Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2016 12:52:32 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE   Chapter  20

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT  COLLEGE


Chapter  20


by  Donny  Mumford


Rob and I are still in bed at ten-thirty Saturday morning, three  days
before Halloween. I'm not sure if I'm Rob's date for the party, or if Frankie's
his date. Rob says what difference does it make since we're going as a
group of six or seven. It makes a difference to  me.

He's  sleeping on his side facing me, while I'm looking out the bedroom
window at  a harbinger of winter; there's frost on the outside near the
windowsill. For a change the sky is very blue this morning and that reminds me of
a grade school  poem, 'October's Bright Blue Weather', written by somebody
whose name I don't remember. Hell, for that matter, maybe I don't  even
remember the poem's title correctly. Many rainy or gray-cloudy days  all through
October, so this bright blue day is very welcome.  The temperatures have
been dipping below freezing some nights and then  topping out in the high
forties to low fifties during the warmest part of  the day. My Warriors
sweatshirt isn't cutting it anymore, not if I'm  outside for more than ten  minutes
in the morning. Cold nasty weather notwithstanding, I still see  idiot guys
and girls coming to class wearing pajama bottoms and slippers. What
enormous assholes they must be. They probably read that silly paperback,  'College
Humor's Guide to College'  and thought it'd be cool to do all the crazy shit
they read in the  book.

My  eyes glance around our bedroom, which looks clean and neat as usual.

Everything's in it's place while outside our bedroom lurks disaster. That's
a common condition for our apartment Saturday mornings after the Friday
night  card games. The second Friday night we were in the apartment we had a
card game with a manageable eight guys and girls. That night we played
pinochle with four, two-player teams. The Friday night games  were Frankie's
idea, who's also  known as Francesca Flores, and with her copilot,  Beth
Underwood. The  games caught on and since that first Friday night the two girls
have been  running card games every Friday night... in  our apartment of course.

It's poker or gin rummy some night, pinochle other  nights. I don't even
know some of the guys and girls who showed up last night.  They're dormitory
students, of course, so from their point of  view what better place for a
Friday night card game than a strangers'  apartment....

Actually  I like the card games, but not the mess left behind in the
kitchen and living  room. Then there's also the traffic through our bedroom to the
bathroom, and  that's not too cool either. Even though a lot of beer is
consumed, so far  no one has thrown-up in the bathroom, or anywhere else. No
hard liquor is  allowed, but because of the large beer consumption there's
lots of pissing  being done in the bathroom with an occasional guy's aim not as
 accurate as one would hope. Sometime today Robby will texts Frankie  and
she'll comes over with Beth. The four of us will clean the apartment,  which
usually takes about an hour. The girls helping with the clean-up  is the
good part. The bad part is the girls will often hang out with us the  rest of
the day, and sometimes into Saturday nights as well. I'm  resigned to it, and
wouldn't really mind too much if it happened less  frequently. It's not
always just the four of us either. Our apartment  has become like a mini frat
house with guys and girls hanging around with no better place to go. I'll
take  my share of the blame because most Saturdays I'll give two or three free
 haircuts here. Huh, even to me it  sounds like I'm whining. I guess I am,
but it's justified because I'm pretty  sure the girls  are here long term.

Rob  and Frankie have become close, but I'm not really worried that Rob
will  someday give  me a Dear John letter because, for one thing, my name isn't
John,  and for another thing we're gay guys in love. Frankie can't compete
with that. My jealousy centers around the amount of time Rob spends with
Frankie  when he should be spending it with me. So, as I lie here in bed next
to my  sleeping lover, I've got this little nervous feeling, like
butterflies, in the pit of my stomach. The reason being I've decided  finally that I
can't put off having a heart to heart discussion with Rob about  the amount
of time he spends with her. That, and the other matter of me  tasting her
lipstick on his lips at least three or four times in the last  six weeks. It's
a sticky situation because of our agreed upon  relationship wherein
discrete side-sex is allowed. His discrete  side-sex with Danny Monday, for
example, doesn't leave behind telltale  lipstick flavors, so I have no knowledge
when or if they  make-out. The  discussion I'm planning with Robby I've named
the  lipstick conundrum because it's the first incidence  where one of us
has basically advertised side-sex, even if it's only  making-out. I'm hoping
Rob can assure me that's all it is. Frankie's lipstick  situation is baffling
because I hadn't considered the possibility Rob could be  bisexual until
recently. Because of Frankie the thought has crossed my  mind. As for me, I'm
most definitely not bisexual. I can't conceive of  making out with a girl.

Not because I hate them, I actually enjoy the  company of some girls, but my
brain came wired for guys only. To my  knowledge I had nothing to do with
that.

The lipstick  conundrum aside for the moment, during last night's card game
Rob and I  each drank only maybe five beers over a five hours period, and
consequently I'm feeling fine this morning, and I expect Robby will feel
fine  too. I'm feeling fine except for being, like I said, a little  nervous
about confronting Rob, and unsure when to do it.  It'll be some time today.

Not when he first wakes up though; he's not a morning person. Yeah, but then
the  girls will be here to clean up. Maybe this will be a Saturday they
don't hang  around all fucking day, and I'll find a good time for a heart to
heart talk  with only Rob right here in the apartment. What I'm going to do
is: I'll bring it up casually, like it's no big deal... no problem,  Rob, I'm
just curious is all... you know, like that.  Hmmm, or  better yet maybe I should
wait until after we have a few  beers tonight. I'll get him alone and...

well, dammit; It's  an awkward topic for me to bring up. And then, oh boy, the
very thought he'd tell her about our lipstick conundrum discussion,  well
that almost makes me think I'd be better off leaving well  enough alone. Rob
leaves well enough alone as far as Ryan's and  my side-sex goes. Yes, that's
definitely the right thing to do, leave well  enough alone, except I'm not
going to do that. This situation is different.  And it's simple; the telltale
fruity-flavored lipstick Frankie wears makes it  different. I mean, Ryan
doesn't wear lipstick, and neither does Danny  Monday, so Frankie's lipstick
creates this unique situation. Funny  how I didn't even think Frankie wore
lipstick when I first met her. Her  make-up is very subtle but, what the fuck,
I'm no make-up-ologist, so how the  fuck would I know. My knowledge of
girls in general is quite limited, never  mind knowing anything about make-up.

Rob  rolls over on his back and I stare at his face for a minute. His eyes
are still closed as he grins, asking, "Are you staring at me, Dylan?"  I
mumble, "Don't flatter yourself, but your mustache is starting to show
nicely, and just the thought of feeling it against my top lip is  giving be a
hard-on" He opens his bright blue eyes, "Did you notice my  sideburns?" I rub
the back of my finger up the slight beard growth below  his left sideburn,
saying, "Holy shit! They feel like whiskers," then I feel  his chin whiskers
which feel a little bit stiff too. Definitely not  hair-like anymore. Robby
groans sitting up and pulling him pillow  behind his back, muttering, "Yeah,
well it's about fuckin' time my beard  started coming in. I'm tired of the
baby face look." I go, "Hey, what the  fuck?" He goes, "Not your baby face
look, mine. Your's gives me a hard-on," and  he runs his fingers through my
hair, then gets a fitful of  my bangs and pulls my head over. I yell, "Morning
breath!" but his  lips cover mine, ignoring my warning. My mouth
automatically  opens slightly; it's on autopilot for Rob. We have a very sexy kiss
without  me noticing the dreaded morning breath. Of course brushing our teeth
and gargling with mouthwash the night before helps a lot in that  regard.

Robby gets his arm around my back pulling me over as he  lies on  my chest. My
dick is already hard because I'm now totally addicted to  Rob. The way he
just took charge of us like that is exciting,  thrilling even. And then
there's everything else about him that I  simply can't get enough of. I've built
him up in my head to  hero status, rock star status, and I can't help myself.

He is perfect  and when doing his in-charge act he's also awesome. He's my
man  alright!
Time is meaningless during romantic make-outs with Rob, but it's gotta be
ten minutes that our mouths have been basically attached, while our  bodies
rub together, his whole body on top of me now, his arms around the  back of
my neck as we try swallowing each other's tongue. His scent is so  different
from anyone else's. It's magical and brings  memory flashes of all the most
wonderful loving moments I've  had with him. In my mind it's like an album
of love and sex...  starring Rob and Dylan. Then, it's like I read his mind
when I pull my legs  back, an arm behind each one. He fumbles my boxers
below my asshole and I feel  wetness at my hole. Precum wetness as I think, 'Or
did Rob murmur, pull your  legs back, Dylan?' He may have, in which case I
didn't exactly read his  mind. He's on his knees between my legs now,
grinning down at me as he pulls his  boxer shorts down so they catch under his
nuts. He murmurs, "I love you so  much, Dylan, I just wish I had the words to
express it better." My body  shudders with anticipation as I murmur back at
him, "Me too, Rob," and he  adds, "This year, sharing the apartment with you
has been so fucking  wonderful, so perfect it almost makes me cry with joy."

