Date: Wed, 26 Nov 2014 11:06:31 -0500 From: MGTBILL@aol.com Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter 17 DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter 17 by Donny Mumford Robby and Dodger were just called into the back yard by their dad. The welcome home party's beginning in earnest so the Dickers' boys need to greet relatives and neighbors who are just arriving. Chubby, Connor, Vinnie, Cory, Seth and I slip back inside the pool house. Standing around the beer keg, Connor and Vinnie are commiserating about the wild time they had last night with Dodger and his stoner friends. Cory's huddling with them, fitting in nicely. He's come so far in the sociability department that I can hardly believe it, but it makes me feel good all over seeing him adjusting so well. Chubby's pouring himself a beer, then he glances at Seth who's looking serious as he tries saying something to me. Grinning and winking at me, Chubby joins the guys around the keg, asking, "Stoners, what about stoners?" Cory, Connor and Vinnie all talk at once telling Chubby about their adventure last night. Seth's sitting next to me near the side door glancing at the other guys who are yelling and yucking it up. Looking back at me, Seth blushes because, from what he started to say, it sounds to me like he's trying to ask me if we can 'do it'. He won't say the word 'fuck', but he wants to do it. Speaking of gay sex, Robby and I, twenty minutes ago finished an ultra hot fuck behind the pool house. Outdoor, extemporaneous sex is so fucking cool! Robby's been deliciously 'in charge' since picking me up at my condo an hour or so ago. I swear it's like I almost pee my pants when he gets his confidence going like he did on the ride over here. He told me in an unpretentious, almost innocent manner that he 'expects' me to come home next weekend when he needs to attend a planning meeting for the family's business. Robby didn't ask me, he said he 'expects' me to go with him. And, you know what... as his true love boyfriend and fiancé, I should be 'expected' to go with him and offer any support I can. After all he's preparing for our future's financial stability as any respectable head of the household would. Oh my God, I love the way he handled that. Ironically, earlier in the afternoon Dodger informed me of the dire concerns he has about Robby's and my long term relationship. For one thing he claimed Robby and I are headed for a breakup because we're living under false pretenses. The major false pretense being that Robby's in charge of our relationship. There's usually one partner in any relationship who's a little more adapt at leading, and for us it's Robby. Dodger said he knows his brother better than anyone and strongly feels Robby simply isn't the dominant, take-charge type. He feels Robby's pretending to be that way because he knows that's what I want, but no way can he pull it off long range because it's just not Robby's nature. Dodger loves his brother, who he feels is basically a shy sweet guy, but not dominant and in-charge. After listening to Dodger I at first thought he might have something there, although mostly I doubted it. Then, during the last hour and a half I've concluded Dodger's flat out wrong. At least about the part where Robby isn't really 'in charge'. I certainly agree that Robby has a shy and sweet nature, and that he was pretending to be in charge at first, but that's evolved into reality now. He's grown into the head of our household position, and he acts like it for real. He's not pretending any longer. People grow and mature; that's not unheard of. It's been a long process for Robby, but I witnessed his growth of confidence first hand so I know what I'm talking about. The fact of the matter is I've known Robby better than Dodger has for at least the last one to two years, and so Dodger's knowledge of his brother is out of date. That being said, there are other things worrying Dodger about Robby's and my relationship that might warrant further consideration, but the part about Robby faking his confident 'in-charge' posture is wrong. Actually one of the reasons I'm feeling especially good about Robby's and my sex together lately is because our sex happens naturally without any 'pretending' involved. He wasn't thinking about what he should say or do to please me, he knows how to do that. Something new too: I still have some submissive feeling for Robby even now after the sex. Lingering submissiveness is a good sign, that's if you're a basic submissive like me and you truly love and trust your partner like I love and trust Robby. I'm thinking about calling him Rob from now on because 'Robby' sounds too childish for 'my man'. Ha ha, ha! Yes, it might be corny, but that's how I feel about him more and more, and it makes me happy... 