Date: Sun, 9 Aug 2015 13:58:13 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION Chapter  6

DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION


Chapter  6


by  Donny Mumford



I wake-up this Saturday morning in a Hampton Inn. Ryan, in bed  next to me,
mutters, "Umto pum, oh," rustles around a little on his back and  continues
sleeping. His eyelids are moving and I think that means he's  dreaming.
It'd be interesting to know what he's dreaming about. Looking at him  closely,
staring at his face, I think, 'How does that baby face of his have  the
beginnings of a beard?' Reaching over I rub the back of my  finger in the short
curly facial hair along his jaw. Soft as the hair on his  head. Funny how I
used to think facial hair was unattractive and changed my mind  about that
about a year and a half ago for reasons unknown. We're all at the  mercy of
our subconscious minds, but I've known that for a long time  without being
able to do much about it.


Anyway I know this much, Ryan's become kind of important to me  because
he's the only human I know for more than a thousand miles in any  direction.
Sliding over next to him so our naked bodies are touching and that's  nice.
Ryan has a hot little body, but what I'm mostly concerned about this  morning
is the phantom neon sign blinking in my head  announcing, 'TODAY'S THE
DAY!'. No shit! A big yawn from me as I  glance at my wristwatch: a little after
eight o'clock in the morning.  That's nine hours of sleep, which is plenty
for me. I put my head against  Ryan's, then my arm across his chest and hug
gently feeling dependent on  this little buddy of mine. We're less than an
hour's drive from Marietta,  Georgia, home of the Wilcox family of which
Ryan's a member. A little  nervous shudder runs through me at that thought. My
leg goes between Ryan's with  me hugging him a little tighter, then rubbing my
nose in the hair on the side of  his perfectly shaped head. He's always
smelled amazingly sexy to me. Ryan's all  I've got right now, but I think he'll
be enough. I have faith in him and what  the fuck, it's not like we're
going on some dangerous mission behind enemy  lines in the middle east
somewhere. We're going to his house where  his parental unit will welcome us with
open arms. Maybe not open  arms...


Yeah, we'll be at Ryan's house meeting his parents in a couple  of hours.
Common sense tells me that most of my apprehension about meeting them  has
been unintentionally created by my little buddy here. Ryan's overzealous
concerns that everything be perfect has put me on edge. I mean, why does
everything need to be perfect? He's lived with these people for twenty years and
I'd think they sorta know what to expect from each other by now. Oh fuck,
maybe  that's why he's so concerned, he knows what to expect. Heh heh, I
simply  can't take this as seriously as Ryan does, the poor  kid. Obviously it's
because I'm with him that's caused most  of his concern. Maybe he's afraid
I'll think his parents are  'head cases'? Or is it that he hasn't been honest
with me when he says his  parents are okay with us being gay boyfriends.
I'm pretty sure he didn't tell  them we were fuck-buddies, although it's
likely they've surmised that. Maybe  Ryan's nervous about me meeting his parents
because neither of them ever  actually said it was okay for me to spend this
time with them in the first  place. It was dumb of me not to have at least
one parent confirm we're good  to go with this summer project. An email or
text from one of them, with  Ryan's prompting perhaps. He does have a
propensity to project what he wishes to  be true onto a situation when in fact it
isn't true. Hypothetically his  parents may have said they'd think about it,
and while they never gave  a definitive answer Ryan jumped to the assumption
everything's good to go.  Yipes, that could be awkward!  Oh fuck, it could
be a lot of things, but  Ryan's not saying. He claims it's all good, but yet
he's paranoid about me  meeting his parents, so how could it be 'all good'?


Opening his eyes, Ryan smiles, "You're hugging me, Dylan." I  grin, "Yeah,
I know, Albert. It's because you're my security blanket." He  chuckles, "Ah
ha! You'll need to always take me with you wherever you go like  that
cartoon kid's blanket." Grinning I nod my head and kiss his cheek. Damn, he
smells good, but I already mentioned that. He rustles around getting his arms
around me, then kisses the side of my face, with a cheerful, "G'morning,
boyfriend." I lay over on my back, "Are we actually boyfriends, Albert? I mean
in a sense other that we're boys and we're friends?" He shrugs, "Yeah, to me
 we're boyfriends, Dylan, and I'm the boss so that's that." He was smiling
and  playful when he said that, and now he crawls over, goes up on his
knees, then  straddles me sitting on my hips with our dicks squashed together.
Leaning down  chest to chest, he murmurs, "And I love you with a passion." I
mess his hair,  mumbling, "That's sweet of you, Albert," and leave it at
that. He grins, "You're  the most beautiful, cutest twenty year hold boy on earth
... um, so of course  you're my boyfriend 'cause I deserve nothing less." I
make a 'face', again  saying only, "That's sweet of you." He says, "You
better me nice to you or I  won't fuck you this morning." I shrug, pretending
indifference, muttering,  "Well, I'm not horny anyway, Albert, so there." Ryan
says, "That's a new one.  Never heard that from you before." I get both my
arms around the back of his  neck pulling his head down, then squeezing his
face against mine, mumbling, "I  don't need to be horny to get laid." He
goes, "Good," and breaks loose of my  hold, sliding backwards over my dick
getting in between my legs and I pull my  feet back and spread my legs. He
murmurs, "Good, boy." He's on his knees leaning  over to rub his cock all around
my buttocks and up my ass crack. I feel his cock  getting harder as I look at
him, feeling the mysterious sexual heat for him I  almost always sense.
Nothing new there.

