Date: Tue, 24 Nov 2015 11:36:56 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION Chapter  30

DYLAN'S  GEORGIA VACATION


Chapter  30


By  Donny Mumford



Ryan and I  clean-up, grab Cokes, then drive to Marietta High School to
watch some  Friday night basketball. Marietta summer basketball is an informal
league  consisting of four-player teams. They come from surrounding towns to
play  full-court games for neighborhood bragging rights. African Americans
dominate  college basketball and the NBA, and to a lesser degree the same
holds true for  these games played on a blacktop court under the lights. The
teams consist of  high school and college players plus other local talent,
meaning older guys who  never played organized ball past high school. Some of
them have the talent to  play college ball, but not the grades. The games
are fiercely competitive  with a lot of hot-dogging and trash talking. We join
the vocal spectators  surrounding the court three and four deep, none of
whom are shy about  cheering-on their neighborhood team. The two referees are
muscular  college coaches who take a lot of shit from the players and give a
lot of it  right back at 'em. It's mostly good-natured trash talking but
fights aren't  unheard of on the court or in the stands. It's an exciting and
electric  atmosphere on and off the court.


We got here late  so there's no good vantage point around the court, but
then we hook-up with some  guys from Bible study who are sitting on the steps
to the gymnasium above the  basketball court. Good spot to watch the action,
plus they've got a cooler of  beer that they're sharing with us. No fights
tonight but some good games. After  the last game we're driving back to the
house with the Mini's top down. I'm thinking, or maybe hoping, that  things
between Ryan and me are back on track. As it turns out though neither of  us
mentions anything about sex before bed, so maybe things  aren't back on
track. Prior to last weekend we'd have sex at least twice a day  and then this
week we had it exactly once, one time the entire week, and that  was earlier
tonight. From habit, I follow Ryan into his  bedroom. He's friendly enough
but claims he's tired and can't wait to get to  bed. I've made a vow to
myself to stop being the one who mentions sex, so I go  upstairs and get ready
for bed myself. I half expect Ryan to  come up the secret stairs and hop in
bed with me, but the next thing I know I'm  waking-up Saturday morning
hearing faint voices in the  driveway.


Getting out of bed  I look out the window on the garage side of the house
and see Jeff and Timmy  leaning against Tim's SUV talking and laughing about
something. Ryan comes out  the side door carrying a mug of coffee and they
all do half-ass one arm hugs,  then Ryan opens the fourth garage bay door and
the three of them disappear  inside. It's another haircut Saturday morning.
I feel my bristly head  remembering Ryan saying last night after my haircut
that he got me good this  time, and he did too. He got me good in a bad way
as far as I'm concerned. There  was a kid I knew who worked at Stop & Shop
a couple of years ago. He had a  haircut that someone basically just used
bare clippers over his entire head. Not a shaved head exactly because the
clippers left like a sixteenth of an inch of  bristles. Each haircut Ryan's
gives me gets closer and closer to the Stop &&  Shop boy's haircut.


Back in bed I'm  acknowledging that Ryan's haircuts symbolize his dominance
and I don't totally  mind that because of both my stupid fetishes: the
haircut and submissive ones.  Both feature into the extreme haircuts. The thing
is though I need to stop  patronizing these  fetishes. They're like an
anchor to my childhood fantasy  inhibiting me from maturing. Or at least I think
they are. On the other hand,  there's a very real possibility I'm making too
much of the maturing topic. It's  Robby I care about pleasing, him and
Chubby. Neither of them seem the least bit  concerned about me maturing,
whatever maturing even means exactly. I'm  just being myself basically, for better
or worse. It's mostly me who's hung-up  on maturing. Hell, Ryan's the only
one who's ever claimed I'm immature. And, I'm  beginning to think this
arrangement with Ryan actually is preventing me from  being more mature. Our
arrangement plays into my submissive fetish with Ryan  bossing me around, and I'm
finally getting tired of it. Hell, I've helped Ryan  accomplish more with
his problem situations then either of us hoped for, but  what's that done for
me? It's like a one way street, and while he's progressing  the right way
it feels like I'm going the other way.

It's indisputable that he's purposely ignored me most of this week, then
threw me a bone last night. The bone came after he first established his
dominance giving me something close to an induction haircut. I'm aware many
Armed Forces around the world use induction haircuts so trainees will begin
losing their identity, their individually, and a lot of their free will as
well.  Willie used to do that extra-short haircut thing with me too. Yeah
well, I've  been noticing similarities between him and Ryan more and more
lately. It's taken  me five weeks of living with Ryan 24/7 to begin recognizing
that fact. That's  probably because Ryan's less obvious and more clever with
his handling of the  sub/dom stuff, both during sex and then after it too.
He's patient and more low  key where everything with Willie was over the top
and immediate. Things  weren't going his own way so in Key West he jumps off
a balcony to almost  certain death on the stone patio below. Ryan punishes
me for my rejection of him  a little more subtly by ignoring me all week. And
he knows damn well I have  nothing to do at nights because basically I'm a
stranger in a strange  land.


I'm sort of a  captive here and therefore very dependent on Ryan. Well,
last week I turned the  tables and waited him out. I mean as far as who would
bring up the topic of sex.  Come to think of it though, he never said the
word 'sex'. He asked for a kiss  and he knew one thing would lead to another.
Still, we both know who won that  battle. Yeah, unless it was Ryan giving me
a taste of sex last night so I'll  remember what I'm missing, then he goes
right back to ignoring me again. What  are his plans for this Saturday night,
or any night next week for that matter?  Until this week it's been kinda
cool living my old fantasy, but I should  probably start thinking about
shutting it down. With Willie I shut it down after  two days or so, but this is a
different situation because Ryan and I laid out a  plan together, and my
'word' is involved. I gave my word to spend  nine weeks here. I've kept my part
of the bargain this far and Ryan's kept his  until this past week. If
there's no side sex, or hardly any, then that's my  ticket out of town. On the
other hand maybe it'd be good for me to get weaned  off daily side-sex? Yeah,
it probably would, but in a year or two, not now. Fuck  that! Robby even
agrees to a little buddy side-sex every now and then. So we'll  see, but this
morning I start the count down on the side-sex. The fucking-clock  is ticking.


As I'm doing my  bathroom stuff I decide not to mention the ticking clock
to Ryan because I want  to see how he plays it the next few days without me
threatening to leave.  Dressed in shorts and a  t-shirt, wearing socks and
sneakers, I go  downstairs for a coffee. I'm actually looking forward to Sammy
and his brothers  showing up for haircuts a little later because cutting
guys' hair is fun.  Walking into the kitchen and, oh joy, Ryan's parents are
sitting where they  always sit around the kitchen table. Unusual for them to
be up this early on a  Saturday morning. We exchange morning greetings. Mrs,
W. give a smiling 'Good  morning, Daniel. Beautiful morning," and Mr. W.
waving a finger at me as he  bites into a cinnamon bum. I smile and say, "Good
morning," then pour myself a  mug of coffee, say 'no thanks' to the offered
cinnamon bun, and carry the coffee  out to the garage. In the garage
there's music playing from someone's smart  phone. Timmy's watching Jeff get his
haircut. When he sees me we grin at each  other muttering, "Wassup?" as we do
the one arm hug routine with me being  careful not to spill my coffee.
Tim's already been shorn by Ryan so we do what  we always do and rub each
other's head, like dopes. He goes, "Another cool  haircut, huh, Danny?" I mumble,
"I wouldn't go that far, Tim," and he's like,  "Really? You don't think this
is cool?" I shake my head and Ryan says, "He's  being a malcontent, Timmy.
Don't listen to him." It occurs to me that I'll soon  be twenty-one while
Timmy and Jeff are eighteen, so maybe it's an age thing. If  I just graduated
high school I might think a bizarre haircut like this one is  cool because
it's so bed-ass different. Yeah, but most guys outside  Parris Island, where
they have no choice, would not chose a haircut like  ours.  Spider thinks
it's a cool haircut too and he's my age, but he's also  a nonconformist and a
bit crazy. Plus, I don't see him asking for a haircut like  this. No, it's
Ryan showing us three guys who's boss and lately I'm not liking  it all that
much.


