Date: Sat, 11 Mar 2017 12:25:51 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE  Chapter  33

DYLAN'S  JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE


Chapter  33


by  Donny Mumford


Nodding  his head toward Peter, Chubby says in a smiling/joking manner,
"Who's the  baby-faced gorilla, bro?" Peter goes, "Holy shit, do not tell me
this twerp is  the bad-ass brother you threatened me with?" Chubby frowns,
looking at me, like,  'What?' so I say, "Yeah, Chub, earlier this guy here
whacked me  on the side of my head a couple of times, so I said something like,
'You  don't know my brother, do you?'  You know, like you'd get revenge for
me." Chubby looks at Peter, then back  at me, "You're telling me he
assaulted you?"  I nod, "I'm afraid  so. He's big and strong, and while only
nineteen he should  know better than to try knocking a person's head off their
shoulders. I'm  foggy on the details because my bell was ringing really fuckin'
loudly." Chubby  goes, "Gee, and now he just called me a twerp. That's
cold, ya know?" I  shrug, "That's how he is." Peter's smirking, like he's
enjoying  himself, then he goes, "You two have a cute little act there, I'll give
you  that. Still, I also gotta say the little brother here better be
packing a gun or both of you will be in a world of trouble if you try any  shit
with me." Chubby looks at Peter, "Gun? No, we won't need a gun."  Peter rolls
his  eyes, mumbling, "Riiiiight," drawing out the word.

Chubby's  facial expression infers he's intimidated, although I know he's
not. He's  luring the gorilla into feeling way overly confident, asking, "But
why  would you smack the shit out of someone smaller than you?" Peter
drinks  some beer, then grins, "That's obvious, ain't it? I wanted him to know
who  his daddy was before I fucked him. Your brother here." as he points at me
while  still looking at Chubby, "He got  the message real fast, and he was
a good little boy after getting  smacked around a little." Smirking, he
looks at me now, asking, "Weren't  you a good boy for your daddy?" I go, "Oh,
for sure." Peter shrugs; then,  smirking again he says to Chubby, "Do you get
the picture, twerp? I'm  a big bad bully, and let me tell ya a secret: when
I'm done my  beer, I'm going to be bullying the both of you."

Chubby  goes, "Oh jeez, was it my gorilla reference?" then his eyes glance
for a split  second at Peter's ankles, then at me and I do a barely
perceptible head nod,  mumbling, "Oh that..." Peter gets too close to us, in  our
space, asking Chubby, "You starting to wish you never came over here?"  As he
saying that, Chub and I both reach gently over to  touch Peter's shoulders
on each side with Chubby's saying, "Can't we talk this  over?" I'm sure
we..."  Peter frowns, as we both put a foot behind each of  his feet;  Chubby
right foot behind Peter's left foot and my left foot behind Peter's right  one.

It takes less than half a second as we shove hard on his  chest. It's done
in one seemingly friendly gesture, but when  we push hard on his shoulders
he goes over backward fast,  tripping over our feet. His arms fly up, the
beer spills out of the  cup and then he lands hard on his back with the back of
his head  making a "Thunk!" sound when it hits the cement patio that
extends off the  back of the house. It sounded like someone dropped a honeydew
melon in the  street. There was no, "Hey!" or anything from Peter. He never
knew what hit him.  He's not moving at the moment, but we can see him breathing
as Chubby's  yelling, "Somebody call 911." There's a general hubbub now as
we turn  around to casually walk away. Chubby says, "Let's get  a beer and
you can tell me all about it, Dylan. Perhaps we're  letting the gorilla off
too easily with that little trick of ours." We  used to do that in middle
school when encountering large foes.

It's  funny, but when Chubby yelled, "Somebody call 911', or whenever I
hear someone  say that in a movie, I always expect someone to yell back, "Why
the fuck don't  you call 911?" Ya know? Just now I also half-expected
someone to yell, 'He didn't fall, those two assholes pushed him down', or
something to that effect, but no; nothing like that. It took only a split second
from the moment we touched his shoulders until he was on his back, and even
if someone was accidentally glancing our way, the deed was so unlikely it
wouldn't register in their drunken minds. They'd be like, 'What the fuck did
I just see?'
With  Peter's beer spraying all over the backs of a half dozen people, plus
the sound  of him plunking flat on the patio, a lot of interest is
generated. Word of  mouth quickly increases awareness that something happened. And
then  there was Chubby screaming, 'Someone call 911'.  Working our way to the
 backdoor of the house we hear drunken-slurred comments like, "He's a big
bastard," and, "Is he unconscious or dead?" Plus a girl screams, "Oh my God,
 there's blood under his head!", and then a pompous voice of reason,
"Everyone calm down! Feel his neck, dude, see if there's a pulse." Ha ha,
someone should yell back, "You feel his neck,  dip-shit." There's also drunks and
other guys high-on-pot who were  giggling in their stupor assuming perhaps
this is a video game, or  maybe a cartoon. Mostly though a lot of people were
asking, "What  the fuck happened?"

When we  slip inside the house we sidestep the curious who are coming out
to see  what the ruckus is all about. My heart is pounding and the adrenaline
rush makes  me feel ill for a minute or two. Chubby's face is flush as he
motions to a  bartender. We get our beers without waiting in line. One of the
 bartenders asks, "What's going on out there?" Chub goes, "I'm not sure.

Somebody  yelled 'call 911' and bedlam ensued." The bartender grins  saying,
'ensued', huh?" Chub drops a five-dollar bill on the bar and we drift  away.

One of the bartenders is straining his neck looking out the window  trying
to see what's happening. It's a rush doing something like that, but best  not
to dwell on what would have happened if  we didn't pull it off. It needs to
be one motion and done in a split second  because he's so large. I mean, if
he had inkling what we were going to do, we  couldn't have done it.

With  our cups of beer, we make our way through the living room, then the
dining  rooms; both rooms still packed with people, none of whom even knows
there's  a commotion outside, Chubby and I are able to get out the front door
 and we sit on the top step of the porch, like Peter and I did earlier.

Lighting  a cigarette, Chubby asks, "So, what was that all about for real?" I
go, "Oh man, Chub, it's embarrassing. Um, another embarrassing case of my
dick making bad decisions for me." He goes, "A common occurrence for  many of
us. How so, specifically?" I'm like, "You'll probably think this is
creepy, but I occasionally like a taste of rough sub/dom sex, and Robby  doesn't
do that." Chubby mutters, "Lucky for him he doesn't." Shaking my head,  I'm
like, "No, it's not like that. I wish Rob would do  it once in a while. You
know, as sex play; sub/dom sex. Anyway, Ryan used  to handle the dominant
role and...." Chubby's like shocked, "Ryan Wilcox?" I  nod, "Yeah, I know he's
never been too popular, and seems maybe too small  for the dominant role,
but I liked him and he has hidden talents. We used  to have some pretty good
role playing with sub/dom sex together. Um,  you know what I'm talking about,
right?" Chubby goes, "Yeah, of course  I know what sub/dom sex is. Sex
games aren't just for the gay  community, ya know." I nod, "Yeah I know. Well
anyway Ryan's on heavy  meds of some kind, but you already knew that. What you
might not know is  he's out of commission as far as sex goes." Chubby's
eyebrows go up in  surprise, but he doesn't say anything. I continue, "So I
thought this guy,  Peter, might be an option to occasionally replace Ryan role
in a  sub/dom situation." Chubby goes, "Yeah, I get it, bro, and the
gorilla over did it?" Taking a deep breath, I'm like, "Well, yeah, that's  it in a
nutshell. We sort of connected okay initially, but  things deteriorating
quickly and it didn't work out well for me  at all."

