Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2017 20:44:25 -0400 From: MGTBILL@aol.com Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 37 DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE Chapter 37 by Donny Mumford Today has a 'last' and a 'first' component to it: it's the last Monday of this semester, and at one o'clock we have our first final exam of the semester. I slept until ten o'clock this morning and got up feeling pretty good considering I've been nursing Rob through the flu these past few days. It hasn't been what I'd call fun, but he'd do it for me, so ya know.... The only real fun I've had this weekend was giving a haircut to Daryl, and finishing a haircut for his roommate, Tom Higgins. I like doing haircuts for my peers. Anyway, Rob's flu symptoms have eased-up in that his fever and most of the body aches have abated, but he still has a cough, sore throat, and a runny nose. The Advil and Tamil capsules are doing what they're supposed to do, although it'd be nice if they'd do it a little faster. Without a fever or body aches Rob's stopped taking the Advil, but he's only halfway through the five-day prescription of Tamil. We're both hoping for even better results tomorrow, and then better yet on Wednesday. We're optimists. Being far from martyr status myself, I readily admit the last two long days in the apartment dealing with Rob's sneezing, coughing, nose-blowing, and complaining about his sore throat has at times caused me to mutter unkind remarks under my breath, but overall we've both survived the experience without a lot of harsh words. I mostly entertained myself thinking about John Smith and me at Butch's Sports Bar and Eats last Friday night. In hindsight I'm amazed how easily we got away with having sex while my friends were shooting pool twenty-five feet from us. We were in the bar's supply room which is down a hallway and two doors away from the pool tables, but still it was pretty amazing. This John Smith dude is a cool customer although he hasn't been blessed with good looks, and he could maybe improve a bit with his personal hygiene. Being an automobile mechanic it's understandable that his hands aren't going to be as clean as say, a surgeon's hands, so it'd be nitpicking of me to complain about that. On the other hand, heh heh, he skipped a shower before going out Friday night and his raggedy burr haircut is about a month past an appointment with his barber. Also he's not much of a conversationalist, but even after taking into account these few minor details I still expect to hook-up with him again some time soonish. The weird thing is, after going almost an entire semester without sub/dom side-sex, this past week I experienced it twice. The first time was at the frat party night with the baby-faced gorilla, which turned out to be a total disaster. Then with John Smith Friday night, which turned-out to be good. It proved what I've always believed... you can have successful sub/dom sex with a stranger. I just need to be more selective about the stranger and then be ready to back-out of it the minute I realize it's not going as expected. That totally unexpected John Smith encounter was encouragingly enjoyable. The only two negatives about sex with him is it's over too quickly and it's a very mild form of sub/dom sex. Frankly speaking, he may not even know that's what he's doing. I liberally interpreted certain of John's actions as being dominant, while it's possible he hadn't given so much as a passing thought that he, in fact, is being dominant during our sex. That being said, theoretically the 'dom' doesn't necessarily need to know that's what he's doing for it to qualify as sub/dom sex. Some guys just naturally are more in-charge than others, and John Smith appears to be one of them, but in a low-key manner. Of course it's better from my point of view that the dom recognizes what's happening. Anyway, John has invited me to hook-up with him at Butch's bar for lunch any weekday, and I'm almost positive I'm going to do that. I'd prefer he text me about it first though, so I'll wait a few days to give him a chance to do that. While thinking these thoughts I'm frying bacon at the stove waiting for Robby to finish getting dressed after his shower. Rob, wearing something other than pajamas and a bathrobe for the first time since seeing the doctor, comes into the kitchen, saying, "Hey, that bacon smells good, babe." I say, "Good morning; how ya feeling?" He shrugs, "I'm getting there. Um, are we having eggs with the bacon?" I go, "Yes, and toast," then point to the kitchen bar, "There's your Tamil capsule for after breakfast. Do you want tea again this morning?" He nods his head, "I guess so; my throat's still sore, but I can make the tea myself," and he does. Theoretically he could have made it for himself yesterday too, but he didn't. That's not fair of me though because I more or less insisted on taking care of him. He sits at the kitchen bar with his mug of tea, asking, "Do you think we should do more reviewing for this afternoon's exam?" I go, "No, I'm sick of every fact I crammed into my head about 'Management Supply Chain'. I cannot wait to forget every single one of those inane facts immediately after turning in my blue book. Just imagine the space that will become available in my brain after emptying out all that useless information." We have our breakfast, then Rob helps clean-up the kitchen. He's looking extra pale by the time we finish, so after taking his flu medicine he lies on the sofa, complaining, "I'm so 'done' with feeling like shit." I go over and feel his forehead. Hmmm, I'd say he feels normal, but I'm not sure. We need one of those digital thermometers that tells your body temperature in seconds. I say, "After the exam let's stop at Rite Aid and buy a thermometer." He goes, "Yeah, we definitely should have one. I'm not feeling feverish but I'd like to know for sure." I'm like, "Exactly