Date: Sun, 19 Jun 2011 07:16:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR Chapter 9 by Donny Mumford
DYLAN'S FRESHMAN YEAR
Chapter 9
by Donny Mumford
It's Sunday night after an awesome winter barbecue at the Dickers; Chubby's
gotta take off soon for a date with Samantha, but first a cigarette behind
the garage with Dodger, Robby, and me. Dodger says, "Ya know, guys, mom and
dad are totally aware we're smoking cigarettes back here." Robby's like, "Yeah,
no shit... but smoking here allows them to pretend we're not smoking, and thus
prevents us from needing to hear a lecture about the evils of it all." Chubby
and I exchange looks, and then shrug 'cause our moms gave-up lecturing us long
ago, and anyway the moms sneak cigarettes themselves when they're having
cocktails, so it'd be a bit hypocritical of them to continue pestering us about
it. And, because they've stopped nagging us about our nasty cigarette habit,
Chub and I pretend we don't know that they're sneaking 'em either... another
example of 'don't ask, don't tell'. Chubby asks, "Who can lend me twenty-five
dollars until next pay day?" Robby says, "No sweat, I'd do it in a second
except my money's back at the apartment." Dodgers like, "I'll lend it to ya,
but you'll need to break a hundred dollar bill?" Chubby's rolling his eyes,
mumbling, "Fuck you, Dodger, you've never seen a hundred dollar bill in your
whole life. How 'bout you Dylan?" I go, "Sure, Chubby," as I take out my
wallet, thinking to myself, "Guess he forgot about the money I lent him to take
Sam to Bertuccis restaurant that time. It was that time I thought he was
breaking-up with her". In my wallet are two twenties and a ten, so he says,
"Okay, make it thirty... thanks, Bro, I'll hit ya back Saturday." I nod my head,
mumbling, "Sure, okay... that's cool." Dodger says, "Maybe I'm working
Chubby's side of the street with this, but do you numbnuts know that tigers,
the big bad cats in a zoo, not only have striped fur, but their skin is striped
too." I go, "Oh balls! You're gonna do factoids too? Isn't it bad enough
dealing with Chubby's?" and Chubby gives me a comical look of surprise, like
he's shocked someone wouldn't enjoy his factoids. Dodger's like, "What? Since
when does Chubby do factoids?" Everyone exhales smoke in his direction, and
then Chubby says, "You got that stupid factoid from a Snapple cap, Dodger."
Dodger goes, "Snapple cap, my ass! Did ya know that in Texas it's illegal to
graffiti someone's cow?" Robby and me groan as Chubby steps on his cigarette
butt, saying, "Another Snapple cap factoid... very, very lame!" Dodger
indignantly goes, "Snapple cap my ass!" and for some reason we all laugh like
it's the funniest thing ever, with Dodger laughing the hardest. We're all nuts.
After Chubby takes off, the rest of us watch a couple innings of a preseason
Red Sox game from Fort Myers, Florida. It won't be long until Spring is here
and baseball is king. Of course, the Celtics still need to wrap up their
regular season and then there's the playoffs, and same for the Bruins. Lots
of pro sports action which Robby loves; me too, but not to the degree he's into
it. We have an early class tomorrow though, so we leave before the game's
over, and then there's a typical major drama at the front door with the moms and
Robby's parents all hugging us goodbye like we're going off to war. The adults
have been doing some damage to the wine cellar for the past few hours so they're
all in good spirits, pun intended, and are therefore overly affectionate. As
Tris is hugging me and Chubby the sides of Chubby's and my face squish together
deliciously, then Dodger gives me a big goose down under my ass, near my nuts,
and I almost let out a squeal, but manage to control myself and just do a long
noisy exhale giving Dodger a pissed-off look which results in his beautiful
smiling face, as he's mouthing, "How 'bout that fuck I gave you today?" My face
gets red as I glance around to see if any of the adults saw him mouthing that,
but of course he wouldn't have done it if any of them could see him. The
expression on my blushing face gets Dodger laughing again as he comes in for a
hug. Up close, he says in my ear, "You're the coolest kid I've ever met," and
I feel good about that; but, in retrospect have no idea what the criteria might
be for being the coolest kid Dodger's ever met. Then Robby and I make it to
his pickup and we're finally on our way with him driving and leaving a little
rubber to get us moving; that pickup has got some good pickup! In the side
mirror I see the adults wandering back inside the house as Dodger looks after
us. Just before we turn the corner I look back at him and wave only to see
Dodger giving me the finger as a big smile breaks out on his face... what a
gorgeous boy!
Robby's not very talkative during the ride so it's a little awkward... with
Chubby I can go for a couple of hours without talking, but dead silence with
anyone else makes me uncomfortable. I try bringing up one thing or another and
each time Robby, while polite, won't extend it so we end up listening to the
radio with me squirming in my seat, reliving some of today's activities in my
head. Surprisingly, I'm not concentrating on the uber hot three-way as much as I
am the make-out between Robby and Dodger... one of the hottest make-outs I've
ever seen or been a part of, and that's saying something! Could those two be in
romantic love... as brothers? Nah, I don't see that, but they're into each
other physically, that's obvious. Maybe it's kinda like Chubby and me in that
they've lived their lives together, always getting along and growing closer each
year. Of course, with them it's been much more than that... they'd discovered a
mutual interest in gay sex, one they've had since Dodger was twelve years old.
Living together provided plenty of time for them to practice with each other,
discovering what each likes sexually, consequently they're become experts at
pleasuring one another. Yeah, but the majority of that would be bodily pleasures
which isn't exactly what making-out is all about. It's sexy for sure, but isn't
it more intimate than any physical act of sex, and so how to explain it? Hmmm? I
don't know, but I can't see how it effects Robby and me in any way... not any
more than Chubby effects Robby and me, or am I wrong about that? Ya know, it'd
be nice to know what the fuck's going on from time to time, but it seems I'm
destined to keep bungling through life hoping for the best; hoping someday to
have accumulated enough experience to finally know what's up.
I apparently doze off because the next thing I'm aware of is Robby saying,
"Damn! No parking spots in front, Dylan... we'll need to park in back and walk
around 'cause I know damn well you don't have your key to the backdoor, do ya?"
I'm like, "That'd be correct. Why would I carry that key around with me when
we never use the back door? And, why don't you carry your's?" After a seconds
hesitation, he exhales nosily, in frustration, then says, "Sorry for my
sarcasm, you're right, Dylan... I'm just tired." I add, "And cranky," as he
parks the truck, then says, "I'll show you who's cranky," and he pulls my head
over and kisses me on the lips. I immediately begin imitating the ultra hot
make-out Robby and Dodger had earlier. Robby's become a fantastic make-out so
it's easy to see how Dodger could get hooked on making out with his brother...
just the thought of brothers making out like those two did gives me a boner.