Chubby  passes me the lit cigarette and, after exhaling a tunnel of smoke,
he asks me, "Um, it's kind of awkward talking about this, but how'd  you
two get together and what went wrong, exactly?" Shrugging, I take  a drag, and
with smoke drifting out of my mouth, say, "He seemed like  a dominant type
right from the start by insisting he needed to talk to me,  and he wouldn't
take 'no' for an answer. I figured I'd see what  developed. Almost right
away though there were the unnecessary  and unexpected smacks on the side of my
head knocking me on my ass;  totally a bully act that I shouldn't have
put-up with, but I did. I assumed that  was the extent of the physical part and
since he proved his point about  being dominant, that would be that. Another
bad assumption on my part  because later there was excessive smacking on my
bare ass and by  then it was too late to get free of him." Chubby makes a
face  while shaking his head, as I go on, "I tolerated it 'cause I was kinda
hot to experience sub/dom sex, but it continued getting worse. Actually, he
 didn't really know what he was doing. One minute he'd be  this dominant
bully smacking me or pulling my hair out, and the  next minute he'd act like
it was the first sex he ever had."  Chubby  goes, "Please tell me he used a
condom!" I frown, "Of course he did. He's, um,  hung like a horse, but a
lousy sex partner."

Pondering  all this, Chubby finally goes, "Well, so this jerk-offs' level
of physical  bullying was inexcusable, and on top of that he was
inexperienced  doing sub/dom sex. I get it, but why were you still with him afterwards,
when I hooked-up with you ten minutes ago?" I go, "That just it. I'd have
chalked it up to a couple of inexcusable shitty choices on my part, you
know, take my sore head and ass home with my tail between my legs, but he
wouldn't have it. He got worse with his bullying by dragging me  downstairs and
forcing a few shots in me, fully intending to  do everything all over again.

 Bro, I was too sore for that, if  you get my meaning." He nods, "I get
your meaning, and I think we let him  off too lightly." I go, "Nah, we got him
okay. I should have gotten out of  it as soon as he went off the rails and
smacked me twice. I need to own some of  the blame."

An  ambulance arrives right in front of where we're sitting, but it can't
get  to the backyard because cars are parked in the driveway. EMT's get out
looking at us so I point to the backyard with my thumb and they carry a
stretcher down the driveway squeezing past the parked cars. We drink our  beers
passing the cigarette back a forth like it was a joint, until Chubby  asks,
"Before I got here did you have a plan for avoiding, um, doing everything
again with the gorilla?" I shrug, "If talking him out of it didn't work,
and it didn't, all I could think of was to humiliate myself by making a  huge
screaming fuss in the crowd. You know, trying to fight him off  and getting
my ass kicked. No way could I allow him to do everything again, but  before
that I was busy choking down shots of liquor. And I haven't  thanked you
yet, Chubby." He shakes his head, "We don't need to thank each  other, bro." I
go, "Most people in a situation like mine would sneak their  cellphone out
and dial 911. You and I both know though, whenever police are  involved
you've just doubled your trouble. They're seldom the answer  you're looking for."

Chubby  nods his head, muttering, "Huh." I go, "You probably think I'm a
sicko-gay-weirdo," Chubby chugs some beer, then says seriously, "Nope. I
don't  think that of you at all. During Thanksgiving break I told you that MJ
liked  rough sex. Do you remember?" I go, "Yeah, but I wasn't sure what you
meant by  that." He goes, "Never mind the details about that. Do you recall me
telling you  about the sex course John Beverly and I took this semester?" I
nod, "Um  yeah, I remember you mentioning it." He says, "It's a course
simply titled,  'Human Sexuality' and it's not just a  course for shits and
giggles either. The professor is a serious dude  when it comes to sex. There's
this study conducted by two men named,  Ogas and Gaddam, that we just
finished, um, studying. These two  neuroscientists supposedly uncovered the truth
about what turns us humans on.  Yeah, and one part of that study was about
sub/dom sex involving  heterosexual couples. Percentage-wise it occurs as
frequently with straight  couples as it does with gay couples?"  I'm like,
"There's a  college course about what turns us on sexually, wow, that's kind of
cool."  Chub chuckles, "Yeah, go figure." I swallow some beer, mumbling, "And
imagine  you electing that course." He laughs, "Yep, just trying to get an
edge on the  competition, bro."

Interrupting  our discussion, three guys come out on the porch. One of them
goes, "Whoa,  what's that I smell?" Another guy mumbles, "Fresh air,
Daggot. That's fresh air  you're breathing." Chub turns his head, asking, "Do any
of you guys know what  all the commotion in the backyard was about?" A
good-looking guy ask me,  "Dude, can I bum a smoke off you?" As I hold my box of
Marlboro up to him, a  tall skinny guy answers Chub's question. "Oh, some
guy fainted. The EMT's  showed-up and were checking this big-ass dude for
concussion symptoms or  something. Oh, and he cut the back of his head too." A
short guy with a recent  buzz cut, who's so young-looking he has to be a high
school student, says, "The  guy couldn't remember what happened. He said he
was talking with someone and the  next thing he knew this EMT guy was
holding smelling salts, or some such shit,  under his nose and he woke up."

Chubby nods, "Huh, he just passed-out. Wow,  that's weird." The good looking guy
who bummed a smoke off me, says, "A girl  said she saw a couple of guys try
to catch the dude as he was falling backward."  Chubby and I exchange
glances.

The  three guys don't stay on the porch though, they're on their way to the
Stop  & shop parking lot where their car's parked. Taking a last drag off
our  cigarette, I flick the butt sideways, saying, "So what else did this sex
 course teach you, Chub?" He looks at me, "Well for one thing, all of  us,
plus certain other mammals, have subcortical circuits in our  brains for
sexual dominance, as well as submissive ones, and both types  connect to the
brain's pleasure center." I go, "I almost understood what you  just said."

Chub's like, "Yeah, well, that's what the study said. Actually there  are a lot
of online heterosexual sites about women being dominant during  sex-play
with submissive males. I suppose there are gay sites as well, but we  studied
the other. It's normal for males to strive for dominance due to  their high
testosterone levels. The thing is, being the alpha male all the  time can
wear on some men. So, some CEO's of big corporations, for  example, enjoy
psychological relief from always being in charge by participating  in sex-play
by identifying with submissive role." I'm like, "So you're  saying the head
of a big corporation, who is a hard-ass boss all day, gets  relief from that
by acting submissive and letting some woman whip him or  something." Chub
goes, "Exactly, although many of the unwashed  masses might find that hard to
believe. I know quite a few in our  class thought the neuroscientists' study
was BS." I go, "Yeah, I can see where  some would think that. It is a
puzzling scenario. I know I don't have  an explanation for it."

Finishing  his plastic cup of beer, Chubby says, "So, I saw some bruising
near your  left eye when we were getting beers." I go, "That would be the
result of  the two mighty smacks on the left side of my head." He asks, "Weird
that he  felt he needed to do that?" I shrug, "He sort of explained it
outside  before we pulled our, 'Oops! You fell over' stunt. He  wanted to show me
right from the start how he was much stronger  and bigger than me, but
mostly he was doing what comes naturally to him... being  a bully. That happened
in the upstairs bathroom, and the thing I feel really bad  about is not
doing anything to thwart him when we came down for a beer  break right after he
smacked me around. I should  have accepted that this guy simply wasn't who
I was looking for, then  ditched him before it went any further. But, like I
said earlier, my dick took  over my brain. I wanted what Ryan used to
provide and I hoped, all indications  to the contrary, that Peter might still be
that guy." After a bad experience  Chub and I tend to go over the same
points a few times too many. I guess we need  to justify what we just did so we
can feel good about it.

