Date: Sun, 23 Aug 2015 12:04:12 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S GEORGIA VACATION Chapter  9

DYLAN'S  GEORGIA VACATION 


Chapter  9


by  Donny Mumford



Sunday's church activities are finally over and now we're on  our way to 
have a family lunch at Mr. Wilcox's Country Club. Driving out of the  church 
parking lot, Mr. W. asks, "What did you think of our little Baptist  church 
service this morning, Daniel?" Hmmm, I'm pretty sure lying is called for  
here, "I enjoyed learning about the Bible, sir, and both the music and the  
'message' were kinda uplifting. It was nice." Lukewarm endorsement although an  
upgrade of my true sentiments. I was also cognoscente of the fact I 
shouldn't  overdo my positive comments, in this case about the church service and 
social  hour. Ryan's cautioned me that his father's a whiz at detecting 
obsequious  and/or sarcastic comments, sometimes when neither is intended. I 
could have  actually been effusive about the social hour considering the 
unexpected sex I  had compliments of Bradford Blake. Probably best if I keep that 
to myself for  now though. 


Ryan's father is mulling over my unenthusiastic appraisal of  this 
morning's service, and is just about to ask me a follow-up question when  
fortunately Ryan's mother interrupts, "Oh, you young people and your rock 'n  roll 
music during worship. I much prefer the more conventional hymns with an  organ 
accompaniment and the entire congregation joining in and singing along. But 
I get it, it's all  about catering to the youth in today's society. It 
wasn't like that when Junior  and I were growing up." Ryan says, "Mother, 
everyone likes the 'praise and  worship' music." She sighs, "I guess I'm old 
fashion, yearning for things to be  the way they were." I'd like to tell her: A 
little overly dramatic there, Mrs.  Wilcox. I mean, you're not even fifty 
years old yet, plus you grew up with rock  'n roll music yourself. Yeah, but 
she's probably referring to just the music in  church, so best to follow Ryan's 
lead by remaining mute. His mother likes to  have the last word anyway. 
Looking straight ahead, Ryan slides his hand over on  the seat and holds my 
hand. I glance over seeing him grinning and staring at me.  Nothing wrong with 
being loved.


After a fifteen minute ride we're turning onto a winding  driveway leading 
to the country club. I can see it at the top of the hill. I  also see the 
sloping golf course's beautiful manicured fairways, tees, and  greens thinking 
there's something uniquely cool about playing golf in  surroundings like 
these. I ask Ryan, "Do you play golf, Albert?" He says,  "Yes, I've played 
with my dad a number of times," and his father says, "He's  tried playing, but 
he won't put in the practice time at the  driving range or the practice 
putting green. It's not actually golf if one is  just hacking a golf ball around 
not knowing what they're doing or where the ball  is going." Hmmm, that 
sounds a bit fucking harsh wouldn't you say, dad?! I don't  glance at Ryan 
because he's probably blushing, or maybe I'm wrong because Ryan  lets go of my 
hand and says with a little oomph to his voice, "That  was when it was just 
me. It's no fun doing it alone, but I'll practice if Daniel  and I can do it 
together." His mother likes that idea, "That's an excellent  idea, Junior! 
It'll keep the boys busy and out of trouble. And they'll need some  sunshine 
and fresh air after being cooped-up in a warehouse, or wherever you'll  have 
them working all day." She makes it sound like we're ten years old boys  
working in a sweatshop. The father sighs, "Yes, dear, golf for the boys is  
indeed a good idea.  Um, but you'll need to be the one who sets them up.  Call 
Merriweather at the pro shop and arrange everything with him.  I'd do it 
except I'll be out of town on business through Wednesday." She  turns to look 
at us in the back seat, "Well, Albert, do you want me to get  junior 
memberships and arrange lessons for you two?" Ryan looks at me and I nod  my head, 
so he goes, "Yes, thank you, Mother," and she turns back quietly saying  to 
her husband, "We'll need to get Daniel some clubs I suppose." His father  
parks at the country club, mumbling, "He'll use Albert's old clubs," and as  
we get out of the car, he tells her, "Have Merriweather fit Albert with 
whatever  new clubs he feels are right for him now that he's older." Oh goodie, I 
get  Ryan's kiddie golf clubs. 'Don't be an ungrateful bore!' That's what I 
tell  myself.


While walking towards the front entrance of the country club  Mrs. Wilcox 
is seemingly excited about the golf, "It'll be fun entering  father/son and 
mother/son tournaments, won't it, Albert?" He sighs, and says,  "Yes, that'll 
be fun." Huh, I heard reluctance in his voice and I think his  father heard 
it too because he glances at Ryan about to say something, but his  eyes 
drift over me for a fraction of a second and he doesn't say whatever it was  he 
was thinking. That's twice in two days I've seen him hold his tongue when I 
 thought he was about to say something hurtful to Ryan, perhaps because he  
doesn't want me to witness it. I assume it was a hurtful comment or else he 
 would have gone ahead and said it. Actually, most of the time his parents 
seem  okay, even sort of nice in a stiff kind of manner, but there's some 
kind of  underlying tension that goes along with it that I just don't get. And 
why should  I get it? I don't know them to start with, and I've been here 
less than two days  so making a judgement about his parents this soon is 
foolhardy. I murmur to  Ryan, "What are your golf clubs like? Are they regular 
size?" He nods, "Sure, I  got them when we moved here, they're like new 
actually. TaylorMade irons and  woods." Then he goes, "Well, they're not actually 
woods, they're metal, but dad  calls them woods. A driver, fairway woods, 
you know what I mean, right?" I  go, "Huh, yeah, sure." I better do some 
Googling to learn golf terminology and  shit. For instance, what do you call 
those little sticks that you put your golf  ball on before hitting it, and why 
wear only one golf glove, and on your left  hand? Lots of questions I should 
know the answers to before our first lesson. I  don't want to look like a 
dork so I can't ask Ryan.


But yeah, it'll be cool learning to play golf. I guess we'll  take lessons 
after work, and then maybe we can play a round of golf on the  weekends. Ha 
ha, playing golf is something I've always wanted to do, and  miniature golf 
or chip 'n putt do not count as 'golf'. Inside we walk past  a ritzy-looking 
formal dining room that apparently isn't open during the day.  Instead we 
get seated in the club house that features casual dining and boozing.  
Golfers are apparently big on drinking and some of them are eating too. Play a  
round of golf, get something to eat and then get hammered lying about your  
golf score. Cool, but we look out of place with our suits and ties. Speaking 
of  being out of place, a busboy wearing a white shirt with a black bow tie 
and  black pants hands us each a menu; then, as I stare at him, he pours all 
of us a  glass of ice water with lemon slices floating in it, saying, "Your 
server will  be right over." Mrs. Wilcox smiles, "Thank you, Michael." His 
name tag said,  'Mike'. Mike is an awesome looking light-skin African 
American in his late teens  with a cool shortish Afro hairstyle. And, I'm not sure, 
but I thought for a  second there our eyes met and something clicked. Aww, 
it's probably nothing, but  he is one sexy hot dude! Damn, those eyes of his 
sent a chill down  my 
spine. Ryan and I will definitely be eating here every  time we get the 
chance. 


