Date: Thu, 5 Jan 2017 13:23:19 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  23

DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  23


by  Donny Mumford


After the unfortunate ball-gag bull-shit Ryan and I put on our backpacks
and head off to class. It's hard to tell how much  the meds influenced Ryan's
mean-spirited  behavior this morning. I'll give him a little slack since it
was me who  brought up the topic of sex toys, but even so he knew how
unpleasant it would be  having that over-sized ball-gag in my mouth and he did it
anyway. I mean,  for chrissakes, he told me he could only get it in Jeff's
mouth if he had  the kid in handcuffs. The sick fuck. Ryan, not Jeff. Hell,
and it was  a shock discovering Ryan's on medication in the first place;
that's  information I'd expect he'd have shared with me a long time  ago.

We stop at the Quad where Ryan waits outside as I get us both a  take-out
coffee. The Quads too hectic for Ryan, so he sends his flunky for  the
coffees. We sip our coffee and smoke while silently walking toward the  lecture
hall. When we're halfway there, I casually ask, "Um, what's with  those meds,
Ryan? I mean, I never knew you took pills." He goes, "I've been on  and off
them since high school. No big deal, lots of guys take something."  I guess
that depends on what you mean by lots of  guys, especially considering the
vast majority of  guys aren't on meds of any kind. Walking for another minute
or so,  then I go, "So, it's something you don't want to talk about, huh?"

He glances at  me, takes a deep breath, then says, "There's nothing to talk
about." Well that  doesn't leave me much wiggle room for further
conversation on the meds topic.  Nodding my head, like that made sense, we walk some
more, then I'm like,  "Your family doctor prescribe the meds, or...?" He
stops, and without  seeming to be annoyed, patiently explains, "No, Dylan, the
meds were  prescribed by a psychiatrist. I started seeing, Dr. Largo,
bi-weekly at  prep school, and I've been seeing him semi-annually since then." I'm
like,  "Oh yeah? Um, that's cool," and Ryan says, "And that's the end of this
 conversation. It's personal and, normally I wouldn't have mentioned the
med at  all, but it slipped out, so...." Holy shit! Since prep school!
Hmmm, I  guess I shouldn't be surprised he's on something considering all
his mood  swings over the years; mood swings week to week, or even day to day
 at times. Gee, I feel bad for the poor guy. Then, in my head, I repeat the
 spelling of the drug I memorized from the three in his toiletry  kit:
'Librium'. I'm Googling that baby. We finish our coffees  silently standing
outside the lecture hall. Ryan seems perfectly  comfortable with the silence,
and he actually looks pretty good, sexy  even and when he sees me glancing at
him he gives me a little  smile. Well, I'm not comfortable standing here
like this, so  I resort to the obvious remedy for uncomfortableness: I take out
my  iPhone. That's always a good fallback move.  I bring up Safari, then go
to Google and type in 'Librium' and pow! In .04  seconds there's 65000
responses on my screen; or something like that. Hmmm,  I probably won't get to
all of them before class. Let's see,  something called Chlordiazepoxide is in
Librium. Obviously it's impossible  to pronounce that drug. Why don't they
choose one name and stick to it?  Let's see,  the drug supposedly treats
anxiety and acute alcohol withdrawal. Alcohol  withdrawal? That's never been
Ryan's problem. What else: This drug acts on the  brain to slow down the
central nervous system producing a calming effect. That's  all it does? Big deal!
The other two drugs will probably tell more of  the story. Maybe Librium is
being used to keep him calm from the effect of  the other two drugs in
order for them to be beneficial. Jesus,  does that sentence even make any sense?
Let me look up convoluted; just  kidding. How could I have known Ryan since
early in our freshman year, and then  lived with him two months, and never
once saw him pop a  pill?
And it's very odd that Ryan's not the slightest bit curious  what I'm doing
on my cellphone standing here with my back to him. That's not  like
Ryan-the-busybody. He steps on his cigarette butt, saying, "C'mon,  Dylan, time for
class." Putting my cellphone in my pocket I follow  him up the steps and
down the corridor to our lecture hall, then  we take the same seats we always
sit in. This feels weird. Glancing over at  him, Ryan smiles and pats my
shoulder, asking, "How ya doing, baby?" I  shrug and give him half a grin. It's
like I don't even know him  anymore.

I'm glancing at the students sitting in lower seats and spot  the guy a few
rows down on the end seat. He's the guy during our  first class of the
semester I thought might be 'Hoodie Boy', aka Daryl, aka  Pony. It wasn't him
then, and it's still not him after six weeks of classes.  From the back though
he looks like Pony with the long hair and wide  shoulders, but he couldn't
be more different looking from the front.  Daryl's cute and this other guy
is the opposite. Get a fucking haircut,  dude!  He looks like a cranky middle
aged lady with a face lift that  went terribly wrong.

It's hard concentrating on what the Professor's lecturing on today  because
I'm so intrigued by this unexpected meds development.  Looking at Ryan from
the corners of my eyes I again think he looks  sexy, although weirdly I'm
not sensing the  normal sexy vibrations coming off him. Is that because he's
on the  meds, or because I'm perceiving him differently knowing he's on
medication?  Fascinating watching him taking copious notes in that neat
calligraphy-like  handwriting of his. He does it quickly like it's coming out of a
machine. Huh,  and he writes with a Montblanc Medium Ballpoint Pen with black
ink. His  penmanship is like art. Huh, I wonder how much that fucking pen
cost?
Hmmm,  and how the hell am I going to get another look at the other  two
pill bottles? I mean, look at them long enough to copy down the  two
impossible to pronounce medications. Librium isn't all that interesting,  although
it's more interesting than Adderall. That's what I first thought  of when he
said he's taking meds. I see Adderall all over the campus during  finals
week. It's supposed to  help you concentrate. I wouldn't know since I've never
taken it, or any  other drug except Advil and sometimes Tylenol. Ryan's meds
situation is  both interesting and disconcerting at the same time. He
glances over to see me  daydreaming and shakes his head slowly, showing
disapproval. Fuck this class  though. We have midterms next week so I suppose I'll
need to do some  cramming. My other three courses are with Rob, so I'm totally
on top of  them.

After class Ryan surprises me again by not saying anything about me
daydreaming in class and not taking notes. Usually that's part of his bossy  act.