I mutter, "Joy?" as he  leans over to the night table and plucks the
lubricant from the drawer. Ahhh,  how considerate of him! Staring at me, he strokes
shiny lubricant up and down  his boner, grinning and saying, "Ooou, this
feels good. Maybe I'll jerk off."  He's so cute. I go, "Don't even joke about
that." He wipes his  slippery hand on the sheet as he casually humps his
hips,  plunking the head of his fat cock inside me. I go, "Waaaa, ooh! Love the
lube,  boyfriend."

Robby  leans forward, a hand on either side of my chest, and jabs his boner
another  inch inside my rectum, then leans down kissing me as he pushes the
rest of his  cock up my ass. I can't do much with the kiss because I'm
holding my breath  against the pain, but by the end of his sweet kiss the pain
is fading  quickly. A flicker of recognition flings past my consciousness.

It's that  Ryan is partially responsible for opening me up with his huge boner
the  past five weeks or so. That thought flies off and is forgotten almost
before it happened as Rob's humping against my buttocks, saying, "This will
be  fast, Babe. I feel like I'm going to shoot off right now," and, leaning
over me,  his face above mine, he thrusts his boner back and forth in my
ass fast and  hard, grunting with every thrust. The ensuing "Slap,slap,slap,
slap," sounds are  partially muted because half his bare crotch is smacking
against my  boxers shorts that he pulled down just barely under my asshole.

He's  moves his hips smoothly, fast and hard, fucking my ass awesomely. How
to  describe the pleasure inside me? It's all overwhelming: the sizzling
intense pleasure coming off my anus and prostate, plus the image  of Rob as my
man being in-charge; in charge forever, and the love  we have together, his
scent, the picture in my head of his thick hard  cock disappearing inside me
over and over, shiny with lube and his precum.  There's the subtle plop,
plop, plop sounds as perspiration  drips from his forehead pinging off my
face, and the beautiful look  of ecstasy and love in his eyes... simply put, there
is no greater  height of sexual pleasure and love for me than this.

It's three,  then four minutes of exquisite, thrilling pleasure until I
make a  squeaky sound with my climax ready to blow up. It's desperate, "Ooh,
oooh,  ooooh! Robby!" followed by my squeal at climax... cum shooting from my
hard  cock splashing against my chin, then another streak of cum, my body
stiff as a  board, my eyes tightly closed to better absorb the sensations
coming  off nerve endings around my asshole and inside my rectum. Sparkling
electric sensations that deliciously spread out all over me. Ooh, then  the
gooey extra pleasure of retreating sensations just beginning  their decent into
oblivion. Just as I reach the deep-breathing,  limp-body, after-orgasm
stage Rob's cock goes off with a gasp from  him and a look of surprise in his
eyes. He did one last hard desperate  hump against my butt cheeks and I felt
his stream of spunk hit inside me. It's  immediately squishy and warm and wet
in there with some of his cum already  drooling out, squeezing out around
his fat cock. My arms are around his  shoulders trying to pull him forward,
on top of me. A last moan from  Rob and he falls forward with his cock
flopping out of my ass. He  gasps again and we both breathe deeply,  our hearts
slamming against our rib cages for thirty seconds, then all  is quiet. We're
both perspiring in the overly heated bedroom. With a last deep  breath I
begin rubbing my hands on his back murmuring deep feelings of love  for this
wonderful young man who I've known, loved, and shared sex with  since we were
boys. No one can ever break the bond we've forged.

We  lay together side by side now, holding hands no less, while talking
about how  good our sex was this morning. As we continue discussing it we
end-up laughing,  claiming we're the best fuck-duo in North America, and how
we're gonna keep  trying to get better so we can over take Brazil on our way to
the number  one spot in the world. Why we choose Brazil is anyone's guess,
but it  makes us laugh and say other dumb-shit stuff like that. I love
laughing my ass off and being totally silly with Robby. He used to be too
serious, too stodgy for his age. It's his father's fault because that's how he  is
and Robby copied that until I got a hold of him. I've done one hell of a
good job with him too.  Ha ha, well I actually have been a good  influence on
him in the fun and games department. We eventually roll out of bed  and
wander into the bathroom. Robby says, "Check to see if anyone is  sleeping in
the tub, or God forbid, threw up in there." I look, "Nope,  we're good."

Robby's taking a piss, saying, "Look at this, Dylan," as he points  at the
toilet, and adds, "What's so fucking hard about hitting the water in  the toilet
when these guys take a piss? Look at the piss stains all around  the rim." I
go, How do you know it's not one of the drunk girls?" and we chuckle
picturing how a girl would miss the toilet bowl while pissing. He goes, "Your
mind is just a little bit warped, babe." Taking my dick out through  the front
slit of my boxer shorts, I let go a piss stream standing next to Rob,
muttering, "Jesus, check out the tile  floor around the toilet," and I cross my
strong piss steam with  his.

After  our piss we get cleaning materials and, on hands and knees, clean
the bathroom  floor, toilet, and sink. It takes the two of us ten minutes to
produce a  disinfected shiny-clean bathroom again. We can't say the same for
ourselves  though, so we drop our shorts and get under the shower together.

Looking at Rob,  like I do all the time, I'd believe a psychiatrist if he
said our  love for each other may have started with conceited self-love. I
say that because Rob and I are so alike physically. Not athletically  because
Rob far exceeds me there, but we're the same height, the same weight,
almost to a pound one way or the other, we have blue eyes and the same  two-tone
blond hair, and we're attractive facially, although we don't look a lot
alike. Among the few differences are the size of our private parts and the
changes in appearances as we've grown older. Robby's more handsome than cute
now, although we both used to be boyishly cute. Obviously, I can only have
these thoughts privately because saying observations like these out loud
would make me a conceited asshole, but facts are facts. Another difference is
Rob's quickly developing beard of pale blond hairs; hairs that are  now
beginning to have a slightly stiff feel to them. What else? Oh yeah, he  can
sing, carry a tune really well, whereas I'm like most unmusical individuals.

While singing 'Happy Birthday' as part of a group, for example, my  singing
voice wouldn't ruin that stupid song, but a solo rendition would  leave
listeners awkwardly uncomfortable.

In  the shower we stand under the flowing hot water in each other's arms.

Okay,  that's another difference between us. While my arms look good because
Mother Nature gave me  defined biceps, Rob's arms looked equally good but
his are stronger and  it's not really all that close. He more or less lets me
stay even with  him when we occasionally wrestle as part of rough foreplay,
but we're both  aware he's only half trying. We're not wrestling now
though, we're into the feel  of each other's body, and there's no other body I'd
rather feel than Rob's. We  sway a little under the water-flow from the
shower head with me imagining  us doing this under a real waterfall in Hawaii on
our honeymoon. Right now  in the shower I'd be content hugging him until the
water runs cold,  but that's another difference between us. Rob's
realistic, more sensible than  me and he finally lets go of me, mumbling, "I'll bathe
you  first, Dylan. Just stand there." I do what I'm told, springing another
boner in  the process. Rob's fingers and hands feel sexy as he's washing my
body and  shampoos my hair. Robby grins, asking, 'What's this, babe," and
his fists closes  around my boner. He strokes it while grinning at me, then
keeps stroking it  as I lean against him going up on my toes, the sensations
coming from my  hard penis have me moaning and right on the verge of another
orgasm. Just  before I'm positively going to climax again, Rob sinks to his
knees and  sucks a small orgasm out of my cock leaving me shaking under the
water spray, my  hands on Rob's head. He lifts up showing me his smile and
we snuggle together  again without saying anything. A couple of minutes
later, when  I've recovered from my orgasm, I shampoo and wash Rob's body
slowly,  almost getting another boner. No further shower sex for us this  morning
as he turns the water off and we dry ourselves. I hope Rob  feels as good as
I do.

We  get dressed in jeans and long sleeved button-up-the-front shirts, then
make  our way through the rubble on the floor of the living room. In the
kitchen Rob sits on a stool watching me make a late breakfast for  us as we
talk about what we feel like doing today after cleaning this  place. Then,
sitting side by side at the kitchen bar eating fried eggs,  bacon, and toast,
Rob reaches over and pinches hairs that have grown over  the tops of my ear,
saying, "We need haircuts, babe. I'll give Golden a call and  see when he
can take us." As much as Golden claims to dislike giving haircuts,  he gave
Rob and me haircuts the second day he was at Merrimack, and over  the past six
or seven weeks he's been giving haircuts to many guys, mostly  his
teammates on the baseball team. Even though I was pleasantly surprised and  glad for
his expertise in the haircut he gave me, I act shocked,  saying to Rob,
"Golden? Jesus, Rob, I'll do your haircut! I've been doing it for  three years,
um, up till the last one Golden did." He goes, "Yeah, but we both  liked
our haircut from Golden, and we'll have identical haircuts again. Plus,  your
professional clippers are still at your other boyfriend's dorm." Yeah,  he's
right, I still haven't taken the toiletry kit with me when I  leaves after
getting fucked really good by Ryan. That happens after every  Friday's
class. I never think to bring the toiletry kit with me until I'm  walking on
campus afterwards. I whine to Rob, "He's not my boyfriend! How many  times do I
need to tell you that? Anyway, I have the drug store clippers  here, and
they work fine." He grins at me, then bites off a strip of  bacon and  chews
it, then asks, "Who the fuck is the head of this household?" I hate when  my
best laid plans comes back to bite me in the ass. I go, "You are, Rob. Okay,
call Golden if you want. He did a good job last time, you're right again,
boss."