Ryan glances at me, "Dylan, I'm gonna get us off fast and hard  this
morning because I need a good hot orgasm, and so do you, then we're gonna  get
ready for my folks." He adjust his position, then asks, "Are you looking to
get the shit slapped outta your ass, boy? Pull your legs back more, and get
that  pussy of your off the mattress." My dick tightens even though I'm not
sure if  he's acting or simply getting used to this dominant role, or maybe by
now he's  assuming it's real. Squinting at him, I get an arm around each
leg pulling them  back further until my back is curved and my ass lifts up off
the mattress. He  smacks my left butt cheek twice, "SMACK! SMACK!"
mumbling, "Keep that pussy of  your's up, okay..." My dick tightens some more as
Ryan rubs the head of his now  hard cock up my ass crack again, then, "Umpth,"
he plugs it in past my sphincter  with me yearning for the times we used
lubricant. He moves on his knees, puts a  hand on the back of each of my knees
pushing his boner up my ass with me seeing  red, gritting my teeth and Ryan
saying, "Get used to taking it, babe. That's a  good boy," as he keeps
shoving that big dick up my ass until he's leaning his  crotch against my
buttocks, sighing, "Ooooh, mmmmm." I gasp at the pain with  sweat breaking out on
my face. So far I'm only feeling pain inside me, but I'm  waiting for it to
change. A quick nonstop penetration like that is gonna hurt  even without a
cock as big as Ryan's big boy. He leans over me and rubs the palm  of his
hand across my sweaty forehead, murmuring, "You're doing really good,  Dylan,
my cock is feeling good way up your ass."


As the throbbing pain in my rectum begins subsiding, it's my  turn to sigh,
"Aaaah, god, that's better." Ryan grins, "That's your man's big  cock in
there, huh, babe?" I think he's serious and I kinda like it for now, so  I nod
my head and he reaches over rubbing my short hair, silently mouthing, 'I
love you,' as he pulls his boner back and thrusts it right back up my ass,
and  it's hurting all over again. Hurt or not, with no hesitation on Ryan's
part he  begins fucking me fast, "SLAP,SLAP,SLAP," sounds bouncing off the
walls of the  motel room with grunts from Ryan and groans from me. My rectum
was a little  tender from last night and then this morning Ryan never let it
adjust to his big  cock before plowing my ass. Quickly though everything
changes for the better and  the discomfort is forgotten now that the nerve
endings inside my bowels are  beginning to send out unmistakable anal-fucking
sensations of sexual pleasure,  and my anus is happily gripping Ryan's hard,
fast moving fuck-tool while my  prostate is ringing constantly, feeling so
good I squeeze my eyes closed as my  shoulders shudder and I can't help but
moan, "Mmmmm, oooh, oooh..." My eyes snap  open wide with delight as the pleasure
swarms over me making me squirm on the  bed moaning.  I watch the
determination on Ryan's face as he hammers his  boner inside me. His hair's damp,
sticking to his forehead, his lips tightly  closed, as he stares at me making
sounds of arousal and sexual pleasure in  his throat, "Um, um. um, um," with
each hard drive up my ass. Those sounds join  the sound of his belly
slapping against my buttocks, "SLAP,SLAP,SLAP,SLAP" with  his scent drifting all
around me making we ooze sexual heat for him as I reach  out to him with my
arms. He leans forward a little so I can gets my arms around  his head and
pull it down to mine hugging the side of his face against mine. The  side of
his face, hot and sweaty, slides against mine as we moan together and  his
constant thrusting-boner continues bringing both of us a world of sexual
pleasure and that world is all that exist for us right now.

My body rocks with each hard hump up my ass, Ryan's  strong hands still
gripping my hips pulling me back into his driving cock with  me spastically
humping my hips against the thrusts time after time. Awesome  sensations like I
can hardly believe have me squirming under him, moaning, "Ooh,  ooh,
ooh,ooh, ooh." Seven or eight minutes of sheer, deeply felt sexual pleasure
that's spread over my whole body and its all being generated by this boy I'm
hugging against me like my life depends on it, and then, "Aaaaah," I hump up
against him squealing, cum spits out from my cock in a spray between our
stomachs, then a lot of cum pumps out of my throbbing boner creamily wetting
both our stomachs as I squeal again and hump so hard Ryan slides off me onto
his  side with me going with him, one of my legs under him. We're still face
to face,  our foreheads bumping as Ryan frantically humps his boner in and
back, in and  back. My arms still around the back of his neck I'm moaning
and shaking from  that climax with delicious sensations pulsing around my
groin even as my rectum  still sparkles with awesome bursts of pleasure. I'm
becoming limp as the  tremendous explosion of nerve endings absorb energy
leaving me momentarily weak.  Ryan's still moving his boner and gasping, then
just a breathy hissing sound and  I feel his hard stream of spunk hitting
inside my bowels, then again, and again.  It's like I'm holding a wooden
mannequin his body's so stiff. Then we're  both limp like jello in each other's
arms. I keep hugging his head against  mine as we moan and sigh quietly, then a
big body shudder from Ryan as our  hearts pound fast and we breath deeply
for thirty seconds. Then, all is  still and quiet with Ryan's hugging me back,
still on our sides face to face  looking at one another with only half his
cock still up my ass in this rather  awkward anal sex position.


