Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2017 22:17:08 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter  25

DYLAN'S  JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  25


By  Donny Mumford


On a  cold rainy Friday afternoon early in November Rob and I are at his
pickup  loading stuff in the backseat for a working-weekend at home. Trying to
do  anything in the rain is a pain in the ass, but there's very little
complaining  coming from either of us. That's mainly because we had a tiny
shouting match  fifteen minutes ago and, now that we've both apologized, we're on
our best  behavior by being overly  accommodating and courteous to one
another on our way back  to normalcy.

Rob apologized  for disrespecting me and I apologized for not doing a few
favors for  him in as timely  a manner as I promised. The favors consisted of
dropping-off  and picking-up dry-cleaning, and the purchase of travel-size
toiletry  items. I actually did do all three of those things, but not as
quickly  as I should have and Rob, perhaps forgetting these were favors, was
overly  critical. Plus, like I said, it's a cold, rainy, and windy day making
those  chores more tedious and therefore putting my nerves slightly on
edge. Rob's crime was treating me like an incompetent lackey  which I objected
to, so he's agreed to stop doing that. Case  closed...

It was  basically our first fight and it lasted about a minute. Common
ground was quickly established and now we're both feeling a little weird about
the whole thing. My rebellion might appear to fly  in the face of my
assertion that Rob is the head of our household and  therefore entitled to expect
certain things from me. We're not a married  household though, so for now
we're just practicing for when we are.  However, practicing or doing it for
real doesn't give Rob the right to  treat me with disrespect. Treating me as
an incompetent lackey, I think most  reasonable people would agree is
disrespectful. I like Rob to be slightly  bossy, but I get to decide when he inches
past slightly.  So there  it is....

When  everything is in the truck we go inside to dry off before starting
the  trip home. Using fluffy towels, we're drying our hair while  commenting
on the weather, like, 'Nasty weather, huh?' or, 'Yes,  but it's only water'
and other things of that ilk. If we were back to  normal our comments would
be more like: 'Fuck this rain, huh?' or,  'This weather blows!' and other
descriptive observations along  those lines. Rob's phone rings and we both look
at his pocket where he  keeps his phone. He takes it out and talks to
someone briefly, then  tells me, "We can relax, Dylan. No need to rush now. That
was  Dad's administrative assistant telling me the Friday meeting has been
postponed until tomorrow morning at seven." I nod, muttering, "Seven
o'clock, huh?" He goes. "Yeah, a couple of the managers are dealing with  flooded
basements at home. They're getting the same rain storm we have  here." Well
at least the rain is good for something. Okay then, we don't need to  bust a
nut getting there, but a seven o'clock morning meeting; what's  that all
about? Jesus, we'll need to get up before six. Naturally,  considering our
recent peace treaty, they'll be no negativity from me about  the lunacy of a
meeting that early on a Saturday morning.

Dropping  his towel in the hamper, Rob mutters, "Fucking seven o'clock,
huh? I don't  get that." It's tempting to second that emotion, but we're still
in  our walking on egg shells period, so I merely go, "Yeah,  well..." Then
I blurt out a laugh because we're being so stupid about  this, and Rob's
like, "What...?" Shaking my head, I say, "Nothing,  it just struck me funny you
saying, fucking seven o'clock. I don't know. it  just...." He puts his
hands on my shoulder, saying, "You know I'm really  sorry about my asshole-act
earlier, right?" I go, "Yep, but we're in the later  stages of forgetting
that ever happened." He looks at me  grinning, then gives me a quick kiss on
the lips, saying, "I love you."  Okay, that was nice, and of course I say, "I
love you too," and we hug. He rubs  my hair, saying, "And I'm sorry for
snapping at you earlier about these  haircuts. Hell, you're probably right that
they blow. I just don't know the  difference." Hmmm, well yeah, that's right
 he doesn't know the difference. Ignorance is bliss.

But, oh  man, it's so good Rob's being like this. It's also the perfect
opening for  me to tell him about the register clerk at Rite Aid. As we're
putting our  rain slicker back on, I go, "Like you said, Rob, it's just a
haircut. I'm  the only one who seems to give a shit about it. But hey, get this:
I'm at  the check-out register with the tiny-toiletry items in Rite Aid when,
 out of the blue, the register clerk, she's like nineteen years old,  she
says to me, 'Nice haircut!'  Rob goes, "No way!" and I'm  like, 'Yeah, way!"