Robby's lips feel so good against mine; hell, they feel good just kissing my
cheek, or kissing anything... awesome lips. He's very hot all of a sudden and
our arms go around each other for tender kisses, deep kisses with lots of slow
tongue action, our noses rubbing together and sounds of contentment from our
throats and mouths, "Mmmmmmm, oh Robby," and "Oooooooo, Dylan...." My cock
goes from hard to harder to hardest, then a big precum bubble wets the front of
my pants as Robby's licking across my face, then licks over to suck on my ear...
his tongue fills it, and all I hear is a hollow echo there. He's so confident
lately, which I love, and it feels wonderful to be so desired too; I follow
his lead with the make-out, and then when he leaves my ear to begin sucking a
big hickey on my neck I'm docile for him, holding my head over to the side so
he has access to my neck. He has this thing about giving me bigger hickeys than
Willie ever gave me, and it can be damn uncomfortable near the end of big
hickey building. It's like I don't know whether to scream or cream my pants when
it gets to be so erogenous and stingy at the same time. Robby's dominant
insistence that he suck and lick that raised bump on my neck, and my
submissive docile posture, creates an awesome sexual turn-on for both of us,
and because of that another orgasms is building in my balls. Robby reaches over
and roughly unzips my jeans, then undoes the button at the waistband, and his
hand is on my boner, then it's inside the fly of my underwear, skin on skin, as
the licking and sucking continues on my neck. The pad of his thumb rubs precum
around the head of my cock as I whimper, "Robby, I'm gonna cum..." he strokes my
boner then, pushing my stretched foreskin almost to my pee slit and I'm
stiffening my legs expecting an orgasm any second. If I hadn't cum a couple of
times today already I'd be blasting spunk by now. It's this make-out with
Robby, as well as all the sexual stuff I witnessed and participated in today;
all of it, combining with the hickey building and stroking of my boner, has me
groaning and squirming with hot sexual stimulation's of both mind and body.
Robby's done with the hickey, a big bump stings on my neck as my orgasm is
coming on fast. My head's twisted around and with Robby's hand behind my neck,
holding me in place, he sucks on my tongue until I do a frantic hip thrust and
spurt out a gob of spunk followed by little quick squirts that don't go further
than Robby's wrist, but feel so good my body's bumping around on the seat
hitting Robby and the door. He's breathing hard too, aroused from seeing me
this turned-on... he gasps, "Here, Dylan, get around on the seat and suck my
cock," which I start to do 'cause I love Robby's cock, but then the spotlight
over our balcony turns-on and lights-up the inside of the pickup. Robby's head
snaps around and I straighten-up in my seat snapping my jeans, then pulling up
my fly. Everything's sticky in my underwear as Robby scrambles to turn-off the
pick-up's lights and engine. Shielding our eyes from the spotlight, Robby's
like, "I love you so much, Dylan, never forget that, okay?" I nod, wondering
who's in our apartment to turn on the spotlight. Robby repeats, "Okay?" and I
say, "Huh? Oh, yeah, I won't forget, and you don't forget how much I love you
too!" He says, "Good, deal! Now, lets get out casually, like everything's
cool." I'm wondering why he made that pronouncement of 'love' right at this
moment when the spotlight shining on us should be of number one concern; then,
thinking about what he just said, I ask Robby, "You said, "Let's get out of here
like everything's cool."' Well, everything is cool, isn't it? We're not hiding
anything, including our sexuality here at college, right?" Robby's walking
towards the end of the building now, keeping his face away from the spotlight,
he goes, "Oh, shit! I meant to tell ya this earlier. Yeah, I think we should
stay in the closet as much as we can because of the baseball team. I don't
know how they'll feel about a gay guy on the team. Me being a rookie, I don't
know why I didn't think of this before now." Catching up with him, I say, "No
problem, Robby! Anyway, we're hardly running around campus yelling, I'm queer,
I'm here... deal with it!' ya know?" He's dismissive like, "I know, I know...
just saying, that's all..." and I yell, "That's all good, but who the fuck's in
our apartment? Who turned that spotlight on us?" We're around in front of our
apartment building now and we both say, at the same time, "Hey, this isn't our
building!" Our building's over there, the next building to the left. Robby
mutters, "Balls!" then, "Oh, okay, that's good. That wasn't our apartment, come
on, let's go back and get the pickup," and we jog back and do just that. The
spotlight's off, so I guess whoever turned it on is satisfied they chased away
those nasty people in the pickup who were doing icky sexy stuff.
We're able to park in front of our building, Robby mumbling, "It wouldn't
hurt if you helped with a little navigation once in a while." He hates making
a mistake like parking behind the wrong building, his 'A' personality type
requires that he's always perfect. I don't mind sharing some of the blame, so I
say, "Well, fuck, dude! Who can see anything in this complex, not enough lights,
too much snow and every building looks the same. But I'm sorry I wasn't more
observant, you're driving so I should have been more alert." Just a grunt from
Robby about that, but when we're walking up to the front door of our building,
and I'm taking out my key, Robby hugs around my shoulders, saying, "Ah, it was
my fault, not yours. You're too nice, Dylan... you really are, people take
advantage of you," and then we're inside the building taking the steps two at a
time to our apartment on the second floor. I'm feeling real good about Robby
saying I'm "too nice" and I think I'll leave it at that... hope he really means
it!
Chubby's still out on the town spending my thirty dollars on Samantha, but
Robby and I are too tired to wait up for him. We share a bottle of water, and
then a quick cigarette on the balcony before bed. Curiously, while smoking we
don't talk about the mysterious spotlight shining on us at an inopportune
moment, and we don't mention any of the wonderful recent sex between Robby,
his brother, and me. Instead we keep it simple and talk about the Celtics and
Bruins... I predict the Bruins will win the Stanley Cup and Robby's like,
"Riiiight!" sarcastically. Then inside we do our normal stuff in the bathroom:
wash up, brush our teeth, pee, and so forth before climbing into the twin bed
nearest the window. After a hug and kiss, we drift off to sleep. I'm feeling
very happy so I probably have a nice dream during the night although I don't
remember it in the morning. Neither Robby nor I are particular chatty in the
morning, we take separate showers, grab a pop tart and instant coffee for
breakfast, and then head out to the pickup truck for our 8am lab... Monday
mornings suck! What follows that is a quick, normal week: two quizzes which we
did good in, fun time Wednesday night when Chubby, Robby, and me make dinner
for the guys here who we know from Framingham, minus Connor's asshole roommate
who doesn't care for me. Also in attendance was Gary and his latest boyfriend,
Artest, a large black boy from Georgia who's very nice and plays the
saxophone like the big black guy in the E Street Band, and two friends of
Robby's from the baseball team. We make two big casseroles of pork chops and
dark baked beans with Karo syrup, onions, and some sliced hot cherry peppers
for a sweet and spicy dish. Side dishes of apple sauce and cole slaw... crusty
French bread and unsalted butter complete the meal. The boys from the baseball
team brought one of those Coors refrigerator draft kegs with them and everyone
drank beer. One of the baseball guys asks, "Where are the girls? You guys aren't
gay are you?" then he laughs, but it made me think, "Except for the two friends
of Robby's from the baseball team, most of the other boys here are gay...