After breakfast he takes his cell phone out and texts  Frankie that we need
to start cleaning the apartment. Frankie texts back  they're ready any
time, so Rob says, "Dylan, would you get the girls," and he  lobs the pickup's
keys to me, adding, "I'll call Golden Summers and see  what's up as far as us
getting haircuts today." I'm like, "Does  anybody from Merrimack go off
campus and pay for haircuts?" Robby raises  his eyebrows, "I think we're about
to start paying on campus." I  like, "Whaddaya talking about?" He goes,
"Golden mentioned he's gonna start  charging five buck for a haircut. He says
it's still fifteen buck cheaper  than going to a North Andover barber, and
mostly it's way more convenient  getting a haircut on campus."  I'm like,
"Well, he's obviously intent  on making a business out of it. I only give
haircuts to guys I know and  like." Then I remember giving haircuts to Steve's
alleged friends, and add,  "Mostly they're guys I know and like." Robby waves
his hand for me to be  quiet because he's on the phone with Golden. I wave
back at him  sarcastically, but he doesn't notice, so I leave to get the girls.

I kinda liked  the way Robby asked me if I'd get the girls while he  was
already tossing me the keys. He actually said, 'Dylan, pick up  the girls!'
and not 'would you get the girls?  It wasn't a  question so much as an order.

He's the head of the household  alright. Little things like that resonate
with me and  make my dick wake up.

When  I drive up to their dorm Frankie and Beth are standing outside
wearing  winter jackets and knitted hats with a fuzzy ball on top, like they're
going  skiing. It's not that cold! They get in the pickup's front seat both
leaning over to touch my shoulder, saying, "Hi. Dylan. You look extra cute
this  morning!" I go, "It's afternoon, girls, but thanks anyway. You both look
 adorable in your ski outfits." I've been trying to be extra friendly
recently  because they're always complimenting me and treating me very nicely.

It's hard to hate them, although with Frankie's monopolization of Rob's free
time it's not as hard in her case. Well, not hate, that's a very nasty
overused  word.

Not  for one second during the six minute ride back to the apartment is
there  silence, not that I'd want any. Frankie makes me laugh describing Beth's
and her  experience yesterday afternoon in a hair salon on Newbury Street.

It's the street with the most expensive stores and boutiques in Boston.

Both  girls had a snooty experience being served espresso while they waited to
get their hair done. Then Frankie takes off her hat and I see she got a
haircut  almost as short as a guy's. She had fairly short hair before, but this
is a  lot shorter. Beth and her both burst out laughing about the
extravagantly  gay hairdresser,  as they call him, and that Frankie was afraid to
complain about how short  he cut her hair. Then Beth says, "No offense, Dylan."

I guess she said that in  reference to her extravagantly-gay gay comment.

I say, "Why would I take offense, Beth," then, "That's a guy's haircut,
Frankie." She goes, "Do you think Rob will hate it?" That pisses me off, but I
stay cool, mumbling pleasantly enough, "How the fuck would I  know?"

Parking  in a spot near the back of our parking lot, we get out as
Frankie's saying,  "Why are you so mean to me, Dylan?" I go, "I am not mean to you!"

realizing I  may have added  a little venom to my earlier, 'how the fuck
would I know' comment, I say,  nicely this time, "I mean, seriously, Frankie,
how could  I possibly know what Rob will think about your haircut." She
snuggles  against me saying, "My bad, I thought you were yelling at me simply
because  you raised your voice quite a bit." To make conversation, I go, "Rob
and I are  getting haircuts today too." She says, "I know, sweetie, I told
Rob you boys  needed one." Oh my God, that royally pisses me off too!  I use
my  world famous will power and only mutter, "Well, la-de-fucking-da, what
do you know about that?" Meaning, well-meaning nothing  I guess. We go
upstairs with Beth leading the way and, to prove I'm not grumpy,  I go, "Your
ponytail looks nice, Beth." Both girls laugh out loud and my  face gets red.

Then Beth says, "Thank you, Dylan, that's sweet of you. Frankie  and I were
laughing at our dumb selves, not you. We both paid a  $125 for a wash and
haircuts; Frankie's is a too short boy's  haircut, and mine was a simple
ponytail wash and trim." I give her credit for  admitting how mind-bogglingly
stupid it was to pay $125 for a haircut.  Inside the apartment Robby's already
making some headway cleaning the kitchen.  The girls exchange a too-friendly
greeting with him. So, as I'm  putting the pickup's keys in the bowl near the
front door, I covertly sneak  a peek to  see if there's any kind of a peck
on the lips between Rob and Frankie as part of  their greeting. There isn't
which works out well for Frankie because she  probably wouldn't be too
thrilled about her hair  getting pulled out of her head after paying so much for
the  haircut.

Robby  says, "What the fuck, Frankie, why not just come with us to Golden's
and get a  regular haircut for free." She hits his arm, saying, "This isn't
really a  boy's haircut. Beth and I are just joking around with that. There
are  obvious differences in my haircut, but I admit it is too short." and
the  three of them talk about the girl's Newbury Street adventure,  laughing
at things that aren't all that funny. The reason I don't join in  is because
it's a dumb boring conversation, much like I hear girls  have routinely.

The only difference is that one of the participants in  this one isn't a girl.

Every opinion or judgement I make about the girls, I  need to ask myself
how much has jealousy played into my opinion or  judgements, and it's getting
to be a pain in the ass second guessing  myself. Frankly, a lot of the
negative thoughts I have aren't the  result of jealousy at all, some of them are
directed at Rob. Why is he  acting this way? He acts much differently with
the girls then he does with me. I  like the way he acts and reacts to me, and
he needs to be consistent with that  when he's interacting with the girls.

With me he's more assertive, but with the  girls it's like Frankie and Beth
are running the show. Rob has no problem  letting Frankie make decisions
about almost anything.  Is that the way straight boyfriends and girlfriends
are: the  girl's the boss? Like now when Rob puts on one of our favorite  CD's.

Frankie says, "C'mon Rob, not the Counting Crows again," and  she takes a
Rap CD from the bag she carries with her everywhere  and plays that instead.

I stare at Rob, but he purposely doesn't look in my  direction.

Today  we complete the cleaning in an hour, but by then I'm ready to ring
Iggy  Azalea's throat. We heard his rap CD twice when once would have been
twice as  often as I'd care to hear it. Frankie announces, "Okay guys, that
should do  it, huh? Good job," and she pats Rob's back. That was completely
the wrong  way around. Rob should announce when we're done, and if he must he
could pat her  shoulder. Beth says, "I was thinking we need to enact and
enforce  a few rules for the card games, and I mean starting with this  Friday
night." Rob's like, "What kind of rules?" and Frankie say,  "We need
receptacles for empty beer cans and bottles, then  one for food like pizza crusts
and chicken wing bones, another for paper  products... like that. I've had all
I can take, so I say to Rob, in the form  of a question, "I'm gonna answer
some emails in the bedroom, if..." and he  gives me his special smile, "Sure,
babe. Oh, Golden wants us in his dorm at four  o'clock. Just an FYI,
Dylan." I nod and drift back to the sanctuary of  our bedroom as the three of them
continue making plans to help  keep the mess down on Friday nights. Closing
the door, I'm thinking, 'That's  actually a good idea'.

