have the white cake with white icing and sprinkles?" She says,
"Yes, we do," and Chubby says, "I'll have that, please. Oh, and a cup of
coffee too." Naturally I go, "Me too. The same thing." She chuckles, "You
guys are two peas in a pod, ain't cha?" I go, "Exactly!" and Chubby
mutters, "Not really," but he's smiling at me with that look of love in
his eyes that I see in Chubby's eyes from time to time, and it makes me
feel warm all over. When our nice waitress leaves, I say, "We are too
like two peas in a pod. We tell each other everything, dress alike,
people say we look alike, and we're identical best friends like the world
has never seen before." Chubby goes, "Well, we don't tell each other
everything. For example, I got a huge secret that I'm not telling you;
two of them actually." I ask, "What are they?" He laughs, saying, "That's
what makes them secrets, me not telling you. If I told you, then I
wouldn't have secrets, would I?" I nag him to tell me until our desserts
arrive and then we dig into them. After we've eaten every crumb, Chubby
takes a sip of coffee, without slurping it, and says, "I've got to let
someone else tell you one of the two secrets because I'm not supposed to
even know about it; and the other one is my own, but I don't know if
telling you it is the right thing to do." The waitress is back, "Ready
for the check, fellows?" Chubby goes, "Oh, that won't be necessary
because we're going to sneak out without paying." She smiles, saying,
"Somehow you two don't seem the type to do that," and I say, "You're
right again, and I'll have another piece of cake and another coffee; then
we're ready for the check." Chubby mumbles, "This pea would like the same
thing Dylan's getting." She laughs her easy laugh, saying, "You too are
awfully cute, or I guess you'd prefer handsome." I go, "No, cute's good."
Another smile and she's off to get more cake... let 'em eat cake!

After eating the second piece of cake, I'm finally full. The bill comes
and Chubby leaves the entire eighty-two dollars we stole from the would
be rapists, saying, "We need to throw in five bucks each of our own money
to get the tip to twenty percent." I pull a five-dollar bill from my
pocket, saying, "Jeez, the price of eating out has gone up since the last
time we were here." Chubby says, "When was the last time you got a meal
like this for five dollars?" I go, "The last time we had dinner with the
moms; that was five dollars less, actually." He goes, "Ya got me there,
bro," and then we're off for the parking lot and an after dinner
cigarette. After lighting up the cigarette and taking a drag, Chubby
passes the smoke to me, asking, "Ya wanna go to a party tonight?" I say,
"Let me text Robby. We're supposed to hook-up later tonight." Chubby
goes, "That's cool, we don't need to stay long anyway. I was up early
this morning and worked all day so I'm kinda tired, but a little partying
I can handle." I text Robby and he texts me right back saying, ?Due to
Dodger not getting home until eight o'clock from whatever he was doing
with Vinnie, and I don't even want to know what that was, but he told me
anyway which made me think of you and me, we're late. We're just sitting
down to dinner now at Bugaboo Creek. I'm getting a steak. I'll pick you
up at your place around eleven thirty. Okay?? The original limits of early
texting don't hold true for iPhones anymore; we can send texts like it's
a short email. I text back, ?I'll be ready and I'm looking forward to it.? I
ask Chubby, "Where's the party?" He goes, I don't know. I wasn't invited,
but it's sort of an open party for friends I hear, so that's no problem.
Mary Jo's father mentioned that she was going to the party tonight so
that's how I know there is one." I ask, "What's your plan? Go door to
door until we find it?" He says, "We could do that, or I can call Mary
pain-in-the-ass Jo's cell phone and ask her." I go, "But you hate each
other?" and he's like, "That don't mean she won't tell me where the
party's at," as he's hitting her speed dial number. He holds his hand up,
meaning he needs to talk. "Yes, it's me and no I'm not apologizing." He
waits a second, then says, "Well, I hate you even more than that. Where's
the party?" He listens, then says, "The same to you! Now where the fuck's
the party?" He's nodding his cute head, then, "Yeah, I know him. He's
cool." Raising his eyebrows, he gives me a look, like 'what a pain in the
ass she is'. His last words to Mary Jo are, "Yeah, right after hell
freezes over," and then clicks off the connection, telling me, "It's at
Jesse Butler's house. Plenty of booze, of which I'm not going to
overindulge, so save the lecture." We get in the Jeep with Chubby
driving, because he knows where we're going. I ask, "Who's Jesse Butler?"
Chubby tells me, "He's a junior from Amherst College; pretty good guy.
You'll think he's very hot too. He dates one of pain-in-my-ass Mary Jo's
girlfriends from her neighborhood." I go, "It should be interesting being
an uninvited guest at a party where most of the attendees are probably
agreeing with Mary Jo's point of view regarding you guys breaking up."
Chubby laughs, saying, "Yeah, sounds like fun."

to be continued...

Donny Mumford    thinat20@yahoo.com