ain't it sweet too!" Chubby gives a quick smart-ass reply, "Yeah, well, we
invited our girlfriends, but they heard you'd be here so they told us to go
fuck ourselves!" Everyone laughed at that even though it wasn't all that
funny. The guys filled up their plates like from a buffet and ate wherever they
could find a seat in our small apartment... the dinner party was a hit, even
without girls. The only mishaps of importance was when Artest went back to pile
another plate of beans on his plate, then dropped it on the living room carpet
on his way back to his seat, leaving a hideous stain, which will remain and
eventually the cost to remove it will come out of our security deposit, but what
the fuck... he was sorry, and shit happens, ya know?
The weather's improved noticeably by Friday, which is lucky because the baseball
team has it's first outdoor practice today. I see Connor walking near the
lecture hall that Robby and I just had last class in, and as I watch Robby
running off to practice, Connor drifts over. He smiles shyly and sweetly over at
me, then does a little wave of his hand, like he's not sure if he should stop.
I yell, "Connor Neary, you awesome, dude... wassup?" so he does stop then, and
when I walk over to him he quietly says, "Dylan, hi," then he bites his lower
lip, and forcefully says, "And it's you who's the awesome one, not me!" I raise
my eyebrows, surprised at the energy he put into saying that, then mumble,
"Thanks..." which Connor interrupts to add, "And that dinner Wednesday was
awesome too. You guys can really cook, dude... chef food fer sure!" Robby's
wearing his backpack over a hooded sweatshirt, the hood laying on the
backpack, no hat... he's looking so fucking cute and innocent I cough to
cover-up a gasp. Damn! After a second, getting my phony coughing under
control, I ask, "Are you really old enough to be going to college? You look so
young today..." He laughs, and mutters, "Looks who's talking," as he drifts
closer to me, getting into my space. When he's right next to me he tentatively
touches my shoulder, asking, "Where ya going now, Dylan?" I'm staring at him,
and even if I do say so myself, I gotta applaud the hot looking haircut I
recently gave him; the style of it adds to his youthful appearance. Connor's
hair is a beautiful shade of dark brown with so much body it's ridiculous. I cut
it short, combed it down on top and flipped-up the front. The dark hair
contrasting with his almost stark white skin and dark blue eyes is striking and
I never get tired of looking at the combination. I say, "I thought I'd check out
the baseball team. Today's their first day of outdoor practice." He looks at
me, his lips slightly parted as he's nodding his head slightly, his eyes open
wide like he's waiting for something, so I ask, "Ya wanna join me?" and he's
like, "Um, would ya mind? I'd like to... ya know," and I get my arm around his
neck to wrestle with him a bit, asking, "Why the fuck would I mind? We're
tight, dude! I always like when we do stuff together." He takes a deep breath,
his body docile against mine which is awkward after a few seconds so I slowly
take my arm from around his neck and, as I do that, my fingers ruffle through
the short hairs at the back of his head, and Connor mutters, "Oh..." his
shoulders shuddering for a second, then we start walking down past the quad
towards the baseball fields, both of us exhaling, getting ourselves together.
Connor finally says, "Um, do you really like it when we... you and me, do stuff
together?" I know what he's referring to, although it wasn't what I had in
mind when I said that. I go, "Absolutely," being noncommittal, thinking about
Robby and me doing it twice Tuesday night, and then again Thursday morning. Sex
with Robby is so awesome, but that's it for the week, so wouldn't it be grand
getting it on with Connor?! Robby and me had some long, hot, loving, sexy
sessions but it still boils down to three orgasm; well, it was a two-bagger
yesterday morning, so that makes it four orgasms for the week. Okay, I'm not
include a couple of desperately-necessary hand-job-induced orgasms that I
provided for myself, but they don't count. As far as I know, Robby, like me,
hasn't done anything on the side yet. And, oh come on, I'm not counting that
hot little time with Chubby in his bed; he's like my brother... that doesn't
count! And, Robby and me and Dodger doing it doesn't count either because both
Robby and me were involved... so nothing on the side yet, and now here's Connor,
but I really shouldn't.
Connor is so tempting though, and he keeps accidentally-on-purpose bumping into
my side as we walk, always in my space, not that I mind at all because he's so
nice, so yummy, but I have this strong sense it'd be just wrong to encourage
Connor by getting it on with him. I'd like to, but considering how he feels
about me, it'd be the wrong signal from me... like I'm encouraging him, or
something. Damn! Connor asks, "Can I bum a smoke off of you, Dylan?" so we
stop to light up. With smoke drifting out of his mouth, he says, "Thanks, I owe
ya... I owe ya for a lot of things. You're always helping me out." I protest,
"That's not true, Connor! I don't do anything." He ignores that, saying, "I
only wish there was some way I could repay ya. Wish I could do something for
you once in a while." I rub my hand up the back of his head feeling his silky
hair again, and say,"When you get rich, buy me a yacht; I've always wanted my
own yacht." He does a fake laugh, then says, "No, seriously... is there
anything I can do for you?" I try to surprise him by saying what I think is the
last thing he'd expect me to say, especially considering that we're right here
on campus: I say, "Well, I'd like a big fat kiss, if you know someone who..."
that's all I get out before Connor's arm is around my neck, his other holds
the cigarette away from us, as his lips are on mine. It's so intense I didn't
even think about the students all over the place... no, I thought about how
delicious Connor is and what a wonderful, although inexperienced, kisser he is.