Not this morning though. He doesn't have much of anything to say, although
he doesn't appear agitated about anything. He finally mumbles, "Beautiful
fall  day, huh?" I'm like, "Fall? It feels more like winter. When's the first
day of  winter anyway?" He goes, "Like six weeks from now; the middle of
December  sometime." Trying to keep the conversation going, I ask, "Well, what
are  your plans for Thanksgiving break?" He purses his lips, then shrugs,
"I'll be  going home obviously. After all it is a family holiday, and I'll get
 together with Jeff... that's about it except a turkey dinner." I mutter,
"Uh  huh," and Ryan looks over, saying, "Jeff sent me the sweetest email  on
Tuesday. Ha ha, it's easier being mushy in emails than in person. Don't  you
think?" I mutter, "Yeah, I guess. What'd he say?" Lightly punches my
shoulder, he says, "Personal shit, babe; that what he said. Stuff I always
wished you'd say to me." Oh fuck, I'm not going there, so I do a couple of fake
coughs, muttering, "Fucking cigarettes."

As we  walk toward his dorm I'm wondering if this affectionate email from
Jeff is  for real, or a figment of Ryan's imagination. I mean, Jeff being
mushy  doesn't ring true to my ear at all, not that it's any of my business. I
knew Jeff for only two months but, if there's one thing I'm sure about him,
 it's that he's much more the suck-up, brown-nose type than a writer of
mushy love letters. If the email included something like, 'I miss that  huge
cock of yours going up my ass,' Ryan may have interpreted that as  mushy.

That's because in his head he'd prefer that it were lover's  mushy sentiments
rather than crude sex talk. He's been known to perceive  things as he wants
them to be rather than how they actually  are.

In Ryan's dorm room we drop our backpacks on his desk chair, as he's
saying, "You can get undressed now. Dylan." Huh, I wasn't sure if we were going
to do our normal after class buddy-sex or not. The way he said, 'You can get
 undressed now, Dylan,' reminds me of the doctor's  nurse telling me that
when I got my physical for junior year. I ask  Ryan, "Do you have a hospital
Johnny I can wear? You know that goofy  hospital gown with my ass sticking
out the back." Frowning, he asks, "What...?"  I go, "Never mind, it's a
joke," as I pull off my sweatshirt. I'm kinda  interested to see how he's going
to pull off hot sub/dom sex in his lethargic  frame of mind. Dulled by drugs?
Probably. I've got my t-shirt off and I'm  dropping my pants, asking,
"Aren't you getting undressed?" He says, "I want your  underwear and socks off
too." I take them off and stand in front of him  naked, asking again, "Why
aren't you getting undressed?" He mumbles, "No reason  to." No reason to? What
the fuck?
He  clarifies, saying, "I'm willing  to help you try on sex toys, but I'm
not  feeling an actual sex act with you this morning." I chuckle, saying,
"Riiiight," and he goes, "No, seriously. I'm not up for it this morning, but
you  need to see how these things work so you don't hurt your sophomore boy
by  using the toys incorrectly." What a nut case! Picking up my underwear to
get dressed again, I say, "What  the fuck is wrong with you? I've had these
toys in me, on me, and around me half  a dozen times. I know how they
work." He's over at the closet taking a  sports satchel off the shelf, saying,
"Yeah, but just to be safe," and he takes  out a male chastity device, adding,
"Take those underpants off!" A touch of  bossiness at last, but I don't
take my underpants off, Instead I give him a  dead-eye stare and he says,
"Look, we'll try this one on you first.  There are no locks on these devices. You
can take it off anytime you  want, but you need to try it on." I say, "This
is stupidly unnecessary, Ryan."  He takes a deep breath, asking, "Do you
want to borrow these toys or not?"  Thinking about Daryl asking me for sex
toys, like I'm the sex guru, I  shrug, pulling off my underpants again,
mumbling, "Go ahead Doctor  Frankenstein, put it on me."

The  truth is I've had some fun with sex toys in the past. Nothing like
that  ridiculous oversized ball-gag earlier this morning though. A regular
size ball-gag has given me a submissive sense a few times in the  past, getting
my balls buzzing and all that sexy shit. I can't  describe the sensation
even to myself. It's just sexually hot to me. Heh heh,  maybe I should be
taking some of Ryan's meds myself. He says, "Spread your  legs," and he kneels
down in front of me picking up my flaccid penis, "You keep  yourself
clean-shaven down here. I'm going to insist Jeff does it over the  Thanksgiving
holidays. It's a cool sexy look." Now he starts threading my  cock through a
stiff, ridged tube made of a nylon-like material. Jesus! I  can already feel my
cock tightening up. Ryan says, "This shaft is  sorta new. I ordered it from
a company in Sweden. The shaft goes  snugly around your dick and is
supposed to keep it feeling good. Jeff  claims it does, and his cock is on the
small size like yours, so it should work  for you too." Small size?
When  only the head of my cock is peeking out the end of the shaft or tube,
whatever  it's called, Ryan holds up a hollow plastic tube with  Velcro
straps dangling off it, adding, "And this plastic tube is the  chastity part of
the device. It prevents you from being a bad boy while your  master is
away." Rolling my eyes, I mumble, "We do sub/dom sex, Ryan, not  that
master/slave crap." He goes, "Yeah, I know, but you asked for the  toys. It wasn't me
who mention sex toys, and this is what I've got." Shrugging,  I'm kinda
interested to see how this thing works. He's fitting the plastic tube  over my
cock that's snugly  inside the nylon material, then straps it on me with
Velcro strips around  my waist, above my buttocks. Two shorter straps hang off
the plastic  tube that he fastens around the top of my scrotum, then tightens
the straps  making me go up on my toes, yelling, "That's too tight!" Ryan
ignores that as he  stands up, saying, "Walk around a little; let's see how
it works." I grumpily take a few steps and sensations soar off my cock as it
 moves slightly in the tight ridged tube. Ryan takes hold of my arm and
walks me  around the room as we both watch my cock grow into a hard  boner.

My  shoulders do their little shudder as my throbbingly hard  boner grows.

At its longest my  cock's head reaches only to an inch below the hollow
plastic tube's  opening. Ryan points at that, mumbling, "Normal sized hard
penises should be  at the top  of the plastic tube." I go, "Bull shit! The
average sized cock isn't seven  inches long." Ignoring that, he goes, "C'mon,
Dylan," and he walks me  around the room again with me taking little steps
grunting and, "Ummm, oooh."  Ryan smiles, "Feels good, doesn't it? See  the dried
substance inside the tube and around the top?  The grayish stain? That's
Jeff's dried cum and precum spray. You know, just  before his big
ejaculations. He's had two dozen orgasms in this device. And  before you say anything;
it was his idea to wear it... he nagged me to put it on  him. See, there's no
need for a locking mechanism because no one wants to take  it off. Of
course it does come with a lock when intended for it's real  usage; as a male
chastity belt obviously."