A weak smile, then almost a whispered, "So hot, babe, our sex  just gets
hotter and hotter, almost like it's our first time every time." I nod  by head
feeling dreamily submissive to him after he's just fucked me so hard,
doing it his way. He traces my lips with the pad of his finger, murmuring, "Cat
got your tongue?" I just snuggle tighter to him as he rubs my back and up
the  back of my head for a minute or so. Our bodies have created heat so
we're both  damp with perspiration and it feels steamy around us. Finally in a
hushed voice,  "Fuck me some more, Albert." He's still laying on one of my
legs, the other one  is over his hip as he does lazy short thrust with only
about half his cock  reaching my asshole because, while snuggling together,
we've changed positions  again. His cock feels so good going back and forth in
my ass. I smile and enjoy  the thrusts of his still fairly hard cock in my
ass that continue for three or  four minutes more. As his hips move Ryan's
caressing my body, his hands all over  me giving me sexy chills. Finally he
stops thrusting, takes a deep breath and  says, "Shower time, baby, I want to
be on time meeting the folks." He pulls his  cock out and rolls off the
mattress, mumble, "I'll go first." I lay here feeling  really good thinking how
Ryan's doing everything he can to make me happy. For  him as much as for me
I'm hoping upon hope the summer works out the way he  fantasizes it will.
Getting up I pad into the bathroom with Ryan's spunk  drooling out of my ass.
After a piss I pull the shower curtain open and step  into the tub behind
Ryan. He turns his head grinning as I get my arms around him  with my chest
against his back. I just want to hug him for being my lifeline in  Georgia. I
love him in my way even though I know it's not his preferred way, but  it's
something I take seriously. We're like this without speaking for two
minutes, no washing or shampooing, just swaying under the water  flow.


Ryan finally turns around in my arms and we hug chest to check  for a
second. It's like we realize we need each other, maybe even desperately.  Then he
murmurs, "Just stand there." He shampoos my hair and washes my entire  body
slowly with me just standing here in a trance. When I'm washed and rinsed
he smacks my ass, "Now get outta here before you make us late." I dry myself
 smiling and feeling very contended at the moment. Reaching back feeling my
ass  as if that's how I can tell if it hurts or not. The hurt's inside, not
outside,  and it actually isn't feeling too bad. By the time I'm dressed
Ryan's coming out  of the bathroom drying himself. He drops the towel and gets
dressed. He's in a  serious mood now, so I don't talk. I pack up his
clothes, grab my duffle bag and  hump everything to the car. Back in the room
Ryan's looking in a mirror trying  to get his pompadour just right. Finally he
goes, "Dylan, fix this damn  pompadour," handing me the comb. I think that's
so cute and sweet I kiss him on  the lips, then comb his hair. He looks at
the mirror again, muttering, "How come  I can't do that?" He smacks my ass,
"Let's go, barber, we'll get some coffee."  Waiting for the elevator I ask,
"We gonna get breakfast?" He shakes his head,  "No, just coffee, I can't eat
anything." There's complimentary coffee in the  lobby so we make ourselves
take-out cups of coffee and drink it outside smoking  a cigarette. Ryan asks,
"Do you remember everything I told you?" I nod my head  suppressing a grin
and trying to look serious. I'm feeling very close to Ryan  right now though
so I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, mumbling, "You've  done all
you can to prepare me, Albert." He smiles, saying, "It's so cool how  much
you're into me, Dylan," I go, "Can't help myself, Albert." Huh, I can't  even
count the number of times he's said that about me over the last two years,
and it's basically a brag on his part, and partially a projection of his
wishes  too. Of course he doesn't mean it that way, and anyway I am into him
although  it's not necessarily what he thinks or wishes. We get in the car with
Ryan  driving and now he's back to his old habit of extremely cautious
driving,  apparently infuriating the drivers behind us if I can go by the number
of horns  we're hearing. I say nothing because this is Ryan's show from
here on  out.


We pass the 'Welcome to  Marietta' sign at the town line in forty minutes,
and as we cruise through  Ryan's neighborhood I notice, unlike the newer big
houses in the Boston suburbs,  these large homes have lots of ground around
them. Ryan's very quiet and tense  so I'm quiet and tense too, although
it's stupid of us. What, are his parents  monsters? Ryan says, "There it is,
Dylan," and he turns onto a driveway past  open iron gates. The house is way
back from the street looking impressive from  here. Not Willie's mansion
'impressive', but impressive. Along both sides of the  house there are many big
trees and large sculptured shrubbery. In between the  shrubbery and the
street is a large lawn. The lawn widens, curving out away from  the house, then
curving back in towards the driveway entrance. I'm guess the  lawn's fifty
yards wide at the widest point and maybe sixty yard from front to  back. Huh,
Ryan said we need to cut the grass without mentioning this golf  course
size lawn.


Twenty feet in front of the house the driveway splits and  branches off to
the right, going down to a three car garage I can see from here.  To the
left the driveway circles an island of elaborate low landscaped area with  both
flowering and evergreen shrubbery. There are flagstone paths meandering
around the shrubbery. The driveway reconnects on the other side of the island
before exiting the property. Two modest pillars on either side of the eight
foot  square entranceway leading to a double front doors. Over the entrance
is a  balcony with fancy railings. It's a very tall house, obviously three
floors.  There's elaborate molding around the many large windows at the
front of the  house, plus three dormer windows sticking out on the third floor,
like three  little houses with A-frame roofs. The main roof looks like it's
slate or some  manmade composite that looks like dark gray slate. Aside from
the window  moldings, the exterior is exclusively a pale tan stucco. Ryan
says, "It was  built in 1998, so it's no where near as old as it looks. The
house is supposed  to be a European design built for privacy by some rich guy
who hit it big during  the dot-com crazy days. He had to sell it when
everything collapsed." I go,  "Just like Lyle was talking about, huh?" He shrugs,
"I guess. Dad says  he bought the house below market value because the
previous owner had  to sell it fast."