Chubby  exhales, then goes, "It's hard hearing, or picturing that guy, um,
beating  you up and then still doing, you know, doing you up the rear-end
and  all that. I'm not being critical of your orientation, but um, you  know
what BDSM stands for, right?" I nod, "Bondage, Discipline, and
Sadomasochism, but I'm not talking about anything that serious, although there  have been
times when I was younger and stupider...." He shakes his head, "Jeez,
Dylan, how come you never told me about any of this? Before now I  mean."

Shrugging again, "I guess because I can see where a lot of people  wouldn't
understand, like the students in your sex class. I can see where some,  um, even
you, might think it's sick or freaky. I guess I'm self-conscious about  it
and you're the last person on earth I want thinking I'm sick or  freaky."

He  looks me in the eyes, then puts his arm around the back of my neck
pulling  my head over against his shoulder, and murmurs, "I feel really bad
that you'd think that of me, Dylan. That you worried I'd be critical of  your
choices. Damn, I thought we were way, way tighter than that, bro.  First of
all, as I just told you, the study in my sex course indicates there's  isn't
anything especially unusual about sub/dom sex for gays or straights. It's
simply not that rare, although many times it's in a mild form.  And sure,
some of the BDSM stuff exceeds kinky, but I agreed with you that rough  sex as
a submissive partner occasionally is nothing approaching BDSM. And, hell,
even if you were deeply into BDSM, and I know you're not, but if you were I'd
 never think you were sick or weird, or anything like that. It kinda hurts
me  you'd be worried I'd think that of you."

We're  quiet for a minute before I mumble, "We don't spend enough time
together;  not like we used to, Chub. I miss that a lot." He squeezes my
shoulders, then  lets go of me, saying, "I know, and you're right. I feel the same
way, Dylan. It's just that after our junior year of high school real life
situations began intruding into our idyllic existence and every year since
then more and more reality keeps intruding. Our sex lives and even our  jobs
took different paths which led us to spending time with different
people... instead of each other. It was inevitable though and basically
unavoidable, but you're still, and always will be my favorite person in the  world and
I'll always love you more than anyone. Even if I fall deeply in love  and
get married with kids, they'll be second in my heart to the unique  special
love I have for you. That's how it's always been and always will  be. So,
please, never again tell me shit like, you were worried I'd think less  of you
because of... fill in the blank. It's an unconditional love I have  for you,
and you should already have known that." I manage to  choke-out, "Me too,
Chubby."

I'm  silently shading a few tears of course because I feel the same way
about  him and because, for some reason, I think I needed to hear that from
Chubby  again. It's not like we haven't told each other variations of that
sentiment a hundred times before, but I guess I needed to hear it after
tonight's fuck-up. It so strange that the unpleasantness with Peter would  somehow
lead to this wonderful emotional moment with my brother. Life is
super-weird, but it can have awe-inspiring sublime moment like this  one too. And I
don't care that 'awe-inspiring' and 'sublime moment' is  redundant. Chubby
says, "Let's get another beer," and that's what we  do.

As  we're walking out to the back yard John Beverly calls over to Chubby,
"Jeff,  over here! Where the fuck ya been, bro?" We look over and John says,
"I want to  introduce you to Jennifer, who claims to be Beth Anne's sister,
and one of  these beauties is supposed to  have a twin." The girls are
fairly nice looking, if a bit inebriated. The  girl he said was Jennifer, goes,
"We are the twins, ya dumb fuck. Beth  Anne and me are the twins." Chubby
goes, "Not so fast. You don't look like  twins. Can I see both your driver's
licenses  'cause...?" Ha ha, then I spot Daryl arguing with a guy near the
fire-pit.  As I'm passing by I squeeze the back of Chubby's neck, saying, "I'll
 catch-up with you later, Chubby." He goes, "We need to have lunch, bro." I
nod,  "We will," and as I walk into the crowd I hear one of the girls asks,
"Did he  call you Chubby?" Chub goes, "Yeah, that's my middle name. My
brother always  calls me by my middle name." Then I grin hearing the girl say,
"That's one  gorgeous brother ya got there," but I don't hear what Chubby
says.

Walking  up behind Daryl I hear him yelling at a guy who looks about
twenty-five, "Don't  give me that shit, Rabbit! You know damn well I didn't have a
single tote  off that fuckin' joint. I passed it to  Pat." Rabbit is a
stocky kid about as tall as Daryl and me. He's got what I call  a pig-nose, or
snout. When you look directly at him you're looking up his  nostrils, not
that I advise anyone to do that. Rabbit's apparently  royally pissed off, and
he roughly grabs fistfuls of Daryl's  jacket and jerks him around a little,
snarling, "I don't give a fuck. I  gave you the joint and I want the five
bucks." I say, "Yo, dude! Let  go of his fucking coat. What the fuck's wrong
with you?" Daryl turns his head  and goes, "Dylan! I've been looking all over
for you." Rabbit says to me,  "Mind your own fucking business, asshole.

Nobody's talking to you." Pointing at  Daryl, I say, "He just did." And ya know,
I'm more than a little  frustrated about not dealing with Peter myself; my
inaction in that  situation was all wrong!  It didn't do anything I should
have from the start. I can't allow someone to  smack my head off just
because I'm horny for sub/dom sex and worst of all I  had to admit all that shit
to Chubby, so I'm in a really pissed-off  frame of mind.

And now  here's another little confrontation that looks like bullying to me
so  I'm inserting myself into the situation. Hot under the collar to start
with, and now I'm sensing frustration and anger  irrationally building
inside me which I intend taking out on this stocky  asshole. What it actually
is: it's me transferring my frustration about how  poorly I handled the Peter
situation onto this  guy. Stepping between the two of them, I jerk Rabbit's
hands off Pony's  jacket. Snout-nose tries kneeing me in the balls but I
turn my hip and he  gets my thigh. Seeing red I get my shoulder into it and
give him a  really good roundhouse punch right on the point of his nose. I
thought  I broke something in my hand I hit him so hard. There's a subtle
twig-breaking sound that probably means the cartilage over the bridge of his
nose snapped. There also a rush of bright red blood that the guy covers  with
his hand as he's staggering back a few steps; his eyes glazing  over. When I
punched him his initial reaction was a startled look, probably  because 99%
of disagreements between guys our age never gets past the  pushing and
grabbing stage. An actual punch is one of the last things  anyone is expecting.

And like I said, it hurt my knuckles too so I'm sucking on  the two end
knuckles of my right hand with my other hand taking a  five-dollar bill  out of
my pocket. Stepping toward Rabbit, he backs up two steps, still in shock  I
guess. I say, "Stand still, ya dumb shit. Here's your five bucks," and  I
stick it in the side pocket of his coat, saying, "There, you've got your
money. Not take a hike."