Jeff's not as  enthusiastic about his haircut as Ryan indicated to me he
was last Saturday. As  Jeff gets off the stool feeling his bristly hair, he's
shaking his head slowly  showing an unhappy expression. I go, "Not loving
this haircut anymore, Jeff?" He  shrugs, "I don't know. I'm beginning to think
I might not want to go to college  in the fall looking like this, but I
guess for the summer it's alright." He  glances over at Ryan, mumbling, "And
Albert likes it. Um, so ya know." Ryan's  all smiles coming over to give me a
little hug, "Good morning, Danny," and he  pulls Timmy over to stand next to
Jeff and me. "My boys!" he says, and takes our  picture with his smart
phone. I roll my eyes and he chuckles, saying, "Oh come  on, Danny, smile."
Rubbing Jeff's and my head, he's chuckling again and enjoying  himself, saying,
"I love giving you guys these haircuts." Then excitedly, he  tells me, "Hey,
I'm treating Tim and Jeff to breakfast at the Pancake house. Do  you wanna
come, Danny?" Looking at my watch, "I better not. Sammy and his  brothers
will be here in a little while." He goes, "Suit yourself. Um, would you  mind
sweeping up in here for me? We wanna get going." I go, "Huh. Really? Um,
yeah, I would mind sweeping up. I'll sweep up after Sammy and his brother's
haircuts." Ryan gives me a stare, then says sternly, "Get the broom and sweep
 up, like I told you." I do a forced chuckle, then say. "Fuck no, I'm not
sweeping up. I did it last night, okay?" He nods his head, mumbling, "So you
 did," then more forced cheerfulness, "Well, lets get some pancakes, boys."
Tim  and Jeff are sort of staring at me, not use to hearing me saying 'no'
to Ryan,  um, Albert. It felt good actually and what's he gonna do about it
anyway?


They get in the  Mini and Ryan starts the engine, then pleasantly says to
me, "Don't forget we  have that game at two o'clock." Like I'd forget. I nod,
"Yeah, I'll be ready,"  and he asks, "Um, how about if you and me get lunch
somewhere around one  o'clock?" I say, "Sure." He grins, "I'll be back
around eleven," and he backs  the Mini out of the garage and off they go. Huh!
Me thinks Ryan was trying to  save 'face' by pretending to the youngsters
that my awful insubordination of  refusing to sweep-up didn't bother him. And
label 'awful insubordination' as  deep sarcasm. Sweep-up, my ass! I have a
smoke in the gazebo bolstering my  resolve that another week like this past
one and it'll be my last one in  Marietta. The thought of going home gives me
chills. I've always told myself  they'll come a point in any relationship
involving sub/dom behavior when I'll  say, 'NO!' and maybe I've finally
reached that point with Ryan. I'm not trashing  the whole summer experience
because I had fun for the most part, but when it's  not fun that's the end, and
thank you very much. Maybe this is the beginning of  the end or maybe it's the
beginning of Ryan recognizing he's losing his power  because he's taking
things too far. Eliminating most of our sub/dom buddy sex  also eliminates his
right to be bossy with me. Ya know what... there's never any  of this kind of
shit with Robby. Or if there has been I don't remember  it.


Sammy's early, as  he usually is for everything. I get a nice greeting from
him and his brothers.  Major wants to be first for a haircut and I worry
he'll bring up his gay  concerns again, wanting advise from me like last time.
False alarm though  because it never comes up. He wants the same haircut,
but other than telling me  that he's silent. Nothing like the talkative boy I
remember. I almost ask him if  he's okay, but don't because that might be
his opening to bring up the gay  topic. Instead I tell him about last night's
basketball games and he brightens  up saying he was at the games last night
along with Sammy and Golden. Lots of  people were there so it's easy to
understand how we missed seeing each other. We  talk about a few of the
outstanding dunks and he seems fine now. All the  brothers seem fine. Sly and
Lester tell me how they want their hair cut, and  Sammy wants a flat top again.
Then, just like last time they all treat this like  going to the barbershop.
No hanging around afterward, it's just,  'Thank  you, Danny,' and they're on
their way. I like that! While sweeping the floor I'm  smiling because I
like those kids and I like giving them the haircuts they ask  for, not ones I
force then to have.


After sweeping up  hair clippings, I clean myself up in my third floor
bathroom and then text some  guys back home. Ryan comes in my room a little
before eleven o'clock. He's still  all smiles asking me how it went with Sammy
and his brothers. Just two barbers  discussing their cliental, and I'm being
sarcastic again. Ryan is being nice  though, very friendly although no
mention of sex. Well, the waiting game begins  again on that front I guess. Later
we eat lunch at Subway with no mention of my  refusing to sweep up like
Ryan told me to do, and then we're off to the baseball  game. When the game
starts Freckles and me are on the bench screwing around  again. He's seems
sexier to me every game. I ask him, "Seen your girlfriend  recently?" and he
grins, "You're always coming on to me, huh? Y'all is hung-up  on me so bad
you're embarrassing yourself." I laugh, and he goes, "No I haven't  seen her
recently, and anyway she's not my girlfriend, per se." I ask, "What is  she
then?" and he does a elaborate shrug, "I don't know, Danny, she and me just  go
out once in awhile." Nodding my head, "Just for sex, huh?" He blushes,
mumbling, "You know, oh man, jeeeez..." He's fun to tease, but I don't think
there's a girl in his life at all. Maybe I'll make Logan Duran, aka Freckles,
my  summer project and be his sex mentor, heh heh. Nah, just  kidding.


Our team's winning  so there's lots of chatter in the dugout between
innings. Then it quiets down  when our nine players take the field. Freckles goes,
"Hey, Danny boy, don't ya  have anymore sex questions for me?" I nod,
"Yeah, Freckles, how many times do  you jerk off every day?" He laughs, blushing,
and says, "Usually twice." Ha ha!  I go, "Okay, so once in the morning and
once before going to sleep." He's  staring at me with a grin on his freckled
face, and I'm like, "I assume you jerk  off into a sock to keep your sheets
from getting messy, right?" He's grinning,  shaking his head slowly, so I
go, "Okay, here's what I'm gonna do for you. As a  primer  for your
introduction to gay sex I'll do your mornings jerk off for  you. What time do you get
up?" More laughing from him and then we notice some  hubbub on the diamond
and play has stopped. We look over and see the guys  standing around our
second baseman who's name I can never remember. A yellow  haired boy with no
chin and a chipped front tooth. The skipper's out there  checking something
out. One of the pitchers on the bench says, "I think Malcolm  sprained his
ankle making the pivot to first." As Malcolm's helped hopping on  one foot
towards the dugout, Skip is motioning in Freckles' and my direction.  I'm not
sure if it's me or Freckles so we both stand waiting until he's close  enough
to say, "If you're done grab ass-ing with your buddy, Thirteen, grab your
glove, you're at second." Grab ass-ing with my buddy? Thirteen? Obviously he
doesn't know either of our names.


I jog out to  second base and the very first batter hits a scorching line
drive at my head. In  self defense my glove comes up and. "Wham!" the ball
smacks into the pocket and  I casually toss it to the shortstop who throws it
back to the pitcher, saying,  "Good reflexes, Danny." I shrug nonchalantly.
The rest of the game goes good for  me too. I start a double play, me to
Gary at short, then over to first base.  Bam, bam, bam! In between innings
Freckles says, "For a gay boy that was a  pretty good double play you started,
Danny boy." I go, "Please, son, I'm  concentrating on the game. I'll give you
an autograph afterwards." He laughs.  Logan laughs at everything I say.
Maybe I'm picking up on Chubby's delivery.  Chubby could make reading a
dictionary funny. We win the game which keeps us in  first place. Freckles says,
"By the way, I get up around eight o'clock. See you  then," and he pats my
ass. Damn, I wish he were gay! Hey, maybe he is, or at  least he's beginning to
become intrigued with the idea.


Walking to the car  with Ryan, I ask, "What's on for tonight?" He goes,
"Jeez, Danny, ya probably  think I'm gonna abandon you again tonight, right?
Well, it's true that Mike and  I are going to a party at his cousin,
Phillip's, place tonight. It's like an  hour's drive from here, but you're included.
Mike's trying to get a date for  you." Oh, a gay party. He takes hold of my
arm so I'll stop walking, and says,  "I know I've been fixated on Mike this
week, but he and I think we have  something special going on between us.
You've been on your own after dinner this  week and I apologize for that.
Anyway, even if Mike can't fix you up with one of  his cousin's gay friends I
hope you'll come with us to the party anyway.  Whaddaya say?" Oh goody, I can
be the third wheel. I go, "Um, yeah sure, thanks  for inviting me." The
thought of not having anything to do on a Saturday night  sucks. There'll
probably be other guys there without a date, and actually I'm  happy this Mike
thing is working out for Ryan.