I'm  sucking air in through my teeth afraid two more trips around the room
and I'll  be climaxing with cum spray hitting inside the tube where it'll
join  Jeff's spunk. Ryan lifts a butt plug from the satchel, saying, "This
attaches  around to the Velcro strips at the bottom of the plastic tube," and
he pushes behind my head, mumbling, "Bend over. It'll go in easier." Jesus,
this feels so good I  bend forward slightly as Ryan, without hesitating,
twists the butt plug up  my anus, and keeps twisting until I'm leaning way
over to accommodate the  big plug. My hands on my knees now, I'm grunting and
trying to protest but it  feels so damn good I can't get the words out.

Twist, twist, twist with me going,  "Aaah, aaah, oooh" until he mutters, "There,
it's in good and snug," and he  attaches the straps to the bottom of the
plastic tube, adding, "And that's the  entire packager. It's simple, but
effective, don'cha think? Walk around  some more." I take a few steps as my
prostate gland erupts with delicious  pleasure sensations and I go, "Oooh, aaah,
ooh yeah. I see what you mean." He  goes, "It's even better, a more
pronounced effect when you're on your  hands and knees." He takes holds of my arm at
the wrist and bicep pulling  down, saying, "Drop down to your knees, I've
got you." I'm feeling a submissive  curtain dropping over me as I go slowly to
my knees. It feels so good! He  manages some authority in his voice now,
saying. "Get down on your hands  and knees like I told you, boy." I drop all
the way down and the straps stretch  tightly around my buttocks as the butt
plug moves on my prostate; my head goes  back to savor the sensations of the
fat butt plug against my prostate and the  ridges of the sheaf shifting a
half inch on my hard boner. I go, "Ahhhrg,"  with precum plopping from the
gaping pee slit at the head of my swollen cock's  head. The fluid rolls down
the inside of the tube where it'll  eventually dry on top of Jeff's dried cum.

Swaying on my hands and knees creates tiny movement from both the butt
plug and the rippled nylon tube, "Mmmm, oooh, fuuuuck." Ryan's standing next to
 me buckling a dog collar around my neck, mumbling, "This should complete
the  picture for your sophomore boy," and he pulls the collar tight. I grunt,
"Too  tight," and Ryan hooks up a leash ignoring my complaint, then tugs on
the leash,  saying, "Lets go, boy." I don't have much choice, so I start
walking on my hands  and knees as Ryan snickers, saying, "We'll go for a nice
walk in the  park."

So many  sensations are bursting out all over me I pay him no mind. Once
around the room  and I'm doing quiet moans of arousal with hints of imminent
climax  growing from the constant stimulation off my prostate and cock. The
tight leather strips around my nuts is gonna slow up my climax though, which
is  the whole idea of why he tied the strips so tightly. Another time
around  the room and all that's registering in my brain are the pleasure
sensations  exploding from my prostate and my super sensitized hard-as-a-rock cock.

I  stop to climax, going, "Arrrr, ooh." but only watery clear precum drools
out.  Ryan snickers some more pulling on my least leash. Halfway around the
room  and this time my orgasm comes on in a rush! I stop again as Ryan tries
 pulling on the leash. Lifting up on my knees, and with a gasping,
"Aaaaaah," cum rushes up from my cock in a long thin stream. It shoots  out the end
of the plastic tube in a big arc with  spray hitting the inside of the tube
and drooling down to join previous cum  drools. Then another shot fires
from my super-hard cock, "Oooh," as a third  stream of cum steaks out, then
short little spurts with me shaking and  feeling dizzy from the
over-stimulation. But, oh fuck, that was a  weirdly hot orgasm. Taking deep breaths, I drop
down on all fours  again.

While I shake a little bit, Ryan's undoing the dog collar, saying
something that doesn't register in my head. Then, as he takes out the butt plug,  I
go, "Aaah, mmmm." Only when he's unstrapping the plastic tube do his  words
begin to make their way through to my brain about the same time I  also
realize I'm really pissed off!  Ryan's asking, "Do you  think your sophomore
will get off as fast as you did with this get-up?" Letting  out a long breath,
I'm like, "I'm not using this shit on him." He goes, What?"  and I go, "Why
do always need to be you such an asshole? Pulling this  shit on me! All you
needed to do was tell me ahead of time what you  were planning here. I feel
like a victim." He goes, "Why the fuck would I  tell you ahead of time, and
spoil the surprise? You liked it!" I need to  think about that a second;
and, as I stand up, free from all the sex toys, I go,  "No, I didn't! Not even
after having that hot climax, I  still didn't like it because I'm sick and
tired of you manipulating me for  your own amusement."

He's  putting the stuff back in the sports satchel, not backing off at all,
sounding  more amused than ever, saying, "You're so full of shit, Dylan.

You  like me being in-charge of you and the more dominantly in-charge I am of
you, the more you get off on it, so just stop your whining. You sound like
some  girlie pussy." Stunningly, just like that, I realize this dominant act
of  Ryan's is old and tired. It's been getting old and tired for some time
now  and it just crystallized plain as day in my head. Pulling on my
underpants,  I mutter, "I used to like it, but I'm liking it less and less by the
minute. And  that's the truth; a truth you just helped me realize. There's
always a point in  which I say, it's gone too far." He's got the satchel back
on the shelf. He  turns around asking, "And it's you who decides when I've
gone too far, huh?" I  go, "Who else, but me?" Waving his hand at me, like
he's bored with everything,  he mumbles, "Whatever. With these meds I
sometimes can't get a boner, so I figured I'd used the sex toys to get  you off. So
sue me for trying to do you a favor." He can't get a boner?  Jesus!
Dressed  now and putting my sneakers on, I ask in a calmer manner, "What
the fuck is  wrong with you, Ryan?" He shrugs, "Nothing's wrong with me.

What's wrong with  you?" I'm still feeling some sizzling around my groin from
that hot climax, but  I'm keeping that to myself, as I mumble, "I don't know,
but it's like we've been  going in different directions. That doesn't
necessarily mean we can't  regroup and meet in the middle sometime in the future."

He  mutters, "Like you'd do that." I go, "Whether you know it or not, I care
about  you, Ryan." He's still muttering, "Yeah, I've heard that before; not
that  it means much." Getting ready to leave, shaking my head, I say, "I
don't  know what medication you're on, but I hope it has the desired effect
you're  expecting, or hoping for." He does another shrug, saying, "More likely
 it'll have the desired effect my parents are hoping for. It's basically
just to quiet down my, um, desires, sort of. I need to be on the meds  for
two months before I go home, and they promised to get  an apartment near the
university for me, like I told you before. That's my  bargain with sweet
daddy and mommy." Jesus! His parents are a nasty trip. I  don't know whether to
feel sorry for Ryan or be happy he's back on his  mystery medication,
assuming it'll have good results for him. I don't  give two shits about his
parents.