Not  really feeling much like answering emails, I flop on our unmade bed
and lay my face in Robby's pillow. Yes, I do need a heart to heart talk  with
him, but I can see all kinds of negative responses from him, like,  'Don't
be  silly, Dylan,' or 'The girls  aren't around that much, babe', you're
exaggerating, to  'You're not jealous of Frankie, are you?'  It could  be a no
win situation for me. And what's my problem anyway; I mean looking at it
from Rob's point of view. Our sex together is frequent and  has never been
better. We get along wonderfully and he's not all business  anymore like he
used to be. He jokes around and he's fun to be with. Yeah,  my problem has
gotta be jealousy, pure and simple. I need to be more  mature about this; I
really do. I'd make an ass of myself telling Robby he's  spending too much time
with Frankie and he needs to spend more time with me. I'd  sound like some
kind of nagging cunt wife. I mean, I never tell him  he's spending too much
time with the baseball team. He meets guys at the  clubhouse to BS, or goes
out  on the diamond and throw throws the  ball around, do some informal
batting and stuff. I never complain about that, or  when he's missing in action
for an hour  or so, and Danny happens to go missing as well. I don't
complain then, but  now I want to complain about Frankie. No, I can't do that!
There can't be  any heart to heart talk about the lipstick conundrum. Rob has a
right  to spend his time with whomever he wants. I do, so why not him. Well,
 that's not quite accurate because we get right back to me  wanting to
spend more time with him, except Frankie's always present.  So I can't spend my
time with the person I want, except when Frankie's sleeping.  Okay, that's a
slight exaggeration.

I  hear the three of them laughing again so I hug the pillow over me ears
and think  about acting mature. Fuck it! I hop off the bed and go in the
bathroom to decide  how I want Golden to cut my hair this time. He did real good
last  time so I trust him to do any kind of hair style I want. Now that I
have a fully grown-out head of hair almost any hair style is in  play. It's
been months since Ryan last scalped me in Georgia.  Whoop-dee-do for me; I'm
twenty-one years old and I finally have  hair. Wow, but Georgia seems a
long time ago now.

Picking  up the comb from the sink's ledge, I try combing back the hairs on
the  sides. My  hair is plenty long enough to do that. Some time ago Ryan
was asking  what he could do with his hair. He said it was boring looking. I
had to  tell him that after he got that regular haircut at SuperCuts there
isn't anything he can do with it. It just lays there,  too short on the
sides and back at only a half-inch, and too long on top  compared to the sides
and back. With my hair now, with just a touch of gel, I  can comb the sides
back and do a little something with my bangs. Not  exactly a pompadour
although my hair's long enough for that, but  a little lift in front. Fucking
around with my hair I'm trying different  things, including combing it all
straight back, top and sides. Nah, too  Hollywood or something, so I try other
styles. The point is maybe I'll  just have Golden do some tapering around the
ears and neck and  even-off the hair on top, and leave it at that. It does
look raggedy  now with hair growing over the top of my ears, so Rob's right
about us  needing a haircut. Oh man, Rob's always right... ha ha. Yeah, well
mostly he  is. Can I believe Frankie told Rob that he and I needed haircuts? I
 wonder if she's ever heard the phrase, 'Mind your own fucking  business!'
I'm  staying in the bedroom until they leave. Yes, I'm fucking pouting...

poor me. No,  no I'm actually not. I'm just exercising my right to do something
 other than what they're doing. In this case I'll go online looking for
different hair styles. Jesus, some guys look so cool with very different
haircuts and styles. I soon tire of that  though and flop back on the  bed to
hug Robby's pillow again thinking how wonderful he's been since we moved  into
the apartment, and how much more wonderful it would be without the  girls.

I always come back to that. Anyway, how the fuck did they wiggle  themselves
into our lives like this? Why don't they want to hang out with  straight
guys? It would make more... Then, interrupting that thoughts, Rob  opens the
bedroom door, saying, "C'mon, Dylan, lets get some lunch." I ask,  "Are the
girls still here?" He goes, "No, they left a half hour ago. I've been  on the
phone with my Dad. Sorry to tell you, but I might need to  go home next
weekend to work. The company is six months away from  the ground breaking of our
huge project." I go, "Oh  yeah?" getting off the bed, then put my arms
around him for a hug. He  hugs back giving the side of my face a kiss, asking,
"You're coming home with me  next weekend, right?" I grin to myself imagining
me asking, 'Will Frankie  be coming too?' Instead  I say, "Chubby and I
haven't been back home since we got here. We were  planning a family weekend
together." He runs his fingers through my hair,  saying, "Well I probably won't
have much free time anyway, but I'll miss  you."

On  the way downstairs to the back door, I ask, "Did Frankie tell you we
needed  haircuts?" He chuckles, "Yeah, about ten times this week, she told me
and I  quote; you and your boyfriend need haircuts." I'm fuming inside, but
he  goes off that topic, saying, "Golden is being a bit of an ass about our
haircuts. He said to come at four, but we'll probably still need to wait.

He's telling everyone, all his clients, ha ha, that from now on he's only
doing  haircuts once a month. The last Saturday in the month is his haircut
day, and  today he's only doing regular haircuts. Everyone gets a regular
haircut.  Mostly baseball players." I go, "He's getting too popular as a barber,
and  he's getting a big head about it." Robby goes, "Yeah, well, whatever.

Us getting  haircuts from him further bonds me with him as his mentor this
year. Plus, most  of his so-called clients are freshman or sophomore
ballplayers. I want them  and Golden to know I don't think I'm better than any of
them." I'm like,  "Oh great, I'm just a pawn in the game of you bonding with
underclassmen  teammates." He shrugs, grinning and saying, "Exactly!" In the
pickup  I'm like, "Um, you said Golden's only doing regular haircuts. You
mean like  we got last time, right?" He shrugs, "Yeah, I guess, what else?"

Hmmm, what else indeed.

Our  lunch at McDonalds is okay. I mean you know what you're going to get,
right? After we've eaten we stay at the sticky table finishing our soft
drinks  talking about us, and it's nice. No girls. Finally Robby says, "C'mon,
it time  for our haircuts. Haircuts by appointment, huh? Classy." We can't
park in  the lot near dormitory row because it's full, so we park near the
Quad and  walk down. Even though the weather's cold and windy there's still a
lot of  foot traffic on campus. It's not the largest campus ever, that's for
sure, plus  there are five thousand students so  some of them are bound to
be out and about most of the time. Robby goes  right to Golden dorm room and
knocks. It's opened by a youthful looking guy, who  says, "Welcome to
Golden's barbershop, boys," and inside the small dorm  room I see a guy sitting
in the desk chair with a barber's cape around him.  Golden's holding clippers
as he talks to  someone on his cellphone. There's a pile of various colored
cut hairs on  the floor near the desk's trash can. It looks like Golden's
just about done with  the guy in the chair and when he finishes the phone
call, his back's to us so he  doesn't know we're here. My eyes are bugging out
of my head watching Golden  finishing up the guy's haircut. He's using
trimmer clippers outlining around the  ears and squaring off the neck, and I
immediately see a huge problem  for me!
Rob  and I are still standing just inside the door until the youngish
looking guy,  who let us in, says, "Don't block the doorway," and he points,
saying, "I want  you boys to have a seat on the floor over there while you wait
your  turn. He's probably a freshman ballplayer who doesn't recognize Rob as
a junior  team co-captain. I'm like, "Who the fuck, do you... "but Rob jerks
on my arm  hard, and I go with him, giving the youngish looking ballplayer
a  dirty look. Rob leads me to where the guy pointed, making our way  around
three more youngish-looking guys waiting for haircuts, They're  freshman,
talking and giggling annoyingly. Rob motions at the floor, so  we sit on the
floor against the wall, under the window. Golden looks over,  "Yo Rob! My
mentor's here. There's only three or four guys ahead  of you and Dylan." Rob
flicks his hand, like no problem, then mumbles,  "No problem, Golden." Well
yeah, there's a major fucking problem!
I'm  glancing around to see if any of these children can hear me, then lean
my head  near Rob and, with my hand covering my mouth, I whisper, "Jesus
Christ! Look at  that guy who just got out of the barber chair, or desk chair,
or whatever  it is. Look at his fucking head." Robby looks over, asking,
"The redhead? He's  Josh McDonald, a freshman walk-on. Outfielder I think."

I'm like, "I don't give  a shit if he's Babe Ruth, look at the fucked-up
haircut he just  got from Golden," and Robby looks, then turns his head  looking
quizzically at me, "Yeah, what about it, Dylan?" I  say, incredulously,
"What about it? It's a SuperCut replica of every  horrible regular haircut I've
ever seen. It's cut a half inch all around  his head, sides and back, and
all the way up the asshole's head. Golden  left only a thatch of orange hair
on top of the kid's head. Look at the  part on the side. It looks ridiculous.

Don't you see?" Rob goes, "What are  you talking about. It's a good
haircut, um, a little short maybe." I'm  exasperated, "He looks like an orange mop.

There's no style, no nothing." Rob  whispers back a bit sternly, "Okay,
stop being so critical, Dylan! Keep  your voice down too, please. You'll
embarrass me!" I'm astonished, "Embarrass  you? It's Josh what's-his-name who
should  be embarrassed with that haircut, and so should Golden."