He parks in front of the third garage door, and after taking  two deep
breaths, he mutters, "Leave the luggage and follow me." Ryan looks  apprehensive
as hell, like he's going to have his molars removed, and you know  what...
I say, fuck it! All of a sudden I'm not intimidated at all, but I want  it
to go well for my little buddy here so I'll stick with the program the best I
 can. I follow him to a side entrance, he stands there, asking me, "How do
I  look?' Then he straightens his shirt that didn't need straightening, as I
say,  "You look awesome, Albert," he grins, shakes his head for some
reason, then  opens the door and I follow him in. I'm kind of interested now. We
walk into a  nice little room where Ryan mumbles, "This is the mud room." The
floor is some  kind of tile, large dull red tiles about a foot square each.
There's nice  wallpaper on the walls, a number of hooded raincoats and
rubber boots, all  neatly placed on shelves or hanging on hooks. To my right is
a porcelain double  sink with fancy curving spigots and kitchen cabinets
over the sinks, but no mud.  He opens the next door that leads into a short
hall to a huge kitchen, a kitchen  most restaurant would be happy to have. This
kitchen compares to the  Worthington's although in Willie's house it's
separate from where meals are  served.


A man and a woman are sitting at opposite ends of a kitchen  table that
seats eight. The table sits in a part of the kitchen separated from  the
cooking area by a four foot high brick wall with ivy growing from planers
embedded in the top. At Willie's house this table would be for the cooks and
servers. There are no cooks or servers here. The man's reading the Wall Street
Journal with a cup of coffee in front of him. He lowers the newspaper to look
at  us. The woman has a china cup of something in front of her as she
nibbles at the  point end of a slice of toasted raisin bread that's cut
catty-corner. I'm gonna  take a wild stab at it, and say these are Ryan's parents. We
stand here as  they both look at us. There's an awkward one second silence
before Ryan says,  "I'm home," and the woman says, "So you are, Albert, come
and give your mother a  kiss." He walks over and bends down so they can
have a stiff hug with Ryan  kissing her on the cheek. Considering her hairdo,
makeup, fancy dress, and the  string of pearls around her neck she must be
going to a cocktail party a few  minutes after ten on a Saturday morning. The
man says, "How do, kiddo. Punctual  as always. This is your, um,  friend,
huh?" Ryan stands straight, his right  hand towards me, palm up, "This is
Dylan Newman, my best friend and classmate at  college." His mother frowns,
"Dylan? Is that his first or last name?" Ryan says,  "It's his first name! He's
Dylan Newman." The mother goes, "Humpth, that's not  his first name if he
expects to live in my house. Is that still your plan,  Albert?" Then she looks
at her husband, asking, "Junior, did we give the okay  for this when Albert
was home last? When was that?" Mr. Wilcox does a long sigh,  "It was a few
weeks ago, darling, during the boy's spring break from college.  And yes we
did say it was fine. This handsome young man will be working for  Albert on
our summer project." He said all that as if it's so boring he can  barely
bring himself to say the words.


She shrugs her shoulders, muttering, "Oh, will I never hear  the end of
your conversations about business? Don't bring your work home with  you,
Junior, I don't ask for much." She gives Ryan and me a smirky 'look' that  coveys,
well I don't know what it conveys. Then, with finality in her voice, she
goes, "Alright, but I'd feel foolish calling someone, 'Dylan', or introducing
 you to someone at church saying, 'This is Albert's friend, Dylan'. You'll
need  to have a different name." When she says 'Dylan' she exaggerates both
syllables  making it sound like something goofy. My face gets red as I blush
and hate  on myself for not saying something, but I promised Ryan I'd try
my best to  have this go smoothly. He's at his spot next to me, not saying
anything either,  but he has an expression on his face of disbelief and shock.
Guess his mother  can still surprise him with something outlandish he never
expected, and Mr.  Wilcox is staring at this nonsense with a bemused
expression, apparently already  having said all he's going to on the matter. Mrs.
Wilcox is totally nonplus  sipping from her china tea cup. She puts it down,
nodding her longish head at  me, asking, "What's your middle name, we'll
use that." I don't have one, but I  make one up on the spur of the moment
without giving it any thought, "It's  Daniel,"  Ryan give me a glance as he and
I remain standing in the same  spot we stood when we walked in. No one's
invited us to sit down and  have some coffee, or tea maybe, or some raisin
toast.


A surprised look on her face that I'm guessing implies she's  pleased about
something... the name maybe. She gets up and comes over to me, "Let  me see.
Yes, you are a Daniel." She's almost as tall as me, standing right in  front
of me, "Oh my-my, you are a good looking boy aren't you, but why do you
wear your hair so short?" I say, "Albert like it like this," and some color
drains from her face, while the father looks up like he interested in this
conversation. Then I add, "He gives me haircuts, the kind he wants me to
have."  She looks at Ryan who stares blankly back at her, not quite defiantly,
but he's  standing his ground, which he probably doesn't do very often with
mommy dearest.  She looks at her husband now, and he gives her the bemused
look, so she looks at  Ryan again, asking, "Why do you cut his hair so short?
He has beautiful hair to  go with his beautiful face." Ryan says, "Private
reasons, mother, but I won't  always give him this type of haircut. Just for
the summer and then I'll decide  or another style." She makes a 'face' like
she finds this incomprehensible.  Finally she asks me, "And this is alright
with you?" I say, "Yes, ma'am, it  is."