He says, "See! It is a nice haircut." I go, "That won me  over, yeah,
but..." and I tell him about how our haircut's  are missing a part. He reaches up
and feels his hair where a part  would be, and says, "Oh yeah. I didn't even
notice that. Um, why do we need  a part?" I shrug, "It's an intricate
component of a  regular haircut." He nods, apparently not convinced, but
unwilling to get into another haircut discussion that he has no chance of  winning.

As  we're walking down the steps to the parking lot I tell him my theory as
to why  Golden cut off our parts. Haircuts are a touchy subject with Rob,
so I took a  big chance bringing that topic up again in the first place, but
I only did so after first telling him the antidote about  the clerk saying,
'Nice haircut'. You know, like throwing him a  bone that he was right all
along. He's not right obviously, but that's not the  point. With him now in
an agreeable haircut frame of mind, I move on  to my point, which is we gotta
correct the situation with our next haircuts. By  the time we're pulling
out of the parking lot I've maneuvered him into  saying, "Well this is an easy
thing to correct. Next time we'll tell Golden  we want a fucking part." I
go, "Yeah, when you put it that way, no problem." At  least I extracted that
much of a concession from Rob that this isn't a  very good haircut, like he
keeps telling me. Okay, that's  partially taken care of. Of course, even
with a part on the side it's still  a very inferior blow-job of a haircut. But
baby-steps are needed in this  haircut dialogue because Rob's mentoring
Golden and he thinks  my criticisms of this haircut is a reflection on both of
them. Well, it is  actually, but I need to be tactful about it.

Now,  about our sleeping arrangements at his house. I'm like, "Um, Rob, you
have  a better feel for things than I do. What do you think about us
pumping the brakes on  the idea of sleeping together at your house? Obviously
that'd be my first  choice, but I was wondering if I'm being too greedy wanting
to  sleep with you. What do you think?"  Us sleeping together at his
parent's  house is totally his idea, not at all mine. If  I pretend to own some of
that bad decision though, Rob has some wiggle room  to change his mind. I
mean, sleeping and fucking together the first night  at his house? Really?
It's obviously way too soon to drop that entire  package on his parents. I'm
thinking maybe we need to sneak up on that  topic so as not to freak out the
'rents. Rob's frowning as he looks over at me,  then gets his eyes back on
the road, saying, "You're reading my mind  again, babe. I wanted to back-out
of our sleeping together plans, but  was afraid you'd think I was a wuss. If
you're alright with it though,  it'd probably be better if you used
Dodger's bedroom." Bingo! He said  our sleeping together plans. I had nothing to do
with that plan  whatsoever, but why split hairs?
Rob  arrived at the correct decision, but to reinforce it, I add, "Plus, we
don't  want to create complications or stress unrelated to the work we're
going  home to do. If we were visiting on a holiday or something, maybe then
we'd mention the sleeping together topic to your parents. Something like
that."  Rob glances over at me again, saying, "Thanks, babe, I totally agree.

Ya know,  it's easy for me to be on my high-horse about us being a couple
when I'm talking  about it with you. Then when it's actually time to talk
about it with my  parents, a lot of my bluster evaporates." I go, "It comes down
to you being  considerate, Rob. That's it pure and simple. You don't want
to throw  our gayness in your parents' faces. Ease into that over time.

Don'cha  think?" He nods, "Yeah, I do. I mean, we both came 'out' to our parents
so that  enough for now. Damn, I feel better about the weekend already." He
glances over again, smirking this time, saying, "Good talk, Dylan!" We
both chuckle because that's a creepy phrase, 'Good talk!'  which is why we say
it... to get a laugh.

Dodger  and Robby slept in the same room for years, only switching to
separate  bedrooms around the time Dodger discovered Rob and I were boyfriends
and,  um, doing what boyfriends do. As he drives, Rob's talkative now,  asking
what I think we should do tonight after dinner. I suggest a movie after
which we could revisit one of our old secret places and have sex in the
pickup.  We both laugh at first, but then agree that's an awesome idea. Returning
to our  roots you might say. The awkward period between us is over by  now
and we can go back to being ourselves. If Rob was an asshole,  which he most
definitely is not, he'd have shouted back at me  earlier when I shouted at
him and it could have become an ugly scene.  I give both of us credit for
avoiding those dangerous waters by being  mature about handling a testy
situation.