Turning  my back to Rabbit, I pull on Daryl's arm, "Let's go, Pony." He
looks  stunned but walks away beside me. Naturally, seeing I'm leaving,  Rabbit
now grows a pair of balls, yelling, "What the fuck planet are  you from, ya
sucker-punching psycho faggot?" I reach my arm back giving him  the finger,
just like any twelve-year-old would do, as I'm asking Daryl,  "Does he know
we're gay?" He goes, "No way! I just met him." Daryl's pumped  though,
saying, "Holy shit! That was cool, Dylan! But, ya know, I can take  care of
myself." I go, "I have no doubt about that, Daryl. I was letting off  steam
about something else." He goes, "I didn't owe him the five dollars in  the first
place. Like I said, I passed the  joint to Pat, who was supposed to  pay
for it, but he was high and he sort of wandered off instead." I go,  "Who the
fuck is Pat?" He goes, "That real tall kid who was in the backseat of  the
pickup when you drove us over here." I go, "Well, Pat owes me five  fuckin'
dollars then." It's only a few minutes after midnight, but to me it  seems
much later. Now I'm not only pissed-off at myself for not doing  something
about Peter earlier, I'm also pissed at myself for punching that  guy, Rabbit.

Goddamn this night!
We're  at the kitchen bar again where I'm fighting the temptation to have
another  shot and beer. I resist Pony's nagging that we need a shot and
finally  settle on a beer. Daryl's pouting that I wouldn't do a shot with him, so
he  doesn't get anything. We go outside again and find a spot at the side
of the house that isn't crowded. Pony lights a joint, muttering, "My last
joint  tonight." I go, "Did you pay for that?" He goes, "Yes, I paid for it!
Whaddaya think I am." I ask, "Is that the going price? Five dollars a
joint." He  goes, "Nobody sells joints. Buying joints is a good way to get ripped
off. Well, nobody sells them except that kid, Rabbit. He's one of the
seniors  who lives here and he was making money just like the guys behind the
bar. So, as  unusual as it was, some of us bought the five-dollar joints. He
wouldn't sell  us grass, just the joints he made up last night. He's making a
killing  thanks to suckers like Pat and me." Shrugging... not wanting to
hear  any more about  it, I mutter,  "Whatever." I know very little about
drugs; that is assuming we're discounting  booze as a drug, which it  actually
is.

Without  either of us saying anything I drink my beer and he smokes his
joint. The  noise coming primarily from the back yard is getting on my nerves,
and now I'm  thinking of all the things I should have done and said to
Peter, instead of basically doing nothing until Chubby showed up.  What if
Chubby hadn't been looking for me? Guess I'd have had to  create some sort of
embarrassing scene to avoid another go-around with  Peter Pan. I'm super glad
Chubby helped me avoid that, and I hope to God Chubby  was telling me the
truth that he doesn't think less of me for doing  that kind of sex
occasionally. I'd like to believe he was referring to something  similar with MJ
although I can't imagine Chubby doing that. Of course he  probably wouldn't have
imagined me doing it either. Yeah, but that course  on sex he was talking
about stated sub/dom sex exists in both  the straight and gay worlds, and more
frequently than the average  person realizes. In the vast majority of cases
there's nothing perverted  about it and I think I'll believe that study and
maybe elect that  course my senior year.

That's  all well and good but my rectum is still sore although, like I told
that  sack-of-shit, Peter, I know my ass, and it will recover. Actually
it's  almost there already. When I was with Chubby earlier, to avoid
embarrassing  myself even more than I already had, I tolerated the  extra soreness
involved with walking normally instead of walking  bowlegged taking pressure
off my rectum muscles. I've been doing the same  with Pony. What I'd really
like to do is sit in a tub of hot  water and fantasize what I should have done
about Peter. In the unlikely  event a similar situation ever comes up again
I'm handling it much differently.  Pony breaks the silence, asking, "Would
you like a tote off my joint,  Dylan?" I almost forgot he was here. Shaking
my head, I mutter, "No!" Dammit, I  said that too abruptly. He hesitates a
few seconds; then, in a quiet  voice asks, "Are you mad at me, Dylan?" Oh
fuck. Looking at him, I try smiling,  "Noooo, Pony. I have no reason to be mad
at you. I was just thinking about  something that, um... well, never mind."

I put my arm around the back of his  neck for a little hug, like Chubby did
to me, murmuring, "God only knows  why, but I'm very fond of you, Pony." He
stays leaning against me and puts  his arm around the back of my waist, so I
keep my arm around him. Tender  mercies, ya know...

Finished  his joint, Pony murmurs, "Can we go some place and,  you know, do
it?" That's not appealing to me at all after my hideous  encounter with
Peter the gorilla. Wait a minute though, maybe doing it with  Pony would
cleanse away the other nasty sex. Yeah, doing it with  the almost-innocent Daryl
could help erase the earlier fuck-storm with that  bullying shit-head.

Daryl's not totally innocent, of course. He wasn't  a cherry the first time I did
it with him, but he was almost a cherry. Gee,  thinking back... I actually
did used to run into real cherry-boys  who'd ask me to break it for them,
metaphorically speaking. That was way  back when the cherry boys and I were
much younger. Sweet memories, ya  know? Taking a deep breath, I ask, "Where
could we go, Pony? Rob's in  my apartment and your roommate, Tom, is around
here someplace expecting a ride  back to Merrimack with us." He looks at me,
"How about we do it in the truck?"  My eyebrows go up, thinking, 'Yeah, why
not do it in the truck?' I'm  like, "Do you really want to?" He nods, then
sarcastically says, "Yes, Dylan, I  really want to. That's why I fucking
suggested it to you just ten  seconds ago; because I really want to do it." I go,
"Sensitive  tonight, are we?" He shrugs, "No, but when I timidly ask you if
we can do it, why wouldn't you assume I want to do it?" I snort a laugh,
"Super-sensitive, huh?"  and I rub his head. He tries frowning, but grins
instead, muttering, "And why  the hell do I always need to be the one asking?"

I go, "Huh. I don't know,  Pony. C'mon," and we walk up the driveway.

As we  walk, he mumbles, "Jesus! I'm a little high from that joint." I go,
"Well that's the whole point of a joint, isn't it?" We're in the front yard
 squeezing around the chain-link fence on our way to Stop & Shop's  parking
lot. There are a lot more cars parked here now then when I parked a  few
hours ago. Now the pickup is in the middle row of like forty cars. We get in
it and I start it up, then drive to the very end of the third row of  cars
leaving two open spaces between us and the closest car. Leaving  the engine
running for the heater, I turn off all the lights and slide over on  the
bench seat toward Daryl, saying, "It's unlikely anyone is paying  attention to
these parked cars, and Stop & Shop is closed; we should be  good. Still, just
to be sure, only pull you pants down below your  butt." He takes a condom
packet out of his pocket  and hands it to me, but hesitates pulling his pants
down, so I look around  thinking maybe he sees someone.

There  isn't anyone so I look at him, and he says, "Before that, I've been
thinking about something, Dylan." I ask, "What's that, Pony?" and he goes,
"Heh  heh, I never thought in a million years I'd want to do this, but  can
we try making-out again?" I go, "Again? This is like the fifth time; so why
would we try it again when you find it disgusting." He goes, "I never said
it was disgusting; nothing about you is remotely disgusting. You're  always
putting words in my mouth." Shaking my head, I'm like, "No, I've never  put
words in your mouth. Give me an example, just one, of  me putting words in
your mouth." He goes, "Other than when you just did  by claiming I used the
word 'disgusting'. A word that I didn't use." I  go, "Why are you so
argumentative tonight?" He lets out a long exhale, then  says, "I don't know. Maybe
I wish you liked me more. I don't know what I can do  to make you like me
more, and I thought maybe making-out together might  help." He's sitting
there next to the passenger door, looking straight  ahead as he talks; probably
feeling self-conscious about what he just  said. I'm staring at his profile
in the dimness of the pole-light in  the parking lot some fifty feet away. I
say, "Did I ever tell you how  cute you are?" He turns to look me in the
face, "Yeah, you've said it once or  twice, but there's always a smirk or
laugh in your voice when you say it. Like  you're making fun of me." I ask, "Are
you aware of the word, paranoid?" He goes, "Of course I am. I'm a college
student, duh! But I'm not paranoid  so much as I'm perceptive."