When we're back at  the house drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette in
the gazebo, Ryan's phone  rings. It's Mike and when Ryan ends the call, he
says, "Okay, Mike's cousin says  a gay friend of his is bringing his brother to
the party. The brother is maybe  bi. He's not real sure, but he might be.
Anyway you can hook up with him, okay?  Mike didn't know the kid's name." I
shrug, "Maybe, it depends," and Ryan goes,  "At least you're coming with us
though, right?" I go, "Yeah, I guess." I can't  be sure of this, but I'm
guessing that the 'No!" I told him in the garage this  morning has Ryan second
guessing himself. He's been real considerate and nice to  me since then. As I
always say, we'll see.


At the table for  Saturday night's dinner there are wine glasses at Ryan
and my places. We're  having one of my favorite dinners that Mrs. Wilcox
prepares. Prime rib of beef  with rebaked Idaho potatoes. There's also side
dishes that get passed around.  After dinner we have old fashioned strawberry
shortcake for dessert with the  reddest, sweetest strawberries I've ever had.
I'm bloated by the time Ryan and I  are cleaning up in the kitchen. He says,
"That was some dinner, but I wish I  never brought up the wine thing. It
ruins my taste buds for food." I chuckle,  saying, "I'm with you on that,
although wine is suppose to enhance the taste of  the food. At least I think it's
suppose to, or why else have it?" "Fuck if I  know, Danny." We both change
clothes before going to the party. I've tepid  expectations tonight. I mean
I'm not expecting sex at all, I'm just hoping the  party doesn't totally
suck with me trying to make small talk with strangers I  don't even like. Good
party or bad I'll be stuck there until Ryan and Mike  decide to leave, and
then it's an hour's drive home so somebody needs to be  sober enough to drive.


It's another hot  night so I'm wearing tan cargo shorts and a sleeveless
white t-shirt with a  short-sleeve patterned, button-up shirt over the tee,
unbuttoned of course so my  cross necklace shows. Very cool with brown Sperry
top-sider boat shoes on my  feet... no socks obviously. With my earrings, my
big sport watch on my thin wrist,  my leather bracelet, and the cool
friendship ring Robby gave me for my last  birthday and, dude, I'm too kool for
school. I think about wearing a hat, but  that doesn't really go with everything
else. Ryan's dressed similarly without  the 'bling'. I glance at his
slightly hairy calves thinking, hot! With the top  down we drive over to pick up
Ryan's date, Mike. At Mike's apartment I go in  with Ryan. I'm curious about
a couple of things. When Mike answers the door he  and Ryan do a kiss on the
lips. That's one of the things I was curious about.  The apartment is the
other thing. It isn't as neat as our Merrimack apartment,  but looks about
what I'd expect a young single guy's place to look. Kinda messy,  cheap
furnishings with an expensive TV on the wall.


Mike says, "Holy  shit, Danny, you make the rest of us look like shit." I
say the joking comment I  always say to compliments like that, "Yeah,
everybody tells me that," and he  laughs, and exclaims, "Well, it's true. Fuckin'
good looking dude too!" This  time I grin and says, "Thanks, man, you too,"
racking-up one more little white  lie. Mike asks, "Um, anybody interested in
a little front-loading before we head  out?" Ryan goes, "I believe it's
mandatory, isn't it?" Mike goes, "Yeah, God  forbid you should go to a party
sober." Then he asks me, "Shot and a beer okay  for you, Danny?" I say, "What
could be better?" He has Bud beer and VO whiskey.  We drink on the balcony
smoking cigarettes. Ryan and Mike chuckle about some of  the things they've
been experiencing during the honeymoon phase of their  relationship. Then to
bring me into the conversation, Mike asks, "So Danny,  how's your first
summer with us southerners going so far?" I tell him it's been  fun and then I
mention the fair I was at last week with my brother. Mike tells  us he's been
to the fair, but not this year. Neither of them mentions that my  true love,
Robby, was at the fair with me, or that Ryan and me are fuck buddies.  I
know Ryan told Mike all about us on their first date because he told me he
did, and he undoubtedly told Mike about me reneging on our plans. I mean the
plans Ryan and I made this summer, and not the ones we made prior to this
summer  at Merrimack. I'm sure he told Mike about the haircuts he gives me
too. I say  that because Mike neither mentions my hair nor looks at it. For all
I know  Ryan's told Mike about the way he ignored me all last week  too.

Mike's maybe an  inch taller than Ryan. Plus, like Ryan said, Mike does
indeed have blue eyes  similar, but not as spectacular as mine... or Robby's, ha
ha. He's a neatly  dressed guy with a fairly short regular hair style
featuring a part on the side,  sans pompadour. I do not like his dark red
bristly-looking beard though, but  other than that he's conventionally nice looking,
which personally I've always  considered a boring look. Still it's better
than not being nice looking at all.  Mostly he's a nice congenial twenty-two
year old guy without affectations of any  kind that I've noticed so far. He
smokes although it appears he picked up the  habit recently because he does
it sort of like a nonsmoker, or dare I say, a  girl. Not that he's girlie at
all other than that. Judging from the half hour  I've been with these two I
can't say either one is being dominant or submissive.  They appear to be,
as Ryan described them, versatile in sex and in all other  ways as well. No
forced or phony shows of affection although Mike's a guy that  likes to touch
the person he's talking to. Just a tap on the arm or back of a  hand.
Actually Ryan and Mike seem like two guys who have known each other a  lot longer
than seven days. So far there isn't anything negative I can find to  say
about them. Good for them.


We drink for an  hour or so. Each of us consuming a modest two shots and
two beers, but it's  enough that we all loosen up a notch making things seem
funnier, or cooler, or  more interesting than they probably are. In short
we're all feeling fine and now  we have an hour's drive to Mike's cousin's
place. That's not too cool, but  whaddaya gonna do? Mike offers to sit in back,
which is nice of him, but I  insist he sit up front with his date, although
I don't say, 'with your date'.  It's a very blustery hour's ride in the back
seat of the convertible, but not  completely unpleasant. We find the
one-floor ranch style house where the party's  taking place and park at the curb a
block away. Getting out of the car we smell  barbecue grilling going on.
I'm still full from dinner but maybe I won't be  later. Mike tells us to walk
around back instead of ringing the front door. As  we walk along the side of
the house I smell something else besides barbecue,  pot. What's a party
without some joints being passed around? Club music with the  big beat is
playing at a reasonable volume and there are two couples dancing on  the large
deck coming off the back of the house. Counting us three there's about
sixteen guys here so far, all supposedly gay or bisexual. Everyone's drinking
something alcoholic, mostly it looks like mixed drinks or wine, although I see
a  bottle of beer in at least one guy's fist.


Phillip, Mike's  cousin, comes right over to us. Mike and him hug and kiss
quickly. Right off I  can tell Phillip has most of the affectations normally
associated with a  stereotypical depiction of homosexuals. He speaks with
what I've heard referred  to as a 'gay accent', meaning he lisps,
characterized mostly by 'syllabic' S's.  He's slightly campy and a little swishy, but
seems nice. Phillip's looking at  me, saying to Mike, "So this is Albert,
huh? He's beautiful!" Both Mike and Ryan  laugh, then Mike says, "That's Danny,
this is Albert," and Phillip blushes  covering his mouth with both hands.
Then he goes, "Oh, I'm so sorry! You're  beautiful too," and he hugs Ryan.
Awkward start. Phillip takes hold of Mike and  Ryan's hands, and with them
either side of him, he takes them round  introducing them to the other guys
here with me trailing behind. I need a  fucking drink!