When  arriving to the town of Natick, we get off route 128 and onto route 9
 heading for Framingham. By now the rain  has magically tapered off  and it
stops almost entirely when Rob's parking the pickup on his parent's
driveway. At the end of their driveway is the pool house with a  basketball
backboard and rim secured at the top peak of the roof. Wow, that pool  house
brings back a million memories. Lots of fucking went on inside and  behind it. Oh
yeah, and we played three-on-three basketball in front of it  as well.

Jesus, lots of stuff went on in that pool house, and one of the  things I'll
never forget is seeing part of a Robby, Dodger, and Vinnie sexy  three-way as I
looked through the pool house's side window. That was three  years ago and
so much has changed since then it's hard to fathom. Then  there were the
pool parties during that first summer Rob and I worked the  lawn cutting crew
together; they were good. Then Dodger's going away  party and his welcome
home party after basic training were held here as well.  Hell, there were other
parties here too, big and small. The Dickers are generous  people. I need
to give them props in that regard.

We  gather up the clothes on hangers, then grab our satchels as Rob says,
"Both  Dad's pickup and Mom's Toyota are gone, so no one's home right now." I
want  to yell, YAHOO!, but don't. Rob hands me his satchel as he gets his
house key  out and we go in through the back door. Looking over my shoulder I
see  the pool has a cover on it. "Is the pool drained, Rob?" The door
closes behind  us as he mumbles, "I guess, yeah," and then he picks up a note
from the  kitchen table. It says, 'Welcome home Rob and Dylan! Dad's taking us
out to  dinner tonight at Ken's Steakhouse. See you soon.' Rob nods his
head,  mumbling, "So much for home cooking." What the fuck? First of all, Ken's
is  an awesome restaurant, and secondly, what the fuck does he think  my
cooking is? I guess he likes his mom's home cooking better.  To that, I think
to myself, his mom's cooking ain't so great. Now  Ryan's mom; she could cook!
I gotta give her that.


We  carry our stuff upstairs where Rob nods at the first door on the left,
saying, 'That's Dodger's room. He'll be happy to hear you slept in his bed.

 He thinks the world revolves around you." I go, "No he doesn't!" Going in
the room, I'm like, "Hey, wait a minute! I slept here before. I can't
remember why or when though." Rob's in his bedroom, one door down, shouting,
"Yeah, you did. Maybe when I was on that kick about you needing to get to know
 my parents better." I think he's right: talk about awkward though. Holy
shit!
Having  my own bedroom is much preferable, especially considering Rob's
parents have the  master bedroom across the hall from Rob's. Squeals would
probably be heard  over that short distance. Plus, Dodger's room is one door
closer to the  hall bathroom. I'm feeling a little better about things. Yeah,
but  what's with the welcome home, 'Rob and Dylan?'  This isn't my home.  I
suppose his mom was just trying to be inclusive. What if the note said,
'Welcome home Rob' and didn't mention me at all? That'd be worse, I  guess. Who
the hell ever feels comfortable staying at someone else's house  anyway?
Certainly not me.

Rob  comes in my room carrying my dry-cleaning. I hang-up the shirts and
slacks,  asking, "Can I borrow a tie for tomorrow?" He says, "Of course, but
first we've  forgotten something important." I'm like, "Oh yeah, what's
that?" He grins, "A  really hot make-up kiss. You know, for after our fight," and
he rests his  forearms on my shoulders as I put my hands on his hips and we
kiss a sweet  lover's kiss. Rob runs his fingers up the back of my head as
our tongues slide  together and my arms go around him. There's wet mouth
sounds and subtle moans of  desire as our mixed saliva drools down my chin.  Of
course my  dick immediately wakes up and happily does a couple of laps
around my  jockey shorts.

Just  like that my love for Robby blossoms brightly and beautifully. The
sides of  our faces slide together as we both gasp for air, then I murmur to
him, my lips brushing his ear, "From now on I'll make sure I do the things
I'm supposed to do, Rob. It was my fault," and my arms go around the back
of his neck now as I hug him and kiss the side of his face. He takes a deep
breath, murmuring, "No, I was horrible to you... and you were doing  me the
favors. So I'm the one who's sorry, Dylan. I love  you so much I could
scream it out loud." I mumble, "Please don't do that," and  we chuckle and then
our mouths are hungrily together again for more  deep kisses with licking
tongues. We take turns sucking on each  other's top lip until I feel like I'm
going cum in my pants. How is it possible  to love a person as much as I love
Rob? It's staggering and I feel incapable of  showing him how deeply my
love for him goes.