We sit  here side by side for a minute in silence before I say, "Yeah, why
not  try some making-out. Maybe the sixth time's the charm. And I  already
like you very much, even with all your flaws." He shakes his head,
muttering, "I guess that'll have to do as your attempt to pretend you like me...  for
now anyway." This might be a good time to remind him about Robby and me,
but  oh man, I don't want to hurt his feelings by putting a damper on what
he's apparently planned for tonight. He turns to face me, smiling now,  "Let's
start  over, okay?" I nod and he says, "Dylan, I'd like to make-out with
you because  I'm extremely attracted to you and because you're, um, usually
very nice."  I say, "Well, thanks for that half-hearted endorsement, Pony, and
making-out  with you is an enticing proposition. I find you quite
attractive  as well." He nods his head, then flaps his arms, muttering, "This is so
stupid!" I try not to, but snort out a laugh anyway, then try turning  it
into a fake cough. He says, "Jesus! I already told you I  can tell when you're
faking those stupid coughs." I rub his head, saying:  "Nice haircut!" He
goes, "Thanks, you gave it to me, but maybe I'll get my  next haircut from
Golden." I chuckle, mumbling, "Well, of all the  fucking nerve! You want to
turn this perfectly awesome haircut I gave  you into a silly Golden haircut,"

and he says, "What, you don't want  me to get a haircut from Golden?" I
shrug, "Suit yourself, Daryl," and he  says, "I will, and it suits me to have you
give me haircuts." I go,  "Good choice."

Another  silent minute with me grinning and looking at his cute profile
again, then he  mumbles, "Oh great! The fucking high from my last joint is
fading away. I don't care though, I'm make-out with you tonight if it  kills
me." Looking at me again, he gives me a big fake smile, asking,  "How do we
start, Dylan?" I burst out laughing again, then get my arms around  him and
pull him against me, saying, "You are a lot of fun, Pony! And,  I might add,
an excellent side-sex buddy. One of the best ever." He goes,  "You make it
sound like you've had many side-sex-buddies, as you call them." I'm  like, "No
way! Let's get to the making-out part," and I pull him against me so  he's
sideways on the seat and our chests are partially together. When  afforded
the opportunity Daryl has a way of insinuating his  body against mine like
we're stuck together. And now he nestles the side of  his head against my
shoulder. It's nice actually. I'm rubbing my fingers up  the back of his head,
as he's saying quietly, "When I think about making-out  with you, I don't
know, but in my mind it always seems awkward.  Getting started I mean, ya
know?" I go, "No, whaddaya ya  mean?"  He goes, "Like, do we just go from talking
to all of a sudden  kissing?"

When I  don't answer right away, he moves his head off my shoulder to look
at me,  "No, seriously, Dylan, I really don't know how to get started." I
like the  feel of a slim guy's body, so I go, "Hey, let's take  off our
shirts. It's getting hot in here." He smirks, "Should we take off our  coats too?"

I go, "Smart ass!"  We dump our coats, then our shirts in the  back seat.

He rubs my nip ring with a finger, asking, 'Will you go with me to  hold my
hand while I get my nipple pierced?" Rubbing his  bare shoulder, I say, "No I
won't. I don't want to see you crying like a  baby." He asks, "Did you
cry?" I go, "Don't be ridiculous! Of course not. I was  reading the sports page
as the procedure was being done." He goes, "Ha,  bull shit!" I'm like, "Why
do you want to pierce your nipple when  you don't even have an ear pierced.

What's with that?" He says, "I'm not  some lemming doing what everyone else
does." I go, "Except for getting your  nipple pierced." He's like, "Yeah,
except for that. Now how about explaining the  way we start making-out without
it being awkward."

Shrugging,  I'm like, "Well, the first thing you do to avoid awkwardness,
is not  fucking mention it!" He nods, "Forget I did then, and explain it to
me." Taking a pretend exaggerated deep breath, I go, "Okay, um, sometimes
you  just start kissing, but more often there's touching or cuddling before
you sort of just naturally want to kiss the one you're snuggling with," and
I get my arms around him again pulling his bare chest against mine.  "Like
we're doing now. Sort of being together and quietly talking while  enjoying
being close with each other, our bare chest and arms rubbing together.  Our
hands caressing each other's hot body... it goes like that." He goes,  "Damn,
your skin does feels good against mine. It's really sexy being
bare-chested like this." I go, "Who the fuck says 'bare-chested'? No one  says that."

He mumbles, "Okay, how about: It was a good idea you had about  taking off
our shirts."

He rubs  his chests against mine, murmuring, "I'm glad you don't have any
disgusting  chest and shoulder hairs." I go, "And I'm enjoying the way you
snuggle  into every available open space on my body; spaces I didn't even know
 I had." His head is against my shoulder and partially under my chin, as he
 mutters. "You can never be serious, can you?" I squeeze my arms around him
 grinning, then say, "I'm always serious." He goes, "Okay! You said  we
snuggle and quietly talk before we start to make-out. I think  I got it. So,
I'll try a little conversation by asking you how you'd  describe me." I go,
"Um, let's see. You're someone who frequently fishes for  compliments and is
always looking for reassurances." He laughs,  and goes, "Well fuck, that goes
without saying, but I mean my appearance."  I'm like, "Oh! Um, you look
younger than twenty and you have an excellent  haircut, and..." He goes, "See!
You can't be serious for two  fucking seconds in a row." I put a finger
under his chin, lifting his face,  and say, "You're yummy, that's how I'd
describe you," and I kiss his  lips gently. He adjusts the  position of his head
and kisses back a little. Our mouths open slightly  so our tongues can slide
together, then I suck his upper lip between  my lips a few times and we do
some sexy kisses making wet mouth sounds. A  minute of this and he takes a
gasping breath, then murmurs, "That was so perfect  the way you did that. So
smooth and, dude, you're suave." I ask, "Do you want to  do some more?" He
says, "Uh huh," and we do some more.

Daryl  is either a quick study or he's done more kissing than he's letting
on. As  sometimes happens, well it almost always happens with me, the better
I get to  know and interact with a special sex-buddy like Daryl, the more I
like  him and the more noticeable his scent is to me. When we  first met I
didn't think he had a personal scent; it wasn't unpleasant  so much as it
was absent. Now though I am noticing one and it's male and  boyish and
beginning to seem sexy to me. Isn't it strange how that happens? Our  arms are
around one another and it's a really nice make-out that's beginning to  get me
aroused. It's obvious Daryl is anxious to please as he's put  himself in my
hands and I need to hold his head off the seat in the  crook of my arm, then
lick up the front of his nose a couple of quick licks  leaving saliva and he
coughs lightly when he inhaled a little of it.  Without opening his eyes,
his arms reach up to go around the back  of my neck. He lifts his head and
tightly presses his face against mine.  This is way too affectionate for
buddy-sex; way over the top!  I'll have a talk with him about how we need to keep
things real, but  not tonight.