She holds her hands near her head, palms out, saying to her  husband,
"Boys! I've never understood them?" Mr. Wilcox has lost interest and  he's back
reading the financial section of the Wall Street Journal. Looking as  if
she's flustered, she says, "Sit, both of you." I let Ryan sit first then I  sit
in a seat to his left, away from his mother. She points at me, "You, down
here," as she pats the place next to her, across the table from Ryan. I get
up  and walk around the table keeping a neutral expression on my face. This
is both  fucking amusing and weirdly interesting, with emphasis on the
'weird' part. She  looks right at me, and says, "Humor me young man, and for this
summer we'll use  your middle name and you'll be, 'Daniel', and she pats my
wrist, adding, "You  look like a Daniel, the same way Albert looks like an
Albert. Don't you agree?"  I look at him ready to say, 'Nobody looks like an
Albert except Einstein'  but Ryan does a tiny head shake and I remember him
telling me his parents  don't appreciate humor that might be misconstrued as
being a 'smart-ass' remark,  so I keep the smirk off my face, look back at
her and say, "Yes, ma'am." She  pats my wrist again and I smile like a good
boy while having another smart-ass  thought: she doesn't like the name
'Dylan', but calling her fifty year old  husband 'Junior' doesn't bother her at
all.


Ryan sits quietly as his mother takes another tiny bite  of her raisin
toast, then asks me, "Did you bring a suit for church, Daniel?" I  say, "Yes,
ma'am," and she looks at Ryan, saying as if she's surprised, "He's  very
polite, isn't he?" Ryan smiles, but still says nothing, so I don't either.  She
does a theatrical sigh, and says, "Okay, everyone agrees, we'll call, what
was it...?" Ryan says, "Dylan," and she goes, "Yes, we'll call this lovely boy,
 Daniel. That's a favorite Biblical name of mine because of the Hebrew
Bible's  Daniel who was taken in Babylonian captivity," then she points a finger
at me,  emphatically saying, "But Daniel never converted to their barbaric
religion. I'm  sure you know the story."  She looks at me and I smile like a
dunce,  uninformed about anyone being in Babylonian captivity. She goes on
like she's  talking to a five year old, "From your Bible studies, I'm  sure
you'll  recall Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego..." I look confused, so she
adds, "The  writing on the wall, and Daniel in the lion's den, surely...."
Ryan's blushing,  perhaps embarrassed that his mother's playing the religion
card already. Anyway,  I think I have heard of those three guys so I smile at
his mother again, nodding  my head, saying, "Yes, of course, and Daniel is a
nice name too, isn't it, Mrs.  Wilcox? She goes, "Yes, indeed it is,"
looking very pleased with my name change,  saying to Ryan, "Ask Daniel if he'd
like something to drink, or some breakfast.  Do you have any cereal left from
the last time you were home,  Albert?."


I'm trying not to grin as Ryan formally asks, "Could I get  anything for
you, Daniel?" I say, "Why thank you, Albert, yes I'd love some  coffee," and
laid-back Mr. Wilcox says, "Another cup for me too, son." While  Ryan's doing
that, Mrs. Wilcox leans towards me asking in a bit of a conspiracy
whisper, "Did you put this nonsense of homosexuality into my Albert's head?" I  go,
"No ma'am, I believe Albert's had been gay for a number of years before I
had the pleasure of meeting him." I'm thinking of adding, 'He's quite
experienced! He was fucking me up the ass not an hour and a half ago  getting a
huge climax out of me and then he made me suck his cock clean. I loved  it.'
But I don't say that, and I didn't suck his cock afterwards anyway, so
that'd be a lie. She asks, "Well then, did he put it into your head?" I go,
"No, ma'am, I was born this way," and she mutters, "Such rubbish. I've talked
to  our minister about this and Albert has an appointment with Revered Martin
after  Sunday services tomorrow. You, Daniel, will attend the lecture as
well. I want  to get this cleared up as soon as possible. Did you bring your
Bible with you?"  I shake my head, "No ma'am, I did not," and she says, "You
boys are such air  heads. You can use one of Albert's. He gets a new Bible
every birthday." Huh, a  Bible and a Mini Cooper for his birthday, not a bad
haul.


As soon as we have our coffee, Mrs. Wilcox gets a phone call.  She answers
it, then holds the phone to her breast, saying, "I'll need to chat  more
with you two boys later." They have land lines and cordless telephones.  Mrs.
Wilcox answered the one in the kitchen and she's taking it with her as she
walks out of the room talking and laughing with someone. She has a nice
sincere  laugh. Okay, she's sort of stuck in her ways and kooky, but I don't
think she's  evil. Different worlds, different generations and backgrounds. Poor
Ryan though,  very little demonstration of affection between him and his
parents. Ya know,  that could just as easily have developed over the years
because Ryan didn't want  to be affectionate. After puberty teen boys often
feel uncomfortable about  showing affection, or they feel it's too babyish. Not
all teenagers certainly,  plus Ryan being gay perhaps had his mind
fucked-up more than the average teen.  Teens in general have enough problems with
their changing bodies and such, even  without dealing with the idea they're
also gay. We drink our coffee with Ryan  giving me the thumbs-up for this
morning's meet and greet with his parents, but  there's almost no talking now
that Mrs. Wilcox has left the room. Mr. Wilcox  reads his paper apparently
very comfortable not saying anything. I'm dying for a  cigarette and I get my
chance when Mr. Wilcox stands up, saying to me, 'Excuse  us, please. I need
to talk with Albert in the library. Get more coffee if you'd  like, Daniel."
He smirked in a friendly way when he said my new name. I ask, "Is  it okay
if I smoke a cigarette outside?" He says, "That's where I smoke mine,  son.
Why don't you walk around and get familiar with the grounds." I go, "Thank
you, sir," and he grins, "Are you always this formally polite, or has  Albert
been teaching you our ways?" I blush and Ryan, a bit defiantly, says,
"Dylan's a gentleman, father, I didn't need to teach him anything." His father
looks at Ryan sternly, apparently not used to that tone of voice. He glances
at  me like I might be responsible for Ryan's impertinent tone, but he
holds his  tongue. I saw Ryan's demeanor change from confidently sticking up for
me, to one  of cringing when his father gave him that 'look'.