'my man'. It's a small thing, but calling Robby 'Rob' feels right to me... it's symbolic. With a feeling of contentment in my head, I'm grinning at Seth who's blushing and trying to get the words out suggesting we have sex together. All I can do is grin at him and try not to embarrass him as I wait for him to say what he's trying to say. His eyes averted, he's like, "Um, do you think, ah, if there's something that could occur, ah, ya know, something works out and we have an opportunity that we could, um, you know?" Rubbing my fingers through his hair, feeling how silky and dense it is, I go, "Was that a question, Seth?" Then I grin at him to show I'm kidding. He grins back muttering, "I suck at this so bad! Jeez!" Trying to change the subject, I go, "No you don't suck at anything, you're awesome. Ya know, you have the sexiest head of hair of anyone I've ever known. It'd be a fucking crime if you joined the Army and they cut it all off. That'd be unfortunate." He goes, "There's no chance of that happening. I don't have the balls to join the military." I mutter, "I'm glad to hear that," and he nods, mumbling, "Ah, could we, you know?" I grimace, feeling uncomfortable about saying 'no' to him. Finally I mutter, "Yeah, Seth, but oh man, it'll be kinda tough tonight. If there were a larger crowd we could sneak away unnoticed, but there's only eight of us guys and we'd be missed. Hey, how are you and Jackie Bradley getting along?" Seth shrugs, "Jackie's okay, but neither of us has had the nerve so far to ask the other to actually do it." I ask, "Do you think he's hot? I mean would you like to screw him?" He takes a deep breathe, shrugging again, "No, he's not especially hot. Um, yet, yeah, I guess I'd like to do it with him. He's an okay-looking guy, but we have nothing else in common except we're gay." I tell him, "That's all you need in common. Ya know, if you're interested in being fuck buddies. You two can get your rocks off and then joke around together. It doesn't need to be more than that." He shakes his head, "Nah, I can't do that. Lately it's like I want to have feelings for the guy before I have sex with him, and after two dates with Jackie I don't 'feel' anything special. He's nice enough, like I said, but when it comes right down to it I guess there's no real sexual attraction." Hmmm, it's my turn to shrug, as I mumble, "Well, there's gotta at least be sexual attraction or you'd just be going through the motions I guess. Jeez, Seth, have you tried getting a date with others from your, ah, matchmaking group. I guess that's what it's called?" He shakes his head, looks down, and mutters, "Nah, I pretty much just think about you." Oh fuck! This is breaking my heart. Rubbing his shoulder, I mutter, "Oh, I am sorry, Seth. I should never have led you on without explaining myself completely. I'm, ah, too promiscuous. It's like I assume my idea of buddy sex is the same as yours, or yours is the same as mine... um, whatever. You know, it's like we have buddy sex because we're friends, but without commitment beyond being good friends. That's maybe not how you saw it though. I'm, ah..." He holds his hand up, "No, Dylan, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault I fell in, um, fell for you. I knew full well that you and Robby have been boyfriends for years and you've always called our sexy messing around buddy sex. Always! It's pathetic me to hope it was more than that. It's dumb, I know." We sit silently for a minute looking at and listening to the other guys laughing at something. Then, scratching my head, I mutter, "Seth, what would you like me to do?" He goes, "I don't know. I've got to grow-up and stop pretending you and me having buddy sex will ever be more than that. I don't know anything, anymore, Dylan." Fuck! I feel so bad for him, and this is my fault! All my screwing around was bound to hurt someone. My motto, one of them anyway, is 'go for it as long as you're not hurting anyone, or yourself'. That's a bunch of bullshit because how do I know I'm not gonna hurt someone, like this wonderful kid here. I can't read anyone's mind. Seth's had a lot of disappointment and hurt in his life and the last thing he needs is for me adding to it. Hugging Seth, who's limp in my arms, I murmur, "I'm so sorry, Seth. I should have seen how, um, sensitive you are about us. It was staring me in the face, but I just didn't take it serious enough." The truth is, and I swear to God it's true, I wanted to help Seth by having buddy sex with him, not