We all look at the menu as Mr. Wilcox mutters, "No sense  looking at the 
menu, I always end up ordering the same thing anyway." Ryan asks,  "What's 
that, dad?" His father says, "An old fashion cocktail to start with,  then a 
cheeseburger with fries. What are you boys going to have?" That was  the 
friendliest Mr. W. has been so far, not that's he's been mean or  anything. More 
like he's stiff and aloof. Ryan and I both get chicken salad  on rye, with 
fries and a Coke. His mother gets the same cocktail as her husband,  an old 
fashion, and for lunch she orders scrod with rice pilaf and creamed  spinach. 
Okay, I'll avert my eyes from that as I'm eating my sandwich. The  waiter 
is a disappointment. He has the same uniform the busboy was wearing, but  
he's an old dude with gray hair and he acts superior, like being a waiter is  
beneath him. 


When Ryan's parents have their cocktails, and us guys our  Cokes, Mrs. 
Wilcox ask Ryan about his meeting with Revered Martin. I'm surprised  it took 
her this long to get around to that. Ryan goes, "It went very well and I  
learned something too. Did you know that there are biblical scholars who  
interpret the passages Daniel and I read from the Bible yesterday in conflicting  
ways? Some claim historical content suggest various interpretations of the 
rare  and unusual original words in Hebrew and Aramaic from which the Old 
Testament  was translated. Some of them claim the Bible doesn't explicitly 
condemn gays."  His mother raises her eyebrows, "You're not implying Revered 
Martin feels that  way, are you?" she looks around and lowers her voice, "He 
didn't infer the Bible  doesn't condemn homosexuality, did he?" Ryan shakes 
his head, "No, of  course not, but he wanted me to know that not all biblical 
scholars agree with  the majority opinion. He believes, like you, that the 
Old Testament's translated  version is correct: 'You shall not lie with a 
male as you would with a woman'  and 'If a man lies with a male like a woman, 
both men have committed an  abomination and shall be put to death', except he 
doesn't believe they should be  put to death." Mrs. W. does not seem 
pleased that the minister felt it necessary  to offer Ryan another interpretation, 
but she's apparently not going to discuss  it in the middle of the country 
club. Both Mr. and Mrs. W. wave at a man and  woman who just came in off the 
golf course, then they exchange comments about  the Kelso's cocktail party, 
whoever they are. With other adults Mr. W. seems  like a regular guy 
laughing at something the other guy yells back. They yell  because it kinda noisy 
in here. Ryan doesn't even glance over to see who they're  waving and 
yelling at. Mr. W. chuckles, saying to his wife, "Ollie's never going  to live 
that down,"and she gets the giggles. Yes, the giggles, as he chuckles.  They're 
apparently more comfortable with contemporaries than they are with Ryan  
and me. I don't blame 'em.


Mrs. W. gets her giggling under control, and asks, "How long  did Minister 
Martin talk with you, Albert?" Ryan shrugs, "Maybe fifteen or  twenty 
minutes." Her expression indicates she's not happy with that either, or  the fact 
that the minister apparently didn't even chastise Ryan for being gay.  After 
a big slug off her Old Fashion, she says, "Well, just for the record, I  
agree with our minister that the death penalty shouldn't even be in the  
discussion, that's absurd! And Albert, I'm happy you memorized those two  
passages. You and Daniel should read them every night before saying your  prayers," 
and she takes another gulp of her Old Fashion. To me it seems awfully  
convenient to be able to cherry pick from the scriptures the parts that support  
your belief and ignore the parts that don't. The minister and Ryan's mother 
both  believe laying with another male is an abomination, but not the part 
about  putting them to death. Of course I don't agree with that part myself, 
but then I  don't agree with the first part either. The thing is, I've 
rarely gotten into  trouble keeping my mouth shut, so that's what I do. The 
father isn't interested  in further discussion, so he points an end to it with 
this, "You boys will pray  on it and we'll leave it at that for now." Mrs. 
Wilcox says, "Well, I hope the  boys realize they're choosing a more difficult 
way to go through life." Ryan's  father gives her a stern look and she 
wiggles her shoulders and stops talking,  then finishes off her cocktail. I bite 
my tongue, although I'd like to mention  that being gay is not entirely a 
matter of choice. 


Our lunch is served by the haughty waiter, and when he leaves  I take a 
bite of my sandwich realizing there's now an awkward silence at our  table. 
When I'm with people I barely know, like Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, I can't  stand an 
awkward silence, so after thirty seconds, I say, "Oh, I met someone  while 
waiting for Albert during his meeting with Reverend Martin." Ryan goes,  
"Who'd you meet?" I say, "A good guy, Bradford something. I can't remember his  
last name," and Mrs. Wilcox says, "It's probably Irma Blake's son, Bradford 
 Blake. A big boy with curly hair? He's your age Albert, and I think he's 
in your  Wednesday Bible study group." Ryan goes, "Oh, yeah, him. The big 
kid. I've never  talked to him, he's kinda stuck-up." I remember Ryan saying I 
was stuck up  before he ever met me. And Brad's hair is not curly, it's 
wavy. Anyway, I go,  "He didn't seem stuck up to me. I thought he was self 
deprecating more than  anything else." Ryan shrugs while frowning, but he has 
nothing more to add. This  is yet another conversation Mr. Wilcox isn't 
interested in, so he ignore's it  and while frowning he changes the subject, 
"Cynthia, how's your scrod? I'm  becoming more and more disappointed in Charles. 
This burger is well done and I  asked for medium rare." Ryan's parents talk 
the rest of the lunch about how the  Country Club is letting it's food 
preparation standards drop noticeably since  someone name Bruce Carson was voted 
in as president and he hired someone named  Charles as the new chef. Mrs. W's 
scrod is dry so they're going to mention the  unsatisfactory food coming 
out of the kitchen at the next members meeting in  July. While we eat and they 
talk about that, I notice Ryan's acting pouty now.  The only reason I can 
think of for that is me mentioning Bradford's name. I can  only imagine how 
pouty he'd be if I mentioned the name Zeke Dickerson too.  Bradford told me 
there were rumors about Zeke and Ryan all last summer. He'd  also probably be 
more than pouty if he knew what Brad and I were up to while he  was with 
the minister.