It's more like he's mostly interested in transferring saliva from his mouth to
mine, which isn't any kind of a regular kiss I'm aware of... not that I mind,
his saliva is fresh and bubbly and sexy. My hand with the cigarette is held away
from us too, my other hand rest against his sweatshirt, over his heart, and I
can feel it pounding away to beat the band. Connor's tongue is in my mouth and
what a fine tongue it is too... pink, firm, and fresh tasting, and it's kinda
long too. After I show him how to do it, we take turns sucking on each other's
tongue, then lap our tongues together which gets my cock so boned-up it slips
past the fly in my jockey shorts and the head rubs up against my rough
jeans, which don't feel too good. Connor's boner is poking my thigh as our
faces squish together sliding in our spit with Connor making grunting sounds and
humping his hips against mine. I'm sure we'd have continued making-out
together until we both spunked in our pants except for the cat calls that are
getting louder and louder. "You're grossing me out, dudes!" and the infamous,
"Get a fucking room!" and mutterings of, "Is that two guys doing that?" and,
"Did somebody lose a fucking bet, or what?" It got to me pretty quickly and my
face turned bright red and felt very hot, so I pull my lips away with a wet
sloppy sound, and mumble to Connor, "Turn away and walk with me towards that
parking lot over there. Don't look back, no one's called out our names so I
don't think we've been recognized." Connor's gulping, licking his lips, groping
himself and breathing hard. God, he's so attractive!. After we get moving,
Connor gasps for air, asking, "Why do we care who recognizes us?" and I explain
about Robby wanting us in the closet because of him being on the baseball team,
and that this will probably only be necessary until he can judge how a gay on
the team would be accepted. Then I explain how Robby and I are roommates, and
we're always together, so if I'm outed here Robby will immediately be suspected
of bring gay too. Connor goes, "Yeah, I see that... I guess, but that was the
best kissing I've ever had."
After that comment we walk in silence, smoking, until we're in the middle of a
parking lot filled with parked cars. I say, "Lets stop! Where the hell we
going, anyway?" Connor mumbles, "I'm going with you, wherever that is." I take a
deep breath, and say, "Oh, heh heh... yeah, I got a little flustered there,
which is nothing new for me." He shuffles his feet, grinning, and maybe he's a
tad uncomfortable about our kiss in the open campus now that he's had a chance
to think about it a little. Not wanting to say anything that might be
construed as being critical of Connor, I go, "Um, ah thanks for the kiss, but,
ya know," and I chuckle to show it's no big thing, and continue with,
"Actually, I was being facetious asking for a kiss and was uber surprised you
did it, but it was awesome... ya know?" He looks down, and quietly says, "I knew
you were being facetious," and that makes me laugh, then ask, "If you knew,
why'd ya kiss me?" He reaches over and holds my hand for a second, then grins
mischievously, and mutters, "Hell, 'cause you gave me an opening and I wanted
to kiss you. Have I ever mentioned I've got the biggest crush any body's ever
had, and it's on you." He gets almost playful then, and says, "Actually, I don't
understand it myself, the crush I mean. Nevertheless, I could eat you bite by
bite... you're the sexiest, cutest boy I've ever seen in my life." I'm getting
uncomfortable myself now, so I say, "Well, I guess you need glasses because
you've seen my boyfriend, Robby, so I can't be... ah, what you said." He goes,
"Yeah, I've seen Robby fifty times, but what I said still holds true. I think
I'm pissing you off talking about this though, and that's the very last thing
I want to do, so I'll shut up." I go, "Yeah, shut up!" Then I squeeze the back
of his neck, and say, "Except for that part about me... how'd that go again?" He
smiles and tells me again, in an exaggerated and joking way this time, how
awesome I am as we're walking the long way to the baseball practice fields. To
continue with lightening-up the moment, I say, "You're sure about me being the
cutest, have I got that part right, I'm the cutest, right?" and we bantered back
and forth that way till we get to the stands surrounding half the practice
field. There's about thirty kids in the stands watching practice, and just
like when I'd go to the high school practices fields to watch Robby, most of
the kids in the stands have a vagina, so I won't be coming here too often... it
would look odd if I did. Connor and I watch for a while, but Robby's on a
part of the field where there aren't bleachers, so we don't stay long. "Lets
get something to drink at the quad, Connor," and we drift there talking about
Connor's lack of a boyfriend. He tells me his roommate knows he, Connor, is
gay; his roommate isn't, but they still hang together a lot. Gary from Wildwood
has his own boyfriend now, as I mentioned, and the one time Connor went to a
meeting for the LGBT club, hoping to meet someone, he came away disappointed.
The kids there were too extreme, too militant, and most of the attendees were
lesbians anyway, so he never went back. He says, "The major disappointment about
the members of the club is the lack of cute guys; there are none!" He chuckles,
saying, "Not that looks are the only thing that matters, of course... I know
it's shallow to think that looks are everything." I go, "Yeah, the other 2% is
important too," and we laugh as I'm thinking, "I don't know what I'm going to do
about Connor!"
In the quad we join a couple of guys at one of the round tables. Ears
Henderson, his friend Scott, and two girls I don't know are there, but Connor
knows them and we do half-assed self- introductions before one of the girls,
who's name is Reds, says, "You got a joke we haven't heard yet, Neary?" Girls
sometime like to be like guys so they'll call guys by their last names thinking
that will do it... it doesn't. Connor goes, "Did ya hear the one about the
ballerina?" We all shake our head mumbling, "Nah..." so Connor tells the joke:
"A very large woman
wearing a sleeveless sun dress walks into an Irish pub. Inside she raises her
right arm high in the air revealing a huge hairy armpit as she's pointing to
all the guys drinking at the bar. She yells, "What man here will buy a lady a
drink?" An owl-eyed drunk at the end of the bar slams his hand down on the
bar, and shouts, "Give the ballerina a drink, barkeep!" She gulps down a gin
then raises her arm again pointing, her hairy armpit making some of the men
look away as she's asking the same question. "What man here will buy a lady a
drink?" Once again the little drunk at the end of the bar slaps his money down,
and shouts, "Give the ballerina another drink!" She drinks another gin and
repeats the same question, her hairy armpit flashing in view again. The same
little drunk yells, "Another drink for the ballerina!" Puzzled, the bartender
goes up to the little drunk, and says, "Tell me, Paddy... why do you keep
calling that huge woman a ballerina?" The drunk replies, "Any woman who can
lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!"
Us guys are overdoing the laughter, while the two girls pretend to be offended.
When things calm down the conversation turns into a bitching contest about
who's professor's the biggest asshole, and then general complaining about
everything... being negative can be fun. We finish our drinks eventually and
then Connor and I wander outside where I spot Jarod Mellincamp. I scan the area
for his puppet master, Dick Veris, but don't see him. Robby and me haven't
talked to either of these pricks since the fight, although we've seen them and
they've seen us. I'm not sure who's trying the hardest to avoid who, but it's
working out okay so far. Remembering what a tough little bastard Jarod was in
the fight, I hesitate a second before walking down the sidewalk towards him.