There are a few  other flamboyant types but mostly the guys are more or
less like Ryan, Mike, and  me. I mean you wouldn't immediately think 'gay' when
meeting us. Some of the  guests are in their thirties and one gay couple
are even older than that.  There's been no mention of Phillip's friend who's
gay, or his brother who might  be bi. He's the one who's suppose to be my
date. Finally Phillip gets around to  showing us the bar at the corner of the
deck nearest the sliding glass door to  the house. He lisps, "Make yourself
anything you want and it's wonderful to see  you, Mikey, you're looking
sweet, boy. So preppy and all." I'd guess Phillip's  closer to thirty years old
then twenty. For Ryan's and my benefit, he points to  a door to the left that
leads inside the house, saying, "Right inside, before  the kitchen, the
first door on the right is the little boy's room." As Phillip's  filling a
plastic cup with white wine, Mike makes a gin and tonic while Ryan and  I fish a
bottle of Corona out of an ice-filled tub and force a little wedge of  lime
past the rim of the bottle.


Two new guests  arrive, and Phillip's thrilled, "Oh, here come the Walsh
brothers! Mikey, look  at George's hunky date!" We all glance over as Phillip
gushes, "That's Ronny,  the one with all the muscles, ooou!" Waving a limp
wrist he yells, "Hi  Ronny!" Ronny frowns and Mike asks, "George? Who's
George?" Phillip takes Mike's  hand leading him off the deck, saying, "You silly
thing, you met George at the  Christmas party. Come on," then, to Ryan and
me, "You boys coming?" He drags  Mike over to meet George and Ronny, his
hunky date. Ryan and I exchange glances  like, 'What the fuck' and saunter off
the deck a few feet behind Mike and  Phillip. It's obvious the Walsh brothers
are twins of the identical variety, and  I'm guessing the twin without the
hunky date is my blind date. Not bad. The  twins are kinda tall, over six
feet tall. The one holding hands with the stocky,  macho looking dude has a
ponytail of light brown hair. The other twin has long  wavy hair that hangs
loose, and he runs his fingers through it across his  forehead every ten
seconds or so getting the hair off his face. From here he  looks kinda cute.
They're both slim, um, make that skinny with both of them  wearing baggy shorts
and extra large untucked Polo shirts. Wavy-hair's shirt is  blue and
ponytail's is green.  Wavy-hair is wearing sneakers without socks,  and ponytail
has on flip flops.


Phillip and  ponytail kiss and then Phillip introduces Mike, "You remember
Mike, right,  George? From the Christmas party?" George goes,
unconvincingly, "Yeah, sure. Um,  whassup, Mike?" They bump fists as George says, "This is
my boyfriend, Ronny,  and that's my brother, George-too." George too?
Phillip introduces Ryan as  Mike's boyfriend and then looks at me, saying, "Ooou,
I'm sorry, sweetie, I  forget your name." I mumble, "Danny," and give a
little hand wave at the new  arrivals. That was my introduction. Mike's says to
me, "Um, how about showing  George-too where the bar is, Danny." Smooth
move getting the blind dates  together. I shrug at George-too, that I later
find out is spelled, George'tu, as in George'tu Walsh, although  everyone
pronounces it like two separate words. He's was  born four minutes after George.
The fuckin' names parents give their  children!


George'tu follows  me, saying, "We're suppose to be blind dates, huh?" He
has a very  mature-sounding voice although he looks younger than me. I go, "I
don't know,  I'm just the third wheel along for the ride," and I explain my
status as Ryan's  house guest, working for him at Lockheed-Martin. At the
bar he pours himself a  shot of tequila and flashes it down, then opens a
bottle of Corona and says, "Me  and George are identical twins, and he's gay
obviously. We're still trying to  figure out if I am too." I swallow some
beer, then ask, "Ya don't know if your  gay? Um, that probably means you are.
Just saying..." Shrugging, he mumbles, "I  don't much care one way or the
other." He lights a pencil cigar motioning for me  to follow him to two deck
chairs. Sitting down, I ask, "Don't you like sex?" He  says, "I don't know
yet," then he adds, "You're extremely attractive, Danny, but  you already know
that. Why the ridiculous haircut?" I nod my head toward Ryan,  saying,
"Albert's my barber and we have a deal that he can cut my hair anyway he  wants."
He looks over at Ryan, mumbling, "Fucking prick is what he is. He's
probably jealous that you're about ten times better looking than he is." I go,
"That's probably it, yeah. How about sex?" He grins, and oh my God, what a cute
 grin, as he goes, "Jesus! Are you asking me for sex already? We've only
been  blind dates for five minutes. Let me get some booze in me first!" I
laugh, "No!  dude, I wasn't asking for sex. I don't ask for sex, hardly ever.
You said you  don't care one way or the other about being gay so I asked you
if maybe you  don't like sex." He holds up a finger, "One time with a girl.
That was last  year, my junior year, and one time with a boy, Mark Kelso.
Neither experience  was all that special. And ya know what, I think boy's and
girl's pussies should  be exclusively for sex. No pissing or shitting out of
those  openings."

He takes a big  drag off his cigar, finger-brushes his hair out of his
eyes, and while exhaling  makes four smoke rings. I chug-a-lug half a bottle of
beer. I don't know what to  say about his pussy comment. Finally I say,
"Well, there's condoms to protect  your dick from piss and shit." He grins
again, mumbling, "I was kidding you,  man. I don't give a fuck about that, heh
heh. Jesus!" Just to be sure he's old  enough, I ask, "So you're a senior in
high school, huh?" He laughs out loud,  "No, I'm going to be senior at Duke
University, what the fuck? High school! I'm  studying for a degree in
engineering." I'm like, "No shit! Engineering, huh?"  He's got one of those birth
marks or moles or whatever they're called on his  smooth face. It's on his
left cheek. Little round brown spot, a beauty mark.  George'tu is very fair
complected with bright brown eyes and narrow eyebrows. I  like natural thin
eyebrows and probably nobody else in the world cares about  that. From the
side, his long curvy eyelashes look sexy too. He isn't especially  cute up
close, but I like his face. It's kind of longish like Willie's and his  nose is
straight, very much like Tom Brady's nose, heh heh. Noses fuck-up more
guy's appearance than anything else. Girls too for that matter. He has skinny
arms totally devoid of any noticeable hair although he has some hair on his
calves. Nice long legs that would feel good wrapped around my waist. Big
feet  too, although I know that doesn't necessarily mean he has a big dick.
That myth  has been debunked many times.


Bottom line: he's  uniquely cool looking now, although in later years he
might not age very well in  the looks department. He might look like an
engineer. For shits and giggles, I  say, "So, have you always liked trains? Always
wanted to be an engineer?" He  snorts out a laugh, then mutters, "No, you
retard, ya don't go to Duke to learn  how to drive a train." I go, "I'm
pretty sure the word 'retard' is miles from  being politically correct nowadays."
He looks at me, "Are you serious?" and I  go, "Not usually, no." Shaking
his head slowly while smiling, he mumbles, "Some  blind date I got here," and
that makes me laugh. He pats my shoulder, "Have a  shot of tequila with me,
and we both need another beer." As we get up, he asks,  "Do you dance?" I
go, "I can square dance," and he laughs, muttering, "Worst  fucking blind date
ever," then he gooses my ass.


We stand at the  bar and do a horrific shots of tequila, chasing the shot
with beer. He tells me  about the spelling of his odd name and I tell him my
name isn't Danny, and  explain why 'Dylan' got corrupted into 'Danny' by
Ryan's mother. He thinks I'm  bull shitting him at first, but when he believes
me we both laugh at the oddness  of that situation. We've got screwed-up
names in common, although we're both  used to our names by now. Hell, he's had
twenty-two years to get used to his. I  ask him if people can tell him and
his brother apart? He goes, "We were known as  shit and shinola as kids
because some retards claimed they couldn't tell us  apart, but un-retarded people
can." I go, "How?" and he says, "George has a  ponytail." I'm shaking my
head, "Oh," and we do another shot.

I don't know where  Ryan and Mike got to, and other than Phillip and
George'tu's brother, I haven't  been introduced to anyone else. It looks like me
and George'tu are on our own.  He's a pleasant enough guy, occasionally
funny, and like I said I like his face.  On the other hand his body's not hot and
he has kind of a flat ass. We grab a  plastic container of honey roasted
peanuts and another beer before going back to  sit in our deck chairs. Eating
the peanuts, drinking our beers while  smoking, he tells me what it's like
being an identical twin. He goes, "I don't  know, but George and I have never
been devoted best friends like I've heard  other identical twins are. We
get along about as well as most brothers, but we  have different interests.
He's always loved music and couldn't care less about  sports while I'm into
sports, especially college basketball and pro sports. He  plays the piano,
guitar, and drums. I took lessons for piano like George for a  while as a kid,
and if anything I was better at it than him at it." I ask, "So  why'd ya
give it up?" He shrugs, "Practicing was boring. I gave it up to play
basketball, lettering from my sophomore year on. George is good at sports too,  but
didn't like going to practice. We're fucked-up like that."