I want  to leave, but feel I should offer my help, or support, or
something. I say, "Do  you want to talk about it, Ryan?" He goes, "Talk about what?"

I go, "Whatever is  happening with you. The meds, your decision to transfer,
the reason you put the  sex toys on me today... whatever." He sits at his
desk tapping his foot fast,  saying, "It was you who asked for the sex toys,"

and I'm like, "I know, but  I didn't ask to try them on. You insisted on
that or you wouldn't let me borrow  them. It's the kind of shit you've been
pulling on me for years. You won't  transfer if you can give me that stupid
haircut. Shit like that." He says, "I  already explained why I put the sex
toys on you. Do you want to borrow them or  not?" I mumble, "Nah, they're too
advanced for Daryl." He goes, "Whatever you  say, but just so you know,
you'll always be number one in my heart, Dylan.  Currently though I need to clear
my head and I can't do that if I'm around  you. Like you said, we'll meet
again someday, but  for now I need to lie the fuck down and take a nap." I'm
like, "Really?"  and he nods, "Yeah, really. I'm very tired, and I'm sorry
about  trying the sex toys on you. I thought you'd like them; you sure used
to  like whatever dominant thing I did. So, I was wrong this morning...

wrong again. It's nothing new for me. Being wrong, I  mean."

I'd like to say, 'Toot toot, hop on the pity train,' but he's  obviously
hurting and I still feel bad for him. Like Chubby told me though; the  best
thing I can do for Ryan at this point is leave him alone. I walk over  and pat
his shoulder, then lean down and kiss his cheek lightly, "Be well,  Ryan."

He reaches up for a tight hug, then lets me go, saying, "Thank you,  Dylan."

He's looking down so I walk to the door, look back but he's not looking
up, so I open the door and leave. I'm feeling lousy but I don't  know what
else there is I can do for him. What a fucking downer that  was though. Super
bummer!
Later,  during lunch with Chubby; just him and me today, I detail a general
picture of  Ryan's and my current relationship, without sexual details
obviously although  they're implied. Chubby, of course, would never say, 'I told
you  so'. Instead he tells me again that I can't cure everyone's ills,  but
he knows I'm always trying. We have a few beers at Rolf's bar after  lunch.

Then three guys we know join us and the five of us play liars  poker for an
hour while drinking draft beer with lots of laughs, mocking  each other's
bets and losses. I feel better about things when we leave.  Walking out of
Rolf's bar Chubby gets a call on his cellphone. He talks for  five seconds,
then asks me if I want to join him and John Beverly in a  game of two hand
touch on the football field. He says there's gonna be like  seven guys a side.

I beg off saying I need to get ready for our trip home,  so he drops me off
at the apartment.

Pony  and I don't always do our run on Fridays, so I text Rob and talk him
into  leaving his XBOX game at Frankie's dorm. There's some kind of  XBOX
competition going on there and it sounded like a lot of students  yelling in
the background. Ya know, I just never got into games, XBOX or  otherwise.

I've played them, but certainly not to the extent most guys are  into them. Rob
would have had to leave the game pretty soon anyway  since he, Chubby, and
I are going home this weekend, although for  different reasons. This weekend
Rob will be working with his dad  at the site of their big project in
Westborough, Massachusetts. Even though that  town is only twenty miles from our
hometown of Framingham, Rob's staying there  with his dad Saturday night
because something's going on with the project  at seven o'clock Sunday morning.

He told me what it was, but I wasn't paying  much attention. All I know for
sure is I won't see him tonight  or Saturday night.

As for  Chub and me, the moms have planned a family weekend including
their fiancés. Next weekend, on the other hand, will be an entirely  different
story. Rob and I will again be going home on Friday, but I'll be  going to
his home to stay with Rob and work at  Dickers & Son, Inc. on Saturday  and
Sunday. He has work for me to do for which I'll get paid twenty dollars  an
hour, off the books, meaning there won't be deductions for federal or  state
taxes. The nerve-racking aspect of next weekend for me is  the part about me
spending the weekend at the Dickers house. Rob's insisting on  it. For a few
months now, since the beginning of last summer actually, he's  been
reinforcing with his parents his plans for our marriage, and he  wants all of us to
get used to the idea. I take it that means his parents  getting used to the
idea of me being their son-in-law, and me get used  to them being my
in-laws. He's being very proactive about this, even  intending to tell his parents
we'll be sleeping together at his house. I'm  not at all sure his parents
are fully on-board with all of Rob's  plans, although what do they think
we're doing at our  college apartment if not sleeping together? After saying
that,  I'm aware there's a difference between what we do in our apartment and
what we  do in their house, so yes, I'm nervous about their reaction to that.

Hell,  I was uncomfortable having dinner with his family last summer, never
mind  sleeping with Rob in their house. How awkward will it be Saturday
morning greeting his parents at breakfast with Rob's cum soaking through the
back of my pants? Anyway, that's something for me to worry about later, not
this weekend. This weekend I'm going home with Chubby in the Jeep,
although I'm not sure when he'll be ready to go. Chubby is not a slave to
timetables.

I'm in  the bedroom when Rob comes home calling my name. I come out
smiling,  feeling a twinge in my nuts from just hearing his voice.  He  meets me in
the short hallway and puts his arms around my waist, saying,  "Hey, babe,
you're looking extra cute today," and he musses my hair a  little, adding,
"I've gotta leave in a half hour to get home in  time for the Friday meeting,
but we have some time before I go,  so...." I get my arms around him too,
and we sway a little like we're  dancing, as he goes, "I won't see your cute
face again until Sunday  afternoon." I go, "Well, Mister Head of Household,
what should we do about  that?" He grins and we kiss a very nice kiss, then
he sort of looks down at his  zipper. Subtle, huh? I slide down his body and
unzip his skinny jeans as he  unbuttons them. My fingers go inside the slit
of his boxer shorts and pull our  his limp four-inch fat, fire-hydrant-like
penis and suck the fat head into  my mouth. As I'm licking it with my warm
wet tongue, my lips get  busy sucking on the fat shaft. In ten seconds my
cock tightens up as  his scent swarms into my head. I hug both arms around his
ass and take  more shaft into my mouth, then a little more as random pubic
hairs tickle  my nose. Hmmmm, his cock feels so good on my tongue, especially
when it's still  partially soft like this. Licking all around the head,
then using my  tongue I'm pushing the foreskin back, then swirling my tongue
around  the head again. Robby grunts and moves his feet a little as his
fingers run  though my hair and his penis tightens up as sexy sensations bombard
the  pleasure area in his brain.