Robby's  hips are humping his now hard cock against mine as my mouth slides
to the side  again. I moan, "Rob, mmmmm." I'm back to licking his mouth,
then licking  over his cheek to his ear, to murmur, "Fuck me, Rob, oooh
yeaaaah, fuck  meeee." With the sides of our faces together again we're both
fumbling our jeans  down, then Rob's turning me around and jabbing his hard fat
boner at my jockey  underpants before muttering and yanking them down below
my buttocks and, "Oooh!"  the wet head of his cock is at my asshole, then it
pushes past my  sphincter muscle, "Aaah!" Rob's arms go around my chest as
he does little  hip humps pushing his boner up my ass a half- inch at a time.

His mouth is  behind my right ear as he gasps out  little moans, "Aah, aah,
aah," with each hump of his hips. I wish I could  lean forward so his fat
cock could go in easier, but Rob's holding me so tightly  against his chest
it's not possible to do anything except accept  his rock hard organ going up
my ass.

It  hurts, but I'm literally thrilled that we're doing this. I don't know
any  better way to show my love for him. When his fat hard penis is all the
way  in he presses his crotch against my butt cheeks and licks my ear with
fast  little licks, like a puppy dog licks your face. His hands drop down low
on  my belly now, then he pulls my ass tighter against his crotch, his balls
 nestling in against the back of my right leg. I  shudder with pleasure as
all the pain drifts back to wherever it came  from. My head goes back on his
shoulder as he pulls his hips back, his  boner coming out, out, out and
then its pushed all the way back  up my ass, and I go up on my toes, moaning,
"Ooooh, Robby." He grunts  and starts fucking me fast and hard as pronounced,
"Slapslapslapslap,"  sounds fill the room. Oh yeah! Another fast hard
fucking and I love  it so much there are tears of pleasure and joy in my eyes.

His  constantly smooth-moving hips drive his hard cock back and forth in my
ass with our bodies tight together and his scent in my head and  it's so hot
and so sexy and so perfect I could scream.

One of  Rob's hands drops down and gets my hard cock in his fist. He
strokes it in  time with his hips driving his boner in my rectum. My wooden cock
is  straight out snugly encased in Rob's fist, as I hold my breath at the
sensations coming off the lips of my anus and  my sizzling prostate gland.

Enormous sexual sensations bombard my  brain, my cock's buzzing with extra
pleasure from the feel of Rob's hand as  he strokes the foreskin back and forth
on my full six inches of  hard cock. Fast hard fucks don't last nearly as
long as I'd like, and in two  or three minutes my orgasm's on me hot and
heavy. My back arches, I try to  squeal but only an airy sound comes out as my
hips hump out a long stream of cum  that shoots straight out five feet, then a
shorter stream, and  then another as I gasp, 'Aaaah, oooh, fuuuuck..."

Robby gasps now too,  lets go  of my cock and goes, "Oooh, mmmm, haaaaa,"

humping against my buttocks  shooting lots of creamy cum inside me, then more warm
jism fills me up back  there as Rob makes a whiny sound and thrusts his hip
driving his cock  in my slippery ass an extra half dozen times with cum
splattering against  his crotch as it drools back out of my rectum. He steps
back pulling his  cock out of me and, "Smack!" whacks my ass with the palm of
his  hand. He's breathing noisily as I'm still quivering at the tornado of
orgasmic sensations rippling through my body, and then everything calms down
 except my pounding heart and ragged breathing.

Rob's  cum rolls down the back of my legs as I gawk at the wet streak my
orgasm made across Dodger's bedspread. Reality is swiftly returning to  my
brain and I become aware of the tenuousness of our  situation. Turning around,
I'm like, "Um, Rob, you  were certain neither of your parent would be home
this early, right?"  There's a slime of cum hanging from his  cock as Rob
shakes his head, muttering, "No, I don't know what time they'll be  here. I,
um, got carried away." No shit! Oh well, we didn't  get caught. We come
together taking little steps because our jeans  are around our ankles, and hug
tightly; still a bit aroused by  one another. It's a really nice hug too. I
tell him, "I love you so  much, Rob, I can't put it into words." He says, "I
know, Dylan. There were  times I didn't think I'd ever be sure if you truly
loved me, but I know now.  We're equal lovers, right, babe?" and he grins,
then kisses my mouth, "I love  you, Dylan." We hug, taking deep breaths, happy
everything is  again wonderfully perfect. I don't want to let him go, I
like hugging  him, but he says, "Maybe we should pull our pants up at least."