After lunch, on our way to the car, I thank Mr. and Mrs.  Wilcox for lunch, 
and Mr. W. says, "You're welcome, Daniel, and I appreciate  your polite 
manners." Mrs. W. goes, "Your parents have raised you correctly  which is more 
than I can say for that Winslow boy," and Ryan's parents argue  about that 
during the first five minutes of the drive to their house with Ryan  
continuing his silent treatment. Done with the discussion of what's wrong with  the 
Winslow boy, Mrs. W. moves to a new topic. She's now chattering away about  
the summer dance at the club that's coming up in the middle of June, 
suggesting  Ryan and I get dates. I'm thinking it'd be more fun if Ryan and I went 
as a  couple, but I'll wait for a more appropriate time before mentioning 
that idea.  Ryan and I could get matching tuxedos and dance the night away. 
Mr. Wilcox is  content with interjecting snide comments occasionally, but it's 
mostly the Mrs.  doing the talking. What the hell, boring or not, it's 
better than awkward  silence. I glance at Ryan a few times, but now he's looking 
out the side window.  My shaky early analysis of Ryan after only two days 
is that he puts on a good  act in his parent's presences, but he's only happy 
when it's just him and me  doing something together. Otherwise, it's like 
he's so used to being sad and  lonely he now feels comfortable being that 
way, wallowing in his sadness and  loneliness, which is what probably led him 
to believe being ridiculed and  mistreated is better than sad and lonely. 
Wonder why he didn't put his energy  into finding a friend instead of taking 
the abuse?
 
Huh, I don't think I've ever been sad and lonely in my life.  Well, not 
like I suspect Ryan's felt. I've been sad at certain specific things,  but not 
sad and lonely. Sad like when Chubby was in a coma, or  sadness for the life 
Connor had to live at home with his druggie mother. I get  sad anytime a 
friend is hurting for whatever reason. Yeah, but it's a passing  thing and I 
get over it quickly by trying to do something about what's causing  me to be 
sad, like adopting Connor as a friend and being a good friend for him.  And 
fuck, that sounds exactly like what I'm doing with Ryan without realizing it 
 until now. Huh, well, I know what I'm going to do! We have Bible study 
this  Wednesday night from seven o'clock till eight-thirty. Guess we'll miss 
dinner,  but that's not the point. The point is I'm going to see if I can make 
friends  with a couple of guys at Bible study, and then bring Ryan into 
that friendship.  And it'll help me too because as of now Ryan's all I've got. 
He's a good friend,  but it's more fun hanging-out with a group of friends, 
and it'll be a good  feeling knowing that when I leave I won't be leaving 
Ryan friendless. Aren't I  great though! I'd pat myself on the back if I 
wasn't in this car with the Wilcox  family. They might ask me why I'm 
congratulating myself. Ha! No, seriously, I'm  gonna try to do that, mostly for Ryan, 
and a little for myself. Hmmm, or maybe  it's actually closer to fifty-fifty.
 
At home Ryan and I change into shorts and his motorbike  t-shirts, then at 
the garage we put on those awesome helmets and go for a ride  on his 
motorbike. Ryan's again driving like a daredevil, but I don't think he's  doing it 
to try to impress me or to show off, I think he always rides his  motorbike 
this way. Anyway I enjoy hugging around his taut slim body with my  dick 
pressed against his ass. A long-lasting boner is a very good thing, ya  know. 
The weather's good too with temperatures in the mid-eighties, and again  with 
a hot sun. With the air rushing by us at high speed it doesn't feel all  
that hot, and then it feels almost cool when after almost a half hour he rides 
 into a park with trees forming a canopy overhead. We're on a narrow road 
for  miles passing nothing but forest and an occasional  bicycle rider. We go 
 roaring by them, the mufflers growling loudly, and with most of the sweaty 
 bicycle riders yelling shit at us and giving us the finger as we fly by.  
Friendly Southerners, ya know. It's exhilarating if a bit scary, but I've 
got my  security blanket with me and he seems surprisingly competent handling 
this  bad-ass machine we're on. We roar across a wooden bridge over a wide 
stream with  the wheels making a loud rattling sound against the bridge's 
wood roadway. On  the other side there's a dip in the road and then we're 
air-bound for a couple  of seconds before bouncing hard when landing, Ryan's 
pumping his fist in the  air, yelling, 'Yeaaaah!" having himself a ol' good 
time. As for me, I'm hoping  there's a roll of toilet paper somewhere on this 
bike 'cause I might have had an  accident in my pants. Not really, but my 
heart was in my throat for a couple of  seconds back there.


>From beginning to end it's a nonstop, hair-raising forty-five  minutes ride 
before Ryan comes to a sliding stop, one foot on the ground, almost  going 
in a circle spraying dirt and gravel in a wave around us, then stopping  
abruptly. I sit back taking my arms from around him as the dust he created  
floats past us and I gaze at the forest that's very green and thick with trees  
and bushes. I hear what's gotta be a waterfall nearby too, but other than 
that  the only sound I hear is a mysterious series of rapid, 
"Rat-tat-tat-tat" sounds.  Ryan turns his head towards me as he's taking off his helmet, 
smiling, "You're  still with me, Daniel, good! I was afraid I lost you going 
across that bridge."  I shake my head, mumbling, "Invigorating ride, Albert, 
but I have the utmost  confidence in your handling of this sweet machine." He 
goes, "I wish I did, ha  ha! No, just kidding. Hop off the bike my awesome 
boyfriend-brother." Rolling my  eyes, I mutter, "That's me, alright, " and 
swing my leg over the back fender and  get off feeling a tiny bit wobbly. 
Then, "Rat-tat-tat-tat," again as Ryan gets  off the bike. He lifts my helmet 
off my head, mumbling, "That's a woodpecker,"  and I go, "Duh," like it was 
obvious, but I didn't know what it was till he told  me. Ryan's holding both 
helmets giving me a hug with his other arm. He rubs my  head giving me a 
quick kiss, then hands me the helmets, saying, "Hang these on  the bike, 
Daniel, and follow me." I hang the helmets on the handlebars, like  I've seen him 
do, then he takes my hand pulling me along behind him until I  catchup and 
we walk side by side holding hands with Ryan glancing at me and  grinning. 
I'm thinking that I could do with less of Ryan's random kisses. He  acts like 
we're in love and I emphatically told him we're not. After twenty  yards or 
so into the woods, I ask, "Where we going?" and he goes, "Wherever I  want 
us to go, babe," and he pulls my hand to his side and gets his arm around  my 
waist hugging our sides together. Whaddaya gonna do? He's being in charge,  
like that's his mission. Ha ha, I kinda like it... so far. We're both 
wearing  sunglasses and I gotta say Ryan's looking and sounding very cool and 
in-charge  now that it's just him and me again.
 
We walk a good fifty yards into thick woods before coming out  at a small 
clearing, and there's the waterfall I've been hearing that's right in  front 
of us now, and of course it's much louder. The falls drop down twenty-five  
feet from where it flows over the rock ledge endlessly splashing into the 
pool  of water below. Ryan says, "I found this place last summer. You and me 
are going  to climb down there and go skinny dipping in the pool." With some 
trepidation, I  mutter, "Okay," and follow him down the steep bank thick 
with all kinds of  forest stuff. He knows where to step though, sometimes 
sideways, sometimes  sliding and grabbing tree branches steadying himself down 
the steeper inclines.  The climb down is a bit hairy, but I do what Ryan does 
and we make it to the  bottom without breaking any body parts. Now it's the 
climb back up I'm worried  about, but that's for later. There's a ten or 
twelve foot clearing around the  pool of water that collects in what must be a 
rock basin, and then there's a  runoff maybe forty feet to our left forming 
a bubbly stream with visible rocks  in it. After another ten yards the 
bubbly stream gets a lot wider and calmer  although it's moving along briskly 
before flowing around a bend and out of  sight. I'm surprised how steamy and 
muggy it is down here in this natural bowl.  The waterfall created a cool 
breeze when we were standing near it on top, but we  don't feel much of the 
breeze down here. Under foot in this  clearing there's a weird moss-like ground 
cover that's almost  spongy.