Pushing  my head forward until the tip of my nose goes inside the slit of
his  boxer shorts and gets surrounded by pubic hairs. His cock is hard now
with the head just past the reflex area at the back of my throat.  My cock is
very hard now too, slanted sideways in my jockey shorts. I  fumble my jeans
open and pull my jockey shorts down under my nuts to allow  my roaring hard
boner some breathing room. It's tempting to stroke it, but I'm  way too
experienced to do that. Instead I'm pulling my head back a little so  the hard
head of Rob's boner pushes at my throat, then I suck on it and  begin
licking up and down the shaft. His foreskin has pulled away from the  head as I
purposely scrape my teeth on the underside of the hard  fat shaft, making me
smile. Rob's goes, "Aaaah," and puts both hands on my head,  muttering, "Ooh,
ow..." as he moves his feet further apart. He takes  a gasping breath as a
drool of precum slides out of his boned-up cock  and rolls onto my tongue.

Robby's hips hump a little sliding his cock  back and forth on my tongue an
inch or so. A moan from Rob, "Oooh, mmm,  damnnn," and he pulls his stiff
boner out of my mouth. It's sloppy, wet with  spit all shiny and swollen, now
sticking defiantly straight out  of his boxer short with another big bubble
of precum just about ready to drool  from his piss slit.

Sitting  back on my ankles I look up and see too bright red spots on his
face, one  on each of Robby's cheeks as he gasps out, "Oooh, shiiit, that was
gooood," then twirls his finger indicating I should turn  around. I'm on my
knees anyway, so I turn and get on all fours,  then pull my jeans and
underpants down just below my buttocks, with my  ass pushed up. Rob gets a leg on
either side of my ass and guides the hard head  of his cock to my anus. He
applies a little pressure spreading the lips. Rob  grabs my hips, then humps
the head in past my sphincter muscle  and gasps, "Aaah!" It was only a few
hours ago that Ryan screwed that  fat butt plug up my ass so Rob's fat cock
head doesn't hurt as much as it would  have otherwise. I mutter a quiet,
"Ow." Robby leans over me and gets his  forearms under my belly touching the
head of my leaking boner that's tight up  against my body. The side of his
right cheek is against the side  of my head, nice and snug! Rob considerately
pushes the rest of his boner  up my ass slowly spreading the walls of my
rectum as I hold my breath. His  heavy breathing tells me he's very aroused and
I feel his cock  grow fatter and a tad longer inside me. Without pulling his
boner back, Rob  humps against my butt cheeks tightly, grunting, "Ummpth,
ooh, mmm."

His  arms tighten around my belly and my eyes close as the hurt fades and
nerve  endings blossom into streaks of sexual pleasure, both in my ass and
all around the base of my cock. The pleasure sensations begin spreading  out,
making me moan and shake almost imperceptibly. A quiet, "Ooooh, mmmm, Rob,
mmm," from me as he holds me tightly  with both arms now, and starts moving
his hips fucking my ass with his  magical fat cock and right off we hear,
"SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," as sensations  roar with serious sexual pleasure inside
my body and especially all around  my groin. I rock back and forth on my
hands and knees listening to Robby grunt  and moan, joining the subtle sounds of
our bodies smacking together,  "Slapslapslap."

He's fucking me really hard, and really fast, and really good.  Oh the
awesomeness during these few minutes of ecstasy. It's perfection being  Rob's
bottom for sex. We're perfect together, perfectly matched with his  really
hard cock plowing back and forth inside my ass while I know he's  getting huge
pleasure right along with the sexual pleasure he's creating  in me. There's
nothing else nearly as wonderful as Rob fucking me. That  side-show at
Ryan's caused an orgasm, but there's no comparing that joke with  the sex Rob and
I have together. There's a Grand Canyon  of differences between that and
this.

I'm in  a dreamy pleasure state of mind with the constant,
"Slap,slap,slap," sounds in  my ears as my boner tightens even more until it's sticking
straight down.  My orgasm is building and peaking as Rob grunts, "I'm gonna cum,
 babe." He's tight against my buttocks humping against me, and  then I feel
the stream of his creamy cum pouring inside me  setting me off, "Eeeee!
Aaaah!" My back arches as my orgasm shoots straight  down to splatter on the
floor a short distance from the head of my  hard cock. It's a big splatter as
soaring sensations  tantalize all around my rectum and groin at the same
time. My whole body  shudders as another streak of cum shoots out, then a
third. A star  burst of incredible pleasure before a quick reversal until
sensations fade out  and I feel spent and limp.

Rob's  still slowly humping his cock back and forth inside me, quietly
moaning at the  after effects of his orgasm. A last sizzle of pleasure zips
around me; I'm not  even sure where it came from. Now there's nothing but the
memory, heavy  breathing, and thumping hearts beating fast. Then, "Ooooh,
fuck. Ummm, yeah,  babe," as Rob lifts up and takes a step back pulling his cock
out of my ass.  Another deep breath from me as I drop my head to my arms on
the floor and feel  Rob's semen drool down the back of my leg. Turning my
head to grin at him, he  grins back and a, "SLAP!" on my ass. He steps back
some more, saying, "I want to  get you a tattoo, Dylan. On your butt cheeks I
mean." I push myself up, then  stand looking back to see the shiny liquid
running down the back of my leg, as I  ask, "What will the tattoo say?" He
goes, "Private property of Rob  Dickers." I grab some tissues and wipe at my
ass, mumbling, "Okay by me, boss."  Robby takes the tissues from my hand and
wipes up his jism for me, then  he hugs me from behind before saying, "That
was really nice,  and he slides his cock back up my ass, murmuring, "And so
is this." He thrusts  his cock back and forth in my opened-up slippery
asshole until I feel his  cock growing hard inside me. We fuck for ten or twelve
minutes making low,  "Mmm, oooh," sounds until he goes, "Ahh, aah," and
shoots a second little load  inside me." Back up he's grunting, "Aah, that felt
good."

I'd  shot that load off at Ryan's, so while the follow-up fuck felt really
good, I  never got close to another orgasm. It makes me feel good that Rob
did though.  He's chuckling, then muttering, "Yep, I'm going to fuck us into
an early  grave, Dylan." I'm back to wiping his cum off my ass and legs when
he  hugs me, asking, "Will you help me pack." I nod and he takes the
handful of  tissues from me and wipes his dick, mumbling, "Jesus, I should shower
before the meeting except there's no time." he laughed, "I'll have a sticky
 dick through the meeting thinking about us fucking." I pull up my pants,
saying, "I'll miss you, Robby," and we hug and kiss, then he ruffles his
fingers  through my hair, looking me in the eyes, saying, "Do me a favor,
Dylan." I nod,  "Of course," and he says, "Just for me, please, um, make this the
last sex  either of us has until Sunday afternoon when we're together
again." He so  serious and his eyes are so beautiful. I murmur, "I promise the
next sex I  have will be with you," and realize we're getting closer and
closer to that  always being the case. Well not yet though, we're just getting
into junior  year. That'll be how it is during our Senior year, and  then
forever after. I can do it for Rob.