We separate, and  I mumble, "Rob, help me clean your cum off my ass and
legs." He goes, "Wait  right there." He buttons his jeans after his sloppy  cock
is put away in his boxer shorts, and then he heads for the  bathroom.

He  comes back from the hall bath with a wet washcloth. Grinning, he says,
"I  peeked out the bathroom window at the driveway. Just my pickup, babe. We
 lucked-out." He wipes the back of my legs and ass, then hands me the
washcloth.  Startled, I look at it and he laughs, taking it back, saying, "I
don't  know why I gave that to you," and he goes back to the hall bath to do
something  with the washcloth. I pull my pants up feeling really good.

Extemporaneous  sex with Robby is as good as it gets. It means we couldn't control
our  desires to have sex together. We got each other so aroused kissing and
licking  it was inevitable our sexual arousal would find an outlet. No better
outlet  than the ultimate one, intercourse, and for gay boys like us that
means anal intercourse. Lucky us!
I'm  wiping at the cum on the bedspread with some tissues when Rob come
back  and just now notices the streak of wetness. He goes, "Oh, Jesus, that's
your climax, huh? I missed seeing that because my eyes were closed  when you
busted-out with your orgasm. Man, that was a good shot right there,  Dylan!
Whaddaya think, six feet?" I shrug, muttering, "I don't know, but  it's not
coming off," and he goes, "Let me get some spray cleaner from the
bathroom." We try cleaning the cum streak using Windex, without much luck. Rob
finally goes, "Fuck it. Let's turn  the bedspread over." We do and, ha, you
can't tell which side is which unless  you look closely. As we walk out of
Dodger's bedroom, Rob says, "We'll throw the  bedspread in the wash later. Don't
worry about it." I go, "I still don't  have a tie to wear," and he chuckles,
"Yeah, I saw the two you threw away  at our apartment." I squeeze the back
of his neck, grinning, "Our apartment, I  love that we can say our bedroom,
our apartment, our  whatever. Shit like that gives me shivers." He says,
"You're a true  romantic, Dylan, and you make me feel so fucking good like no
one else  can."

In his  bedroom, Rob tells me, "I've got like twenty ties. Mom bought most
of  them for me at Christmas or my birthday. I hate to say it, but they're
not too  cool. I wouldn't have bought any of them myself," and he opens a
closet  door. The ties are hanging separately from a tie-holder on the back of
the door.  I mutter, "Oh!" because there are some faggy-looking ties here. A
bright purple  one, and a gray one with pink stripes, a flamboyant all
green  tie, and some that look like ties for old men, real wide and gray with
black  dots. He says, "Do you wanna go over to the Natick Mall and buy a
couple of ties?" I put my finger under a tie that's a nice shade  of blue. It
has some gray squiggly lines through it. I go,  "Um, this is okay, don't ya
think?" He nods, "Yeah, it's okay," and he  points at a maroon tie, asking,
'What do you think of that one?" I look him  in the eye, saying, "Um, I just
threw out a maroon tie." He goes, "I don't  like it either, but this one is
okay," and he pulls off a sort  of tan tie with little circles all over it
in a slightly darker brown with smaller bluish circles in the middle. It
sounds horrible, but actually looks okay. I say, "We got our ties, Rob,"  then
I lean against him and run my fingers up the back of his head, ruffling the
half inch soft hairs there, murmuring, "Forgive all my touching, Rob, but I
 have this ginormous thing for you and I'm having trouble keeping myself
from hanging all over you. I know I'm overdoing it, but it's your  fault. You
were special when I first met you and since then you've gotten even  better
in so many ways, just to please me. I love you for that too!" and I shout
out the 'I love you!' before pulling his head over for another  kiss with a
little tongue involved. We look into each other's eyes as Rob  quietly,
says, "You make me feel important and special, Dylan. Feel free to  overdo your
affection for me anytime you feel like it."