what I was thinking, Robby." Then I grin, saying, "How about an anal thermometer? With a little lube I could easily slide that up your ass. Whaddaya think?" He chuckles, "No, let's try the oral kind." I sit on the edge of a sofa cushion, saying, "I'm missing our sex, Rob," and he rubs my arm, murmuring, "Me too. On the positive side though, you haven't caught my flu bug and I don't think I'm contagious now, so..." Yeah, me not catching his flu virus is no small thing! And I'm beginning to believe I've actually avoided it entirely, which is close to a miracle considering Robby's been coughing and sneezing and touching doorknobs; basically doing everything you can think of that could cause me to catch his disease. He's not doing it on purpose of course, and I've been diligently using sanitizer wipes on everything, and getting occasional dirty looks from Rob, but come on! It's the smart thing to do. Rob squeezes my arm, "You've been awesome taking care of me, Dylan." I modestly reply, "You'd do the same for me," and I run my fingers back through his just shampooed hair, saying, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I was talking to Golden about me getting a different haircut on Saturday, and he's fine with it. As a matter of fact, he agrees with me that his assembly-line haircuts are silly looking." Rob frowns, "You promised me you wouldn't make an issue out of Golden's haircutting." I go, "Who made an issue out of anything? I friggin' merely mentioned I'd like something different to him, and he had absolutely zero problem with it. He's glad to do it." Rob's perturbed, shaking his head, muttering, "He's doing everyone a favor and I asked you to go along with his haircut like everyone else." I go, "Jesus H Christ! I flattered him by asking for the same haircut he did for both of us the first or second day of the semester." He goes, "Yeah, okay, whatever, but you said you weren't going to rock the boat." My nerves are a little on edge after enduring this weekend, so I stand up, emphatically saying, "I didn't rock any fucking boats, Rob! I just told you, I flattered him by complimenting him on that first haircut he gave us. He's fucking fine with that! You're the one rocking the boat!" He shrugs and chuckles, "Fuck the boat. Okay, I believe you." In a much milder voice, I say, "By the way, Golden texted me asking if he could visit with you yesterday. Actually a number of guys asked if they could visit you, but I warned them all off because our apartment's a temporary quarantined zone." He nods his head, muttering, "Good." Huh, Rob backed-off that stupid stance of accepting any haircut Golden felt like doing, and now he's beaming about the guys wanted to visit him. He goes, "It's nice some of the guys wanted to visit, but I'm glad you didn't let them." I go, "They could easily catch your flu. Hey, I should have thought of this earlier: you need to wear one of those surgical masks while on campus. I saw a picture online one time of a Japanese subway station during a flu epidemic in Tokyo. Every-fucking-body was wearing one of those masks that cover the nose and mouth. Smart! Those people don't give a shit that they look goofy; they don't want someone else's flu." Robby mutters, "Well I care about looking goofy, so no mask for me." Neither of us can believe I haven't come down with flu symptoms, and we talk about that for a while. Ya know, maybe it's because I had a flu shot last September, so we talk a little about why Rob didn't get one, which gets him acting a little testy. Finally he can't resist saying, "Look, Dylan, don't get pouty about this, but I want us to go over the review one more time. We've got an hour and a half before the final." I shrug, letting out an exasperated exhale, then get our notes and the study guide. We ask each other questions from our notes. Huh, there are a couple of questions that will definitely be on the exam that I get wrong during this review, so it's time well spent after all. Twenty-minutes before the exam we're walking outside the back door to the pickup. Rob takes a deep breath, then says, "Nothing like fresh air after being cooped up inside for a few days." I mumble, "Ya don't say," then remind him it's more like two days; not a few days. I'm a little edgy because of all the nursing I've been doing, which is understandable. I mean, no matter how much you love someone, after a while the nose blowing, sneezing and coughing gets to be kind of revolting. The human body can put out some disgusting matter when a person's sick. So yeah, fresh air indeed! Still, after all the negatives associated with Robby's flu, when I look at him all bundled up with a scarf around his neck and smiling, trying to act like he's feeling better even though his face is still a little sickly pale... I don't know, but I get this warm glow of love in my heart for him and I hug his shoulders, murmuring, "I love you, Robby." He grins at me, mumbling, "Thank you, Dylan. I love you so much I could cry sometimes." Then, instead of crying, he coughs up a gross greenish-ball of phlegm and hacks it on the ground beside us. That sort of puts a hurting on my warm fuzzy feeling for him. Only temporarily though. I drive us to the campus, parking as close to the lecture hall as possible. Walking to the hall Rob gets some greetings and bump fists with some of his teammates, most of whom didn't even know he's been sick. One of the fist-bumpers is Lawyer Ross, the closeted gay. He's an uber good-looking African-American with smooth cocoa-colored skin and silly-looking longish kinky hair on his head, and a sweet smile on his handsomely cute face. He's a senior teammate of Rob's, and a bud of mine. We shared a kiss or two and I may be the only one here at Merrimack who knows he's gay. I say, "Lawyer, why haven't you texted me about a haircut? You truly need one, dude, and I'd really like cutting that awesome hair of your's." He gives me