He  seems so pure after that awfulness earlier tonight, so with my fingers
in  his hair and my other arm around him I slide him under me, on his back,
and do a  long open mouth kiss with him moaning and just letting me do what
I will with  his mouth. When I pull my lips and tongue away he lays there
clutching me  with his eyes still closed, then he lifts his head a little
wanting  more. No, we've done too much already; I'm sending him the wrong
signals.  Rubbing my fingers back through his hair, I murmur, "That's enough
making-out. Pull your pants down, Pony." He nods and unbuttons them,  then I
help him get his pants and underwear down past his buttocks. When his  boxer
shorts came off it dragged his hard five-inch boner forward and then  when the
waistband gets past the head, his boner springs-up straight out of his
pubic hair. Nice looking hard penis, although maybe not quite five inches yet,
but it'll get harder and a little longer, I'm pretty sure of  that.

Now  where did I put that condom packet he gave me? I see it up against the
door  and grab it and stand as best I can. Opening the packet, but before
taking  it out, I undo my pants and pull down the zipper. My hard cock pokes
out  the slit of my boxes shorts and I roll on the condom. By now Daryl's
opened his  eyes and, looking up at me he murmurs, "That was a cool make-out,
don't ya  think, Dylan? You make it seem natural and, after I got over the
initial shock of doing it, it was much better than I expected." As I'm half
standing with my head against the ceiling of the cab, I smile, saying, "I
give all the credit to you, Pony. Pull your legs back so I can get up  on
the seat between them." He does that, then pulls his pants down to  his
ankles, and fumbles them past his sneakers to drop on the  floor, saying, "I want
to be able to look at you when I feel you inside  me." I nod, and get on the
seat, muttering, "I don't blame you," and he  chuckles, asking, "Conceited
much, are you?" I go, "You're the one giving  me a big head, Pony." He asks,
"Is that one of those double-entendre  things?" I say, "Huh! I didn't mean
it to be, but I can see why you  might think so," then, "Can you kinda pull
your legs back further to  get your, um, butt off the seat a little more?"

He nods and does  that.

I look  at his nice rosebud anus, so clean and inviting. Well, I fought off
the  urge to suck his boner a minute ago when it popped up like that, and
now I resist the urge to rim him because it might freak him out. Some  other
time we'll try that. I'm sensing a goofy responsibility to make this  good
for him since he's so trusting of me. Lining-up the nipple at the end of
the condom with his asshole, I hump my hips and the head slides in tightly the
 very first try. Daryl goes, "Oooh!" then, "It felt cold at first  but it
already feels good. I love this so much!" He relaxes his rectum  muscles
which allows for a nice entry. I say, "Me too, Pony. You have  a very fine
rectum." He grins, "See, you can't be serious. I want you to be  serious and sort
of mushy, telling me nice things. Um, pretend we're lovers...  be like
that, okay?" I let that pass without contradicting him, and  try looking
serious. He goes, "Now you look mad," and I snort out a laugh,  then say, "Shut the
fuck up! Okay?" Another good thrust pushes my boner another  two inches up
his ass. Daryl arches his back making a hissing sound, then  grunts, "Could
you wait a minute. That hurts a little."

After  maybe fifteen seconds he nods his head for me to go ahead. Then I
watch,  always fascinated, as the last three inches of my boner disappears
slowly inside his body. Pushing us tightly together, my groin pressed  against
his nice ass cheeks, I stifle a moan as my cock hums with pleasure.

Leaning over him with a hand on either side of his chest, I shouldn't be
encouraging him, but he's be such a delightful change after the gorilla I can't
help asking, "Would you like a kiss?" He nods his head and, as I stretch
forward my boner goes up another quarter inch and Pony goes,  "Ummm."  My head
reaches down to his, he lifts his a little  and our mouths connect. I give him
a really good sloppy kiss with my tongue  in his mouth. He squirms on the
seat, his arms letting go of his legs to  hug around the back of my neck,
holding our faces together. With our mouths  together I move my hips back
pulling my boner back, and thrust it in,  then do it three more times and Pony
makes a whining sound humping his  hips moaning as cum streaks from his cock
hitting under my chin and  then another hump with Daryl moaning, "Aaaah,
ooh," as another streak of cum  comes smearing across my chest.

I must  look startled because he says, "I'm sorry! I've never felt so, um,
hot and  aroused... I don't know how to describe it." He climaxed so quickly
that  now I don't know what to do. I've cum as a 'bottom'  before my 'top'
was close to being ready to climax, and they just keep on  fucking me until
they climax, but maybe I shouldn't do that with Daryl. I'm not  especially
horny, although I am a bit aroused by Daryl's eager  making-out and, well my
boner is up his ass. He asks, "Would it be alright if  you, um, held off for
a bit. I'd really, really like another climax like the one  I just had."

Well you selfish little bugger you, but he doesn't know any better.  I
reluctantly pull my boner out, saying, "See how much I like you, Pony? I'm  going
to do as you so politely requested." He sits up and strokes his cock,
saying, "Oh my God, that felt so fucking good!" Then, with his eyes wide  opened,
he asks, "Did you see that just now?" I'm like, "See what?" He goes, "My
shoulders shuddered on their own because, dude, that was so good!" He  swings
his legs around to the front of the seat and I sit next to him. "Yeah  Pony,
but did you see where your load went? It shot all over me. Come  on over
here and lick this cum off my chest and neck." He grins, "You don't  think I
will, do you?" and he lean leans over with his pink tongue coming  out doing
fast licks up my chest; fast licks like a kitten licking a bowl of  milk. My
fingers go in his hair at the back of his head as I guide his tongue up
and under my chin with him doing lick after lick. I almost cum by the time
he's  done.

My  chest is wet with his saliva when he pulls his head away and looks at
me  with a smirking grin on his face. There's some cum around his mouth and a
 shiny drop on his chin. He says, "And that's how much I like you. I'd lick
you  all over except I'd probably have an orgasm doing it." It's kinda hard
 to not like Daryl. I go, "I'm taking this condom off. Your ass  is plenty
slippery now." He shrugs, "Good, I like your bare dick up inside me  best
anyway. Do you want me to suck your cock? I'd be glad to do it for you."  I'm
like, "For chrissakes, Pony, I might as well have had a climax fucking  your
pretty ass just now. You asked me not to, but I'm kinda aroused, ya  know?
I'd shoot off in a minute if you sucked my cock." He nods, "Oh yeah. I see
what you mean. What should we do while my balls are churning more cum?" I
have  to chuckle, then ask, "Are you sure you're twenty?" He makes a face,
"Dammit,  Dylan! It's only around you that I act like a little kid. It's your
fault. Now I'm fucking embarrassed." And his face does get red. I mutter,
"Nah,  you're fine. I was just breaking your balls a little. You're perfect
for being  twenty-years-old." He mumbles, "You're only nine months older than
me, do you  realize that?"

He  gets his  pants back on and I pull up my zipper. We sit here a few
seconds  looking straight out the  windshield, then he gives me a funny look
and, grinning, he slowly leans  over and sort of lays on my chest again,
muttering, "I like feeling that nip  ring against my nipple." I rub his head and
he takes my arm and pulls it around  him. Jesus!  After a minute or so, I
ask, "Are you using a different  deodorant or cologne... or something?" He
says, "No, but you smell good." I  mumble, "Thanks, but how about you?" He moves
his head against my shoulder,  saying, "No, I don't use cologne and I
didn't even use deodorant after showering  tonight." Huh, maybe that's it. No
other scent on him except his own. To pull  his chain, I go, "You may want to
reconsider your non-use  of deodorant." He chuckles, "I know I don't have BO,
so stuff that  comment where the sun don't shine."