Rolling my eyes, I leave them to it without a clue what his  father needs
to tell Ryan in the library that he couldn't tell him in the  kitchen.
Retracing my steps through the so-called mud room, and then out the  same side
door we came in, I mutter to myself, "Whoa, good to be outside," and  breath in
the rather humid hot air. I light a cigarette thinking it went about  as
pretty well as it could have, everything considered. Walking past the three
car garage there's a beautifully landscaped garden with a gazebo that I take
a  seat in and smoke my cigarette thinking about Ryan's parents. I didn't
expect to  be thinking about them in this way though. There's almost zero
chance Ryan is  their birth child. He's gotta be adopted, or it was a miracle of
gene  combination that produced a child without a single feature of either
parent.  Ryan's slight of build and only five foot, seven inches at the
most. Mr. Wilcox  is six feet, five inches, or maybe even a little taller, and
his mother's my  height which is a inch and a half under six feet. Ryan has
light brown hair and  his father has jet black hair, getting gray at the
temples. His mother has black  hair or it's extremely dark brown. Okay, maybe he
skipped a generation with hair  color, but they look so different it's
inconceivable he's their natural child.  His father has large facial features,
and nothing on his mother's face reappears  on Ryan's, nothing! They're so
different in appearance anyone could see he's not  theirs. Not that being
adopted is a problem, not unless Ryan doesn't know he's  adopted. Ryan
fantasizes they dote on him so it's not much of a stretch that  he'd rationalize away
the fact he's doesn't look anything like either of them.  If he were black
it wouldn't be much more obvious. Naturally I intend keeping my  opinion to
myself about this, but I am curious about it.


After my smoke I wander around puzzled by his parents  interaction with one
another, or better put, they're lack of interaction. It's  like they share
the same house but live separate lives. I guess that's not all  that unheard
of in marriages. Then I stop and ask myself, 'When did I become  a
detective, and what business is it of mine anyway?' Yeah, that's true  except it
might partially have something to do with Ryan being a little messed  up in the
head about his self image all these years. I hear, "Hey, Daniel, wait  up!"
Hearing him call me 'Daniel'  makes me grin. Fuck, this is nuts. Ryan
catches up with me smelling the back of his hand and looking unhappy. "What's
wrong, Ryan?" He looks up at me with red eyes like he's been crying, and
snaps  at me, "Call me Albert! How many times do I need to fucking tell you
that?" I  step back, and he goes, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and he leans against
me for a  hug, "What is it, Albert, what's wrong?" He says, "We can't share
the same  bedroom. You've got the attic bedroom." I mutter, "The attic?" and
he lets go of  me, saying defensively, "It's big up there, I wanted that for
my bedroom when we  moved in, but I couldn't talk them into it. You'll like
it up there." I mumble,  "Yeah, I'm sure I will, but I was looking forward
to sleeping with you." He  goes, "Me too, but my father doesn't want any,
um, unnatural sex in his house.  We will do it anyway of course, fuck him."
I'm frowning, "How are we gonna do  that?" He says, "I'm the only one who
knows this, but there are back stairs I  can use to go up to the third floor.
We'll need to do a little carpentry work  first because the entrance was
boarded over before we moved in. The first step  to the back staircase for the
third floor is in my closet, boarded over.  Obviously the closet was added
after the house was built. I only found the  stairs from wandering around the
unfinished part of the attic. I've done a lot  of lonely wandering around
since we moved here." Oh great, lonely wandering  around... that makes me feel
cheery, the poor kid.

Ryan says, "Before we do anything we've got to get your suit  to the dry
cleaners for church tomorrow. There's a three hour dry cleaners  downtown.
Ryan drives as I dump everything out of my duffle bag in the back  seat. I get
my suit, the two dress shirts that Willie bought me, my two pairs of  skinny
khakis, and my two button-down-the-front shirts. The other stuff are
shorts and t-shirts, underwear, socks, whatever. Ryan parks right in front of
the cleaners and I bring my stuff in and put it on the counter. An Asian woman
 checks my stuff in hitting keys on a computer as I ask, "Can I have these
things  in three hours?" She nods her head and I think she said, 'yes'. The
computer  pumps out the ticket and she hands it to me. I'm walking out the
door gawking at  the check. It's for $122.00, what the fuck? Handing it to
Ryan, "Look at this,"  and he goes, "Yeah, the three hour service is double
the normal costs." Balls! I  get in the car and Ryan drives us back to his
house with me frowning and fuming,  then grinning thinking what my true love,
tightwad Robby's, reaction would be  with a dry cleaning bill like this one,
ha ha. Love me some Robby Dickers. One  suit, two long sleeve shirts, two
short sleeve shirts, and two khakis, a  $122.00.


At Ryan's house we get out of the Mini and light cigarettes  with me
asking, "Is that all your father wanted to tell you, that we can't share  a
bedroom?" He shakes his head, "No, he want us to swear on the Bible we won't  do
anything he wouldn't do, meaning he wouldn't have sex with another male. He
couldn't even say the words 'homosexual' or 'gay'." Hmmm, I don't like the
way  this is headed, but for now I hold my tongue because Ryan's upset enough
about  the sleeping arrangement. He hugs me around the waist now, saying,
"You were so  perfect this morning, Daniel," and I laugh at the way he
glanced at me with a  grin when he said, 'Daniel'. Then he chuckles, and goes,
"Daniel, like in the  lion's den." I go, "Yeah, he must have been a bad-ass
dude, huh?" Ryan looks  serious, "Don't joke about anything to do with the
Bible, okay?" I shrug,  "Whatever, I'm not disrespectful, my family isn't real
religious that's all, but  hey, Chubby and I went to Sunday school a few
times when we were little kids."  He frowns at that, maybe thinking I'm making
another joke about religion, which  isn't how I meant it. I go, "Some people
are religious, and that's fine, and  others aren't and that's fine too."
We're out of sight of the house when Ryan  says, "Never mind that, I need a hug
and a kiss, Dylan," and we do a three  minute make-out with our hands all
over each other, both of us with boners in  our pants. He says, "We're
definitely gonna be doing what my father wouldn't do,  so don't worry about that."
Oh yeah, and that'll to be some relaxed sex right  there alright. Oh man,
the one 'constant' I thought I had, sex with Ryan, is on  life support now.