Whoa,  Rob's so attractive to me anymore. Just seeing him gives me this
funny  squirmy feeling down low in my belly. It's the way I sometimes got
around  Ryan, although for much different reasons. It's Rob, the person, I'm  so
incredibly attracted to; everything that makes him who he is... well,  it's
all ultra-attractive to me.  In addition to the squirmy feeling in my belly
there's a warm sensation in  my heart and soul for Rob, although I'm not
exactly sure what a soul is. With  Ryan it was purely the sexual heat. I
perceive Ryan as  a sexual being who turns me on by his dominance; he knows how to
 act hard and demanding with me, but without being overly offensive about
it. He knows how to do it, but the bloom is off the rose in that regard, and
 anyway, now that he's taking his meds it  appears he's lost a  lot of
interest in sex. That's actually a good thing because all that  sexual emotion I
had for Ryan has somehow transferred onto my feelings  for Robby, and I
already loved him passionately to begin with. Jesus,  it's like I've doubled-up
and now I can't get enough of him. He's my main man,  my head of the
household. But obviously I need to get a grip on myself  because even though Rob
claims I could never overdo my feelings for him, that's not reality. He
will get annoyed eventually, and maybe even start taking me for granted.  So
caution is advised.

I ask,  "Is it okay if I take a quick shower?" He's like, "Of course it
is," and I  ask, "What should I wear to dinner tonight?" He shrugs, "Anything
you want.  Why not wear something of mine?" He pulls out a drawer, and asks,
"How  'bout these skinny gray khaki pants?" I nod, "Yeah, cool! What kind of
 shirt will go good with those skinny jeans?" He opens his closet again and
 chooses an off-white button-down-the-front shirt with two buttoned flapped
 pockets at the chest and buttoned epaulets on the shoulders." I  mumble,
"Perfect, thanks, Rob." Now I'll be comfortable knowing I'm wearing
something Robby would choose for himself. My Marietta experience has me  shaky,
confidence-wise, about what to wear for dinner with different  families. Rob
goes, "I'll take a shower after you, babe."

Taking  my toiletry kit with me to the bathroom, first I brush my teeth,
then take a  shower. After drying myself, I apply a little Mennen's Original
Speed Stick  deodorant to my underarms. They advertise, 'If your grandfather
hadn't  used this, you wouldn't be here.' Cute slogan! Then, taking a  close
look at my face, I spread some shaving cream here and there and  shave
because I swear to God there is fuzz growing on my upper lip and  chin. Robby
come in as I'm rinsing my face. He says "I gotta shave  too," and I go,
"Noooo," as we both chuckle. Then I get serious as I rub my  fingers up the side
of his cheek, saying, "Your soft sparse beard is really  sexy-looking, Rob."

He goes, "Ya think so?" I nod and he's like, "Whatever,  I need to shave
before going to the office tomorrow." I go,  "Shave tomorrow morning then. I
want to feel your beard when we have  sex in the pickup later tonight." He
pinches my nose, mumbling, "If you say so,  baby. You're so fucking cute I can
hardly stand it," and he licks my lips,  adding, "And you taste good too." I
mumble, "That's the  toothpaste," and with a smile on my face I leave him
to shower while I  get dressed in Dodger's bedroom feeling happy while still
sensing some sexual  heat for Rob even though we just had sex.

After  dressing I'm fucking with my hair again but with no more luck than
the last time  I fucked around with it. Rob walks past the open door, saying,
"You look hot!" I  nod my head, muttering, "I feel hot, boyfriend," then
follow him into his  bedroom and watch him get dressed. Goddamn, he's the hot
one; what a body! Robby  dresses in a pair of Levi 510 tan skinny-jeans. The
 510 skinny jeans are perfect while the 519 skinny jeans are too  extreme.

You better not get those mixed-up because the legs are so  skinny you'll
need to peel the 519's off. Rob's pulling a long-sleeve  pink Polo shirt over
his head, leaving it untucked. He looks  good! On my feet I have Timberland
boat shoes and Robby is  putting on medium brown Dockers Tassel Loafers. He
holds his arms out, and  asks, "What do ya think, babe?" I go, "I think
you're beautiful," as we hear car  doors closing in the driveway. Rob goes,
"They're home," and he looks a little  bit excited. Funny, but I have the reverse
reaction.