I go, "Well,  you're both good at music and  athletics, but you have a
difference of opinion about what's worth practicing."  He goes, "Yeah, but I
think it's because somewhere around age twelve I decided I  wanted to be
different than George, so I picked sports after he  choose music. We're both
smarter than hell too, ha ha! Aren't we  obnoxious?" I'm like, "Um, well, yeah
you are." He laughs again, then asks,  "What's your story, Dylan?" I tell him
about the unusual childhood Chubby and I  lived through, and that we have
the same father but different mothers." He goes, "Oh, you're your agnate
siblings," and I go,  "Yep, but very few people know that word." He taps the side
of his forehead. I  mumble, "Yeah I know, you're an egg head." So we get
along okay because he's  easy to talk to and I like him even though it's
getting annoying how frequently  he finger-brushes the long hair out of his eyes.
I go, "Ya  know, if you gave me half the length of your hair we'd both be
fairly normal,  hair-wise at least." He rubs my head, "You have a pretty
shade of blond hair and  it feels almost soft even though it's so short. With
his other hand he pushes  his lanky hair out of his eyes again. I tell him,
"You need to come inside with  me so we can find some scissors." He laughs,
"I've always  had long hair. I get it cut like twice a year," and I say,
"Exactly like George,  huh? I thought you wanted to be different." He shrugs, "Ya
got me there, Dylan.  Lets see what smells so good over at the grill."


George'tu piles a  plate with grilled chicken, potato salad, and barbecue
baby back ribs. I get six  baby back ribs, a few chicken wings, and only a
dab of the potato salad because  it looks like it came from a supermarket. I'm
not actually hungry but figure,  considering the booze, I should put some
more food in my stomach. We eat at our  deck chairs complimenting the ribs
and chicken. I was right about the potato  salad and only have one fork full
of it, but George'tu, not being a food critic,  eats all of his. Then hunky
Ronny comes our way and George'tu mumbles to me,  "Oh, oh, here comes Ronny.
You'll probably notice pretty quickly he isn't a  lighthouse of
intelligence." When Ronny's in front of us, he frowns asking,  "Have you seen, George?"
We both look around shrugging as George'tu says, "No,  not since we got
here, Ronny." Hunky looks concerned, frowning again, "Well,  what the fuck am I
suppose to do now?" George'tu's like, "Um, call him on your  cell phone
maybe." Ronny goes, "Oh, good idea," as he wanders away with the  phone to his
ear. I mutter, "Yeah, he's no Wizard of Oz, huh?"

After we finish  eating we dump the trash then suck on our fingers that are
sticky with barbecue  sauce. He says, "Lets go inside and wash our face and
hands. I've got this  sticky shit all over me." As we walk to the deck I'm
looking at the guys here  that number about twenty four by now. All gay or
bi, huh! The party's noisy with  laughter and conversation, one tune after
another coming from the speakers. I  have no sense of anything nefarious about
to happen. Very lively group although  I don't see anyone drunk yet. One
guy does have an annoying high pitched  giggling laugh, and I'm betting it's
Phillip. Other than that it's a decent  enough group of gay guys. I ask
George'tu, "Do you know Phillip very well?" He  chuckles, "Phillip the fairy?
Yeah, he's a good guy with maybe more than his  share of the feminine side."
Making our way around the dancing couples on the  deck, we walk into the house
and go right by the half bath into the kitchen  where we wash our hands and
faces at the sink and then dry with paper towels.  First thing George'tu
does now that his hands are free of barbecue sauce is  finger-comb his hair
out of his eyes. I go, "Lets find a pair of scissors and  I'll cut those
fucking bangs so they don't get in your eyes." Surprisingly he  starts opening
kitchen drawers, muttering, "There's gotta be a pair of scissors  in here some
where," then again with the finger-comb. Actually I'm kinda taken  aback,
asking, "You're actually gonna let me cut your hair?" He goes, "Yeah, why
not, we're buddies, right?" I go, "Huh, yeah I guess." He comes up with a pair
 of scissors and holds them up so I can see them, "Whaddaya think?" I take
the  scissors and check them out. They look really sharp. I read the label
out loud,  "Fiskar eight inch titanium all purpose scissors. Yeah, they'll do
fine." I take  out my trusty pocket comb, then ask, "Do you think we should
do this in the  kitchen? You know, hair clippings in a kitchen." He goes,
"No, we'll go down  stairs to the basement, but first another shot of
tequila."


I bring the  scissors with me outside to the little bar area telling him,
"Ya know, I'm  actually an accomplished barber. Been cutting guy's hair since
I was twelve.  Here's the thing though, you didn't know that but you didn't
think twice  about me chopping away at your hair. Why is that?" He pours
two oversized shots  in plastic shot glasses, saying, "Oh, I was just going to
have you cut the bangs  so it doesn't get in my eyes. Now that I know you
can cut hair you can do the  whole haircut. We'll bond as life long friends."
I'm never sure when he's  putting me on, but this may turn out to be my
favorite blind date ever. Of  course that's not saying a whole lot since I
think I've only had one other blind  date in my life, and I can't even remember
who it was. After downing the shots,  with me on the very edge of throwing
up, George'tu chuckles handing me his  bottle of beer and I guzzle some down.
"Not an accomplished shot drinkers, huh  Dylan?" I go, "No, I'm not real
accomplished, not even close," and I burp up  some horrid tequila, so I take
more gulps of beer as a tear runs down my cheek.  I don't know why my eyes
tear, but they do. George'tu uses the pad of his thumb  to wipe away the tear
and we look into each other's eyes for a couple seconds.  It makes me do a
little grin at him, almost like asking, 'What?'


He says, "Follow  me," and we go through the house and downstairs to an
unfinished basement where  there's a ping pong table taking up half the space.
"Do you play ping pong,  Dylan?" I mutter, "Yeah, who doesn't?" He glances
around, then mumbles, "I don't  see a ping pong ball." I go, "Fuck the ping
pong, George," dropping the 'tu' in  his name. He notices and says, "My
nickname's tu, and everyone has a different  spelling in mind when they call me
that." I ask, "Did you ever find out what  illegal drug your parents were on
when they gave you that name?" He laughs,  "It's a southern thing to name
all the boys after the father. You know George  Foreman, the guy who used to
sell the toaster ovens, or whatever they are? All  five of his sons are named
George." I mutter, "Whatever," then point, "There's  the only chair down
here, so we'll need to use it. Sit on that thing that looks  like an old lawn
chair." Then say, "You really should take off your shirt  or it'll have
hairs sticking to it."


He takes his shirt  off, asking, "Where you from originally, Danny, um,
Dylan?" I tell him, as I'm  still wicked surprised at how blasé he is about me
cutting his hair. I mean,  I'll do a professional haircut for him, but he
has no way of being sure of that.  With his shirt off it's confirmed, George
is skinny. His hairless chest has very  little definition and I can see his
ribs. His arms are skinny too, but when he  moves them his bicep muscles bulg
e so he's probably no weakling. His body  reminds me of a marathoner's body.
You know, the first skinny guys you see  crossing the finish line of the
Boston Marathon. They have bodies like  George'tu. I ask, "How tall are you,"
and he says, "Six-two, same as George. Our  little brother is six-four." I'd
like to ask how much they each weights, but I  don't because he might be
self-conscious about being skinny. He sort of reads my  mind, "George and I
can eat anything in great amounts without putting on weight.  We've always
been skinny and we're worried we'll be like dad. He's skinny and  tall with a
big pot belly. Not a good look, but genes can fuck ya up sometimes."  I have
nothing to say to that, so I go, "Ya wanna sit down?"