We sit  like this with Pony hanging on me as we take turns talking about a
million goofy things; none of them even skirting serious matters of  any
kind. Mostly we're laughing and kidding each other for about  forty-five
minutes. All the while, in the back of my head, my main concern  is avoiding
another make-out. Pony's a surprisingly good make-out too,  but having another
one would set a precedent and be unfair to him in  the long run. So, when he
starts mentioning he feels his twenty-year-old balls  are recharged, I
mention that now's the  time he should be sucking my dick. He says, "Hell, I'd
suck it every day if you  weren't avoiding me most days." I go, "I'm not
avoiding you and you know it. I  have a boyfriend, remember?"  He says "Well I
have a boyfriend too, and I'm  with him right this very moment." Smirking at
me, he's hoping to get a  raise out of me, but I just roll my eyes. Pony
slides to his knees on the  floor of the pickup dragging the palms of both hands
down from my shoulders  across my chest, and down my stomach to the top of
my jeans. I give  him a 'look' and he says, "What? I like the feel of your
body; and,  just so you know, you are going with me to get my nipple
pierced." He's  unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the zipper down. Looking at me, he
says, "Lift  your fat ass and I'll pull your underpants down too."

Shaking  my head at the bogus, 'fat ass' comment, I help get my pants and
underwear down to bunch at my feet. Pony picks up my flaccid cock and sucks
on  the head for ten seconds before pulling it out of his mouth. He looks up
at me,  "What's that taste?" I go, "The delicious taste of a latex condom
would be  my guess." He shrugs, mumbling, "It was only the first few seconds
I noticed  it," and he goes back to inexpertly sucking and licking my dick,
scraping his  teeth along the shaft as he does it. You don't need to be an
expert cock-sucker  as long as you make-up for inexperience by obviously
enjoying it. Pony  shows all of that and a little more. He's very much into gay
sex, and I never  would have guessed it of him. There's a natural
un-gay-ness, which is a word I  just invented, about Daryl in everyday life.  He's
slim and youthful-looking and kind of cute too, but nothing about  his
mannerisms or way of speaking hints at his gayness. He's not shy and he can  give as
well as he can take the ball-busting that happens between  college-age
guys. Most straight guys routinely accuse each other of being gay,  as in:
'Dude, that shirt is so gay' or when someone suggest something  unusual, he might
hear, 'Dude, are you a fag or what? Nobody goes to  Trinity Bar unless
they're gay as May." Gay guys like Daryl and I say  and hear stuff like that
almost every day, but in almost no case do  the straight guys think the person
they're ragging on is  actually gay.

Pony's  sucking on my dick feels so good, plus the sloppy wet sounds his
mouth is  making and the wet saliva all around his mouth are both sexy. If I
shoot  off in his mouth though we'll be waiting another hour to reload before
I  can fuck him, so I'm like, "Yo, that's good, dude." and push at his
head. He  pulls his mouth off my hard cock and sits back against the dashboard,
"Love  sucking your cock!" Seeing his enthusiasm. I say, "You have got to
come out of  your shell, Pony." He laughs, and I add, "No seriously, what you
really need to do, Daryl, is sort yourself out a boyfriend for  real. And,
dude, he's going to be one lucky mother-fucker having you as his
boyfriend!" Pony says, "How many times do I need to tell you; call me Pony! Only  my
parents and professors call me Daryl. Stupid name! I tried going by my middle
 name in high school... Mark. Now that's a good name for a guy." I go, "So
is  Daryl. How'd it work-out getting people to call you, Mark?" He struggles
up on  his feet, muttering, "It didn't." Bending over with his head against
the  roof of the truck, he asks, "How are we gonna to do this?"

I get  off the seat stroking my saliva-soaked boner, that's feeling
oh-so-good, and  say, "Um, pull your pants down and stand with your feet against
the  front seat and rest your forearms on the top of the back." Facing the
seat,  he bends over supporting himself with his arms resting on the top of the
 seat's back. I get behind him giving his bare ass a hard slap, SMACK!",
but  stop because a quick memory-fart of Peter overdoing the spanking  on my
ass flashes past my mind. Instead I grab his butt cheeks, one in each  hand,
and massage then slightly, muttering, "Your buttocks are very muscular."  He
goes, "That's because I'm a fucking athlete and not a soft pussy like some
guys I know. "SMACK! SMACK! and Pony chuckles, mumbling, "I didn't mean
you,  Dylan."

I'm  grinning, looking at the submissive position he readily put himself
in. There's  a lot to be said about being a 'top'. There's a dominant aspect
to it  because of the submissive posture a 'bottom' puts himself in waiting
to be  fucked up the ass. Feeling slightly dominant, I plug the head of my
boner in  past his sphincter and he yelps, "OW!" Grabbing his hips, I thrust a
couple of  inches up his ass watching his involuntary reaction of pulling
his ass away,  toward the back of the seat. I give him a, "SMACK!" saying,
"Get your ass up,  Pony! Goddammit!" He does that, looking back at me, saying,
"Fuck me as hard as  you can, Dylan." Okay, that's what I'll do. A hard
thrust with him pushing  his ass back at me now, and I'm fully impaling him. I
grab hold of his hips  and pull his buttocks back even tighter against my
crotch. I'll fuck him hard,  but only after waiting thirty seconds to let his
rectum muscles relax and adjust  to accepting my boner's intrusion. Grinding
my hips while I wait gets  sensations coming off the head of my cock as
well as stimulating the nerve  ending around his anus, and it mostly excites
the nerve ending that number  in the millions making up his prostate gland.

Anal fucking, like any other kind,  is mutually pleasurable... or it should be
anyway.

Taking  a deep breath, I take a quick glance out the window, checking the
parking  lot. All is quiet out there so in here I break the silence by
beginning to slam  my cock hard and fast back and forth n Pony's ass and the
familiar, "SLAP,  SLAP, SLAP, SLAP," sounds of my hairless crotch slapping
against his hairless  buttocks are the only sound we hear for a few seconds.

Quickly  though Pony's moans of sexual pleasure join the sounds of males fucking.

My  face scrunches up as sensations from my boned-up penis reach a level of
 sexual pleasure that strips all other thoughts from my mind. It feels so
fucking  good I thrust even harder and my grunts and pleasure sounds join the
rest of the  sounds in the pickup. Only when my impending climax approaches
 a crescendo do I open my eyes and acknowledge Pony in my mind, and get a
great feeling of closeness with him. Sharing this sex act as willing
participants is very special. Leaning over I get my arms around his stomach,
squeezing tightly, as my hip hammer my boner back and forth in his ass,
"Slapslapslapslap" for a final fifteen seconds of exquisite sexual  pleasure. Tight
against his butt cheeks, humping against them I squeal  while pumping my
semen inside him. Mind-boggling pleasure for five,  then ten  seconds, when
nothing moves in the world except the streaking pleasure all  around my groin.

Then a quick drop off of sensations with my eyes blinking and  my body
shuddering from the pleasurable feeling all over me. A deep breath,  then
grinning and shaking my head, amazed that climaxes never  disappoint.