We go  downstairs as his mom and dad are coming in the back door. His
mother goes,  "Oh my goodness! Look at you two!" and she gives Rob a hug, then
pats my  shoulder, saying, "Dylan, you look very handsome." Okay, that's
pretty much my  mom's and Tris's, greeting  when they see Chub and me. His father
says, "Well boys, it looks like college  life is agreeing with you two,"

and he holds out his hand to me. I shake  it, saying, "Thanks for letting me
stay with you this weekend," and he  says, "Well thank you for giving up your
weekend to help us at the office." Then  he hugs Rob's shoulders, asking,
"How you doing, son?" Rob goes, "Good,  everything's good. How about you?"

His father takes a deep breath, then goes,  "Can't complain. We're on schedule
except for today's  ridiculous rain  that threw a monkey wrench into things
a little  bit."

Then  it's a little awkward as none of us knows what to do next. Actually
I'm probably  the only one who notices that because as Mr. and Mrs. Dickers
take off  their rain gear, Mrs. Dickers says, "I like your haircut, boys. You
both  look like very clean-cut all American young men." Rob says,  "Thanks,
mom. Remember I told you last weekend that the kid I'm mentoring  is our
barber." She says, "Yes, the boy with the odd name." He goes,  "Yeah, Golden
Summers,  but what's odd about that?" and they chuckle, so I do too. Rob
goes,  "Another endorsement for Golden's barbering. Right, Dylan?" I nod,  "Yes,
Golden's quite the barber," and we both grin, well aware of that story.

While making himself a scotch and soda, Mr. Dickers asks Rob's mother, "Em,
what  can I get for you?" She says, "I'll have one of those too, Hon." Putting
ice in  a highball glass, he goes, "You guys want a beer or something?" Rob
looks at me  and I shrug, so Rob says, "No thanks, Dad. We'll get a drink
at the  restaurant. Um, we'll be in the basement." His mom says, "We have  a
seven-thirty reservation at Ken's." Rob mumbles, "We're ready to  go
whenever you are." And that was the total greeting. Fairly  painless.

Their  basement is finished, although not elaborately. Dropped ceiling,
drywall  walls, and wall-to-wall carpet. There's a well worn sofa and chair,
but the  main attractions are a full size ping pong table and a small bumper
pool table. Ping pong is fun and we play three games, all of which Rob
easily  wins. His hand-eye coordination is off the charts. For the third game I
insisted he play with his left hand, and he won that game too. His  brother,
Dodger, is just as good. I've never beaten either of them in  anything
athletic, and I'm no uncoordinated spastic myself. Not a  spastic, but I've got
only normal eye-hand coordination. I'm okay playing  against normal guys;
not freaks of nature. People born with well  above average natural athletic
ability and superior eye-hand  coordination tend to take it for granted the
same way people born with superior  intelligence take that for granted. Nature
is a notoriously unfair bitch!  Well, I should include that people born
extra attractive  also tend to take that for granted. So Rob has double-dipped
from Nature's goody-bag... he's awesome looking with above  average
athletic abilities. Not fair!
After  the third ping pong game, I ask, "Couldn't you let me win one
fucking  game?" He shakes his head, "Nope, I wouldn't insult you like that." I go
over to  him, grinning and saying, "I'm about to overdo my attraction to you
again,"  as I wipe the perspiration off his brow and say, "You're my idol,
Rob." He goes,  "I know that!" and that makes us both chuckle. I go, "No
joke, you really  are my idol. I just want you to know that." He puts an arm
around the back  of my waist, saying seriously, "I'm gonna take really good
care of you, Dylan!  And I'll be trying my best to warrant being your idol." I
ask, "Well, what  am I to you?" He goes, "You're my walking-talking real
life dream come  true, that's who you are. Every second I spend with you makes
me a better  person." I go, "Well yeah, that's true enough," and we chuckle
 again, then kiss while doing a tight hug. Oh my God, life is  so good. As
we let go of each other we hear, "Lets go guys." Oh, time  for dinner.