Ryan's taking his t-shirt off so I take mine off too. I'm  like, "You've 
swam in this pool before, right?" He nods his head, "Yeah, it's  shallow for a 
couple of feet and then drops off sharply to at least fifteen  feet. I've 
never tried to see how deep it actually is, and you're not going to  either 
because it could be dangerous." I go, "Right you are, boss, no worries  
there." As we take off our clothes we hang them on a tree limb so they don't get  
wet on the damp ground around the pond, or pool, or whatever it's called. 
The  mossy ground is damp from the spray created when the waterfall hits the 
pool.  The pool's only about five yards across and ten yards from where the 
falls hits  to where it drains off forming the bubbly stream. Naked now, 
Ryan says, "Come  here," so I step to him and he puts his arms on my shoulder, 
locking his fingers  at the back of my neck, and looking me in the eyes, he 
asks, "How's everything  going for you so far, Daniel?" I mumble, "Fine." He 
goes, "How about the church  service, did you survive that okay?" I nod my 
head, muttering, "It was okay,"  and he asks, "Are my parents getting on 
your nerves yet?" I shake my head  slowly, "Um, not really." He asks, "How 
pissed-off are you we're not sleeping  together?" I go, "Fairly pissed-off, but 
I know you'll see we get our proper  amount of sex somehow, somewhere." He 
nods his head, "Yep, I won't let you  down." 


It's kinda weird standing in this strange place naked with  Ryan continuing 
to clasp his hand behind my neck looking serious, asking, "How  about the 
'Daniel thing? Pissed-off at that maybe?" I shrug, "I should be except  I've 
decided to take it as a funny almost unbelievable oddity. It's gonna make  
for a good story to tell the boys back home. It's not a big deal for now  
although not one other person in twenty million would pull that shit on a  
guest." Ryan grimaces, "That's my mother you're talking about," and I go, "Yeah, 
 it is, but we'll just say she's one in a twenty million. Sound better like 
 that?" He bumps his forehead against mine, muttering, "Yeah, that sounds  
better." I ask, "What else, Albert?" and he grins at me, "What if I asks 
Dylan  the same questions, would he give the same answers?" I laugh, "Yeah, 
whaddaya  think? I am Dylan, Ryan. We're just temporarily Albert and Daniel to 
please that  little one-in-twenty-million idiosyncrasy your mother seems to 
have about names.  Me being a 'Daniel' doesn't change what I'd do or think 
as Dylan. The exception  being the 'yes, sir', 'yes, ma'am' stuff." He nods 
his head, "So you're okay  with everything?" Making a face at him, I mumble, 
"Well, I guess it is a little  whacked being a Daniel but you're worth the 
trouble." He grins, "I'm a lot  of trouble, huh?" I go, "Yeah, but you fuck 
good, so ya know…" I reach up and  push his sunglasses up his little nose, 
then swipe his bangs to the side of his  forehead. He nods his head, 
murmuring, "You're my dream come true, Daniel. I  love you." Smiling, I mutter, 
"Yeah, I know."


We look into each other's sunglass-covered eyes a few second  before he 
goes, "One last question: What did stuck-up Bradford say about me?"  "Well, 
Albert, he said he didn't know you, but he knows you're in his Bible  study 
class. Says you're quiet." Ryan sucks on his sexy bottom lip, then asks,  
"Anything else?" I shake my head, "Nope, but he said I have a Boston accent and  
I told him I don't." Ryan goes, "Well, you don't, so he doesn't know a 
Boston  accent from his asshole." I go, "Well, I'm not totally sure about that." 
He  grins, leans in and kisses me, then leans against me and really kisses 
me with  our arms going around each other and me pulling him up on his toes. 
I like the  kissing if it's leading to buddy sex, and Ryan's really good at 
sexy kissing, so  there's that too. One wet sloppy kiss leads to another and 
the more we get into  this hot make-out the sweatier we get in this humid 
heat with a sun shiny hotly  down on us. Sweaty can be sexy too. In short 
order Ryan and I both spring raging  boners 'cause we're both horny guys. I've 
known for almost as long as I've known  him that Ryan's right up there with 
Robby, and Willie as the horniest guys I  know. Chubby probably qualifies 
too although I can't verify that as he plays in  the other league. Ryan and I 
break off our make-out, gasping for air, our chins  on each other's shoulder 
as we continue to hug our sweaty bodies together with  our hips humping 
lightly against the other's.
 
Maybe thirty seconds of getting our breathing back to a  somewhat normal 
condition, then Ryan has his hands on my cheeks holding my head  still as he's 
kissing my lips and then licks up the front of my nose leaving it  wet with 
his clear, odorless saliva, then slides my slippery body across his and  
turns me around. I bend my knees slightly lowering my ass so it's level with  
Ryan's dick, and sticking out my ass so he can fuck it. Instead I get four 
hard  slaps, "Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!" and that awakens a little 
submissive sense  with my boner tightening up a tiny bit more. After the quick 
spanking, Ryan's  hands are on each of my butt cheeks squeezing, and then his 
finger goes up my  ass making me lean forward a little. He pokes it in roughly 
with his knuckles  bumping my left butt cheek. His finger lifts up making me 
go up on my toes. That  gets a moan out of me, then Ryan finger fucks me a 
half dozen times or so before  concentrating on just rubbing my prostate. 
It's gets me feeling even more  submissive which is the whole point of him 
doing that.


More rubbing on my prostate, and now he begins stroking my  cock with his 
other hand. As the sensations grow I begin squirming and arching  my back. 
His fist is very tight around my cock pulling the foreskin on and off  the 
head and my body shudders as I lean back into Ryan moaning quietly feeling  
very aroused with my head laying back on his shoulder with feelings of  
submissiveness continually growing. His finger comes out of my ass and I get  four 
more smacks, "Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!" with Ryan sternly saying, "Stand  
still, Daniel!" and I'm feeling put in my place like a submissive bottom 
needs  to be from time to time. With my butt cheeks red and stinging, and me 
standing  very still, Ryan lets go of my boner and gets my balls in his hand 
squeezing  while the hand he spanked me with pushes a finger roughly back up 
my ass and  it's back to rubbing my super sensitive prostate gland getting 
it's millions of  pleasure nerve endings buzzing awesomely. I do a few quiet 
moans, biting my lip  expecting he'll milk my balls dry again, but he 
doesn't. He lets go of my nuts  and his finger comes out of my ass leaving my 
prostate buzzing and sizzling as  the head of his dripping boner pushes against 
the lips of my anus spreading  them. Both of Ryan's arms come around my 
stomach and he pulls me tightly back  against his body while forcing his 
over-sized boner all the way up my ass with  me trying to move my hips away as 
firecrackers of pain are exploding in my  rectum. When his crotch is tight 
against my ass and his chest is tight against  my back, his arms drop down to 
just above my cock pulling my hips back with him  humping against my buttocks, 
hump, hump, hump. I groan at the pain for a second  before just gritting my 
teeth and taking it like Ryan usually tells me to do.  The side of his face 
is against my cheek, his sparse beard feeling sexy, and the  hairs on top 
of his head tickle the skin next to my left eye making me blink  while his 
scent surrounds me and I inhale the scent that's always captivated  me.