Golden  brushes hair clipping off the chair, saying, "C'mon Fredrickson,
you're  next." A tall skinny kid gets up and walks over, asking, "Can't you do
buzz  cuts, Summers?" Golden  looks at the guys waiting for haircuts, and
says, "There's always that ten  percent who never get the word, " then he
laughs, patting Fredrickson's back,  saying, "Next month for the buzz cut,
today I'm only doing regular  haircuts. Did you see the sign on the clubhouse
bulletin board?"  Fredrickson mutters, "Yeah, I saw it, I'm here ain't I, but
buzz cuts  don't take no time at all," and Golden puts a shocked expression
on  his face, asking, "You're gonna be on the fucking team aren't you?
You're a  team player, right?" Tall and skinny, says, "Yeah, a'course I'm an
asshole," and he sits down on the barber chair, muttering, "A regular  haircut
is alright with me." Golden puts the cape around him,  still chuckling. I
guess Fredrickson is the team's running joke.  Golden starts running the
clippers up the sides of the guys head as I'm  nudging Robby again, whispering to
him, "We gotta get outta here. Fuck  the bonding or whatever other reason
you think you need to subject us  to this mutilation. I'll pretend I feel
sick, like I'm going to throw up."  Robby grabs my bicep and, squeezing
amazingly hard, hisses, "Stop it right now!  And shut the fuck up." My face gets
red and my eyes sting, but I can't say  anything else or it'll bring attention
to us and we'll both be embarrassed.  I'm fucking pouting hard now, but
you'd never know it because I  can keep  a straight face while pouting in my
brain. Thirty seconds later, Rob  points at me, hissing under his breath,
"Stop that pouting. Act your age,  Dylan!" I drop my eyes thinking to myself,
'Go fuck  yourself with that tired, act-your-age bullshit'.

Smelling  the back of my hand I'm silently watching in horror as Tall and
Skinny get  the horrible regular SuperCuts haircut. With my other hand I'm
absently feeling the hair on the sides of my head; the longer hairs I  combed
back earlier. They're slightly wavy, and I think stylish and cool.  There's
a wave, sort of, in the longer hair on  top of my head too. It's taken
since the last half of August until two  days before November for my hair to
grow long enough to comb  anyway I want. And now Golden's idea of a regular
haircut  will cut it all off down to half an inch. Double balls! I look at Rob,
 but he steadfastly isn't looking my way. He's pissed off, when it's me who
 should be pissed off! And I am!
It  only takes seven or eight minutes for Golden to do the cookie-cutter
regular haircuts he doing for each guy, but no one is giving Golden  five
dollars. I guess that starts with next month's haircuts,  or whatever Rob said.

I think Rob got that wrong too. I'm not about to  mention it though and get
yelled at again. Smelling the back of my wrist  now, I'm thinking: There's
one thing's for fucking sure, and it's that I'll  never find out about the
five dollar charge first hand because I'd cut  my  jugular vein with a really
sharp kitchen knife before that  butcher of a barber gives me another
haircut after this one  that Rob's making me get.  I glance at Rob again, out of
the  corner of my eyes this time, and he now appears pleasant  enough, but
that's probably for show so none of the players will know  how pissed off he
is at me. It's all so unfair!
Fredrickson's  haircut is finished and the cape comes off him. He stands
and bumps fist with  Golden, muttering, "Thanks, man." A hefty guy silently
gets up off the  edge of bed where he's been silently sitting, and he goes
over to  Golden for his haircut. When he sits in the victim's chair, he goes,
"Seriously,  Golden, am I always gonna need to wait this fucking long every
time I  get a haircut? Set up some kind of a fucking schedule, dude! I hate
waiting  around in your dorm this long for a fucking haircut ." Golden says,
"Fuck  you, Fredrickson, go  to a barbershop in town if you don't like it."

Hefty says, "Whatever, dude, I'm  high right now, so talk quietly, okay?"

What a jerk-off. Plus, I can tell  from that asshole's previous haircut it was
exactly like the one he'll get  from Golden right now. None of these
numb-nut clowns, including my boyfriend,  knows shit about haircut styles. They've
all been brainwashed since childhood  into accepting this abomination of a
haircut as nothing out of  the norm. Morons!
Robby  grabs my arm again, and I sort of jump 'cause he's got me a tad
gun-shy.  His hold on my arm isn't as tight as earlier though. Anxiously, I
look over, wanting to be friendly. Rob whispers, "Do you see the kid  sitting
next to the door?" I nod, "Uh huh," and Rob says, "After he gets his  haircut
I want you to get right up, without being told, and go  right over to
Golden 'cause you'll be next. And with a smile, God dammit.  Golden's doing all
of us a favor. Be friendly and I don't want to  hear one negative word from
your mouth about his haircutting." Trying not  to frown again, and feeling
like Rob's little boy in the hometown barbershop, I  mutter, "Yeah, alright,"

and he tightens his grip on my arm, whispering, "This  is a time when me
being me the boss matters. Do you understand  me?" I nod, "Yes, I understand."

He goes, "You don't see a single guy  complaining about the haircuts;
everyone is satisfied with them. You're the  only one who thinks it's not good
enough for you." I'm blushing, glancing around  again to see if anyone is
hearing this. Robby is a sweet guy ninety-five  percent of the time, but he has a
wicked temper that I swore I'd make  sure never gets directed my way, so I
say, "Okay, Rob, but I don't think I'm  special." Now I'm frowning like mad
again seemingly unable to stop. He  goes, "Don't frown, I'm serious, Dylan.

Do not fucking embarrass me in front of  these guys." Irrationally, I think,
big deal, there's only four of us left in  the room plus Golden's roommate,
who already been scalped. The roommate  sweeps up after the haircuts. And
who the fuck cares what these nobodies think  anyway?
My  hearts pounding because Rob's making me nervous, and he's scaring me a
little.  And at the same time I'm furious about the bad home-haircuts
Golden's  putting out. Why can't he do a haircut like he did for Rob and me five
or  six weeks ago? It's all so stupid and yet I'm the only one who seems to
realize that. Golden has his hand on Hefty's shoulder with the clippers
running  in his other hand, as both he and Hefty are laughing their nuts off
about something. Golden looks at Robby saying, "Rob, remember  the walk-on guy
who stutters, the guy with all the tattoos? Him  in the batting cage?" Rob
starts laughing, saying, "Ahh, Jesus, don't mock  the poor guy," and Hefty
turns around, saying, "He said he was the best  hitter in Rhode Island. The
fucker couldn't even hit  a seventy mile an hour fastball, never mind a
curve." The  young-looking guy sitting on the floor next to the  door is laughing
along with the other three ballplayers. Just like  jock-snobs to mock some
guy who isn't as good a baseball player as  they are. Then there's general
laughing among the four of them about things that  happened during walk-on
day. What the fuck, they're just getting around to  laughing about that now?
For fuck sake, walk-on day was a month ago. Robby looks  at me, seemingly in
a much better mood as he tries filling me in on what's so  funny. It must be
one of those deals where you had to be there because it  doesn't sound
funny to me, although I'm grinning and nodding my head as  though I get it. But
not really. Robby pats my shoulder and I  feel a little better about things;
he doesn't seem pissed-off at me anymore. I  look sideways at him and feel
a tingle in my nuts: he's my leader and  I'm not being a very good follower.

Soon Hefty's  haircut is finished and the youngish-looking guy who was
sitting on  the floor next to the door is in the butcher's chair now, so I'm
next. I'm  rationalizing like mad trying to convince myself that Rob's right
about this  being no big deal. Not a single ball player that I've  seen in the
last half hour thinks it a big deal. Rob's absolutely right about  that.

It's a fucking free haircut, and like the other guys, I should just  say,
thank you, and leave it at that. Not one guy has complained about the  haircut,
so why am I different, or think I'm more special than they are?  That's how
I'm rationalizing this situation, but it ain't working too good, not  so far
anyway. Rob turns and asks me with a smile, "What should we do  tonight,
babe?" Oooh, I'm so glad he's back to being friendly to me! I smile, "I  don't
know. Go to Tracy's maybe?" Rob nods, "Yeah, we'll make it a slumming
night getting a little high at Tracy's," then he smiles again, asking, "You and
me, we're good, right?" I shrug, "Why wouldn't we be, Rob?" He says,
"Thanks,  Dylan. This is no big deal, right?" He's fucking brainwashing me. But
still,  it's weird how relieved I am that Rob's back to being nice to me. He's
 still looking at me with a pleasant expression on his face, waiting for me
to  confirm that the haircut is no big deal, so I shrug again, "Nah, it's
no  big deal. I was just, I don't know, acting like a baby, I guess." He
gives my  shoulders a one arm hug and I feel all gooey inside. I love and
respect him so  much. Right now I'd like to sit in his fucking lap, or suck his
dick, or I  don't know what.