When I'm even with him he turns his back on me and says something to a scary
looking biker type guy. Connor and I walk past as a chill's running down my
spine, but I refuse to look back. Nothing's happened so far, but it's unnerving
walking away with my back to those two. Funny thing: I noticed Jarod has a new
haircut, and he looks like he just got out of the shower, all squeaky clean and
all, and what the fuck, he's lookin' kinda hot... it's the first time I've
noticed that about him. While I'm thinking about that, Connor's saying
something, but to me it's only background noise 'cause I'm still half expecting
to get nailed in the back with something from Jarod or his biker friend. Taking
a sigh of relief as we turn the corner, I ask, "What was that you said,
Connor?" He goes, "Ah, come on Dylan, you heard me." I say, "Swear to God I
didn't," and I explain about the fight, and Jarod. He goes, "Oooh, let's go back
and kick some ass!" Not wanting to, I say, "No, dude... I didn't start the
fuckin' feud and I'd just as soon it faded away." Connor says, "Well, okay...
sure, Dylan. Um, what I said a minute ago, that you didn't hear... I asked
you if we can go some place and finish our make-out... maybe your apartment, and
maybe, you know, we could do something else too. Can we, Dylan?" Oh my God, he's
so fucking innocent! Compared to him I feel like a pervert. I shouldn't have
gone along with his kiss, but it was so sexy and he's so.... ya know, so
Connor! As I usually do when I don't know what the right thing is to do... I
ramble. "Connor, you flatter me, man... it's like, almost awkward the nice
things you say about me. You're such a hot guy too, but come on, dude... you're
only infatuated with me because I'm the only gay boy, besides yourself, or one
of the few you know anyhow, and, you know, it'll pass, your crush will fade
away... probably." That's skirting his question, of course, but I'm conflicted.
I want to do it with him, but I've got this fuckin' conscience thing that tells
me it's wrong because he's too vulnerable, and it'll falsely encourage him that
he and I might have more sex together on a regular basis, which would screw-up
my love affair with Robby, so it's not going to happen. Yet, I don't want to
hurt Connor's feelings, so I gotta make him feel good as I reject his sweet
offer.
There's nothing coming back from Connor about what I just said, but probably
that's because I never addressed his question. His head's down as we walk, and
when he finally realizes I've said all I'm going to say about the matter, he
mutters, "That's okay, it's cool... I understand." Oh fuck! Now I feel
terrible! This situation is so much different than that thing with Rajon a while
back. I didn't care that much about Rajon; my concern wasn't about him, it was
about giving in to hot sexual urges in an almost impossible situation to avoid,
and not getting caught. I say to Connor, "I swear to God, Connor, if Robby
wasn't my boyfriend I'd wish it were you." He makes a face and a dismissive
sound so I grab his arm, and we stop walking. I'm bending my neck so I can look
into his eyes even though he's hanging his head, "I really, really mean that,
Connor. I think you're everything a boyfriend should be and more. It's a
privilege to be your friend..." I've got my hand on his shoulder shaking him a
little, saying, "Come on, dude... help me out here. I'm running out of nice
things to say to you." He tries to hold it back, but a grin breaks out on his
cute face when he mumbles, "Try harder... you'll be able to think of more nice
things to say about me, I'll wait." My forehead bumps his, as I say, "Well, I
like how your saliva tastes, and you've got a fabulous haircut. Who does your
hair anyway?" He lifts his head and kisses me quickly, then straightens up with
kind of a smile on his face, and says, "Okay, that thing about my saliva was
the tipping point, I'm over my pouting now, but don't think you're off the
hook. I saw you weakening, and I'm relentless," his arm's around my shoulders
now as we walk. After a bit, he asks, "Where we going?" and I say, "We're
going to the upper parking lot where I'm gonna get Robby's pickup and drive you
anywhere you want to go, then I need to go to work." Connor's like, "It's too
early for my shift, but could you drop me off at Starbucks, I'm working from
seven to midnight." To be a smart-ass, I go, "How the fuck do you drink that
shit?" and Robby's like, "It's coffee, dude... not that watery shit you get a
Dunkin' Donuts!" and we jokingly argue about that for a bit. When I drop him
off, Robby hesitates for a second, then says, "You get mad at me when I thank
you too much, but thanks for this afternoon, it helped improve my frame of mind
a lot... really!" and he's gone.
Feeling good about life as I'm driving to Stop and Shop. Even the weather's
cooperating, an unusual warming spell the few days ago, along with a lot of
rain, melted most of the snow piles and the landscape looks so different; still
bleak and dirty, but no snow and the temperature is freezing even at night,
fifties during the day, so things are looking up in that area. Then I'm
thinking about Chubby saying I helped him get over a funk last weekend, and now
Connor just told me that I've helped him with his mood too... goddamm, that
makes me feel awesome! Backing into a parking space at Stop & Shop, I'm careful
to leave lots of room on either side of the pickup. Robby would have a shit
fit if someone opened their car door and nicked the pickup's door... God
forbid! Robby's nuts about his truck and I know he wasn't thrilled about
lending it to me today, but Chubby's using the Jeep, as usual, and Robby's got a
ride after practice with one of his teammates, so he couldn't refuse. There's a
Friday night party for baseball players after practice today that Robby tells
me he wishes he could get out of it, but the coach insists team morale requires
attendance by all. Robby's not fooling me anyway, he wants to go to the
party... he pretends he doesn't so I won't feel left out. And, I do not feel
left out in the first place! Robby just assumes if I can't be with him I'm
pouting, which isn't always the case as I've alluded to in the past. I'm
working until ten o'clock tonight, after which I do not feel like making small
talk at a party full of kids I don't know; so no, I don't feel left out. Ha ha
ha... being objective about it though, I'm putting an awful lot of effort into
convincing myself I'm not feeling left out, so maybe I am a little jealous that
Robby's making new friends and doing things I'm not invited to. Shaking my head
at how fucked-up I can get over my boyfriend, I light a cigarette and start
walking towards the huge building that is Stop & Shop when all of a sudden my
thoughts switch to my immediate supervisor, Alan Snyder. I recall Robby
telling me about Alan quizzing him about me, and I gotta wonder why he did
that. If he'd picked-up on my friendly and harmless mocking of him... where I
call him "Mr. Snyder" and so forth, I may be in trouble. I do not want to lose
this job; it's my only source of spending money. Part time jobs are hard to
come by during the third-semester of a college town. Damn, I guess I better not
change my obsequious attitude towards Alan now, that would surely get his
attention. Oh man, why'd I ever start this stupid stuff with him in the first
place? Nobody else pays any attention to Alan, they just tolerate him. And
what do I do, I've made it seem to Alan that I think he's so cool; my leader!
Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy.
Flicking the cigarette butt against the automatic front doors of Stop & Shop,
and then glancing around hoping no one saw me do that, but one of the part-time
retirees is smirking as he's coming out the other side of the automatic doors.
He says, "Sweet move, Dylan... very coordinated flip." Dammit! I had the
flipping down-pat a few months ago, but now I've slipped back into
spastic-ville. I go, "Hi George, I did that on purpose to show my distain for
this grocery chain." He chuckles, saying, "Oh, I concur, but I hope Snyder
didn't hear that, he thinks Stop & Shop is the premier corporation on planet
earth." George is a friendly man about seventy years old, and looks his age. I
don't get why an old fellow like this needs to do a job that even high school
kids think is beneath them, never mind a gentleman like George. I snatch the
smoldering butt from the entrance way and toss it into a sand receptacle
intended for that purpose, and say, "Jeez, George... do ya really think Alan
would ever form the phrase 'premier corporation on planet earth' in his
head? George pats my shoulder continuing on his way, saying, "Good point by you,
Dylan. Have fun!" Ya know, George saying 'Have fun' brings me back to thinking
about how I've been messin' with Alan's head, and wondering if I'm in trouble...
and that's no fun.
Hustling through the front door and up the steps to punch my time card, the
receptionist, Debbie, asks, "Sorry, but which one are you again?" I go, "Dylan
Newman. I'm on till ten tonight." She checks a list, and says, "Oh yeah,
there's a note next to your name; ya need to see Alan... he's downstairs on the
floor somewhere." I nod, worried for real now and wondering if I'm clairvoyant,
I've been thinking a lot about Alan during the ride over here and now he wants
to see me first thing. Hmmmm? As I head into the employees locker room to change
into my Stop & Shop outfit, Debbie calls over her shoulder, "Ya better hurry,
Danny, you're two minutes late already." I mumble, "It's Dylan, bitch!" to
myself, and then follow her advise and hurry. Clothes changed, I'm hurrying
down the stairs, tucking my shirttails and scanning the aisles for Alan. No need
to look for him though 'cause he's at the bottom of the steps waiting for me,
giving me a dirty look. I gulp and almost stumble into him, I'm thinking how
it's kinda spooky that he'd stop working just to wait for me here. He says,
"You're late, Newman." I go, "I'm sorry, Mr. Snyder... um, only a couple of
minutes late." He's in his bearded-mode this week; his thick, curly, dark hair
is just about as long as he lets it get before getting a haircut. A few months
ago it was a very short buzz cut, and now it's almost three inches long so I'm
guessing he'll probably be visiting Supercuts this weekend. That's been his
'MO' anyway... he'll shave his beard when he gets his haircut and it's an
amazing transformation from a grumpy mature macho man to a grumpy youthful
looking college student, which he isn't, of course, since he never even
graduated high school; he's worked here since he was a junior in high school.
That's how long it's taken him to attain this position, which is one step up
from mine. Alan's showing his normal confused expression which can throw you
off because you can mistakenly think he's unsure of himself, when he's actually
not. In his mind he's not confused, he's in charge and while he's often wrong
about things, he's never in doubt. When I'm having fun pretending he's 'the
man', calling him Mr. Snyder instead of 'Alan', and generally kissing-his-ass,
he thinks I'm legitimately in awe of him, and that's been fun and helps pass the
time for me here, but now I wish I never started up with that... sometimes I
can be very, very dumb!
"You're working in the parking lot until nine, then you're to find me... I have
another project for you." Alan's very officious, he takes himself so seriously
it gives me a bone in my pants, which is always nice. Even better than the boner
though is the fact that it doesn't appear I'm getting fired after all! So maybe
I dodged a bullet this time, but no more taking chances. I mean, I can't change
my respectful attitude, but I'm going to try to keep the mocking part to a
minimum. Try being sincere with Alan for once. Damn! I feel so relieved I not
getting fired! It seems I was worried about it much more than I even admitted
to myself, and now I'm pumped and psyched! There's always some form of stress to
deal with in life... at least there is for me, and when it's resolved there's
this great relief and sometimes I overdo it. I eagerly say, "Thank you, Mr.
Snyder," and repeat his instructions, "Until nine tonight I'm to collect
shopping carts and sweep around the entrance, and then find you for further
instructions... right, sir?" He narrows his eyes behind metal rimmed glasses,
looking at me suspiciously; at least I think it's a suspicious expression...
with Alan it's hard to tell. Apparently satisfied with my respectful response,
he grabs my shirt sleeve pulling me in the direction of the same stairs I just
came down, and says, "Go get some winter gear on, and don't forget the yellow
reflective bib so people can see you out there in the dark. Then meet me right
back here... get moving, son." Okay, that 'son' remark almost had me bursting
out with a laugh... he referred to me as 'son' as if he's twenty years older
then me instead of a little under two years older; we're basically
contemporaries fer chrissakes! Man, what planet is he from, anyway?! Ha ha..."
Keeping a straight face, I literally run up the steps, grab one of the communal
outdoor coats, a safety bib, gloves, and my beanie and run back to where Alan's
waiting. Now he has his winter coat on too. I stand in front of him with an
eager-to-please expression on my face, and he nods his head as if verifying
something to himself; then, surprise, surprise he puts his arm around my
shoulders and walks me towards the automatic doors leading to the parking lot,
saying, "You probably think I'm hard on you, Dylan, and I am a little, but
that's because I think you have potential here at Stop and Shop; the other part
time kids are just goof-offs putting in time. You're conscientious and serious
about your job performance and that's commendable for someone your age." We're
outside now with me trying to figure out if I'm totally creeped-out by his arms
on my shoulders, or if I'm feeling bad about mocking him the past five months
because he's so fucking sincere with this crap. I mumble, "Um, thank you,
sir... I, ah... try to do a good job, for you especially," and then get pissed
at myself for continuing to lead him on. I need to be sincere!
He gives me a condescending half-smile while walking me to the end of the
building, then we go around to the lighted parking lot where naturally there
are a lot of cars parked, as well as cars coming and going, and customers
pushing their shopping carts to their car to unload, then leaving the cart
abandoned for me to collect and return to the store. Alan guides me up against
the side of the building where, with a frown on my face and curiosity in my
head, I await further developments. Another surprise, Alan pulls a pack of
cigarettes from his side pocket and offers me one, it's a Winston 100. I take
it, mumbling, "Thank you, Mr. Snyder." I didn't know he smoked. He holds a Bic
lighter over and I take a light, wondering, "What the fuck is this all about?"