that sweet smile, saying, "I'm gonna do it, Dylan, I promise." He bumps against my side giving me a knowing 'look'. Lawyer has the sexiest mouth and remembering our kiss gives my nuts a happy jolt. He pats my back, "I gotta peel-off here, guys, my final is in the Gravenor Building." We slap palms and Rob goes, "Spring training in twelve weeks, Lawyer." He walks off saying over his shoulder, "I can hardly wait, Rob." Ha, Rob says twelve weeks like it's just around the corner. We go inside and there's the normal nervous final-exam-buzz in the lecture hall as a guy wearing wire-rimmed glasses, with a mop of very curly blond hair on his head, says to no one in particular, "I'm so fucked. I crammed all night and now I don't know how I'm gonna stay awake long enough to take the exam." As if anyone gives a shit. Idiot! Everyone ignores him and he sits right in front of me. Jesus, what a head of hair. Would I ever like to get my clippers working in that! Anyway, Curly is one of those students who brags about not taking college studies seriously. They think cramming all night is the cool thing to do. Dopes! Rob and I are in our normal seats as the professor passes out the exams. Then the lecture hall has a quiet hum to it as everyone hunches over their blue books answering the questions from the test sheet. For this class there are two test sheets with the same questions, only in a different order. It's to prevent cheating off another guy's exam I suppose. At about the one hour mark the first brainiac makes some noise getting her shit together, putting on her coat and backpack, basically announcing to everyone she's the first one finished. Oh Christ, it's that brown-noser cunt who always asks questions at the end of class, prolonging it needlessly. She smugly walks down to the professor saying loud enough for everyone to hear, "I enjoyed your class very much, Professor," then she turns in her blue book with the exam inside sticking out the top and bottom of the blue book. Five minutes later another dramatic exit of another female student, then the first guy to finish makes a ruckus getting his shit together to leave. Some of us look around frowning as four more students get up at the same time. I glance over a Rob, who's still on page one like me. What is this shit, a fucking race for the early finishers? Of course there's a possibility that a couple of early finishers simply gave-up halfway through the exam realizing they don't know this shit, so a big fat 'F' will follow. What I'm saying is, the early finishers are not all brainiacs, some of them are dumb stooges. It's hard to tell which ones are which though. We both finish with fifteen minutes to spare and we're outta there with about twenty students still working through the exam. Outside Rob asks, "How do you think you did?" I shrug, "Um, maybe between and eighty-five and ninety... I hope." Rob mutters, "Did you spend much time on the multiple choice questions? They were tricky I thought." I go, "Yeah, they were tricky because more than one choice could be the right one, except she wanted the most correct choice. She was kind of a dick about it actually. Why try tricking us?" Neither of us truly knows how we did, which really pisses me off because we conscientiously prepared for the exam all semester only to get tric ked in the end. So, we just don't know, which sucks because I expected to be elated after the exam. I'd like to have a cigarette except Rob can't smoke with his sore throat, so I don't light one up. He says, "I hate to be such a bore, Dylan, but I need to lie the fuck down again." I tell him, "Rest is like the number one cure for getting over the flu, Rob, so you should lie down as soon as I drive us home." He mumbles, "You don't need to stay with me though, I'm just gonna take a nap. Why don't you get out and do something; text your brother or maybe workout with Daryl at the fitness center. I feel bad you need to stay in with me." I shrug, "We'll see. I'm kinda disappointed about that exam and consequently I'm not really in the mood to do anything." He goes, "We'll study tonight for tomorrow's exam." We only have one exam a day; the last one is on Friday, and none on Thursday. Back in the apartment Robby crashes on the sofa and I go into the bedroom to answer emails on my laptop. I owe emails to both my Army buddies, Connor and Dodger. Their enlistments are ending sooner than expected; they could be home as early as this coming June. Connor has already been accepted as a sophomore student back here at Merrimack in the fall, while Dodger contemplates re-upping for another tour of duty. Neither of them ever left the states to fight in a foreign land, and thank God for that. Their original enlistment was for two years instead of the normal three. What happened was, the Army wasn't meeting its recruiting quotas at the time so the recruiters were offering two year enlistments under the buddy system; getting two guys enlisting instead of one. Connor's email is all about mixed emotions. He thinks maybe he's in love with an E 5, whatever that is, and he hates the thought of leaving the E 5 behind, yet he still wants to restart his college education and move on as a civilian. With the Army's help, and the money he's saved, he has the tuition covered for the remaining three years at Merrimack. He tells me he still hasn't heard a word from his mother. Not one word since he enlisted, and he's worried he'll never hear from or see her again. He goes on to tell me a revisionist tale of what an unfortunate life his mother's lead, full of bad breaks, and how he's going to try looking for her and help her as much as he can. What I'd like to tell him is, that's a very bad idea! His mother is an irresponsible drunken crack-head who he's better off without. Instead I say how sad it is that he doesn't know where she is. Actually, her disappearance is the best thing that ever happened to Connor. Two