Sitting in the  chair, he says, "Our little brother is named George the
Third. That's on his  birth certificate: George The Third Walsh." I mumble, "Uh
huh," and comb up the  long hair in front, saying, "You sure it's only been
six months since you had a  haircut? Your hair's like nine inches long, at
least." He goes, "Huh, let me  think. No, not six months. My last haircut
was right before last Thanksgiving  break. Yeah, that's right. How many months
is that?" I mutter, "Um, nine or ten  I guess," and he goes, "Haircuts are
not a priority in my life." I mumble,  "Apparently not," as I pull the front
hairs back and up. Holding the batch of  hair between my index and missile
fingers I close the scissors twice slicing  that batch of hair twice,
"Scrunch, scrunch," and a big pile of seven inch long  hairs lands in his lap
leaving his bangs a tapered two inches long. Not a word  from George so I comb
up another big pile of his clean hair further back on top  and, "Scrunch
scrunch," and this piles of hair drops to his right shoulder and  drifts to the
floor. Seemingly completely unconcerned about his haircut, he  asks, "Do you
play sports, Dylan?" "Scrunch scrunch," and I go, "Playground  sports only,
never on an organized team. Well, I'm on the Marietta summer league
baseball team, but I mean never for high school or college. I'm not good enough.
I can dance though, and not just square dancing, which I've actually never
done." He laughs and says, "We're gonna see how good you dance after this
haircut." For a guy with awesome dense wavy light-brown hair he sure doesn't
seen to care about it. "Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch." Wow, this is fun! How
many  haircuts have I done today?


I drag out his  haircut, but don't cut it real short because this is enough
of a change as it  is. When I'm done a lot of the hairs on his head are two
to two and a half  inches long. Exception being the lower half of the sides
and back which are a  little less than an inch just touching the top of his
ears. I comb through it a  couple of times and it looks good. His bangs
naturally drift to the side of his  forehead because he's trained them that way
from constantly finger-combing the  hairs to the side to keep the hair out
of his eyes. He and I brush loose hairs  off his shoulders and the lap of
his shorts. I do his shoulders and he does his  lap, ha ha. As we're doing
that, he says, "Damn, you got me a little horny  giving me this haircut. All
your touching and combing, I liked the experience."  I go, "Well then, nine
months from now I'll  fly in and we'll do it again."  He laughs, "Yeah, okay,"
as I look around for a broom without any luck, so  working together we use
a piece of cardboard as a dustpan getting the majority  of the cut hairs
into the trash. He goes, "That's good enough, Dylan, fuck it."  He chuckles,
then mutters, "Lets have a shot and a beer." He doesn't put his  shirt back
on, instead carries it over one shoulder. I don't know, but if I was  that
skinny I'd put the shirt on.



Outside we make  our way around the dancers on the deck to the small bar
and grab a couple of  beers. George'tu says, "Oh no, come on little buddy, we
need to do another shot  together. Blowing out an exasperating exhale, I
take the shot and throw it down,  burning my throat. More tears, but I don't
feel I'm going to throw up. I wipe  the tears away with the heel of my hand,
muttering, 'Ghastly." Carrying our  bottles of beer we walk off the deck, but
before sitting down I take off the  button-down shirt leaving my sleeveless
tee on. Comfortable in our deck chairs  again, George'tu lights one of his
pencil cigars and I light a Marlboro. As we  sip our beers, I go, "Ya know,
you're the first guy I've ever given a haircut  who doesn't go right to a
mirror to check it out." He runs his fingers through  his awesome hair,
saying, "It feels perfect, so hey, thanks, dude!" I'm shaking  my head grinning. I
want to yell, "Look at it!" because it looks really good. We  critique some
of the guys around us being super critical about it and getting  ourselves
into a laughing fit for a minute or so acting like we're fourteen.  "It's a
good thing we're so perfect, huh, Dylan?" I'm just shaking my head,
muttering, "We're terrible." Finished our beers, he says, "Okay then, lets see  if
you can dance." Most of the gay guys are dancing now. That includes Ryan and
 Mike both of whom are okay dancers, although that's maybe a little bit
generous  of an assessment. As were walking to the deck I see George'tu's
brother dancing  with macho man, Ronny. George is a very cool dancer.
Effortlessly cool and his  boyfriend is good too, especially considering he's
muscle-bound. George'tu's  twin points at my George's head giving a thumbs-up vote of
approval. Huh, that  makes me feel good.


On the deck we  find some room and get into a groove with the beat.
George'tu dances exactly  like his twin brother. They're both very cool dancers
making it look like the  most natural thing in the world. Other guys simply
can't do it. We work our way  through a few hot tunes and then lean against the
railing cooling off while  watching the other dancers. He says, "You're a
pretty good dancer, Dylan. How'd  you learn to dance?" I tell him about the
hours Willie spent teaching me to make  smooth and natural moves with the
music. He tells me he and his brother were  about thirteen when they decided
they needed to learn how to dance. They watched  instructional videos while
dancing with each other for hours and hours. Now they  have a talent to last
all their lives, dancing's fun. Ya know what, I think the  twins are tighter
than George'tu admits. At one point when we're dancing near  the original
George and macho-Ronny, we switch off and the twins dance with each  other
while Ronny dances with me. As we danced, Ronny asked, "How old are you?"  When
I tell him, he mutters, "Bull shit alert," and that was the extent of our
conversation. One more dance with George'tu and we grab fresh ice-cold beers
and  go back to our seats.


Lighting a  cigarette, I go, "That was fun, but you danced circles around
me. You and your  brother make it look so easy." He mutters, "Thanks, man,"
and after talking  about some of the guys who don't have good moves on the
dance floor he goes on  to tells me some funny stuff he and his brother did
together growing up. It's  pretty much the normal identical twin shit.
Mistaken identities by those unaware  they're dealing with identical twins. Part
time jobs where they'd switch off as  they felt like it just to mess with
someone. In grade school the flummoxing of  substitute teachers where one of
them would come into the substitute's class and  switch with his brother when
the substitute wasn't looking. The class would know  and be snickering, but
the teacher wouldn't have a clue. That sort of typical  stuff and more.
Listening to him and looking at him I realize I really like this  guy.


We gotta take a  piss so we're back inside standing together pissing in the
toilet with me  gawking at his long cock. It's the longest cock I've ever
seen in person. I  don't say anything though because it could be misconstrued
as me hinting we  should have sex. As a general rule I don't do that.
Perhaps that partially  because I'm afraid of rejection or maybe because gay guys
often ask me, so I  don't need to ask them. Whatever, I don't feel
comfortable asking for sex with  someone I've never done it with before. George'tu
to the rescue right on cue. He  stammers, "Um, I'm not sure how this is
supposed to work. That is, ah, shouldn't  we maybe fuck around together somehow?
I mean, assuming you're interested in a  skinny tall drink of water with an
awesome haircut." I chuckle, "You haven't  even looked at the haircut yet."
He puts his long dick away and zippers-up, "I  know, but George saw it and
gave it a thumbs up so that tells me all I need to  know." I shake my noodle
getting the last drip of pee off, then zipper-up,  asking, "What kind of
messing around do you have in mind?" He's washing his  hands at the sink, "I
don't know, Dylan. What's the normal way to start?" I'm  standing next to him
washing my hands too and looking at him in the mirror,  yelling, "Goddammit!
Look at your fuckin' haircut!" He laughs, "I saw it. It's  awesome like I
already told you."


Someone knocks on  the bathroom door so we exit and see two guys making out
on the wall next to the  door. They stop when we open the door and the one
with a full beard asks, "Did  you boys do anything in there you'd be afraid
to tell your mom?" George'tu says,  "I don't think do," and the guys go into
the bathroom. "Dylan, should we maybe  go down to the basement again. Down
there in private we can figure out if  there's something we can do together
that we both like." No argument from me.  He's not sexy per se so much as
his whole persona is attractive. He's very  likable and kinda cute, but with a
below-par body. On the other hand that long  penis of his is sexy all by
itself. As we go down the stairs, I ask, "Do you  make-out?" He shrugs, "Not
very well I'm afraid. Very limited practice. George  and me never practiced
that together," and he chuckles a bit nervously. When I'm  on the last step
and he's standing on the basement's cement floor, I say,  "Wait!" He faces
me, "What?" I put a hand his bony shoulders. Then, with a hand  behind his
head, my fingers in his hair, I bring our sweaty faces together and  give him
an open mouth kiss. He kisses back okay so my tongue goes into his  mouth. He
stiffens for a second and then moves his tongue on mine. A five second
kiss, them moving my head back our lips suck together make a wet sound as they
part. I ask, "How was that?" He grins, "Very nice. You really smell good."
I  nod, "Yeah, genes, ya know, the good ones."