Alan looks at me, inhales a long drag and as the smoke drifts from his nose and
mouth, some of it curling into his beard and then drifting-out as if his beard
is smoldering, he says, "When I was your age I idolized an older man who I
respected and tried to be like, so I understand about you looking up to me as
a sort of hero figure for you... and it's fine, but I can't give special favors
to you just because I'm your hero, or something like that." He stops then to let
me absorb his words and it's obvious that Alan isn't the least bit unsure of
himself, he totally believes every word he's saying, and he's being kind of
sweet about it too; sweet in an odd-duck sort of way. Still, a weird chill
runs up my back as I realize the trap I've put myself in. I'll need to continue
this charade of 'hero worship', as he interprets my mocking of him, or maybe
lose my job. Jesus, the shit I get myself into.
He takes off his little round eyeglasses and pulls a tissue from his side pocket
to wipe the lenses, his cigarette between his teeth, then puts the glasses back
on, the thin silver temples disappearing into the hairs that cover his ears.
He's staring at me while he does that, making me look down and utter, "Huh,"
which doesn't mean anything, it's all I could come up with. I mean, this is so
far out there I'm totally lost. He takes a big drag and does a noisy exhale
through his nose, some of the smoke getting caught in his curly mustache. "Look
up at me, Dylan," I look up quickly and fixate on his moving lips... his
rosy-red, baby bow-shaped lips, puffy and pouty surrounded by dark whiskers
which intensify the lips' rosy-red color. He's saying, "Don't be embarrassed.
You probably thought I didn't know how you felt about me, but I'm much more
experienced than you, and adults are more observant too, so I see things and
understand things you miss." Okay, now he's rendered me totally speechless
again... I can't even come up with "huh?" I'm flabbergasted as I stare into his
green cat-eyes, the light shining down from the spotlight on the roof reflecting
off his eyeglasses somehow making his eyes look larger than life. I feel myself
becoming mesmerized by this bizarre turn of events. He leans in close now,
his beard tickling my cheek, as he adjust my beanie, saying, "I just wanted to
have this talk with you so you can maybe relax a little. You're always so
serious, I'd like you to get rid of some of the tension you have on the job.
I've noticed you sneaking looks at me and this is good; copy what I do." It'd
be impossible to misread me any more than Alan has, my feelings toward him are
mostly the opposite of what he thinks they are. I'm usually holding back
laughing when we're doing stuff together because he's so clueless it's funny;
but I need to be serious now. He holds his cigarette between his awesome lips as
he leans over and uses both hands to tie the yellow safety vest around my waist;
in a rush earlier I'd left the straps flapping. The smoke from his cigarette
drifts up burning my eyes as the top of his head, all that thick wavy hair,
brushes against my nose... it smells clean which surprises me a little because
it's not unusual that there's some BO associated with Alan; not real bad, and
not all the time, but it's definitely part of him at times. Now he's
straightened up, satisfied I'm properly outfitted and I try to stand up straight
for him, which causes him to frown, puffing on his cigarette.
He looks at me with his normal, confused expression and then takes his
cigarette from his lips to hold it over to me. In a trance I take it and suck a
drag off it feeling my cock tighten-up as Alan's spit from the filter wets my
lips. Surprising me again, he laughs good-naturedly at that as he's pointing at
my cigarette which has gone out between my fingers. Alan says, "You're funny,
Dylan... you just wanted to have a drag of my cigarette, didn't ya?" and he
cups behind my head and jostles me affectionately, adding, "I gave you my butt
so you can re-light your own cigarette, dummy... not to smoke it." The palm of
his hand on the back of my neck feels plump and soft, while the black hairs from
the back of his forefinger flick against my ear and I gasped and gulp as Alan
chuckles, misunderstanding everything... or is he? He's, all of a sudden, back
to being officious, sternly saying, "Okay, end of lecture... ya better get out
there and collect those shopping carts. I've got kind of an easy job for you
after your nine o'clock break, so be sure you find me on the floor wherever I
am." I manage to say, "Sure, Mr. Snyder, I'll find you." Looking at me with
what I can only interpret as a smugly confident demeanor, he says, "I know you
will, Newman. I know you'll find me!" The fact he switched back to calling me
by my last name again is the closest thing to reality either of us has been
near for the last ten minutes. I'm pretty much in one of my trances now so time
is just floating around me, but it seems Alan's been trying to memorize my face,
staring at me for what seems to be at least a full minute. I stand here wetting
my lips, the tip of my tongue moving back and forth nervously because I'm
unsure of what's going on here. He's switched back to that confused facial
expression again, the one where it appears he's not sure about something. Maybe
he's not sure how his lecture was received by me, which would make us even
because I'm not sure how I received it myself.
Finally he steps on his cigarette butt and appears ready to leave, he starts
then stops and takes a hold of each of my shoulders, looks me in the eyes, and
says, "I'm sure you're a little in awe that'd I'd be so direct with you, but I
used to be 'you', so I know how you feel and I just want to reassure you that I
understand. Feel free, when you're on break, to pick my mind about anything you
want. Approach me on any subject as I'm sure I can relate to what's on your
mind! Okay? We good?" and then his condescending smile again, like I'm nine
years old and he's my cub scout leader. I try to say something but it catches
in my throat, which makes him chuckle, and say, "Hey, like I said... I know how
you feel about me, but believe me I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like
you do. Don't be nervous around me, okay?" and he leans his head close to mine
so that our foreheads bump, as he's repeating, "Okay?" This time I manage to
say, "Um, okay, Mr. Snyder..." and he nods, squeezing my shoulders
reassuringly, and then abruptly lets go of me, turns around and quickly walks
around the side of the building towards the front doors. I stay in place, not
moving, evaluating my condition: my heart's beating fast, I'm breathing in short
bursts, and my cock is a heavy steel rod in my pants... and I don't have a
fucking clue what any of it means. I've joked with myself many times about
Alan dominating my ass in some sexy encounter, me wrapped in his hairy body, but
this experience has been too weird to be sexy; then why the heavy steel boner?
I don't know why, but obviously he's attracted to me and maybe I am to him.
Thankfully this is nothing like the situation with that dangerous psycho Joel;
but still, Alan's definitely read the situation between us in a way that is so
far off base it's ridiculous... or is it me who's read it all wrong? Still
leaning up against the wall, I'm thinking how Alan reminds me a little of the
Marine maybe... the Marine in Parkers Park so long ago. NO, not him! It's Carl
Denton! That's who Alan reminds me of the most. The way Carl thought I had this
big crush on him when he was mentoring him... well, actually, he did mentor me
quite well, and then later maybe I did develop a crush on him. Is this like
that?