We go inside and Ryan gives me a tour of the house with me  asking, "Did
your father say anything else when you two were in the library?"  Ryan goes,
"He liked my GPA score and gave me two one-hundred dollar bills."  Ryan pulls
them out and shows me two crisp hundred dollar bills. I shrug, and  ask,
"What else?" Ryan rubs my shoulder, "Well, he likes that I give you the
haircut, ones I decide for you. He said that shows some leadership potential he
hadn't noticed in me before. Oh, and he said you're an extremely good
looking  boy. He calls us boys. Hell, fifty year old men in the south refer to
each other  as boys too." I'm like, "What else did he say?" and Ryan smells the
back of his  wrist, thinking, then says, "He says you charmed my mom, and
he's never thought  a boy could do that, and he likes you too. He likes how
polite and clean cut and  good looking you are." I go, "Huh," and Ryan
excitedly goes on, "I told dad you  were my boyfriend and that you and me have
agreed I'm the one in-charge." I  reluctantly nod my head, but I'm happy Ryan's
getting some respect from his  father, even if it's at my expense. Then I'm
intrigues with the 'charmed' part,  asking, "So why does you dad think I
charmed your mom?" He shrugs, "He didn't  say. Usually they're good-looking
older men who charm mother." I'm like,  "Really? I charmed her though, huh?"
and he adds, "That's what he said, and I  think it's because of all the
preparation I put you through." I go, "Huh, so  you're taking all the credit
then?" He squeezes the back of my neck,  grinning, "Oh, okay, you can have a
little bit of the credit, Daniel." I  mess his hair, and he goes, "You charmed
my mother in twenty minutes, and I  haven't been able to do that in twenty
years." Yeah well I thought Chubby would  charm Ryan's parent's in an hour
and that I'd never be able to do it at all, and  then I did it in twenty
minutes. Of course I had to agree to a name change, and  I'll need to go to a
lecture on being homosexual with the minister after church  services on Sunday,
but still...


Continuing our tour I count, including the attic bedroom and  it's really
nice up there, five bedrooms and five and a half baths. I've got my  own
bathroom too, yeah! The house is over 7000 square feet of living space, not
including the huge basement with half of it finished as a game room although
Ryan says it gets very little use. The house was custom built with a gated
entrance for privacy. There are three big fireplaces which get used in
January  mostly, but it gets chilly in December and February too. The kitchen's
fantastic  and there's a media room and everywhere it's beautifully and
tastefully  furnished and decorated, every room, including the attic bedroom.
After saying  all that, Willie's mansion is far larger and more expensively
furnished, and  about as cozy as a setting in an expensive window display.
Ryan's house has more  of a lived in feel to it, not that I'm dissing Willie's
house, they're just  different. One is owned by someone who's very well-off
financially, and the  other is owned by someone with inherited money that
grows faster that their  exorbitant spending can match.


After the tour of the house, Ryan shows me his motorbike in  the garage.
It's similar size-wise to Sonny's, but that where the comparison  ends. Ryan's
bike is a very tough-looking Yamaha FZ-09 Sports Bike and just  looks 'bad'
as in good. He proudly sits on the bike looking very cool himself.  He
says, "This bike is powerful with a 3-cylinder engine. Ya wanna take a ride?"  I
go, "Yeah, sure," and he gets off  to get two very cool helmets from the
garage. I'm like, "Holy shit, Albert, these are cool looking," and I put one
on.  Ryan says, "That's mine, but you can wear if you want." I'm like, "This
feels  awesome on my head, really comfortable. What's a helmet like this
cost?" He  goes, "They're both Aria Chaser V helmets that cost over seven
hundred dollars  each." I mutter, "Jesus," and ogle his bike some more, still
wearing the helmet.  The bike's mostly black with two dark yellow rods in
front and dark blue strips  around the rim of each tire. It has the one sloping
seat so the guy sitting in  back doesn't have much choice, he or she is
gonna be tight up against the  driver's ass. I got no problem with that. He
says, "Ya know what? Come with me,  I've got cool clothes to wear when riding
this bad motherfucker." We go through  the house and upstairs to Ryan's big
bedroom, where there are all the electronic  gear I'd expect him to have. Ha,
I can see why he'd spent so much time hanging  out in here.


Ryan digs in his closet coming out with light-weight long  skinny black
jeans, but not denim, some other material. He goes, "I'll wear  these, you'll
need to wear these," and he holds up skinny black cargo shorts  made from the
same lightweight miracle fabric as his pants. We wear black Yamaha
t-shirts. Ryan puts ob black Chuck Taylor Converse retro sneakers, while I'm  stuck
with my high top Nikes. He holds up a cool black motorcycle jacket that's
light as a feather, more miracle fabric, although it looks like leather. He
puts  it on saying, "Sorry, I just have one of these," and we troop
downstairs and out  to the garage. Putting on our helmets, I ask, "Where we gonna
ride, Albert?" As  he gets on his bike and fires it up with a deep rumbling
sound that screams  bad-ass, he says, "We'll ride to the plant. See where
we're gonna be working.  Get on behind me and hold on." I loosely hold onto his
narrow hips, and we take  off. It's soon apparent that as cautious as he is
behind the wheel of a car,  he's the opposite on a motorbike. His first turn
is taken so sharply the bike  and the two of us are leaning dangerously to
the right. He straightens the bike  and we roar off.