He leans his head  over and we do a longer version of the kiss with his
hands on my hips. This time  he gasps a little when we break. He's blushing
slightly, mumbling, "Damn, that's  hot. Your lips, um, they're so, um,
something. Something good," and we have  another longer kiss and this one gets my
dick's attention. I was a little  aroused cutting his hair, so that was sort
of a head start. He takes a deep  breath after the third kiss and I come down
off the last step, as he asks,  "What'll we do now?" I go, "What do you
usually do?" He does a nervous snicker  blushing again, "I was telling the
truth when I told you I've have two sexual  experienced in my whole life. I
mean, with someone else and not just my trusty  hand. I'm inexperienced, man!
You tell me what's next." I go, "Well, tell me  about that one gay experience
you had. Were you the top or bottom?" He says, "He  fucked me and it fucking
hurt! Later I fucked him and it hurt him worse. We were  probably doing
something wrong." I go, "Hey! That's two, not one gay  experience." He
chuckles, "Oh, I thought it counted as one." Ha! I  say, "Okay, how 'bout if I blow
you and you fuck me." He grins, "Yeah, you  got a cute ass. I sorta noticed
that. Oh, that's another thing I've done. Had my  dick sucked." I go, "Your
sexual experiences are adding up as we speak." He  mumbles, "I meant fuck
experiences," and I say, "Yeah, which you've had three,  not two." He laughs,
"Fuckin' arithmetic! I was never good at it." I'm  unbuttoning his shorts,
"You're going to be an engineer and you're not good at  math. I'm so sure
that's true."


When his pants are  down and his long dick's swinging in the breeze, he
says, "Lets go over there  away from the steps and the door." In the corner,
out of the sight line of  the door, I get on my knees and take his circumcised
penis in my fingers guiding  the head into my mouth to suck on it and lick
around it with my tongue. I  thought it looked skinny like the rest of his
body, but that because it's so  long. It's actually normal size other than
the one-in-a- million length of it.  Taste normal too, and without me
detecting any special personal scent from his  crotch. He has his arms crossed over
his chest making squeaky noises as I suck  some of the shaft inside my mouth
and lick on it. There's plenty of cock left  for me to wrap my fist around,
so I slowly stroke it a little. He lets out a  long breathy exhale, then
puts a hand on each of my shoulder puffing out  little shorts exhales as his
body moves in place. His cock's getting hard now,  and then very hard, so I
get my head in position, press my head forward forcing  his hard boned-up
cock down my throat. Down, down, down until my face is against  his pubic
hairs, then slowly up, up, up until it's out of my throat. Now I smell
something, not unpleasant or pleasant. Neutral body scent basically with maybe a
tiny lingering bath gel scent. George begins moving his feet as he grunts and
gasps, gripping my shoulders. As usual I'm getting a boner sucking a guy's
cock


Moving my head forward again and the  hard head of his cock slides tightly
down my throat until my nose is again in  his pubic hairs. He's making a
whining sound, then a grunting, "Ah, ah, oh, oh...  I'm gonna cum." I move my
head back and his boner comes up, up, up and when it's  on my tongue, I stroke
the shaft twice, he humps his hips  gasping, then groans, "Ahhhh," and
shoots a long stream of cum in my mouth. I  swallow as fast as I can with his
hips thrusting on there own pushing the head  back past my gag reflex area as
he fires more cum, groaning, Ooooh, fuuuuck."  That shot goes down my throat.
His body's like spastic and he jerks his cock out  of my mouth and shoot a
stream of cum at my face  hitting my chin as he strokes himself, his face
bright red. Two more spurts of  cum shoot out. His skinny chest is expanding
catching his breath, "Oh  fuck, oh fuck, oh my God, " as he staggers
backwards. I've never seen a bigger  reaction to an orgasm in my life. One last big
breath as he points  at me, his blush fading, "That was the most  fucking
amazing orgasm I've ever had. I'd be as gay as George if you lived  around
here. That's, um, assuming you'd, ya know... be interested." I stand  up picking
a pubic hair from my mouth still moving my tongue around tasting  his cum.
It has a taste, but not one I can describe. I'm like, "Didn't you say  you've
had your dick sucked before, so why the big reaction." He goes, "Oh no! If
what you did was sucking my dick,  then I've never had my dick sucked
before. I don't know what the fuck that girl  was doing, but it wasn't like this."
I wave my hand at him, "Oh, a girl? Dude,  they can't suck dick for shit."
He laughs, "Well she couldn't anyway. This  was amazing!"


He says, "I need a  shot and a beer before I do anything else. I mean of a
sexual nature with you. I  thought my entire dick would shoot off my body.
You're a pro at this, ain't ya?"  I go, "No, no! I have a boyfriend, but
other than that just some casual buddy  sex once in awhile." We put ourselves
together and go upstairs where I wash  the cum off my face. As I'm doing that
I hear voices from both bedrooms. I guess  we aren't the only ones doing
something sexy. George'tu grins pointing at the  bedrooms, whispering, "A
bedroom, why didn't we think of that?" Chuckling we do  another shot of tequila
then open two more beers. Standing here  swilling down the icy cold beer, a
slow song comes over the speakers. George'tu  says, "Hey, dance with me,
Dylan. I'd like to cuddle your hot body. Can you take  off the t-shirt?" I pull
it over my head and hang it on the railing, as he's  saying, "Cool tattoo,"
then, "Holy shit! You've got a ring through your nipple.  Dylan, you're the
real deal. I think I've got a crush on you." We dance  tightly, bare chest
to bare chest, our arms around each other. He's so  smooth on his feet it's
like we're gliding off the floor. Then another couple  bumps into us
accidentally on purpose. It's Ryan and Mike. Ryan asks,  "Having a good time,
boys?" I smile, "Yeah, I am," and George'tu says, "Better  than good, dude."


Funny, but his  skinny torso doesn't feel skinny against my chest, it feels
good. He dances with  his arms around my shoulders and I've got my arms
around his waist. We dance to  two slow tunes and  then grab our beers and my
t-shirt on the way back  to our chairs as another hot club number blares from
the speakers. There's a few  couples making out here and there, guys inside
probably screwing, so not as many  dancers as earlier. Do you dance or
screw? Ha ha! I haven't been to an all gay  party since my days with Willie when
he'd take me to those block parties. We  finish our beers with George'tu
telling me about his two  aborted attempts at sex, and then about the two
times he was with  someone who he actually had a sex act with. The guy was
younger than him and  George felt responsible when it didn't work out very well,
although they did  manage eventually to climax. It sounds more like work
than delicious sex. The  girl was his girlfriend at the time and she urged him
to  have sex. After going together four months they'd only progressed to
heavy  petting. He managed to complete the sexual act, but she never climaxed
and he  knew something was missing. They broke up two weeks later without
trying it  again. He says, "It was so awkward and I felt like a fraud but she
really liked me. Then when I'm breaking up with her she called me a faggot,
so  that eased my conscience about dumping her. The cunt."


I noticed people  leaving now that it's after one o'clock and I guess
George'tu notices as well.  He goes, "I can't pass up this opportunity, Dylan.
Would you come down to  the basement with me again?" I go, Sure, I'd like to."
We make our way through  some straggling dancers on the deck, one couple
appears to be really drunk by  now. There's two guys groping each other in the
kitchen, who we dodge, and then  we're on our way downstairs to the
basement. Surprising me, he initiates the  kissing and we get into a fairly good
make-out over in our hidden corner of the  basement. It's almost dark in here
because this time we only flicked on the one  light at the top of the
stairs. Lots of groping and kissing until he slides the  side of his face again
mine and we do deep breathing next to  each other's ears. He murmurs, "So this
is what the fuss is all about.  My brother's always telling me how hot sex
is and I never felt it until tonight.  It feels weird to be so aroused by
you, someone I really don't even know,  although I'd like to." I'm not sure
what to say to that without sounded  conceited. He rubs his body against mine
saying for the second time tonight,  "You smell really good."