years in the Army obviously hasn't changed the fact that he's the sweetest, nicest person I've ever met. Plus he uber good looking and shyly good in the sack. Anyway, he asks for updates about things in my life; things I've told him about in previous emails. I answer those questions painting a rosy picture because my life is a fairly rosy picture. What do I have to complain about? I tell him I'm confident he'll make the right decision. Then, in case he's leaning towards that E 5 asshole, I try persuading him to come home by saying how much I'd love for us to have a year together at Merrimack, like we had as freshman. Subtle pressure... Dodger's email is all about mixed emotions too. He likes the Army life but isn't sure he wants to make a career of it, and if he isn't going to make a career out of it, then why reenlist? He recounts a couple of over-the-top escapades he and someone name, Donut, got themselves into, and then asks about me and Robby. He claims the main reason for him not reenlisting would be to save me from making the huge mistake of marrying his brother. Ya never know when Dodger's kidding. He and Rob have reconciled and have brotherly love again. To this day I'm not sure why they were mad at each other. They were though, and for over a year. It started when Dodger enlisted without telling anyone he was going to do that. It got Rob off on the wrong foot in his first supervisory position with Dodger baling-out on him, so that might have had something to do with them not getting along. I would hope it's something more important than that though, especially considering how close they've been all their lives. Anyway, I tell Dodger about the frat parties and other crazy shit that happens at college because that's the sort of thing he appreciates. Lastly I encouraged him not to re-up because he's too much of a free-spirit and how that's mostly frowned upon in the Army where they value conformity to a ridiculous degree. He can't argue with that since he's been demoted twice for various stunts he and what's-his-name pulled; him and the donut character. The truth is I selfishly want both of them back in my life. Dodger and Connor are two of my favorite friends of all time. Done emailing I do some, hopefully, funny responses to text messages. There's no text from Ryan, so I send him a text asking how he's doing. I'll see him Friday for the final exam of the class we have together. Naturally he doesn't text back, but I'm used to that. Putting my laptop away I go back to the living room and find Rob still sleeping. Well that's preferable to hearing and observing his coughing, sneezing, and blowing his nose. Mostly though, I was serious when I told him that rest is the best thing one can do to get over the flu. That's what I've read anyway. So what to do now? Before crashing on the sofa Rob put out our study guide for tomorrow's exam in, 'Nitch Marketing'. Without opening the study guide I quietly say out loud, "The nitch market defines as the product featured that's aimed at satisfying specific market needs, as well as price range, production quality, and the demographics that it's intended to impact. It's a small market segment and the first step is identifying it." Jesus Christ, can I believe that convoluted description of a nitch market? It's actually taking up space in my brain! And why do I have all these marketing courses in the first place? Oh yeah, that's right, it's because I wanted to be in the same classes as Robby. Duh, think for yourself much, Dylan? In this society of ours you need a college education or a good trade, like being a mechanic. I wonder how much John Smith makes a week? I could be a barber although I don't imagine they make much money either. Anyway I'd only want to be a barber for a prep school or Military Academy where I'd only need to cut young guys' hair. How many opening do you suppose there are for that job description? Barbering isn't a lucrative occupation anyway, especially if you give free haircuts like Golden and I do. I'm hungry, and when I look at my wristwatch I know why; it's almost two o'clock. What the fuck? Rob's been sleeping since eleven o'clock? I go over and look at him closely to determine that he's still breathing. Jeez, sick or not he's so fucking good-looking it's ridiculous! He looks extra good with his shaggy head of two-tone blond hair. It's how his hair often looked before he met me. He had a crush on me though, and wanted to have the same haircut I had, which was always either short, or very short. Not now though because my longer hair is a trend I expect to continue even though I also like short hair. My fucking haircut fetish has ruled the roost for too long now! Well, rocking short hair most of my life was not only a result of the fetish, but also boyfriends of mine who bossed me around; primarily Willie and Ryan, both insisting I have haircuts they chose for me. Damn though, that Willie was something when he was in a dominant frame of mind with me, and I miss him. Yeah, but that was when we were kids basically, and the things we did back then wouldn't seem right to do now somehow. Who said you can never go back? I think they're right though, and it's too bad because they were some sexy-hot fun times back then. I'm almost laying in the one upholstered chair we have daydreaming these thoughts, when I hear, "What's for lunch, Dylan?" Looking over I see Robby sitting up looking sleepy, like he just woke up, which he apparently just did. I go, "Let's go out for lunch and have a couple of beers. The Beef and Ale House maybe." He frowns, "Can't we eat in?" I go, "Sure we could, but why would you want to? Um, that's assuming you're feeling better." He goes, "I am feeling better. Not great, but better. It's my throat; it's a little scratchy but not really sore anymore." Sitting up, I go, "You're healing!" and he chuckles, "Yeah, about time, huh?" then he sneezes. I frown at that, and he