Pain pulsates in my rectum, thud, thud, thud as Ryan goes  hump, hump, hump 
against my still stinging buttocks while I'm oozing with sexual  arousal, 
feeling deliciously submissive to Ryan's dominant way of having sex.  The 
feeling I'm having is incredibly sexy and my cock throbs in it's hardness.  
Ryan's learned how to get me enjoying my fetish without taking it too far. His  
hand drops down and strokes my throbbing boner a few more times making my 
hips  hump and a spurt of precum plops out getting my shoulders shuddering 
again. My  ass is so full it feels fat. Out of my dreamy, floating state of 
mind comes a  quiet moan of submission from me as Ryan quietly murmurs, "Good 
boy, Daniel,"  and swivels his hips moving his boner inside me activating 
more pleasure signals  from my prostate. He squeezes my balls a little before 
stroking my boner again  and my back arches, as I let out a breathy moan, 
"Oooh, aah, aah, Albert,  ooooh." Letting go of my wooden penis he humps 
against my buttocks as the hurt  in there begins drifting away. Then it occurs to 
me I didn't scream out or think  of screaming out as his large hard boner 
went quickly up my ass two minutes ago.  Maybe because I know from past 
experiences Ryan's big cock hurts at first, but  for shorter and shorter 
durations the more often he does the full thrust. Quick  entries is also a quicker 
route to the pleasure that comes  after. 


My body's still tense from the shock of the first rush of  pain, but the 
pain's fading quickly now and soon I'm relaxing as Ryan murmurs,  "Is it okay 
now?" Nodding my head I let out the breath I've been holding and my  rectum 
begins glowing and then little by little the pleasure nerve ending take  
over the situation and begin shooing the pain away, and then I'm all Ryan's. 
"It  feels really good, Albert, really good as always. Fuck me hard like you 
do so  awesomely." He moves the side of his face against mine, again 
murmuring, "That's  my boy," and he pulls his cock back fairly slowly. I hold my 
breath waiting for  him to shove it right back up my ass, and he does too with 
the pain making a  brief comeback over pleasure and I grunt at that, but 
it's only a momentary  thing not lasting five seconds before I'm back on the 
pleasure train that I stay  on with the pleasure intensifying as Ryan begins 
fucking me hard, steady, and  fast. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," until I'm 
almost delirious from the wonderfully  delicious sensations occurring inside me. 
Pleasure sensations of a sexual nature  that are only possible from being 
fucked up the ass really well. Ryan's rougher  today than usual, but it just 
gets me all the more submissively aroused, the  back of my head on his 
shoulder docilely as my body jerks with each thrust up my  ass. I'm picturing in 
my head Ryan's cock engorged with seminal fluids  disappearing quickly and 
tightly up my ass, then reappearing only to disappear  again, over and over. 
He grunts with the effort of his fast thrusting while  tightening his arms 
around me, his hips driving his big boner back and forth  inside me as I moan 
at each thrust and each moan gets louder and louder, "Ahh,  ahh, ahh, ooh 
Albert, fuck me… umm, ooh!"


Ryan's steadily thrusting his boner, his belly slapping  against my butt 
cheeks making the sounds of male fucking, 'Slap, slap, slap,  slap," but 
they're muffled by the sound of the waterfall's endless splashing  into the pool 
close by. All the usual brilliant pleasure sensations are  vibrating from my 
rectum while my incredibly hard cock is barely moving even as  my body is 
jostled with each hard thrust up my ass. My dominant little sex buddy  really 
knows how to fuck and the continuing sounds, "Slap,slap,slap,slap," are  
like applause for him. Along with the slapping sounds are my continuing moans, 
 "Um, um, um, ooh, ooh, ooh," and Ryan's aroused grunts. There's a slap, 
moan,  grunt with each thrilling trip Ryan's hard member travels up and back 
inside me.  Incredible sensations build and build becoming almost 
intolerable. My balls  expand with spunk until they're as hard and heavy as golf balls, 
but relief is  approaching in the form of nature's miracle known as 
'climax', and it's the only  thing on my mind. Then it's here and my back arches as 
my hips spontaneously  hump forward with my head further back on Ryan's 
shoulder, my neck stretching  and me squealing at the volcanic explosion of 
climatic pleasure with cum from my  overloaded nuts zooming from my cock in a 
big arching line of creamy cum. I  don't see where it lands because my eyes 
get squeezed shut dealing with the  bombardment of pleasure that frazzles my 
brain a fraction of a second after my  orgasm flew from my cock. That first 
orgasm ignited every pleasure nerve ending  in my body and nothing else in 
the universe is like it... sexual climax is truly  a magnificent thing. 
Another quieter squeal with more cum pumping out of my  boned-up penis creating 
more scintillating sensations and then my stiff body  goes limp just in time 
for Ryan to gasp, humping against my buttocks filling my  ass with the 
prodigious amount of semen his large gonads manufactured. Then  another hump 
against me with Ryan gasping, and now were both gasping and so limp  we're sort 
of leaning together holding each other up. Ryan staggers two steps  back 
pulling his penis out of my gaping asshole. Breathing deeply, he's bending  
over with his hands on his knees, his semi-hard cock between this legs drooling 
 the last of the spunk from his nuts.
 
Without Ryan holding me up I plop down on the damp moss-like  ground 
breathing hard and concentrating on the fleeting remnants of my orgasm.  Another 
deep breath from Ryan as he comes over to stand in front of me. He  gasps, 
then murmurs, "You need to suck my cock, boy." He's staying in character,  and 
I'm sufficiently submissive to take his big sloppy sausage in my fingers 
and  guide it into my mouth sucking and licking the half I can fit inside. Two 
 minutes of that, then taking it out I lick from his nuts to the head all 
around  the shaft and feel it getting harder and harder in my fingers unit 
it's another  nice big boner. Ryan pushes my forehead back, rises up on his 
toes and then  comes down driving his cock down my throat, leaving it there 
with his pubic  hairs all around my mouth, chin, and nose. I begin struggling 
but Ryan holds my  head between his hands while moving his hips sliding his 
boner back and forth in  my throat. I stop struggling when a much larger 
cloud of submissiveness descends  dreamily over me. Relaxing and floating in 
submissiveness I try getting my head  back further for him. Then he slides it 
out of my throat and leaves it on my  tongue as I gasp for air while he rubs 
my head, cooing, "Good boy," and then  it's goes down my throat again with 
longer trusts as my cock gets boned-up  again. We keep it up until we're 
both feeling follow-up climaxes and Ryan begins  moaning along with me as I'm 
stroking my hard cock. He shoots off almost at the  same instant my hips hump 
shooting out a little stream of something with me  shaking and shuddering. 
His cum shot went straight down my throat so I never got  to taste it.