Flicking my cigarette butt into a snow pile, I slowly wander around the parking
lot gathering shopping carts, stacking them together in a long chain, and then
pushing the line of carts through the automatic doors where I line them up for
new shoppers to use. With every trip inside with the carts I take a few seconds
to look around quickly, but don't see Alan. Damn, it's only seven-thirty so
I've got an hour and a half more of parking lot duty and it's dark and getting
colder so Alan was right when he said he wasn't doing any favors for me. It
sucks outside on dark winter nights... I pass the time trying to figure-out
Alan's bizarre misevaluation of my actions. He's sure I think of him as my idol,
and it's so crazy at times I burst out laughing into the night... how absurd
this situation between us has become. One minute I think Alan's the biggest geek
ever and the next I'm rubbing my cock through my jeans thinking, if he's a
geek, he's the hottest geek on the planet. Yeah, he's definitely a geek one way
or the other... not a dangerous geek, except for the dangerous fact that he does
have the power to fire me. Alan showed some signs of being a nice guy, but come
on... who thinks so highly of themselves they'd assume another guy would think
of him as their idol? Okay, reality check... his actions this evening, while
strangely intimate for him, do not mean he's gay, nor does it mean he has a
sexual 'thing' for me. Actually, he thinks I have a "thing" for him, but
nothing sexual was even hinted at. He may just be an egomaniac who assumes
people think he's the coolest dude ever, or maybe I'm the first person he's
ever thought had a hero-worship thing going for him, and he's lovin' the notion.
More reality checking: for reasons unknown, I still think he's sexually hot!
Why lie to myself! I've never before been turned on by someone who's so adult in
attitude and appearance as Alan, but he's definitely doing it for me somehow.
But wait! His appearance isn't always mature; during the period when he has his
buzz cut and he shaves his beard, he's very youthful looking. Not especially
cute, but not bad looking either, and that smooth complexion with those sexy
green eyes and puffy lips, and I can't forget his awesome ass... he's hot
alright! Robby thinks Alan's disgusting, and that's nuts, but how can we see
things so differently about Alan? There are simply too many mysteries involved
in the subconscious mind, especially when sexual matters are involved.
By eight-thirty I'm checking my watch every two minutes, anxious to get inside.
The temperature's dropped and the wind's picked-up significantly. I've got
every shopping cart inside and now it's just a matter of waiting for shoppers to
come out with a cart, follow them to their car, and then bring the cart back
after they've unloaded it. Some people are such pigs, leaving the cart right
in the middle of a parking space. Then, finally it's nine o'clock and I hustle
inside the store... nice and warm. I'm suppose to have a twenty minute break
but Alan told me to look him up so I better do that. Walking the length of the
store I say 'hi' to a couple of part timers that I don't really know except to
say 'hi' too, and then I spot Alan near produce. As soon as I get close he holds
his hand up to me, meaning I need to wait, so I stop and witness Alan
supervising one of the retiree part-timers, a woman this time, "You check the
'use by' date for the packages of mushrooms, that's how you know when to
discount them. Really, Linda, that should have been obvious, but don't let it
upset you... just start over," then he turns to me, "Newman, run up to the
part-timers changing area and wait for me there." I mumble, "Yes, Mr. Snyder."
When I say that Linda's lip quivers like she wants to laugh at me for calling
Alan, Mr. Snyder, and naturally my face gets red, as I'm thinking, "What's so
funny ya old bitch, at least I know what a 'used by' date is?!" Walking
quickly away I admit to myself she knows what a 'used by' date is too, but I'm
embarrassed about her seeing me act so obsequious to Alan. Usually it's just
Alan and me when I'm calling him Mr. Snyder; it's just my little joke, but she
has no way of knowing that. As I'm leaving I hear Linda ask Alan, "Why's that
kid call you, 'Mr. Snyder, Alan?" I don't hear Alan's answer, but I'll bet
anything he said, "Because that's my name, Linda!" and I'll bet he said it with
a little snap to it, showing Linda that he likes me calling him Mr. Snyder.
I'll bet Alan was sticking up for me, making Linda feel a little embarrassed
herself. By the time I get to the part-timers area I realize how stupid that
last thought is; plus, I don't need Alan sticking up for me anyway. I'm also
surprised Linda didn't remember me, she said, "Why'd that kid? "... not,
"Why'd Dylan?" Hell, I worked all afternoon with her in frozen foods about ten
days ago and I thought I'd made a good impression on her; guess not, but why I'm
focusing on dopey stuff like this, I haven't a clue... Alan's got me on edge, I
guess.
As it turns out I spend my twenty minute break standing in the part-timers
changing room doing nothing, instead of having a soda and a cigarette with some
guys in the warehouse area... this sucks! Then Alan comes in, and without a
greeting says, "Follow me, Newman," so it's back to his old ways, which I prefer
anyway; at least I feel comfortable when Alan's acting like a dick. He leads me
down the hall to a large storage closet which is more like a room than a closet,
turns on the light and closes the door behind us. "This is a surprise for the
employees, Newman, all new uniforms." On the floor is a carton containing
button-down dress shirts; some of them purple and others gold... ugly! Slacks
and skirts of light gray, and then there's over-the-head bibs made of 100%
cotton with a new Stop & Shop logo on the chest portion, and pockets below. He
explains, "These are prototypes of various sizes of the new uniforms for
floor-employees. Everyone will be in uniform starting next month. I need to
decide how many to order of small, medium, large, and extra large so you and
me will try these things on and I'll make notes of our findings. We're the same
heights, but you're skinny and I'm well built so we've got complimentary body
types for this assignment." I look from him to the carton of clothing thinking,
"Skirts? I gotta try on skirts?" then I'm wondering, "Did he say I'm skinny and
he's well built?" This dude is delusional!
It's very warm in this closet/room and the overhead light is very bright. Alan
reaches over and unzips my jacket that I stupidly left on when I came inside
from the parking lot; he says, "We'll strip to our shorts and you'll try on
the two smaller sizes and I'll do the same with the two larger ones." I frown
at that, as Alan continues, "I'm not sure exactly how to tackle this, I have a
list of all the floor personnel who will need the new outfits, so between us I'm
hoping we'll be able to put everyone in size categories." He's already
unbuttoned his shirt as I stand here in shock at his command to "strip to our
shorts". Alan takes off his shirt and pulls his undershirt over his head.
There's lots of curly black hair on his stocky, mature body, but he is not 'well
built' like he said... he's stocky, like I said. Staring at him, I stand frozen
in place, my swallowing makes a gulping noise which causes Alan to look over,
and say, "Come on, Newman, get those clothes off!"
to be continued....
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com