laughs, saying, "That was my fake sneeze. I think I'll perfect it to go along with your fake cough." I go, "Not so fast, bud; fake bodily functions take years of practice. It's not something you can perfect on the spur of the moment." He grins, mumbling, "Oh, then forget it." He stands, and says, "I'm going to wash-up and then we'll go out for lunch. You had a good idea there, Dylan!" We spend a couple of hours at the Beef and Ale House having two roast beef sandwiches each along with four draft beers in frosted mugs. We walk out of the Ale House into a snow storm. Rob asks, "Was this snow predicted?" I shrug, "Don't know, Rob. I haven't checked the weather forecast the last few days." He goes, "Because you've been stuck inside with me." I ask, "Do you feel good enough to drive?" He nods, "Yeah, I think so. Ya know, I feel sort of like I did last Thursday when I first noticed I was coming down with something. Now it's the reverse; I'm beginning to feel like I'm finally getting over this pain-in-the ass flu." I go, "Uh huh." Inside the pickup truck he starts the engine, then goes," Jeez, those beers seem to hit me more than normal, um, maybe you'd better drive." He slides over and I get out and walk around to get in the driver's side, saying, "It's your weakened system, Rob. Four beers probably feel like six or seven." He nods, "I guess, but it was still great to get out for a couple of hours." It's a fifteen-minute drive back to the apartment. The windshield wipers are going full speed with snow accumulating at the bottom of the windshield. The snow is laying on the streets too so I guess it'll turn into the first real snow storm of the season. The two previous snow falls changed to rain and petered-out. It's early December, which isn't to say it's too early for a snow storm here, although usually big storms don't happen until January and February. Two years ago it snowed on Halloween though, so ya never know in the Northeast. It's getting slippery on the secondary roads but that's not a problem for the pickup. We make it to our parking lot without a mishaps, then in the apartment Robby mutters, "Goddammit, I gotta lay down again." Guess he's not as recovered as he thought. The beers probably weren't the best idea I ever had. Rob lies on the sofa under a blanket and I settle back in the upholstered chair reading the latest book by John Sanford. After four beers though, reading makes me sleepy so I doze off in the chair and wake up hearing my cellphone ringing in my pocket. It's getting dark outside already, but then we're getting close to the shortest day of the year, and the snow continues falling. Balls! The phone call is from Chubby who wants to know if I'd like to join a bunch of guys going to Rolfs; a local bar in town. He claims they need a break from cramming for finals. Random beers in a snow storm, huh? Hmmm? In the end I beg off using Robby's flu as my excuse, but after spending a couple of minutes thinking about it, it would be fun to live in a dorm and just go to a bar with a group of guys in a snow storm, on the spur of the moment. Ya know, 'Let's get hammered for no good reason, ha ha.' Lots of bull-shitting and ball-breaking and laughs. Being in a relationship like Rob's and mine is confining in some ways, but the benefits more than make up for spur of the moments getting hammered with the boys. It's four-thirty Monday afternoon, an hour-and-a-half after drinking four beers and I'm feeling dull; like I have a mini-hangover. With nothing better to do I take a couple of Advil, then a long hot shower. After drying myself I'm in the bedroom wearing only boxer shorts fucking around with my hair trying to decide how to comb it when it's this long. Robby comes in the bedroom, saying, "I'm rested and feeling like I need some intense personal interaction with the boy I'm in love with." My eyes open wide, "Really?" He goes, "Yes, if you're willing to take a chance that I won't give you the flu through my bodily fluids." I go, "I believe that's the number one way of transferring the flu virus... bodily fluids." He goes, "I don't think that's true for the fluid I have in mind. I'll keep the dangerous fluids to myself, which means we'll need to manage without swapping saliva." He hugs me from behind humping against my ass lightly, murmuring, "You could say I'm extremely horny, and actually I have been since this morning. Prior to that I felt like shit, so my sex drive was suppressed and overwhelmed by the flu virus, but this recovery today is just enough for sexual matters to win out once again." I say, "But, Sir, I've just cleaned myself. You'll make me all messy." He goes, "Yes, probably, but you have no choice. Your man needs his sex." I go, "Is this how it's always going to be? Whenever you feel the animalistic need to relieve yourself of sexual desires I'm to submit to you?" He goes, "Yes, you've got it. That's it exactly." I go, "In that case I have no choice, do I?" He goes, "No, you don't, you nut." I turn around in his arms, grinning, "Were we doing lines from Gone With the Wind, do you think?" He goes, "I don't know. I've never seen the movie." Feeling his forehead, I say, "We never got the thermometer at Rite Aid, but you feel normal." He says, "Should we dare to kiss?" I kiss him quickly and say, "Feel my forehead, Rob. Do I feel feverish yet?" He feels my forehead and pushes his hand up into my damp hair, kissing me with his tongue in my mouth and we do that for a couple of minutes as thoughts of the flu virus evaporating from my mind. It's such a wonderful rush to be doing this with Robby after four torturous days of abstinence. And, amazingly, I never gave jerking-off a thought during all those days. Nope, instead I endured without sexual relief. I'm out of the jerking-off habit anyway, but that was such a big part of my daily routine through my teen years. That came to an abrupt halt, of course, when fat Carl made me suck his