Ryan's passes cars, cutting in-between them, and generally  drives like a
daredevil on this two lane road. I'm soon hugging him for dear  life. His
body feels sexy and he's acting sexy riding this motorbike recklessly.  After
ten minutes I have confidence in his ability to operate this hot machine  and
that makes me feel good for him, good that he's this cool on his motorbike.
 It's a powerful machine for real, and when he accelerates the front wheel
comes  off the road temporarily. Fifteen minutes into a hellava ride and he
comes  screeching to a stop at a big sign announcing, LOCKHEED-MARTIN
AEROSPACE, and a  smaller sign, 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Ryan pulls up to the
gated guard  house and shows ID on a lanyard around his neck I'm just not
noticing. The guard  does a half-ass salute, saying, "You're Mr. Wilcox's son,
huh?" Ryan goes, "Yes,  sir," and they shake hands, "Nice to meet you,
Albert." The guard looks at a  list on the clipboard he's holding, glances over
and smiles, "You're working  here this summer I see." Ryan nods at the guy,
"Yes, sir, me and my friend  here." The guard says, "Welcome aboard," the
gate comes up, Ryan nods his head  again, then leaves rubber with the mufflers
growling and we're off. He slows  down and comes to a stop behind the large
complex with loading docks stretching  for maybe fifty feet. Reaching into
his pocket he hands me my ID and I put it  around my neck with a puzzled
expression. Ryan explains, "Dad gave me both our  ID badges in the library,"
I'm like, "How they get my picture?" He says, "Hop  off first, Daniel," I do
that and he gets off tapping my ID badge with the back  of his finger,
saying, "My dad knew you'd be here this summer. It's Mom that's  in her own little
world. Anyway I gave him your picture and pertinent  information at spring
break so they could do a background check and then issue  your badge." If
only Ryan had told me this earlier I'd have been less  apprehensive. His
father was fully on board for almost a month now,  damn...


Ryan, says, "Come over here, this is the door we'll use. Have  to show ID
again each morning." When he's got a cigarette going, he says,  "Um, there is
something else dad told me in the library earlier. I need to  meet with my
immediate supervisor at two o'clock today right here. My  boss's name is
Josh. He's giving me a four hour orientation about  my responsibilities as
supervisor of our equipment verification unit. I'm  also gonna meet the five
guys who will be working for me. Just an introduction  so we know each other
for the first day of work on Monday." I say, "Okay, but  I'm one of the five,"
Ryan shrugs, "You're the sixth, but we don't need an  introduction, so you
don't have to waste time here on a Saturday afternoon." I'm  like, "But what
will I do?" He says, "Anything you want. You can take my Mini  and check
out the area, or stay in my room and play with my toys. Just don't  steal
anything," and he punches my arm lightly so I'll knows he's kidding," I  go,
"Can't I stay with you, Albert," and I guess that sounded a little whinny.  He
gives me a one arm hug, "Sure ya can. I thought you'd rather avoid four
boring hours. Except you won't be with me most of the time, it'll just be  Josh
teaching me what I'll need to do. The introduction is like ten minutes with
 my guys, the rest of the time I'll be with Josh." Trying not to whine, I
go, "I  wanna stay with you." He shrugs and we get back on the motorbike and
Ryan  roars away. What is it with guys on motorbikes anyhow? Sonny and his
friend, and  now Ryan of all people, go wild on motorbikes.


Guess I'm desperate not to be left in his house alone, so  I yell in Ryan's
ear over the roar of the muffler, "I'll read a book while  waiting for
you." He shakes his head a little chuckling probably because  he's never seen me
read a book. He yells, "You want to come with me and  read a book for four
hours, it's okay with me, Daniel. I'll come out and hold  your hand if I get
the chance." He's trying to make a joke out of  my insecurity. I tighten my
arms around him, yelling, "I'm depending on  that, Albert." He smiles, then
jokes, "Oh man, I love that you're depending on  me. I'll try not to take
too much advantage of that." It's only  twelve-thirty so we've got an hour
and a half before going back to the plant. I  think of lunch, yelling in
Ryan's ear, "Are we expected for lunch?" He shakes  his head and then we're in
town and he slows down to the speed limit. We ride  down the main street of
the downtown area a half mile, then he parks in front of  a sub shop. We go in
and order cold Italian subs. Waiting for them at a table,  Ryan says, "We
never have a lunch together at my house. When someone wants  something they
fix it themselves. Mother only cooks dinner. By the way dinner's  at seven
o'clock sharp every day of the week and ya better have a  bulletproof excuse
if you're late." After sub-shop lunch Ryan takes us  on a nice long ride over
back roads where he really let's that beast out to like  ninety-five miles
an hour. It's fun and scary, and frankly I didn't think  Ryan had the balls
for it. I was wrong.


We get back at his house in time to clean up and take the  Mini to pick up
my stuff at the dry cleaners, then to the plant for Ryan's four  hour
training session, the last ten minutes of which we'll meet the other five  members
of his work crew and see who I'll be working with. I'm wondering what
those five crew members will be like. Maybe older men, or maybe some hot and
cute young guys like on Robby's crew last summer. I know none of them are
going to be women because Ryan told me so, and it's because some heavy lifting
is involved. Well, I've experienced Robby as a boss, he was awesome. Monday
I'll  see how Ryan handles it.


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. 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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