A few more kisses  and I pull my pants down, so he does the same. His nine
or ten inch boner isn't  hanging straight down because it's firmed up enough
that it's lifting a little.  Probably too long to stick straight out like
mine does when I get really  aroused. I'm looking at the worried expression
on his face, his eyebrows arching  towards each other with a wrinkle between
them. "What is it?" He goes, "Um,  would you be insulted if I use a condom?"
I ask, "Do you have one?" He nods his  head, "Yeah, it's been in my wallet
for like a year." I go, "Well get it out."  He's reach down to his shorts
around his knees as I stroke his cock. Oooh, it  feels pretty hard, and just
from our make-out. I can hardly wait to feel that  long cock of his up my
ass. He hands me the condom packet with trembling hands.  I say, "Relax, this
will be awesome," as I rip it open the packet with my teeth  and take the
condom out, "You roll it on your nice boner." Then I quickly add,  "Not that
way, the lubricant should be on the outside." He snickers, muttering,  "I knew
that," as he rolls it out on his boner. It covers less than half of it
looking cartoon funny. That's quite a penis!


The easiest way  for George to do this is me bending over, so turning
around I do that. He  chuckles, "I'm fucking nervous. If I embarrass myself don't
tell anyone, okay?"  I go, "Okay," and shake my head quietly chuckling, but
ya know what, he is more  the norm than me. Most guys our age don't fuck
everyday. I mean some do, but  there are many more guys like George'tu here
who rarely have sex. They're  constantly in the quest to find a life partner
or at least someone who'll share  their body with them. He asks, "Ready?" and
I grin, that's sweet of him to ask.  "Yeah, go ahead, George." The head of
his cock, out of harms way in the slippery  condom, spreads the lips of my
asshole feeling good. Real nice, just tight  enough. He leans over to clasp
his hands on my shoulders and then steadily  pushes his boner up, up, up, my
ass and then up some more making me gasp and  grin with my shoulders
shuddering. This is something special alright. I let  out quiet, "Ooooh, mmm," then
his crotch bumps my ass and George lets out a  long gasping exhale. I guess
he was holding his breath the whole time. He  takes another gasping breath,
then murmurs, "Oh my god this is insane. Ooooh,  fuccck, mmm."


Three fast  breaths, blowing air out between his closed lips making a
'Tsssss' noise and  then he pulls that long boner back a little faster than it
went in. My  prostate sizzles pleasantly as the lips of my anus hug his long
moving cock  getting gooey with lubricant from the condom. Inch by inch back
up my ass it  goes with my back arching a little as I grunt, "Ummm, aaah,
nice," and he starts  fucking with the same smooth easy rhythm he dances with.
His  hips push and pull his long boner back and forth smoothly activating
unknown numbers of nerve endings that are now sizzling with pleasure
sensations  and it feels so perfectly awesome I find myself moaning quietly  and
contentedly to myself. As his smooth thrusting speed picks up the,  'Slap,
slap, slap, slap," sounds that bounce off the cellar's cinder block walls  and
he's now moaning right along with me. Glancing back at him I see his eyes
are closed, his head is back and his hips are on auto pilot. His hands only
loosely holding onto my hips and he has a look of ecstasy on his face with a
 little smile on his lips.  Sensations of sexual pleasure put me in a
dreamy  pleasure state of mind too. We're both moaning, "Ooh," and, "Ah, ooh,"
as nerve endings in his hard penis tantalize his brain's pleasure zone and
my rectum sings a song of sexual pleasure. Each steady quick thrust up my ass
 creates the, "Slap," sound and that extra inch or two of his boner hitting
 heretofore unexplored areas in my bowels... a pleasurable bonus making me
suck on my lips then go, "Oh man, yeah!"


I lose track of  time, but from my experience I'd guess it's been about
five minutes of gooey  sexual pleasure before I recognize the signs of
impending orgasm. My balls are  hard and high up in their scrotum sack about ready
to blow their load. George'tu  had an orgasm an hour ago, mostly in my throat
and mouth so he'll probably  climax after me, but my climax is on me now
taking over my brain as I go, "Ah,  ah, I'm gonna..." then my back arches as I'm
making a gagging sound, then the  squeal as bright fireworks go off behind
my tightly closed eyes and cum shoots  straight down from my quivering boner
with me shuddering, my eyes snapping open  in awe, then again cum squirts
from my hard penis and it's the most awesome  feeling. I'm pulling on my cock
getting three late coming cum spurts out  causing another shoulder shudder
and then I'm gasping for air, my eyes blinking  and the stiffness leaving my
body... so fucking nice! Then, as usual, there's the  zipping around of late
nerve endings firings before sensations flicker away  and I'm left taking
deep breaths, once again amazed at the concentrated  intense pleasure of an
orgasm. George'tu gasps, tightens his grip on my  hip, makes a breathless
whining sound humping against my buttocks, almost  knocking me over. I put my
arms out to brace myself against the walls as he  does some spastic hard
humping against my butt cheeks. A long gasping  breath and he pulls his cock
totally out of my ass. I'm about to straighten up  when he mutters a curse and
then slides his boner back up inside me. We both go,  "Ahhhh," and he humps
my ass for another full minute before leaning  his forehead on the back of my
shoulder gasping for air again. We're like  this for fifteen seconds before
he pulls his cock out for good and backs  up too lean against the wall next
to where my hands are.


Taking my hands  off the wall I straighten up looking at him still taking
deep breaths. My  rectum tingles and my asshole feels pretty wide open. I
feel really  good. That was a good buddy fuck right there, one I didn't expect
during the  drive here. I ask, "You okay?" He grins, "Yeah, you could say
that. I feel like  I broke my cherry tonight. Those other attempts left me
thinking... is this  all there is? Now I know what good sex with a guy is like,
and it makes me  want more." I do a startled, "You wanna do it again now?"
and he laughs patting  my bare chest, "No, not now, you'll need  to drive back
up here tomorrow  though." More chuckling as he takes the condom off and
tosses it in the corner  opposite ours, snickering  "Let Phillip guess who's
condom that is.  I'm the last person he'd expect to have a condom full of
jism." I mumble, "Nice  buddy fuck, buddy," and he nods his head, "I'll say!
Damn, first the blow  job and now this. Dylan, you are responsible for the
two best orgasms of my  life." I shrug, "Um, I'm glad, but I hope you have
even better ones in the  future. Ya know, sometime later this summer, or
whenever."


We pull our  shorts up and leave the steamy basement. No one's in the
kitchen when we wash  our hands again with George muttering about the lubricant
on his fingers. Ha,  I've got it up my ass and all around my asshole. It
won't soak through like cum  does, so I kinda like the feel of it. I'm happy for
George'tu although our sex  certainly doesn't make my list of favorite
fucks of all time. It is however on  my top ten list for helping guys experience
the joy of sex. This wasn't a true  cherry-breaking, but it's the first sex
he's enjoyed, so it on the list with an  asterisk. Ahead of George's are
the few true virgins I've had the honor of  sharing their first time doing
anal intercourse... true cherry  busters.


Outside we round  up our shirts and as I'm putting mine on his brother
calls to George, "Ready to  go, bro? We kinda want to take off." George'tu says,
"We made it in the knick of  time. "I pat him on the back, "You made my
night. Good luck with that name of  your's and with everything else in your
life too. It's been a pleasure to have  met you." We hug with him saying, "You
too, Dylan. I won't forget this night for  a while." Lighting a cigarette I
watch him go. He's a year older than me, so I  ask myself: who was more
mature, him or me? Probably neither of us was all  that mature, but we're still
young. Now I'm looking around for Ryan and/or  Mike. There are only like
eight guys left and it's getting kind of awkward,  so much so I almost open
another beer I don't want just to be doing something.  Then out from the
kitchen come Ryan and Mike looking like they just got laid.  Big smiles from both,
but the biggest smile is on Mike's face so I'm guessing  his asshole is
still gaping open. They do the one arm hug thing with me, Ryan  adding a kiss
on my cheek with his hug, before asking, "Ready to go, Danny?" I  go, "Yep,
who's driving?"


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




========================================================




Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine  published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them  for
next to nothing. (Or buy the 'print' version.) The books are under  ten
dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life
than  Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at
least  check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the
story in  the books can be found in some detail there. Thank  you.


Donny  Mumford



============================================

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