cock and then he fucked me. Jerking-off wouldn't do after that. Something so much better had become available to me, and it's mostly continued to be available to me on a regular basis ever since then; never more so than when living with Robby this year in our college apartment. Ah, it's a sexy make-out with us exchanging lots of saliva and not giving a fuck if I get the flu or not. Let's see: Rob started noticing the very first symptoms last Thursday, five days ago. I'm hoping my flu shot does its job because he could still be contagious That flu shot is probably my only hope of avoiding the flu virus, compliments of Robby. Not that I give that more than a passing thought now that we're into each other like clueless wild animals in heat. Robby had a shower this morning and that's plenty of time for the bath gel scent to wear-off allowing me to notice Rob's personal scent as we kiss. It's a scent I've been addicted to for over three years now. Before our first kiss as seventeen-year-old boys I'd already noticed his scent. It was when we were doing massages for each other. We pretending we needed a massage after or before work on the lawn cutting crew. Heh heh, obviously we were doing whatever we could to experience touching one another. And at the time neither of us knew the other was gay. Fucking kids, huh? I didn't know Rob was gay and he didn't know I was. We discovered the truth soon enough though. That first kiss did it. What a rush discovering the other was gay too! Jesus, I'll never forget that first puppy-love kiss. The thrill of it sent chills all over me with a sense of euphoria I've never matched since then. We've come a long way from a puppy-love first kiss. Right now we're chest to chest as we make-out rubbing our hands up and down each other's back, then groping each other buttocks with Robby pulling my crotch tightly against his as we both hump lightly and moan with sexual arousal. It's a slightly desperate and rough make-out with both of us springing hard, pulsating boners quickly. We're grunting as we grind against one another, our fingers in each other's hair at the back of our heads, then we're fumbling at each other's clothes with Rob pulling down my boxer shorts as I unzip his fly, then the top button of his jeans. He strokes my cock, our mouths still together, as my fingers go through the slit at the front of his boxer shorts to pull out his hard fat boner. Rob murmurs, "Rub some lube on my cock, babe. The tube's on the top of the bureau behind you." I reach back without looking and my hand hits the tube of lubricant. Squeezing some on my fingers I spread lube, and some of Rob's precum, up and down his boner, then stroke it a few more times feeling it get a little fatter under my fingers. With a whine of desire, Rob mutters, "That's good," and he turns me around. Immediately I feel the wet head of his hard boner poke my butt cheek and then slide across it toward my asshole. Robby's too anxious though and he missing it. After poking my other butt cheek, leaving a wet precum/lubricant line across my buttocks, it's, "Aaaah," as he humps his cock inside me. Oh God it feels good to have my anus stretched so perfectly; his boner has the perfect girth. It's what my rectum is used to after all the fucks Robby's laid on my ass. A gasping breath from Robby as his arms come around my belly, down low pulling me tightly against him. He gasps out a moist exhale on the back of my neck, then breathes easier now that his cock is in past my sphincter and he's got me where he wants me. A slight hump of his hips pushes his hard cock another two-inches up my ass, so I try bending over to take his fat organ easier, but he tightens his hold by moving his arms up across my chest, over my nipples, keeping my back tightly against his body. Totally in-charge now he kisses the side of my neck, then begins to suck a hickey there. It's been a long time since my last hickey. There's something dominant about a guy with his cock up my ass taking the time to mark my neck before fucking me. That's the way my mind interprets it anyway. My rectum is sizzling with sensations; some coming from the lips of my asshole, but mostly it's my squished prostate gland that's vibrating sensationally causing sexy ripples inside me. Robby sucks, licks, and kisses the same spot on my neck as he's doing little one inch humps, in and back, with the fat head of his cock increasing the stimulation on nerve ending by the million in my rectum creating so much pleasure I could cry with joy. His fat cock has nerve ending sparkling inside me and my shoulders shudder so hard Rob stops sucking on my neck for a second, waiting for my body to calm down. The back of my head rest on his shoulder with my head turned a little away from him to give him full access to my neck as a sweet submissiveness slides over my brain and my cock tightens and tightens until it moves away from my belly to stick straight out. Every part of me is feeling deliciously sexy as Rob's scent swirls around in my head and his longish hair tickles around the spot on my neck where he's building the hickey. I'm quivering with desire by the time Rob's mouth comes away from my neck, and he murmurs, "That's a good one," meaning the bump on my neck. I murmur, "Fuck me, Rob, fuck me." Oh I feel gooey with submissiveness like I haven't felt in quite some time. Certainly I never felt like this with the gorilla and not with John Smith either; not even close. Rob takes his arms from around me and pushes at the back of my head. I bend forward holding onto the edge of the bureau with the hand I used to spread lubricant on Rob's cock sliding in the slipperiness. I'm looking at us in the bureau's mirror seeing Rob looking down at my ass as he bites his bottom lip, pushing his boned-up cock the rest of the way up my ass, then he grips my hips and moves his hips back withdrawing his hard cock. He's still looking down at my ass