In the  kitchen Rob surprises me when he tells his dad, "Dylan and I will
meet you  there. We'll be going out after dinner." His mom says, "Oh, where
to?" Rob  shrugs, "We'll probably stop at a few spots and see if we run into
any  of our friends from high school." His dad says, "We've got that early
meeting tomorrow, Rob. Remember?" Rob goes, "Yep. Have I ever been late for
anything?" His mom says, "We'll meet you there, son. C'mon Robert, they're
twenty-one-years-old. Rob's not our little boy anymore." Mr. Dickers goes,
"Fer  chrissake, Em, I know that better than anyone." Em? They go out the
back door snapping at each other. I look at Rob and he goes, "That's normal.

They're fine." I shrug asking, "What's your mom's  name?" He goes, "Emily,
why?" I go, "No reason." Emily sounds like a frontier  name.

During  the ten-minute drive  to the restaurant we talk about which one of
our old fucking-spots we  should revisit tonight. In hindsight none of them
seem very enticing. We're  spoiled from all the sex we've have in the
apartment with the comfort and  privacy that provides. It makes the choice of
screwing at  the reservoir or near the dumpster at the end of the Subway
strip-mall  less than appealing. I go, "Yeah, but I want to get fucked in this
pickup again.  Those were some of the best times we ever had as kids." Rob goes,
"Oh,  you're gonna get fucked in my truck, baby, don't worry about that.

I'm  getting a woody just thinking about it." Sometimes I forget that Rob's
almost as big a horn-job as I am. We decide we'll decide where to  go after
dinner, but I'm like, "You're the fucking head of the household,  so it's up
to you to pick a good spot." He grins, "Really?" I go, "Oh  yeah, as your
incompetent lackey I have no responsibility at all. I'm not  supposed to need
to make decisions." He goes, "Ha ha, don't think for a second I don't
realize  who's pulling the strings of my head-of-the-household role. I might as
well sit  on your lap and you can work my mouth saying what you want me to
say." I go,  "What a crock of shit that is. You're my leader, and you need to
lead."

As he  parks at Ken's Steakhouse, Rob says, "I'll lead you alright. I'll
lead  you inside Ken's, and get you to the right table, but after that we're
making joint decisions." We get out of the pickup with me muttering, "Joint
decisions? That's no fun." He puts his arm across my shoulders as we walk
toward  the restaurant. Rob says, "Your fun though, Dylan," and he kisses the
side  of my face right in front of his parents who are standing at the
front door  waiting for us. I blush as they avert their eyes and Rob says,
"We're  all here," and his mom says, "I'm starving," and inside we go. Okay, I'm
not sure whether to admire Rob for doing that kiss, or feel he put me in
an unnecessarily uncomfortable position. No, he's being  up front with his
parents and he's right and, anyway, if a kiss  on my cheek freaks them out
we've got a big problem. To their credit, from  all appearances, they accepted
it just fine.

Rob and  I get a beer before dinner although I could have gone for a stiff
hard liquor  drink. It seemed prudent to follow Rob's lead though, so when
he  ordered a beer I did too. The dinner is okay, with maybe too much talk
about  Dickers and Son, Inc., but I need to remember Mrs. Dickers also works
there  two or three  days a week so their business is a huge part of their
lives. As they discuss  their objectives, Rod says things like, "That's
another thing I'll get  Dylan working on. No sense Howard doing that when he can
be inventorying  the Bigelow project." I'm surprised how much both his
parents seem to  respect whatever Rob says about the business. As for me, I hardly
say  anything, which is almost perfect as far as I'm concerned. It'd be
perfect if I  didn't need to respond to a question or two from Rob's mom, which
is why I said  it was almost perfect.

Rob and  I have prime rib of beef, mashed potatoes, zucchini, and a  salad
with Key's dressing. His parents ordered halibut. Ordering fish  in a steak
house is a bit puzzling, but that was one more thing I said  nothing about.

I was too full for dessert, but had an Irish coffee that was  disappointing.

I think it's the coffee part that ruined the drink. It  tastes like
Starbuck's bitter coffee, and I'm strictly a Dunkin' Donuts kind of guy. I  thank
Mr. and Mrs. Dickers for dinner with just the right amount of  politeness;
but without going overboard like I've never been treated to dinner  before.

We say our goodbye's with the expected, "Don't get in too late,  boys," as
the last words on that subject.

In the  pickup, I'm like, "Where'd you decide we're going, Rob?" He shakes
his head,  grinning and muttering, "How about right here?"


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

    donnymumford@outlook.com

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

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine  published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them  for
next to nothing. The books are 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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