I'm  sneaking glances at Rob, thinking how a stupid haircut is a dumb
reason for me  to get Rob mad at me. Smelling the back of my hand again, I'm day
dreaming about  Rob and me in the condo he's buying for us. I mean,
obviously that'll  be after we graduate. How many guys right out of college move
into a cool  condo like that with Granite  counter tops, two and a half baths,
and a nice little back yard off a deck that  we can... Rob nudges me, breaking
into my day dreaming. I'm like,  "Huh?" then I look up to see the
youngish-looking guy who was sitting  on the floor next to the door getting up off
the barber chair. My heart starts  hammering in my chest as I stand up and
walk over, like Robby told me to  do.

Golden's  bumping fist with his latest victim as they laugh about
something. I'm just sort  of just standing here feeling awkward until Golden turns
his attention to  me. And, when he turned his head, his almost shoulder length
light-brown  slightly-curly ponytail flies about, seemingly mocking us guys
getting  haircuts. Golden smiles at me, doing a one arm hug,  saying, "Hey,
Dylan! I'm sorry you guys had to wait. It's been nuts today."  I go, "No
problem," and he's like, "Yeah, um, well sit down." I reluctantly  sit and he
snaps the cape around me, saying, "Next month everything will be  better
organized," My groin is buzzing out of control and I feel slightly sick  to my
stomach. It's my subconscious haircut fetish taking over control of my
brain, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.  Golden fastens the
cape around my neck as his roommate lazily sweeps the  hair from around the
chair into the pile near the desk's trashcan. This is  becoming like a bad
dream for me, and I feel so helpless as Golden  puts a finger in between the
cape and the back of my neck, making sure it isn't  too tight. Then he turns on
the clippers with the half inch guide on the  blades. Without hesitating
Golden pushes the clipper all the way up the  right side of my head, as he
casually asks me, "What are you guys  doing tonight?" When the clippers are
near the top of my head Golden flicks his  wrist to the side slightly and a big
batch of two-inch long blond hair  flops onto the cape and drifts down to
my lap.

I gasp,  "Um, we might check out Tracy's tonight. Rob calls it slum.... and
the word  catches in my mouth as another clump of my hair hits the cape
sliding down  to join it's brothers. Golden asks, "What did Rob says? Slumming?"

and another  batch of hair scatters on the cape. I mutter, "Uh huh."

Golden's chuckling  again, saying something to his roommate as the clippers finish
off the right  slide of my head with a lot more of my hair sliding  down the
cape. Making his way around to the back of my head now, I feel the  clipper
at the nape of my neck, then he pushers my head forward slightly.

Remembering Ryan's haircutting, I'm used to moving my head forward until my chin
hits my chest. Golden's oblivious to that as he runs the chattering  clippers
all the way to the crown of my head. He's saying something I  can't hear
because there's a loud ringing in my ears as my  haircut fetish begins boiling
over. Over ten weeks of growing my hair, and  just like that, the slightest
move of Golden's hand with the clippers and  my two inch long hairs are cut
to a half inch. I don't have any luck when  it comes to my hair. Someone I'm
attracted to is always seeing that it gets  cut off.

Rob and  Golden are talking about something now, Golden paying almost no
attention to my  haircut. As Golden talks to Rob he continues pushing the
clippers all the  way up the back of my head. Well, he actually doesn't need to
pay much  attention for this kind of haircutting. I feel a lot of severed
hairs, in a  sizable clump, sliding off the back of my neck. My groin buzzes
and, with  my dick firm, the muscles in my groin tighten significantly and a
long stream of  cum shoots out into my underpants. My body is stiff as I
grunt quietly,  alone in my fetish world. There's nothing in my world except
the clippers, my  hair being cut off, and another tightening of all the
muscles in my  groin with more cum shooting out onto my undies. Then two more
squirts  of cum and, like after any climax, I'm limp and weak, barely able to
hold  my head up. Golden holds the clippers away from my head and, sounding
concerned,  asks, "You okay, Dylan?" I take a silent deep breath, then letting
it out  quietly; manage to mutter, "Yeah, a gas pain or something. I'm
fine,  Golden." Rob and Golden pick up their conversation again as Golden begins
on  the left  side of my head and I watch stupefied as more batches of two
inch long  hair hit the cape and slide down with the others. I know my cum
will soak  through my jeans, but I'm praying it doesn't soak through the
nylon  cape.

I feel  defeated, tired, and pissed at my humiliating haircut fetish.

Usually I  liked it,  but it seemed to mock me today. I know very few, if anyone
here at college,  could understand the way I feel about this haircut. Even
Ryan's haircuts in  Georgia I was partially complicit with because of my
situation there, and  because of the haircut fetish rush. I was in Georgia and
knew hardly anyone so  what did I care? And I didn't fight Willie when he
took me to get any  number of really short haircuts because I secretly kinda
thought they were  cool. Today though I sincerely didn't want this haircut.

I've been on this  kick of growing my hair out this one time in my whole
fucking life,  and it has  to be Rob who's responsible for me getting my first
truly unwanted haircut.  Nobody understands though, including Rob, and I get
that, so I might  as well save my breath and not bitch about it afterwards.

Done ruining the  sides and back of my head, Golden stops the clippers
halfway up the  left side mumbling a question, "No part, right?" I'm following
directions and  being cooperative, not really understanding what he said, but
mutter, "Uh huh,"  anyway. He finishes off the left side of my head, then
does minimal  hair cutting above the half inch hairs. Then he uses the trimmer
clippers outlying around and behind my ears. Then the squared off hair up
my  neck's hairline, up about an inch, which is three-quarters of an inch
higher  than it should be. I can tell Golden's just going through the motions
and not  giving it much thought by now after doing fifteenth or twenty
haircuts  today. He's probably thinking, one more haircut to go and I'm  finally
finished. If it was me instead of Golden doing these haircuts I'd  wish for
another fifteen or twenty guys waiting for their turn. I sigh, but say
nothing.

He's  done me now, and at least he doesn't slap the back of my head like
Ryan  does, saying, 'You're done, boy!' Golden unsnaps the cape and lifts it.

I  gawk at a good size pile of my hair hitting the floor. He uses a soft
barber's  brush to give the back of my neck a couple of swipes, as he says,
"Okay for  now, Dylan. It's looking good, buddy." A pat on my shoulder, as he
adds, "Next  month I'm charging five bucks for any haircut except the regular
one, but  you and Rob can text me  whatever you want... no charge."

Whoop-dee-fucking-doo! I stand with my back to  everyone as I'm pulling the tails of
my shirt out so they'll hang down in  front, and hide the big wet cum spot's
that soaked through my jeans. That done,  I look at Golden, mumbling
halfheartedly, "Yeah, thanks," feeling  embarrassed for myself. Then see Robby
giving me a 'look' so I quickly add,  with a lot more meaning in my voice,
"Very much appreciated, Golden," and I  pat his shoulder. As Rob sits down,
Golden says, "No problem, Dylan. I'm happy  to take good care of my mentor's
boyfrien...er, roommate." He glances  quickly at his roommate whose sweeping my
shiny golden hair into a pile with all the rest. His roommate's not  paying
attention though.

Stepping away, I'm feeling the back of my head with my fingers,  wanting to
cry. If I were twelve years younger I would cry. Considering the way
Golden stopped on the word 'boyfriend' I'm guessing his roommate, whose  also on t
he baseball team, doesn't know Rob's gay or that I'm his  boyfriend." I
take a deep breath, blowing it our audibly, resigned that there's  nothing I
can do about my hair now, then mumble, "I'm gonna catch a smoke  outside,
Rob." Golden's snapping the cape as Rob says, "No, don't do that,  Dylan. Wait
for me, it'll only be a few minutes. Go ahead and sit back on the  floor
where we were before. You don't mind waiting, do you?" I shake my  head, "No, no
problem."

Sitting  back on the floor I'm thinking, 'Get used to it, Dylan. You've
been trying to  get Rob to be the boss for as long as you've been boyfriends,
and you've  succeeded beyond your wildest expectations, so live with it'. I
feel like  shit, and I admit it's so dumb to be this depressed about a
haircut. But  picture a guy with a buzz cut, then someone setting a beret of long
hair  that sits on top of his head reaching only to the edges where the top
of his  head begins rounding and directly below that is  all half-inch buzz
cut hairs around his head. That's what this haircut  looks like. A
pancake-size wig of extra-long hair  sitting on top of a guy's almost shaved hair
below it. And even Golden  thinks this is a good haircut; him even telling me
I'm looking good. How  can he be so fucking clueless? Yeah, yeah, but it
doesn't make him a bad person  though.