and, I supposed, his shiny with lube and precum boner too as it reappears from my ass, then disappears back up inside me. When he pulls it back again I shudder and moan while tightening my rectum muscles. He pushes it slowly back up my ass and then slaps my right butt cheek, "Smack!". I lift a hand off the bureau to quickly feel the hickey that's stinging a little, then quickly re-grip the edge of the bureau as Robby begins a fast, hard fucking on my ass; probably out of need. I mean, he's been four days without sex too. Now there's the steady, "Slapslapslap," sounds of a guy fucking a guy up the ass, doing it fast and hard. Nothing ever feels as good as Robby fucking my ass. That's because it's not only the act itself, but everything else we've meant to each other through good times and trying ones. It's his scent and the love we have for one another and it's the way he's adopted over time a confidence to have sex with me anyway he feels like it knowing he's giving me sexual pleasure like no one else can. I can tell this by the way he does everything without hesitation, but mostly by comparing our sex now with the sometimes hesitant sex Rob did with me in the distant past. There's no comparison between then and now; it's so much better now I wouldn't know where to start listing the differences. He smacks my ass, murmuring, "C'mon, babe, keep your ass up for me." Everybody wants me to keep my ass up! Heh heh, not that I mind. The sensations inside and outside of my rectum are churning out sexual pleasure steadily now. It's continuous pleasure that gets me moaning and moving my head and licking my lips as I quiver from the ripples of indescribable pleasure. "Slapslapslap," and after three or four minutes Robby's grunting and slamming into me harder and harder with my orgasm roaring up just as he gets tight against my buttocks, humping and whining. Then I feel his stream of cum pour into my bowels and with a squeal cum shoots from my granite-hard boner splashing against the front of the bureau with spay flying back on the front of my legs. Then another hard stream of cum shoots from my cock as fireworks explode behind my eyes and Robby lies on my back gasping for air. It's a few seconds of brilliance before things begin fading and I realize I'm almost lying on the bureau top. With a huge exhale Robby lifts off my back and I push away from the bureau, dizzy from the thrill of it all. Robby thrusts his cock back and forth in my ass a half-dozen times before pulling it out and slapping my ass, "Smack!" More deep breathing as Rob backs up, bumps into the bed, then sits on the edge of it stroking his cock. I turn around feeling really good, but a little shaky from that awesome climax. We grin at each other, then I mumble, "I suppose you'll need to take another nap now." He does a little laugh, then says, "Actually, I probably will, but I really needed that. Oh man, I love having sex with you, Dylan. What a spectacular orgasm I had." I'm nodding my head muttering, "Ditto for me, boss. I really liked how you did that. Then I remember and my fingers goes to the bump on my neck, "Hey, you gave me a hickey." Robby grins, "Yeah, that hasn't happened for quite awhile huh?" I turn around to look at it in the mirror, then say, "I thought it would be bigger. It's felt bigger when you were doing it." He lays back on the bed with his feet still on the floor, mumbling, "I'll make it bigger if you want." Going over to the bed I lay on my stomach next to him, "It's perfect the way it is, Rob, but what made you think of a hickey after all this time?" Reaching over he touches the hickey with the pad of his finger, "I don't know, I just started doing it. You smell so fucking good I wanted to bite you." I mumble, "Ahh, that's so sweet," and lean over to kiss his lips, then ask, "Seriously, do you think I'll catch your flu virus?" He shrugs, "I hope not, but you probably will. You kissed me first though, so don't forget you did it first." I go, "Oh hell, I won't be blaming you if I get it. And since it's your flu virus I won't even mind getting it all that much; you'll need to be my nurse of course." He shakes his head, "It's not my flu. I got it from some unknown person who got it from some other unknown person and so on." I go, "Yeah, but you're a known person to me, so I'll think of it as your personal flu virus, one that you generously shared with me." He goes, "You're a nut; you know that, right?" I say, "Only where you're concerned, Robby." Later I prepare a spaghetti and meatball dinner, making my own spaghetti sauce and meatballs. We eat that along with a salad and crusty Italian bread. Later, mostly because Rob can't keep his eyes open, we go to bed at nine o'clock and cuddle for a while. The cuddling turns into a slow lover's sex act that's so awesome I don't have words to describe it, and we almost climax at the same time again. That old phrase, 'absence', in this case the absence of sex with each other, 'make the heart grow fonder' seems to be true for Rob and me. Some misguided individuals may think going four days without sex isn't a very long time, but those who think that have never had sex one, two, or three times every day, and sometimes four times. It's what a person's used to, dude! The snow storm only dropped three inches on us before it stopped. Tuesday morning Rob says he feels a little better than he did yesterday. We're looking for progress in his recovery while at the same time watching for the beginning signs that I caught the flu from him last night. As the day goes on I can tell Rob is feeling better. He's more his old self, like insisting we spend an hour reviewing 'Market Nitch' after lunch. Our exam is scheduled for three o'clock. Then everything goes pretty much like our first final exam except after the exam we both feel much more confident of a high score on this one. This professor didn't include trick questions like Professor Mc Govern