We're  in a sweet mood getting some clothes together that he wants  to take
with him. I help by ironing a dress shirt he wants to wear at  the meeting.

He puts other things he'll need in a satchel.  We exchange gooey smiles
every couple of minutes. I don't care how sappy it  is because it makes us feel
good. When he's packed for the weekend, and  dressed with a tie for the
meeting, he looks so handsome. We have a sloppy  lover's kiss. The kind of kiss
you have when someone is going off to war  and you're not  sure you'll ever
see each other again, then he says, "Walk down with me." I  carry his
satchel as we walk down to the parking lot together. At the  pickup truck I put
his satchel on the passenger seat and Rob hugs  me again, kissing the side of
my face, whispering, 'Until  Sunday," and I hug him back, murmuring,
"You've got my word, Rob." He goes, "I  know, babe." Another kiss on the lips and
he gets in and fires up the engine.  Rolling the window down, "Next weekend
you'll be coming with me." I nod, "I'm  looking forward to it, Rob." He
grins, mumbling, "Liar," and I go, "I'm  looking forward to being with you
anyway." He says, "My parents are good people,  you'll see." We wave and I watch
him pull away, then the pickup truck turns  right at the end of the
building, and out of sight.

Walking  back up the steps I feel a surge of love for him that makes me
stop on the  steps and take a deep breath. He's everything I've ever fantasized
he'd  become when we first fell in love. He's become the only person I want
to live my  life with and I'm going to make a project out of making his
parents love me and  realize I'm the best person on earth for their son.

Continuing up the steps  I'm thinking how I've never paid his parents much mind
before this  summer. I mean they've been there in the background for the past
three and  a half years, but just peripheral figures hovering around
occasionally. Going into the apartment I try to form my opinion of Mr.  and Mrs.

Dickers. I guess I think Rob's dad is too joyless, but nice,  and she's
too-too much at times, but nice. It's just that  she's over the top about almost
everything, which makes me think there must  be insincerity in there
someplace. Everything can't be  equally marvelously exquisite and exciting. That's
her though, and the  way they both sort of disowned Dodger when he joined
the Army really  makes me think less of them. Dodger joined the Army instead
of fulfilling their  vision of what he should do and be, and I have a big
problem with them for  that.

Plopping onto the couch I'm rethinking things. His parents don't  need to
love me. Why do I think they need to love me? Rob needs to love me  and if
they don't like it, too fucking bad for them. Okay, I need to find  someplace
in the middle of I'm going to make them love me and too  fucking bad for
them if they don't. Compromise, that's my goal. I  wonder what their goal is? I
know this much though: during Rob's calls home to  his parents he's
mentioned Frankie, the girl, and he tells me, naively,  that his parents seem very
excited about his friendship with Frankie. I  wanted to tell Rob they're
excited because Frankie's a girl, who he  likes hooking up with... and she's
not me. I might be a tad paranoid  about why they seem so interested in
Frankie and Rob, but only a tiny bit  paranoid.

Well  the next order of business is Chub and me driving home, but I don't
hear from  him until almost four o'clock, and of course he wants a last
minute haircut before we head home. Chubby's not on a timetable the way Rob
usually is. I grin because Chubby's like no other, and I'm happy to give him
anything he want; a last minute haircut  included. When Chubby pops in the
apartment all smiles and positive vibes,  we hug and he tells me about him and
John Beverly almost talking two townie  girls into seeing their dorm room.

That would probably be dramatic for  the girls considering that John Beverly
is no better than Chubby at keeping  a neat room. Their room looks like
they intentionally threw everything they  own around haphazardly and then
kicked everything a few times just for the  hell of it.

Chubby's  using three Stop & Shop plastic bag as his luggage this weekend.

I have the  few things I'm taking home with me in a little pile and, hiding
a grin looking  at Chub's Stop & Shop bag, I tuck my stuff in a satchel and
zip it up. One  of the things I'm bring home with me is the RiteAid barber
set that I'll  leave at home now that I have the professional barber tools
for college  haircutting, and Chubby's first. He tells me he wants a haircut
he doesn't need  to comb. I give him a longish version of a buzz cut on the
sides and back of his  head, leaving the hairs on top long enough to lie
flat, and he'll only need  to push his short tapered bangs over to the side.

There's no part  in this hair style to deal with. I'd kinda like this exact
haircut myself,  but that's for another day. Golden's giving haircuts one of
the Saturdays coming  up, either this one or next Saturday and I'll deal with
Rob about the haircut  then.

I drive  Chub and me home in the Jeep. We talk mostly about this year at
college and the  new guys and girls we've met so far. No negative topics like
Ryan, or even  about Dodger wanting to reenlist. We're relaxed and happy to
be together  and heading home to see our moms. We're looking forward to
knowing our  future step-fathers a little better too, although we already agree
that Rider and Bud are good guys. It's funny but they're almost as  close
to Chub's and my age as they are to our moms' age. Mom is engaged to Tom;
his nickname is his last name, 'Rider'. For some reason his friends, even his
twin brother, call him Rider, while mom mostly calls him Tom. Chub's mom is
 engaged to the twin brother, Timothy, whose nickname  is Bud. We've gotten
to know Rider and Bud fairly well over the past two  years and we feel okay
about having them as step-dads. Mostly we're  happy our moms fell in love
with really good guys. There are  no noticeable negatives with these two guys
as far as we can tell.  Plus, they're sort of rich, well off anyway owning
their own business. It's all  good.

We get home around five-fifteen and, of course, the moms are  working. This
year, at Bud's and Rider's urging, the moms have  been taking off work the
first Saturday each month, and this is  the first Saturday in November,
which is why we're home this weekend. It'll  be a family weekend together.

Obviously there's very little chance of me  having any side sex even if I hadn't
promised Rob I wouldn't. I'll be  with the Chubby tonight and the family all
day and night tomorrow. We're  going to spend Saturday in Boston seeing
things that tourist usually see. It's  an odd fact that people who live near
historical sights rarely visit them,  while others come from all over the
country and other parts of the  world to see them. Tris and mom are in charge of
planning our Saturday  sightseeing, and we're determined to enjoy whatever
they have planned for  us, even if it's a bit painful.

Chubby  and I stop at my condo for a cold drink, and there on the kitchen
counter is a  printout of tomorrow's itinerary. Swallowing some cold Coke, I
pick it  up and read it with Chub reading over my shoulder, his hand resting
on  the back of my neck. It reads like this: 9 am breakfast at the Gourmet
Buffet on Canal Street, Framingham. Chubby goes, "I've been there and they
put out a really good brunch. The muffins and sweet rolls from their bakery
are  awesome. Then there's things liked Virginia baked ham sliced thin,
eggs five  different ways, hash brown potatoes and all kinds of  stuff.