So I'm  depressed about everything right now, and I can't help it. Actually
I  thought I was going to like it when Rob finally exerted himself into a
leadership role for us, telling me what to do and all that. Of course he'd
call it 'asking' me to do things, not telling or  ordering me. That shit fit
he threw when we first sat down,  him grabbing my arm and getting really
angry, that was an  unexpected eye-opener for me.  A wake-up call that when he
wants to be, he's the fucking boss and I better  watch it. Then I tell him
I'm going out for a smoke and Rob says, No, I'm not  allowed to. Sure, he
made it sound like he's asking by including at the  end, 'You don't mind
waiting do you?' Or something like that. Fuck, I don't  know how I feel about
anything right now. What I feel like doing  is going to bed and sleeping until
tomorrow. My face feels hot, like I've  got a fever, and the cum has cooled
in my underwear and it's sticky and wet and  uncomfortable. Plus I'm sitting
on the floor with my arms around my  knees like some grade school kid. If
fucking Golden knew I shot  off a load in my pants he'd know I had the fetish
he claims has something  to do with fearing emasculation, or some such shit
like that. Damn, I want to  get out of here!! I need some fresh air and I'm
sick of hearing those fucking  clippers!
Somehow Rob's standing next to where I'm sitting on the floor, saying,
"You look agitated, Dylan." I look up, "What?" How could he be done already?
Well yeah, I guess he is though, his haircut looks exactly like mine, meaning
 hideous. Standing I'm like, "Agitated? No, no Rob, I'm fine." He pats my
shoulder, saying, "Let's have that cigarette you mentioned," then to Golden,
 "Thanks, man. You rock!" Golden's cleaning the clippers with a little
brush. He  says, "Hey, no problem, Rob. Happy to do it for you guys." Rob nudges
me as  he nods at Golden, and I go, "Thanks a lot Golden," then Rob says to
 Golden's roommate, "You're doing a hell of a job too, Tony, but don't fuck
up  your arm sweeping. We'll need you in the bullpen this spring." Tony
goes, "Yeah,  Rob, put in a good word for me, will ya?" Rob goes, "No problem,
you got it,"  and Golden looks up, "Hey, Rob, you boys hitting Tracy's
tonight." Rob shrugs,  "Probably. You want me to pick you up?" He goes, "Yeah, if
you don't mind.  Tony's using his car for a date tonight, so I'm stranded."

As we walk out the  door, Rob tells Golden, "I'll text ya when we're ready
to  leave."

Outside the dormitory, Rob says, "See, that wasn't that bad, was it?  Your
haircut turned out looking good." He sincerely doesn't get it. I nod,  "Uh
huh, you were right. Sorry I made a fuss about the, you know, whatever." I
can't make myself say the word 'haircut' because the one Golden gave  us
gives the word 'haircut' a bad name. Rob's totally over the topic  as he goes
through his pockets, muttering, "Fuck, my cigarettes are back at the  house.

Can I bum one?" I pass him the one I was going to light and get another  one
for myself. We smoke as we're walking to the Quad's parking lot, where we
left the pickup a few lifetimes ago. Rob's saying, "Maybe we'll get  a liar's
poker game going at Tracy's tonight, then make an early  night of it. Get
to bed early, heh heh, for once, huh, Dylan?" Whatever! Nothing  appeals to
me at the moment. For one thing I had an orgasm fifteen minutes ago,  and I'm
feeling shitty overall, so I mutter, "Whatever you say, Rob." He stops  and
gives me a hug, murmuring, "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Dylan. I
love  you to death, but sometimes you're gonna have to get used to not having
your own way. We've talked about this a hundred times and you've agreed to
do what I say when we disagree on something. Right?" He leans over to look
in my  eyes, so I nod, muttering, "Yes, I remember, Rob," and I said that
like a robot. He goes, "Hey, c'mon. You almost always get your way, but on
rare occasions I need to put my foot down. It's what we agreed to." I nod by
head, but can't work up the energy to hug back or fake that everything's
hunky-dory, 'cause it's not. And I don't give a fuck if I'm acting stupid  and
petulant.

We walk  silently to the car. I'm refusing to feel the hairs on the side
and back of my  head for the foreseeable future, but I run my fingers though
the three inch long  hair on top of my head. At least I got that going for
me. Too bad it looks  ridiculous next to the half inch hair over the rest of
my head. In the pickup,  Rob says, "Okay, you're still pouting. I'm gonna let
you be a big baby and pout  all you want, but you're not coming out with me
tonight pouting like this.  Christ, I feel I need to walk on egg shells
around you." I mutter, "Hey,  nice talk, Rob." He starts the engine and doesn't
say another word until we're  inside the apartment, when he asks, "Do you
want to eat out tonight?" I say,  "You spend too much fucking time with
Frankie! That's a major  problem. We need to talk about the lipstick conundrum
too." He stops, "Oh,  is that what this is all about? Frankie, huh? I thought
you were pouting  because you don't like your haircut," then he mutters
under his  breath, "As odd as almost anyone here at college would find that to
be." I  go, "I hate the fucking haircut, but I'm talking now about you and
her  making-out and transferring her yucky lipstick to my lips. And  you're
spending too much fucking time together, when you need to spend that  time
with me." He goes, "Whoa, whoa, lets sit down, Dylan. Lipstick conundrum,  what
the,,,?" and he takes my arm leading me to the sofa. We plop down
together, with me sitting stiffly, like the spoiled brat I am.

Rob  stares at me sitting here like a statue, then he moves over right next
to  me and puts his arm across my shoulders pulling me against him. "I can
explain,  Dylan. I'm so sorry you're upset like this. It's my fault for not
including you.  I was afraid you'd think I was nuts or something." My eyes
water and I go  limp against him, snuggling into him as much as I can.

Memories of him and  me together like, almost forever it seems at times, all come
flooding over  me along with the realization I've been unreasonably upset
about this  haircuts, especially considering all the bizarre haircuts I've
been forced  to get the last three years. Why am I being so stubborn now? I
have some  reasons, but not enough to excuse my behavior. Plus, I've been
idolizing  Rob since we got to Merrimack so how can one bad thing happen and all
the good of three years goes out the window with me thinking he's a
clueless  idiot. Snuggling with him makes me shudder. I'm helplessly in love  with
him and for a million good reasons too. So what if he doesn't see haircuts
the way I do; doesn't understand the differences. Sure, I right to be
disappointed, but acting out the way I did is dumb. Acting like this  is a
monumental catastrophe. Rob corrected me at Golden's dorm; I  needed it and admire
him for it. When will I learn that Rob's going to be right  almost all the
time; he's more sensible than me and much more grounded. More in  touch with
things. I'm all over the place most of the time. And he smells so  good and
his body is so hot and he is home to me. Where Rob is, is my  home.

He rubs  his hand up the side of my head quietly saying, "I've made-out
with Frankie  three or four times, but it didn't last very long either time. I
really like  her, and I thought I might be able to have sex with her,
although we  haven't done it yet. It's merely experimentation, Dylan. I've been
curious for  years what it'd be  like, not that I had sexual urges to do it
because I don't now and never  have had any urges; not for a member of the
opposite sex. It's strictly  curiosity, but until now I've never had the nerve
or confidence to do  anything about it. With Frankie coming on to me so much
I thought...  maybe. Fuck, you know in high school I was a pathetically shy
so  never came close to experimenting although there were opportunities. I'm
a lot  more confident now and you helped me with that." I'm numb, just
hearing his  words with no desire to say anything. I'm so in love with him it's
insane  and I've already forgiven or accepted whatever he's going to say. He
pulls my  face around and kisses my lips, murmuring, "You know what I'm
discovering,  Dylan? I'm proving to myself without any doubt in my mind that
you're so  much better in every way imaginable, better than any girl could
possibly  be. There isn't anyone of either sex that could ever come close  to
replacing even one tenth of what you mean to me. You're the most  important
person in my life, the most important person I'll ever know in my  life.

You're more important to me than my parents, my  brother, my God. Okay, I'm not
real religious, but if I were you'd still be  more important."

I still  don't say anything, but I pick up his hand and hold it between my
hands, as  he goes on, "I was waiting for the right moment to bring
Frankie's and my  experimentation up to you. As  usual you knew when the best time
was, better than me, so here it is. It's  like, Frankie had a thing for me
before she knew I was gay. Not  knowing that, she and Beth came-up with the
bogus fan club ploy as a way for  Frankie to get to know me. It'd be a  cool
move if I cared if a girl was interested in me, which I don't and  never
have. She quickly discovers her ploy was for naught 'cause I'm  gay. Still,
we're the first gay guys she's been friends with, and she's  enjoying us. I told
her right out there isn't any chance, zero chance, that I'm  not gay. So
for experimentation we played at making-out to prove my point.  Perhaps she
thought I'd change my mind if I gave it a chance with her, but  I haven't
changed my mind and I knew I wouldn't. Even so, Frankie  thinks it's an
interesting experience from her point of view. We've talked  about whether I'll be
able to perform, code word for get a boner for  coitus if we ever decided to
try it, and neither of us is optimistic because I'm  not getting aroused
from the make-outs. Still, she's as curious as I am. It's a  game, a silly game
maybe, but like I said, I'm curious. So we'll see."