Ryan pulls his cock from my throat and mouth and wipes some  slippery 
matter off the head on my cheek, then slowly sits down beside me  moaning 
quietly. I'm still in a submissive fog and, ooh it feels so sexy  good. I lay over 
resting the back of my head on his  thigh with the top of my head against 
what is a still fairly firm cock  giving me a shiver. He's sighing and rubbing 
my head absently, then takes a deep  breath and says, "Wow, that was really 
random, huh? Did you like it?" I'm  chewing on my bottom lip feeling my 
submissive sense drifting off, and then it's  gone just like that. Huh! I think 
it was Ryan's normal speaking voice that broke  the spell. Sitting up I go, 
"Yeah, it got me feeling that dreamy submissive  sense again. Nobody does 
that as good as you, Albert." He nods his head, "Yeah,  I was hoping the deep 
throating would have that affect," and I'm like, "Yeah,  but ya know it's 
not happening nearly as often as it used to, and it's never as  intense as it 
was when you and I were exploring all that sexy shit together  early on." 
He says, "Yeah, well that train has left the station I'm afraid, but  so has 
my submissiveness. I totally lost that somewhere along the line with  
fuckwad, Marty, as you call him. The last half of sophomore year I was sticking  
with him thinking it'd come back like it has in the past, but it never did. 
Then  I stayed with him because I was basically afraid of him and his asshole 
sadistic  friend. Thanks to your help I finally snapped out of it entirely, 
and now I'm  like… what the fuck was I thinking back then?" I go, "Well, 
you're still my best  bet for a dom, and you have been since I met you. You 
know, not many guys have  the hot buddy-sex we have." He says, "Really? Well, 
you and Rob are the only two  guys I've ever had buddy-sex with so that's 
all I have to go on. Um, don't tell  Rob, but he can't even compare with you." 
I am not getting into a discussion  with Ryan about Robby and sex. I just 
mumble, "Thanks, buddy," and he gets his  arm around my neck pulling my head 
to his, forehead to forehead, murmuring,  "We're going to make the leap from 
buddy sex to lovers sex, and when that  happens I won't even say, 'I told 
you so'." I just shrug and grin at that pipe  dream of his.
 
Leaving his arm around the back of my neck, he asks, "We both  know I'm not 
experienced with what you call buddy-sex, but you sound like you  know what 
you're talking about, which naturally makes me curious as to exactly  how 
experienced are you?" Uh oh, I don't like the direction this conversation is  
headed, so I go, "Oh, for chrissakes, I'm just guessing obviously. All I 
meant  was, how could anyone have hotter side sex than us? Common sense and 
the laws of  physics dictates there's a limit to how sexually hot two guys can 
get before  setting themselves on fire, right?" He laughs, "Thanks for that 
scientific  double talk, which I interpret as you not wanting to admit how 
many guys you've  been fucking around with over the years." I shrug, "Well, 
fuck, it's kinda  personal, don't ya think. I don't ask you how many 
side-sex partners you've had  over the years." He yells, "I just told ya! You and 
Rob are it. There's been no  one else other than the dominant perverts, and 
that's not buddy sex. That's more  like master/slave shit than buddy sex." I 
go, "Well, did ya ever consider I  might be a helluva quick study from my 
limited adventures with side-sex buddies,  that's all I can tell ya, dude." 
He's shaking his head, chuckling. Then he goes,  "I don't actually care anyway 
because day by day my irresistible charm,  awesomely macho looks, and my 
amazing ability to satisfy you sexually will soon  have you falling head over 
heels in love with me." Laying back on the damp,  spongy ground, I mumble, 
"Uh huh, I'm sure you're right, boss, but so far my  brain's a little tardy 
picking up on those vibes."


Ryan lays back down next to me and we look at the sky with  some puffy 
while clouds floating by in the sky with me pointing out a cloud  that I claim 
looks like a penis. He laughs, saying, "That doesn't look the  slightest bit 
like a penis." I'm like, "Look! Two dogs fucking," and we get to  laughing 
making-up absurd cloud formations of sexual acts from ordinary clouds  that 
look nothing like we say they do. A little later we slip into the topic of  
sexual intercourse and how freaky-odd it is that we think screwing up the ass 
is  so 'hot', but the idea of screwing the way the vast majority of human 
do it,  penis in a female's vagina, is like… eeeeeew! Ryan says, 
"Heterosexuals  sometimes do anal fucking too, ya know," and I'm like, "Yeah, I've heard 
that.  Ya know what I wonder? I wonder the percentage of all teenagers of 
either sex  who have had a same-sex experience growing up?" He goes, "I've 
Googled that and  there are a wide range of percentages. Hell, if you include 
circle jerks or just  making-out, stuff like that, I imagine the percentage 
is pretty high. Then if  you include those who have at least thought it 
would be something they'd like to  try, but never worked up the guts to actually 
do it, god only knows how high a  percentage that would is. It doesn't need 
to be penetration to be sexual, ya  know." I shrug, "Yeah, fer sure. And, 
like everything else in the world, some  people are better at sex than 
others." He says, "Well one thing I know for sure,  it's always one hundred 
percent awesome with you, Daniel, and then sometimes  it's so fantastic it's like 
'oh-my-god I think I'm gonna have a fuckin' heart  attack', ya know?" I nod 
my head, "Dude, I know what ya mean, and that sex we  just had was really 
nuclear hot. You got me off good, Albert," and I lean  against him, jokingly 
mumbling, "Hug me, Albert," and he wraps both arms around  me hugging me 
tight. But no exaggeration, that was good sex! And I need to take  another deep 
breath just thinking about it. 
 
The grounds kinda wet so we sit up, neither of us saying  anything for a 
few minutes, then he rubs my head and helps me stand up with his  arm around 
my waist, saying,"We're both sweaty, dirty, and hot so lets jump in  the pool 
and cool off. Let me warn you though, that water's fuckin' seriously cold 
so it'll be a  shock to your system at first." We walk over and I put my toe 
in the water,  "Jesus! Why's it so cold?" He shrugs, "I guess the water 
comes from under ground then drops from the falls and runs off into the stream  
before the sun can warm it." Ryan hands me his sunglasses,  saying, "Put 
these with my clothes hanging on the tree limb over there. Your's  too." I do 
that, then come back and we step back a few feet from the pool, hold  hands, 
then get a running start to insure we don't chicken out because that  water 
is going to be really cold. SPLASH! Wow, what a shock! I go under the  
freezing water and I'm in shock alright. I'm shivering under water for a couple  
of seconds. Water this cold instantly cooled off my overheated body and the  
immediate change is almost too drastic to comprehend initially. Coming up 
and  splashing with my arms, I look around for Ryan feeling a moment of 
panic, and  then he comes up with water pouring off him. He's all smiles so I 
splash water  in his face and he chases me as we swim around in this clear 
water pool. When he  catches me he dunks my head under water and it's childish 
water play for a few  minutes as we get used to the cold water with the sun 
helping.