did yesterday, the bitch! Because of today's final exam Daryl and I missed our recreational fuck that we usually do on Tuesdays, so that sucked, but Rob makes up for it in bed Tuesday night before we go to sleep. Wednesday the temperature reaches forty-eight degrees and most of the snow melts. Good! On our way to the third of our four final exams, Rob gets a text from his father and says a quiet, "Shit." I'm like, "What's wrong?" He drives on for a few seconds shaking his head, then says, "I need to drive home after this exam. Dad needs my help preparing a report for the state that's going to be past due if it's not mailed by Friday morning." I'm incredulous, "Doesn't he know were in finals week?" Robby grumpily says, "Yeah, he knows." I can see Robby's really angry so I don't follow-up with the obvious question, which would be, 'Then what is his fucking problem?' I don't ask that though because that would get Rob pissed-off at me when now he's pissed-off at his father, which is the first time that's happened that I can remember. Robby is deferential to his father to a fault, until now. I keep my mouth shut. Robby doesn't have anything to say either, so I let him steam. After the exam Rob's cooled-off some, saying, "That final exam was a piece of cake, huh, babe?" I nod, "Yeah, I agree. Our first easy final exam, which surprises me. The professor was a hard ass all semester, then he serves-up a cup cake for the final." During the drive back to the apartment, Robby says, "I'm so angry about needing to go home tonight. I'm finally feeling like ninety-percent back to normal. Plus, we have no exam tomorrow so I was thinking we could grab a couple of beers and maybe shoot some pool at Chuck's Bar. You know, relax tonight with an off day tomorrow. But no, I've gotta go back home and work." I'm still not saying anything negative about his old man because I want Rob's anger squarely on the person who deserves it. If I criticized his father Rob wouldn't take it very well. Thinking fairly about it, I gotta admit Mr. Dickers is always cordial to me, but then, on the other hand, there's no warmth coming from him and I think it's because I'm Rob's gay lover. Both his parents have acted supportive of Rob's gayness, but sincerity is missing. Rob doesn't notice it, but I do. Also I'm not going to ask him another obvious question that's occurred to me, which is: Why the hell isn't there anyone but Rob who can deal with this problem? No one out of an entire office filled with employees and managers can do this report except Rob?' I don't ask that though because, in some ways, Rob's probably proud that his dad thinks he's the only one who can do whatever it is that needs doing. I'm sure that tempers his anger somewhat when actually it's either poor planning or just plain stupidity on his father's part. Huh, it's hard not sharing some of these thoughts with Rob, but I use my world-renowned willpower and resist the temptation. Inside the apartment I help him pack a small satchel, as he tells me, "This report is something I did all the groundwork on when you and I worked that week at home. All Dad had to do was update it the few weeks following what I did, but now he can't even find my report. It's infuriating! I blame it on that ass of an assistant manager of his." Gee, I liked Dottie; she was nice to me. Rob goes, "I'll try to be back tomorrow night, but if not, um, what time is our Friday final exam?" I shrug, "Mine's at eleven o'clock, but I don't know when your's is." That's the only class we don't have together. He says, "Yes, of course; we have separate exams. Do you see how fucking flustered I am? How could he misplace that Goddamn report?" Now I'm back to worrying that his old man is in over his head trying to step up to the big-boy companies. Robby's looking at his cellphone, muttering, "Good, my exam isn't until three o'clock in the afternoon." No shit, it's the afternoon, huh? Well it wouldn't be three o'clock in the morning, would it? No, I'm not taking pleasure in Robby's situation per se. It's just that now maybe he'll stop idolizing his father so much. In the living room, I'm like, "Let me make us some lunch before you go," but he says, "No thanks, Dylan. The sooner I get there the faster I can get back here where I wanna be," He kisses me quickly, then says, "Don't walk me to the truck, babe. I might cry." Then he grins and kisses me again, adding, "I'll take care of this, and then forget it ever happened," and he goes out the door. He might have a hard time forgetting it ever happened because I have every intention of subtly mentioning it every time he starts bragging on his dad. Walking over to the sliding glass door, then stepping out on the balcony, I see him get in the pickup and back out of the parking space almost running into a red Honda that just drove in. He slams on the brakes, then continues on his way. I can only imagine the cursing he's doing in that truck. Waving at him doesn't get his attention as he drives past our balcony with his eyes on the road. Back inside I start feeling bad for Robby. He was finally feeling more like himself and then this. Walking aimlessly around the apartment I get to feeling worse and worse for him. We could have slept late tomorrow morning and then had some leisurely sex and maybe take a shower together later on and do it again. Balls! Wait a second: am I feeling sorry for Robby or myself. A little of each I guess. Then around twelve-thirty I think: lunch. Then... lunch? How about lunch at Butch's Sports Bar and Eats where a certain John Smith has lunch every week day. Should I? He never texted me. Hmmm, I'll need to get the Jeep from Chubby... 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 ======================================================== Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous free story site. Thank you very much. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html