Still  nothing from me as I continue holding his hand between mine, not
even  looking at Rob. He does a little shrug, adding, "Anyway, we're  totally
done with the making-out experiment. It's didn't work for  me even once,
although it was working for her. Not fair to her obviously. If I  ever do manage
sexual intercourse with her, and I'd only try it one time.  Maybe some time
when  I'm ready to handle the fact that I can't do it. A one time thing
will end  my curiosity forever." I squeeze his hand and play with his fingers.

His voice  is musical and hypnotic, but in an entirely different way from
Ryan's.  Rob's voice is sincere without a trace of purposefulness to it except
to try  explaining himself to me. Ryan's hypnotic voice, when he uses it,
is to get  me into a trance for his purposes during sub/dom sex. Robby is
being as  honest as it's possible to be, and while it's nothing I'd have the
slightest  interested in pursuing, I can easily see Robby being interested, or
as he  says, curious about what hetero sex is like. Cross all the T's and
dot all the  i's; that's Robby. He'll scratch this off his list of things
he's wondered about  in time, and no harm done.

I still  haven't made a sound since we sat on the sofa, so Robby goes on,
"As  for your huge dislike of this haircut Golden did for all the players,
and us,"  and he runs his fingers through the half inch hair up the back of my
head,  adding "I just don't understand it, Dylan, but I'd like to, babe.

Educate me about what's wrong with the haircut. Will you explain it to me,
please.?" I  say, "It's not important, Rob. And to answer your question, I'd
rather eat  in tonight than go out, if you don't mind." He thinks for a
second, then goes,  "Oh, that's the answer to the question I asked you when we
first came  in the apartment. Okay, then what'll we have for dinner?" I go,
"Whatever  you want, Rob." He says, "I'd like a steak, baked potatoes with
butter and sour  cream, sweet baby peas with lots of butter, and a Caesar
salad without  anchovies. Chocolate eclairs for desert with decaf coffee." I nod
my head,  "Okay. We need to shop." Robby says, "Well, we'll shop then. I
want to stop at  the liquor store and buy a split of champagne to drink with
you while the  potatoes bake. I want to celebrate me finally telling you
about my silly  failed experiments with Frankie. I'm sorry I couldn't work up
the nerve to  tell you earlier. And, I'm doing the steaks on the grille
tonight. From now  on that'll be my job." I'm smelling the back of my hand,
leaving my left hand to  continue holding his hand, as I mutter, "Okay, but we
should get  some cheese and crackers to eat as an appetizer with the champagne.

Should we  have a bottle of wine with dinner?" He says, "Even though
neither of us  likes wine, yes we should." I go, "Sure, after all we don't like
champagne  either, so if we're drinking that we might as well go with wine
too."

He gives me a tight hug, then says, "I love babying you,"  and he kisses me
in different places on my face. We make out for a few  minutes but get
interrupted when Rob's cellphone starts ringing. He kisses  me on the lips real
quick, saying, "I'm sorry, Dylan, but I was waiting for  Dad to call back."

I say, "That's okay, I'm changing clothes for our  romantic dinner tonight."

Going down the hall, I take a deep breath,  smiling widely to myself
because I feel so fucking good. He loves  me so much and he knows just what to say
and what to do about things.  I'd trust Rob with my life, with my
everything! Anyway, when I get right down to  it, I'd rather have him messing around
with a girl then another guy. Why didn't  I realize this before? Oh God, a
love like I have for Rob hurts sometimes  and other times, like just now, I
feel so wonderful and grateful he's mine I  could yell it at the top of my
lungs. Why did I doubt him? I look at myself in  the bathroom mirror as I'm
taking my jeans off. The haircut still looks like  shit with all my hair on
the sides and back gone... again. But fuck it, if it's  an okay haircut as far
as for Rob's concerned, then it's okay for me too. He's the only one I'm
trying to  please anyway.

I change jeans and underwear, wash up the cum on my shaved  groin area,
including using a wet washcloth getting tiny hair clipping off the  back of my
neck, when it hits me: Golden asked if I wanted to go  with no part. Looking
in the mirror I'm like, Fuck! He cut off the part  too. Then Rob said he
wanted the same haircut I got. Fuck again! Okay, it  was my fault 'cause I
wasn't paying attention. Anyway I've talked this  abomination of a haircut out
with myself already.  Enough!
I'm cleaned-up with fresh clothes on, back in the living room  when Rob
finishes his phone call, shrugging, and saying, "Looks like  I'll be home next
weekend babe. I'd only get to see you late at night  anyway so I'm glad
you'll be with Jeff and your mom."  We go to Stop &  Shop and then the liquor
store and do everything we said we'd do, including  wine with dinner. Golden
texts Rob about nine o'clock asking when we're heading  out for the night,
and we finally pick him up around ten. The girls are  there and so are a
number of baseball players. I fit right in with  them now, all of us with
identical Golden Summers  butchered haircuts that not a single guy mentions. Rob
and me the  only ones without a part on the left side, but of course none of
these  numb-nuts notices that, or would give a shit about it if they did
notice. When it gets uncomfortably cold out on the deck, I use my  membership
card to eventually get ten of us inside the club where it's warm and
crowded.

Rob and  I are drinking beer, while the girls and most of the baseball
players are  doing shots and beers. After today's highs  and lows I've got this
greatly enhanced love and admiration for Rob, and  I've been pretty much
standing next to him, glancing at him a  lot. Pony got involved with some
sophomore friends he's made and  he didn't make it into the club with us. Then
Tracy sees me and waves  me over. I say, "Rob, do you mind if I say hello to
Tracy?" He shakes his head  snorting a laugh, asking, "Are you serious, babe?
Why would I mind?" I shrug and  do a little grin, feeling like as ass for
overdoing my infatuation of him, but  not seemingly able to do anything about
it. I can't wait to be in bed with Rob  tonight. I'm going to worship him
and his body more than I've ever done  before.

When  I make my way through the crowd to Tracy, he puts his arm across my
shoulders,  saying, "You sexy hot shit, how ya doing?" I go, "Great Trace,
really  great." He goes. "I know you'll understand what I'm about to tell
you. See  that babe over there with the red dress on?" I nod, "Yeah, she's
hot," and he  squeezes my shoulder, saying, "Yes, she is. I'm back on the
chicks, Dylan.  Our quickie's, you and me doing our quickies, need to be put on
hold,  okay?" I'm like, "Absolutely, Trace. When you're back on the guys, let
me know,  will ya?" He says, "You'll be the first one I tell. Give me your
fucking  cellphone." Grinning and slowing shaking my head because Tracy's a
trip and a  half, I pass him my phone. As he types stuff into mine, and then
his cellphone,  he says, "I want us both to have our latest info." Tracy's a
 true bisexual, equally appreciating male and female bodies, and sex with
both, but he won't work both sides of the street at the same time.  It's
exclusively one way or the other with him. As he hands me my cellphone  back
he's frowning, looking over my shoulder,  then asking, "Is that your younger
brother over there?" I ask, "You mean  Jeff, I didn't know he was here."

Tracy puts a hand on my shoulder turning  me around, saying, "No, not Jeff. I
know him. That really cute little guy  right there. He reminds me of you, but
now," and he laughs, saying, "I  see he only looks when I glanced at him.

He's a girl, right?" I look where  he's pointing and see immediately who he
means. It's Frankie, and my jaw  drops open. Why didn't I notice she  looks
something like me. She has blue eyes and blond hair that's now cut  almost
like a longish guy's haircut. Maybe Robby.... hmmm.

Chuckling, I go, "That's Frankie, yeah he's a girl, er, I mean  she's a
girl." Tracy says, "Yeah, I see that now. Fuck me, dude, but I was  looking at
you and then glanced over at him, um, her and it was like, what  the fuck,
that cute kid has gotta be Dylan little brother." He laughs again,  then
abruptly says, "Here, Dylan, I gotta go," and he give me a voucher for  twenty
shots of liquor. No expiration date. I don't want this fucking thing so I
make my way to the group and put my arm around Golden's shoulders. He looks up
 and I hand him the voucher, saying, "Just a token of our gratitude for
your  awesome barbering, Golden." He looks at it, and says, "Holy shit, thanks,
 Dylan!" Then holding it out so everyone can see it, he goes, "This is a
fucking fifty dollar voucher for shots." I say, "Yep, Tracy told me to give
it to whoever I wanted. Rob and I are not big fans of shots, so I thought,
hmmm, who better than Golden. I'll suck up to my barber, You decide  who
gets the free shots," He goes, "Way to go, Dylan," and gives me a one arm  hug,
saying, "Dude, you rock!"  I sort of glance at Rob and he  looks so proud
of me I try hiding my smile as I avert my  eyes.


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


donnymumforf@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 usually around 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

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

Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to
nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous
free story site. Thank you very much.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html