"Lets swim under the waterfall," and he's hesitant, "Um, do  you think it's 
safe to go under there? I didn't want to try it the couple of  times I was 
here alone." I go, "We'll find out if it's safe," and we swim over.  The 
closer we get the louder it gets and we feel spray from the falls ten feet  
before we get there. The water fall isn't that big. From the left side of it to 
 the right it's only about three feet wide, and I'm including the much 
lighter  flow at both ends. I swim under the lighter flow at the edge of the 
roaring  falls and the water hits kinda hard falling from twenty-five feet 
above. Ryan's  right behind me as we go under more of the falls, but it's not 
comfortable.  There's too much really cold water landing on us heavily, plus 
how do I know  there isn't a dislodged rock or something tumbling over along 
with the water. We  swim away without getting under the main part of the 
falls. Guess I'm getting  cautious in my old age. Years ago if Chubby and me 
had discovered something like  this he'd be right under the main falls and I'd 
follow him there. Probably a  good thing we never found something like 
this. Ryan and I swim around in the  pool now that our bodies have becoming 
accustomed to the temperature, plus the  sun shines down on us warmly. It's a 
very nice combination. When we try floating  though, it quickly becomes 
obvious we'll end up in the  rapids of the creek  because the water continually 
exits the pool. Everything's on a slope going  lower and lower the further 
away from the falls we get and gravity is pulling  the water flow away from the 
falls. We don't want to mess with the bubbly creek  because it's only a 
couple of feet deep and there are all kinds of rocks  sticking up, which is the 
reason for the bubbly water. Swimming back to our starting spot we get  out 
and sit on the funny mossy ground in the hot sun shivering for a minute  
until the sun warms our bodies. "That water's fucking cold, Albert?" He  says, 
"Yeah, like I said, it's coming from underground and  one time when I was 
up there at the top I got close to where the water rushes  out of the rocks. 
The opening is only like a couple of feet  before the falls." I mumble, 
"Well, it's cool looking, but this isn't the safest  spot I've ever swam at."


When we're mostly dry and warmed by the sun we walk bare-ass  naked to our 
clothes, get our sunglasses and two cigarettes. I light both,  passing one 
to Ryan, "Here ya go, boss." He takes a drag, asking, "You don't  mind me 
bossing you around, do you?" I shrug, "Not yet, I don't," and he asks,  
"Whaddaya gonna do when you do mind?" Swiping my finger across his forehead  
getting the hair out of his eyes again, I go, "Simple, I'll tell you, 'hell no',  
and I won't do whatever it is you're being bossy about." We walk down near 
the  pool where the sun's rays are the strongest as Ryan says, "Let me get 
this  straight… I'm only the boss as long as you approve of what I'm being 
bossy  about." Squeezing the back of his skinny neck and grinning at him, I 
mutter,  "Exactly." He shakes his head, "Well, fuck! I mean that's not actually 
me being  an in-charge boss for real. It's you letting me be in-charge, 
which isn't the  same thing at all." I blow exhaled smoke his way, saying, "I 
know, but why  nitpick minor details? We're getting along famously 'cause 
you're an awesome  boss." He says, "How about on the job when I actually am 
your boss." I go, "Same  thing, boss," and he's like, "You mean you'll only do 
what I tell you if you  want to?" I turn my head to the side looking at him 
funny, "Of course! Any  employee has the right to say, 'Fuck you, I quit'. 
Slavery is over, Albert." He  nods his head, "I never looked at it that way 
before." We sit down again and I  add, "Of course it's not actually that cut 
and dry because some men and women  have families they support and they 
don't have the luxury of saying, 'Fuck you,  I quit'. They have to do whatever 
they need to do to keep their job. Not so with  me at this point in my life, 
but there's also this: there might be something I  don't want to do, but 
I'll do it for you anyway because I like you so much." He  makes a face at me, 
saying, "You're smart, huh?" I go, "Sometimes I am and  sometimes I'm not, 
just like you." He leans against me, "I love you,  Dylan," and I go, "Yeah, I 
know, and I'm flattered, and I'm also telling  your mother you're calling 
me by my real name. She's gonna be pissed!" He asks,  "Why can't you be 
serious for one minute?" I grin at him, but don't say anything  because I don't 
want to get into the subject of Ryan loving me.


We smoke our cigarettes in silence gazing at the falls and the  solitude of 
this place. I'll bet not a hundred people living right now know this  
exists. When he's flicked his cigarette butt, Ryan lays back on the damp ground,  
muttering, "I wish you and me could hang-out together forever, just the two 
of  us." To change that subject, I lay on my side supporting myself on my 
elbow,  looking down at him, then reach over to again push his bangs to the 
side of his  forehead, as I mumble, "Well, not to change the subject, but I 
was just thinking  that if I cut your bangs shorter like you want, you won't 
be able to do the  pompadour." He mumbles, "Whaddaya mean, 'not to change 
the subject'? You just  did change the subject," and I lean over and lay on 
his chest with my face above  his, "I know I did. What do you think about what 
I said though?" He laughs, "You  like getting your own way, don'cha?" I go, 
"No," and he laughs again, then says,  "Um, what do you think, should I 
stop with the pompadour already?" I go, "Yeah,  I think maybe you should, 
Albert. Bossing that crew at work will definitely be  easier without the 
pompadour. You wanna look, um, more serious." He chuckles,  "What? A person with a 
pompadour doesn't look serious?" I'm laying on him now,  again ignoring what 
he just said, "Do you know why I'm laying on you? It's  because the ground's 
damp, but you're not." He wraps his arms around my back,  saying, "Good, I 
like your body on mine," and we lay like this until our boners  are 
throbbing between us. Ryan asks, "Would you liked to get fucked again?" I  nod my 
head, talking into his shoulder, "You're the boss, Albert," and he rolls  me 
off him onto my stomach, then gets between my legs and spreads them. I stick  
my ass up and we fuck for ten minutes or so with me so turned on I'm 
groaning  like I'm in pain. Not so though, it couldn't be pain because when I 
climax  underneath myself onto the damp mossy ground it's like one of the 
hardest  climaxes I can ever remember having, and then I'm so spent I lay in my 
own cum  shaking with sexual pleasure. Sometimes it hits me perfectly, just 
like it did  now and I'm not sure why. I don't even feel Ryan's orgasm 
shooting off inside me  a minute later.