Twenty-nine other breakfast favorites and then lunch stuff. Of  course there are
items like grits and sliced salmon you'll wanna stay clear  of. It's not cheap
at $29 a person, plus extra for juice and coffee or tea. Not  worth the
price actually, not unless you're a really big eater." I go, "And  look at
this, nine o'clock breakfast time. Ha ha, fat chance the moms will  get up at
seven-thirty. They need an hour and a half, at least, to do  their shower,
shampoo, make-up and what not." Chub nods, "And then trying  on ten different
outfits deciding what to wear. If we get to  the Gourmet Buffet by eleven,
I'd be shocked." I go. "Think positively, but  be flexible."

Anyway,  the itinerary claims we'll be driving down route 93 South to
Boston in  an eight passenger limo the twins are renting for the day; they're
kinda rich so  we're not worried about how much that costs. First stop in
Boston will  be the 2 and a 1/2 mile Freedom  Trail with a tour guide dressed in
Revolutionary garb. Chub says, "Gard, in case you don't know, means clothes
in modern day English."  Glancing at him, I go, "No shit." The trail is a
red brick path from the  Boston Common to Bunker Hill with a pit stop at the
Bell-In-Hand Tavern;  America's oldest bar. Onward to Paul revere's House and
The Old North Church  where the 'one if by land and two if by sea' lookout
for the  British happened. One or two lanterns I guess they mean. Faneuil
Hall  Marketplace is next where we'll eat lunch. It dates back to 1742 and is
mostly a  hundred-station food court nowadays. The tour continues to Fenway
Park, but  our itinerary calls for us to skip that since we've all been
there  any number of times.  After lunch a tour of Harvard and MIT, just to say
we were there. The last stop  is Cheers, a bar in an old time TV show,
although not this actual bar. An  obvious tourist rip-off that we'll skip. If we
stick to the itinerary,  the last stop before a late dinner is the Isabella
Sewart  Gardner Museum. It's a fine-arts museum that began at a 1892  Paris
auction where the lady with three names bought some art and used it to
start her museum in Boston. Lastly an 8:30 dinner reservation at The Capital
Grille, supposedly a five-star restaurant.  Chubby goes, "Jesus, I need a nap
after just reading this itinerary, never  mind walking two and a half miles
and doing all that other  stuff."

First  order of business is a shower for both of us, then we get ready for
dinner at the restaurant where the moms waitress. After dinner Chub and I
are going to bar hop around Framingham  in bars we've passed most  of our
lives but never were old enough to go in. We have a  self-imposed strict limit
of one beer per joint because that itinerary for  tomorrow would be torture
with a hangover. We're eating dinner at six o'clock,  before the normal
Friday night restaurant rush. The moms have  a twenty-minute break  around that
time and they normally eat a salad with us when we're served  out entrees.

Chubby  goes up to his condo and I jump in my shower. A half hour later we
meet  outside, both of us looking like spiffy and clean-cut  like preppy
college students. Without planning to do this we both have  on blue button-down
dress shirts, dark blue V-neck sweaters, tan  khakis, and loafers. As a nod
to the chilly weather we're both  wearing a Polo hooded middle weight
jacket. Appraising each other's  garb, we both shake our heads, smirking at one
another. I go, "What? Are we  twins now, dressing alike?" Chub goes, "I
thought you'd wear the white  button-down dress shirt with the maroon V-neck
sweater." When Chubby comes  with me on a clothes shopping trip he waits until I
pick out things to buy,  then he buys the exact same things. He claims he
can never make up his  mind. It's the same thing at restaurants. When I
order, he'll tell the waiter,  "That's exactly what I was going to order. I'll
have the same as my brother." It  started years ago and has become a running
joke with us. The other thing we  overdo is use the word 'brother'.  Any
chance either of us gets we refer to  each other as my brother rather than say
the other's name.  That's because we're so happy about being brothers, and we
didn't know we were  brothers until after our freshman year at college.

We get  in the Jeep with me in the driver's seat, as Chubby mutters, "We've
got  the preppy-on-steroids look going for us tonight, so we'll probably
get bullied in the Framingham bars after dinner." I go, "Wait! We forgot  our
pocket protectors." At the restaurant we get greeted, not only from the
moms, but other long-time waitresses who have seen us grow up right before
their eyes. The greetings we receive is one normally reserved for war  heroes
returning after receiving the Medal of Honor  from the President of the
United States. It's always awkward, and gets  worse with the compliments about
how good looking we are, but the  women are the nicest people you'd ever want
to know. Some of the waitresses have  worked with Mom and Tris for twenty
years. We love our moms, both of them, even  though we think they wear too
much make-up and their hairdos from  weekly trips to the hair salon are maybe
a little too big. That being said, of  all the people I've met in my life,
young and old alike, I've never met two  more sincerely sweet and generous
people as our mothers. It's  enough to make me tear-up thinking how hard these
two have worked from  the time they were seventeen. Worked at this same
job, on their feet nine or ten  hours a day without ever complaining about
anything as far as I've ever heard.  The hugs and kisses and general hubbub of
making a fuss over Chub and me  gets the mostly elderly early diners turning
in their seats at the  tables to watch with smiles on their faces. Some of
them say 'Hi' to us as  we go buy their table on the way to our table in the
rear. If I ever really  need a morale boost, I'll  come here for dinner.

We have  cocktails, Chub and me, not the working moms. With our cocktails,
for starters,  we have shrimp cocktail, then an entree of Prime Rib of Beef,
tonight  with twice-baked Idaho  potatoes and green bean almandine, a
salad, and rolls. For dessert,  Irish coffee and a slice of their flourless
chocolate cake. Awesome dinner  with the rib roast carved off a huge medium rare
roast, bone in, and served  with a creamy horseradish sauce. Everything is
fresh and crispy when  it's supposed to be, and hot when it's supposed to be
hot. We don't get out of  there until after eight o'clock when the place is
packed. We all settle on a  wave goodbye because the moms are busy working.

Of the  five bars we have a beer in  after dinner, two turn out to be
boring places, quiet with a number of solitary  drinkers; shot glasses and beers
in front of them. Gloomy places where men and  women come to get drunk while
probably thinking unhappy thoughts. The other  three bars are more upbeat
with fun atmospheres, and where the beers cost  more. No one bullies us
because of our preppies-on-steroids appearances. Of  course, every place cards
us, but no one disputes the info on our  licenses. We do look young though, so
some of the bartenders, men  bartenders more than the women bartenders,
frown as they study our licenses  before begrudgingly asking, 'What'll it be
boys?" While drinking our  beers Chub and I talk about our innumerable
experiences  together. Reminiscing is fun when done with someone you love and
depend on like no other person you've ever known, or ever hope to know. We talk
about some of our private thoughts too, and discuss life after college
while  pledging life-long loyalty to one another using words that could make  a
grown man cry. That's how I feel anyway.