Another  deep breath and only then am I aware of Pony's arm moving fast as
he jerks on  his boner. I climaxed fast and since he had an orgasm less than
an hour ago it's  taking him longer. I start fucking him again and less
than a minute later his  body gets stiff and he gasps, his hips thrust forward
shooting a short  stream of cum against the back of the seat, then another
one with Pony moaning  as if he just climaxed a pint of cum. Pulling my cock
out of his ass makes Pony  go, "Aaaah ooh, fuuuck..." so I push it back up
his ass and watch his back arch.  "Slapslapslap," for another minute and I
pull out my cock out for good  giving his cute ass, "SMACK! SMACK!" Wow, my
heart is still pounding  fast and I'm taking a  few more deep breaths. I
wonder how much energy is involved in that five or  six-minute exercise?  Can it
even be measured? Pony moans, lifting his head off his arms, then
straightening up as much as the ceiling of the pickup's cab will allow. I pass  him a
square box of tissue and he grabs a handful to considerately, first wipe
his cum off the back of the seat; then, with another handful of tissues  held
under his asshole, he sits, saying, "Holy shit, that was fun! How can
anything feel so good but only last for a few seconds?" I'm wiping my now limp
dick, muttering, "My sentiments exactly."

Sitting  next to him we both take a deep breath in unison, then he goes,
"And to think  I've lived twenty years only doing this randomly for a short
period of time with  Sam before getting to regularly do it with you. Is it any
wonder I love you  better than anyone?" I go, "Ya know you've hit on a
dilemma  that confused me since I was seventeen: is it love or not? I've
concluded  that in most cases it's love alright, but love of the sex way more often
than  love of your sex partner. And I say that, no matter how incredibly
lovable  I am." He laughs, "Think what you want, but I know when I'm in love."

I go, "No  you do not, Pony, but I'm not going to argue with you now.

Aren't you tired  yet?" He goes, "Yeah, I'm beat. How about you?" I see three
guys coming around  the chain link fence from the house, as I say, "Yeah, I'm
beat too, but right  now pull your pants up. Guys are beginning to come for
their cars." He  looks over and lifts his ass off the seat pulling up his
pants, muttering,  "Your cum  will wet through my khakis." I grab more tissue
and reach down the back of his  pants, inside his boxers to leave the bunch
of tissues under his asshole,  "Pull your underpants up tight."

As he does  that I slide over to the driver's side,  then open the door,
saying, "Let's see  if anyone wants a ride back to Merrimack. We'll go back to
the party and walk  through once, and then take off for home." He nods and
gets out his side still  buttoning his pants. Locking the pickup we start
casually walking back  toward the fence with me thinking how that was the
first time I fucked in the  pickup with anyone besides Robby. Huh, I wonder how
many times he  did it in there without me? Only a passing thought though as
it's a pointless  concern. What's done is done.

The  three guys are in their car driving away from their parking spot when
we we're  at the fence. When we get to the back yard it doesn't appear
anything has  changed. It's just as loud and rowdy as it was over an hour ago
when we left.  I'm thirsty but not for beer, and certainly not for liquor.

There's bottles  of water available for two bucks; a bigger rip-off than the
price of beer.  Keeping an eye out for the dude I poked in the nose, I buy two
bottles and  giving Daryl one. Drinking the water, we walk around finding
Golden  first, who's fairly drunk. He's with two of his friends, two of the
guys  who were in the back seat when I drove us to the party and one of them
is Pat. I  mention the five bucks for the joint, which he has no recollection
of until Pony  reminds him and he reluctantly gives me five bucks; five
crumples ones. All  three of these guys want to stay, saying they'll get a ride
back to campus  later. Okay, that leaves only the third guy who was in the
back seat on the  ride here, plus Tom Higgins, Pony's roommate. Oh yeah, and
that cute kid,  Dickie, who rode over in the bed of the truck with Golden.

We find Tom, who  is smashed and/or high, but he has enough sense to come
with us for the ride  back to the campus. We give up looking for Dickie and
the other guy after  walking all through the place, upstairs and down, plus
the back yard. Our  conclusion: they got a ride back with someone earlier.

Tom  falls asleep in the shotgun seat before we're out of the Stop & Shop
parking  lot. Pony, who's in the middle of the front bench seat, looks at
Tom, saying, "Ya know, I wish he was gay. It'd be awesome having a gay
roommate, and I could go for Tom." As he's saying that he's lightly running his
fingers through Tom's hair. Tom's head is against Pony's shoulder. I go,
"I've  known many straight guys who I had a similar passing thought about...

what  would it be like  if he were gay. That was mostly when I was younger
though, like you." He snorts,  "Oh, way back when you were nine months younger,
huh." I go, "I'm  ten-months older than you." He goes,
"Nine-and-a-half-months to be exact." We're  always bickering about nonsensical stuff like that.

It makes me smile  that Daryl feels he must always get the last word in.

I've been accused of that  a few times myself.

It's  only a five-minute ride,  mostly across campus, and then we're in
front of their  dormitory. Shouldn't have the truck on campus row, but fuck
it. Daryl wakes Tom and bumps fist with me, saying, "Awesome, um, party,
Dylan." I nod, "Yeah, it was good at times." He sort of pushes Tom out as Tom
mutters, "Thanks, Dylan." Daryl tries assisting Tom, who says, "I can fuckin'
 walk, okay Pony?" No good deed goes unpunished. I reach over and pull the
passenger door all the way shut, then drive to the apartment without
thinking too much about anything. It was a roller-coaster ride of a night, and
for now I'll leave it at that. Hell, maybe I'll leave it at that  forever.

Parking  in the lot one over from ours, I walk back thinking how my ass is
still a little  sore, but very manageable by now. Inside I'm tip-toeing
through the  kitchen getting a Coke and some Advil, then through our bedroom
checking on Robby, who's sound asleep. Into the bathroom I go to strip naked
while drinking half the soda. Turning on the shower, I take a sixty second
piss that feels awesome. Standing naked next to the shower stall with  my
hand under the flow of water waiting for the hot water to kick  in, I'm
thinking about the shots of whiskey I had tonight and wonder  how drunk I actually
am. It's hard to tell how drunk you are when you're  drunk. I take a
ten-minute shower,  first shampooing my hair, then washing my body twice. The last
two minutes  I just stand still under the flow of hot water. After drying,
I brush my  teeth for three minutes and wash out my mouth with mouthwash.

Satisfied all  of that disgusting gorilla is off me physically, I smile
thinking how the  sex with Daryl got the gorilla out of me mentally, and now after
washing  and brushing my teeth I'm totally done with my latest mistake.

Slowly  getting into bed, trying not to disturb Robby, I scoot over to lay
next to  him, thinking about: well nothing apparently because the next thing
I'm aware of  is light streaming through our  bedroom window on a brand new
day. A day in which I'm determined not  to make any bad choices, if I
survive today that is. here's a marching  band's drum-line playing loudly in my
head with cymbals clanging  shrilly like a needle in my brain and each beat
of the big bass drum  thumps painfully at my temples. Other than that, and
the fact I  feel slightly nauseous, I'm in good shape. Yeah, but it's Sunday!
What  better day to recover from a hangover than a Sunday? Rob and I usually
 spend all day together on Sundays, sometimes without getting out of our
pajamas. He got up when I was still sleeping and he's in the bathroom
presently; in the showers I assume as I can hear it running. Gee, I wonder  what
his mood will be? How much will Frankie's pregnancy effect Rob's and my
Sunday? That's a question I have. The other one is, am I going to survive this
hangover?


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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