He lays next to me panting, then he asks, "Did you get off?" I  chuckle, 
"Yeah, you might say that since my boner turned inside out when my  orgasm was 
soaring out. God, that was awesome, Ryan!" and I get my arm across  his 
chest. He says, "You called me Ryan. Anyway, it's always awesome for me when  
I'm fucking you." I'm like, "It's you doing the dominant fucking, that's what 
 makes it so special, so you get the credit." He runs his fingers through 
his  hair, quietly saying, "It's hot sex because of both you and me." Then we 
lay  here on the damp spongy ground without talking, until he says, "We 
gotta stop  kidding around calling each other by our real names or we'll make a 
mistake in  front of my 'rents." I give a thought to asking him why he's so 
hyper about  upsetting his parents once in a while. Christ, some teens, and 
we're not that  far from being teens ourselves, argue and fight with their 
parents so much they  stop talking to each other completely. It's natural 
for parents and their kids  not to see eye to eye all the time. I'd like to 
hear what he has to say about  that, but think better of asking him now 
because of the sex we just had. I don't  want to ruin this nice way I'm feeling. 
Instead I change the subject again, "Ya  know, I didn't even think about my 
sore rectum when you jammed your magical cock  up my ass this time." He goes, 
"I told you it would become almost painless  sometime this week. I didn't 
think it'd be this soon, but that's even better." I  ask, "How'd you know my 
ass would be conquered and surrender to your boner's  specifications?" and 
he says, "For one very obvious reason, your ass got used to  my big cock last 
year when we were doing it regularly, and for another thing my  own asshole 
adapted last summer to some really big cocks, but I told you about  some of 
that already." Yeah, he did, and I don't want to hear anymore about it.  
Feeling sticky and mossy we go in for another swim acting like little kids 
again  dunking and splashing each other for twenty minutes or so. Oh man, that 
takes a  lot of energy so after awhile we get out and dry off in the sun, 
then get  dressed. I think to check my watch and it's running like the 
waterproof champ it  is. That's what you'd expect from a $500 sports watch.


Then we're sweating all over again by the time we climb up the  hill 
slipping and sliding getting scratches on our legs and hands… sweaty and  dirty. 
There was also a large dose of cursing going on as we were slipping and  
sliding grabbing tree limbs on our way to the top. Finally standing on solid  
ground looking down at the pool, I'm like, "Fuck! That climb was such a bitch  
I'm not sure I'd venture back down there." Ryan mutters, "Ya big baby," and 
I  walk over to see where the water's coming out of the hill, or the 
mountain,  or whatever the fuck it is. It's pouring out, but from what source? 
Shrugging we  make our way back through the fifty yards or so of forest to 
where Ryan  parked the motorbike. It's just like we left it. Our helmets go on, 
and with me  on the seat behind Ryan holding around his waist, he does a 
wheelie in the dirt  and gravel, then  zoom!  Our perspiration quickly 
evaporates as Ryan  drives his motorbike at break-neck speed down this narrow 
winding road. We get  the finger from three different girls on bicycles as we fly 
past them noisily.  I'd return the favor with my own one-finger salute 
except I've got a death grip  around Ryan's taut stomach. After fifteen minutes 
he slows down a little because  we're back on regular roads mixing in with 
the cars and trucks. It's another  cool half hour ride from here, and then at 
his house Ryan parks his bike in the  garage next to the Mini. It's five 
minutes after six when we get off the bike,  and again I'm a little unsteady on 
my feet for a few seconds. Walking towards  the house, he says, "Plenty of 
time to shower this dirt off us and get  ready for dinner. Remember, we're 
Albert and Daniel." I mutter, "I got it  covered, boss" and inside we see 
that his mother isn't in the kitchen, but she's  got the dinner in the oven. 
The kitchen smells like roast chicken, and as we go  up the big front steps I 
hear Mr. and Mrs. W. chuckling about something in the  family room. Ryan 
says, "It's their cocktail hour, every day from six to seven."  I mumble, "Uh 
huh," and start to head down the hall to the steps for the third  floor, with 
a murmured, "See ya, Albert." He grabs my arm though and rubs my  head, 
"Yeah, see you, Daniel. Today was a really good day, I had fun thanks to  you."


Going up the stairs to my bedroom I feel bad for him because  he probably 
couldn't say the simple phrase, 'I had fun', too many times here in  
Marietta, Georgia. It's never as much fun doing anything by yourself as it is  doing 
it with a friend. The shower is awesome and I think about Robby and  
Chubby, and Seth, the moms, and all the Framingham boys, feeling bad for myself  
instead of feeling bad for Ryan. He has what he wants, why should I feel 
sorry  for him. Then while getting dressed in the Wilcox's dinner attire: dress 
shirt,  khakis with a belt, and loafers, I remind myself that I'm supposed 
to be testing  myself to see if I can handle the world without my brother and 
friends. Fuck, it  hasn't even been a week since I left them, and I haven't 
even started my ten  week work project yet, and I'm homesick already. I 
call Chubby, but his phone's  off. Huh, I wonder what he's doing and then I 
almost feel like crying. Get a  fucking grip on yourself, Daniel! I'm wondering 
how brunch turned out this  morning with just the moms and Chubby? I start 
to call Robby but see it's almost  seven o'clock and I don't want to start a 
conversation and have to cut it off  abruptly. One thing's for sure, I 
don't want to be downstairs before Ryan, so I  wait until two minutes to seven 
before skipping down the two flights of stairs.  At the bottom I hear Ryan's 
voice in the family room.  I venture in there,  and as soon as I walk 
through the door his mother asks me, "Daniel, do you think  Albert's a safe driver 
on his motorbike? June Carter said she was driving  through town this 
afternoon and someone on a motorbike cut her off going very  fast and she 
suspects it was Albert." Yeah, and my leg almost hit her fender.  Missed it by an 
inch! I say, "Oh, no, ma'am, Albert's a very cautious driver. I  was on the 
bike with him and we never came close to another car. We barely went  over 
the speed limit driving down here last week." Mr. W, rolls his eyes while  
clearing his throat, as Ryan's mother says, "I'm so glad to hear that. I  
wouldn't want my friends thinking my son was some motorcycle Hell's Angel." Huh,  
I'd have thought her first concern would be for Albert's safety.


We go in for dinner, and tonight is the same routine as last  night. My. W. 
carves the chicken as we pass out plates, then the side dishes,  and once 
again Mrs. W. proves to be a very good cook. There's creamy mashed  potatoes, 
roast chicken with yummy gravy, a cranberry dish that was good too,  and I 
usually don't do cranberries. There's cole slaw and a succotash of corn  and 
limas that I put on my plate to be polite and then accidentally eat them.  
They were okay, all buttery and salty. Plus corn bread and butter. Nice!  
Dessert's cherry pie and I can't remember the last time I had that. She didn't 
 bake it, but the bakery shop that did get's a 'A+' from me. So okay, the 
food  isn't going to be a problem. Ryan and I clean up the kitchen, switching 
the last  chore. Tonight he does the counter tops and I mop the kitchen 
floor. We leave  the kitchen shiny clean with the dishwasher humming away.


In the dining room, as his parents have coffee and after  dinner drinks, 
Ryan announces we'll be staying in again tonight. Actually I  don't feel like 
going out anyway, so in his room we play games on his Xbox One,  and if you 
want to kill some time just get hooked on one of those unbelievable  games. 
We finally call it a night at eleven o'clock because tomorrow is our  first 
day on the job. I'm hoping for the best and trying to think positive  
thoughts, but that crew doesn't look promising. Certainly not when compared to  
the all-cute-boy crew I worked on last summer. We'll see...


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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