We're  sensibly back at our condos before eleven, only slightly
intoxicated. A hug  and quick kiss goodnight and we split up feeling really good about
ourselves and  looking forward to tomorrow. Next morning, we don't get
started at nine  o'clock, but  the moms surprise us four guys by being ready at
ten minutes after ten, looking  bright and cheery and upbeat. The day follows
the mom's itinerary pretty  closely. There's a lot to get in but we  never
feel rushed. Having a limo driver is the absolute best way to do anything.

They drop us off at the door and park any fucking place they feel like. Our
driver is a handsome young guy with a smirk on his face for Chub and me,
like we're lucky rich kids. We are lucky, although not rich. His name  is Ron
and he's dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. No  hat.

He's a inch taller than me and slender. He has  the look of a tough guy who
grew up in Dorchester; a tough  kid from the streets who cleans-up really
well. Short haircut and clean shaven.  I enjoy looking at him and after lunch
I come out and have a cigarette with him.  He has a pronounced South Boston
accent talking quietly, but with a  confidence and a knowing expression on
his youthful face. He's one hot dude!  He's also no more gay than  Rider or
Bud. I'd love to share a hot kiss with Ron. That's all, one kiss.

Unfortunately, I fall one kiss short of that, as I knew I  would.

The  most noteworthy thing about the art in the Isabella Sewart Gardner
museum for me  is Rembrandt's self portrait at age 23. He looks strangely
vulnerable,  innocent and sort of cute with an oversized nose and fine bushy long
hair.  He has an immature mustache as his only facial hair. Rembrandt's
self  portrait looks like someone I'd like to know. Well, I'd like to know  any
genius, but him especially because I like his looks. Rembrandt,  Ron the
chauffeur, and me drinking beers all afternoon in  some dive would be an
awesome thing!
We eat  dinner at nine o'clock in The Capital Grille. It's a five-star
restaurant  and, from our experience tonight, I wouldn't take any of their stars
away. Great  dinner with cocktails before, wine with dinner, and then after
dinner  drinks. Chubby and both moms fall asleep on the ride back to
Framingham while I  discuss the extinction of the dinosaurs with Tom and Tim. They
pretend  interest as I tell them how the big meteorite was just the final
straw' The dinosaurs were dying out 20 million years  before the meteorite
hit 60 million years ago. I probably read too  many articles in the science
section of Yahoo. As I give my  long dissertation on dinosaurs, every once in
a while I'd look at the  driver's rearview mirror and Ron's eyes would meet
mine. That night in  bed I fantasized about me and Ron naked in the back
seat of  his limousine.

Earlier, during dinner, an interesting development happened. During our
before-dinner cocktails, Tom and Tim asked Chub and I, in a very serious
manner,  if we'd be opposed to then sleeping over tonight. To be a smart-ass,
Chubby  asked, "Are you referring to a sleep-over with my bro and me?" Chub
looked  serious when he asked that, but the twins know us pretty well by now
so they knew Chub was only breaking balls. They played it straight though,
saying, "We hadn't thought of that, no. For one thing Dylan's bed is too
small for two grown people to sleep in, and your room, Jeffrey, is too
overloaded with, um, various things. Frankly I'd be afraid of breaking an ankle
getting to the bed." I go, "Huh, then you're probably thinking about sleeping
on  the sofa." Tim goes, "Not exactly the sofa, no." Chub goes, "Surely you
don't  mean with our moms." Rider says, "Yes, that's it exactly." Chub and I
look  at each other, with him muttering, "Whaddaya think, Dylan?" Looking
at the  guys, I go, "Um, are you two picking up the check for dinner?" They
look at  each other trying not to grin. Then Bud says, "If we do can we sleep
over." Chub  says, as if our moms aren't there, "Have you mentioned this to
our moms yet?"  They both nod their heads, saying, "Uh huh," and Chub goes,
"Then, yes, we're  fine with you sleeping over." Our moms exchange glances
and we say no more about  the topic. It's settled, they're having sex
together! Oh  no!
Sunday morning Chubby and Tim comes down to my place, both  looking a
little hungover. When Tom comes out of mom's room we chuckle  about a few things
from yesterday, and then Chub and I mention we're going to  prepare brunch.

The twins have been over for brunch before and offer to do  the food
shopping with us, but I say, "No, no, no! Chub and I will even  things out,
money-wise. You guys picked up the tab for yesterday, so Chub  and I will cover the
entire cost of brunch. That should make us even."  The guys nod at each
other like that's a great deal. We slap hands  with them and chuckle. It's not
until around one o'clock Sunday  that Chubby and I put the brunch on. The
conversation is all about  yesterday's long day in Boston with many thanks to
the twins from the moms,  Chub, and me. With hugs and kisses we leave the
two couples in our condo around  three o'clock for the ride back to college.

It was an excellent bonding weekend  for our family. Actually Chubby and I
had a tough time keeping up with the  old folks on Saturday.

The  ride back is mostly a quiet one with both of us, I imagine, thinking
about this weekend and feeling really good about it. Not one squabble or
disagreement the entire time we were together. It was a very nice  time, and
fun too. Halfway home the skies open and rain starts coming down  in buckets.

Chubby drives me to my apartment building and pulls a rain  slicker out of
the debris in the back seat. "Here, Dylan, this slicker is yours.  I sort of
borrowed it a couple of weeks back." I nod, "Thanks, Chub, but  won't you
need it walking from the parking lot to your dorm?" He shakes his  head,
"Nah, there's a golf umbrella back there in that mess. That's yours  too. I
borrowed it from your golf bag in the storage unit six weeks ago," I  go, "Oh,
okay." We do a hug and I get into the slicker, then get out in the  pouring
rain carrying my satchel and immediately step in a  six-inch puddle  of
water. With a wave to Chubby, my mind turns to Rob and I get an excited  feeling
low in my belly near my balls. What a wonderful thing it is to return  from
a loving, fun weekend with family to someone who is  as important to me as
anyone in my life. A smile breaks out on my  face, anxious to see Rob to hug
him and jump in the sack with him. I don't care  about the rain. I'm
thinking about another thrill for me; being with Rob.  Sometimes life rocks!


to be continued...    Donny Mumford    thinkat20@yahoo.com


donnymumford@outlook.com

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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

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