cause him heartache. I thought I was helping him by having buddy sex with him as someone he likes and someone his age, as opposed to those older anonymous one-night stand guys he's had in the past. The last thing I intended was to break his heart. He clutches me now, murmuring, "I love you." Oh man! This bites! So, trying to sound upbeat, I go, "Hey, how about coming over for a haircut tomorrow. Like old times, okay?" He nods his head against my shoulder, "Okay, sure, I'd love that, Dylan." I'm like, "Yeah, we'll look forward to tomorrow and lets have a good time tonight." Yeah sure, not that I have a fucking clue what the right thing to do tomorrow might be. Seth nods his head pulling away and rubbing his eyes with his forearm, chuckling, "Jesus, I can act like such an jackass sometimes. Sorry, Dylan." Then he rubs his hair trying to grin, his eyes wet, "I'll give you the privilege of cutting my sexy head of hair, um, for free." I chuckle, and mutter, "Okay, good! Let's say you come over around one o'clock, is that okay?" He nods, mumbling, "You know I'll be there. Jeez, Dylan, how do you keep from laughing in my face at how pathetic I am?" Getting a little tired of the pity card Seth's playing, I quietly say, "I love you as a friend, Seth, but stop putting yourself down all the time, it gets tiresome. I admire you and, fuck, you've got to be proud of your accomplishments. Concentrate on that a little more. As I've told you before, there's no way I could have done the things you've managed to do on your own, and do admirably. I'm proud of you." He nods his head, mumbling, "Thanks." We're quiet for another minute. Then I ask, "Did you and Cory, um, get to talk much last night at least?" He thinks about that, then looks over at Cory, saying to me, "Um, yeah, we talked some. He's a very nice quiet guy. He asked me not to smoke though and I thought that was weird." I explain why smoking is bad around Cory, "Cystic fibrosis effects the lungs and cigarette smoke isn't good for anyone's lungs, but it's much worse if they have CF." Hmmm, maybe I'll quit this smoking habit myself even before I graduate. Music starts up so all of us in the pool house drift out to see what's happening. Dodger and Robby have now said their 'hellos' to relatives, so they rejoin our group. The eight of us walk over and grab a round table for eight. We sit here, music playing in the background, with us drinking and talking. Dodger says, "The food will be coming out shortly so lets own this fucking table. Eating with a plate of food on my lap is too much like something we did at basic. Right, Connor?" Connor nods his head, saying, "Yeah, those overnight training drills sucked. Eating off a paper plate, no table or chairs, just sitting on the ground with an overflowing paper plate of heavy foods, all mixing together, on your lap." Dodger says, "Yeah, and then doing it while it's raining! That's a fucking trip and a half. I could tell you civilian boys some stories..." Then the Army boys do tell us tales involving the food they received during basic and the conditions they endured at times trying to eat. That leads to other stories of basic training, stories that sound alien to us home boys. Dodger says, "Lots of high calorie foods too, gravies on almost everything. Recruits burn off lots of calories every day." The more stories I hear about their army experiences the more sure I am that nothing could tempt me to join the military. And then there's that small matter of a war going on someplace in the world at all times to consider too. It's funny, but there's something I've noticed I do and most guys I know do it too. When we're in a group of guys we say 'fuck' much more often than we do when not in a group. With nothing but guys as far as the eyes can see I can only imagine the number of 'F' bombs that get dropped each day during basic training. Anyway, this war situation is both puzzling and scary, so I ask, "During basic training was there any discussion about humans getting themselves involved in an awful lot of wars.?" Dodger mutters, "Fuck no. The sergeants don't get too philosophical with us recruits. It's just do this, and hurry the fuck up about it. That's pretty much it." Connor mutters, "Yep, hurry the fuck up, and then wait. That's basic training: hurrying and then waiting." Vinnie says, "I've read studies online about war. Studies done recently about humans and their propensity for warfare and this one study was conducted with current so-called primitive tribal societies. These particular primitive tribes live by hunting and foraging. The study determined that war is an alien concept to these people and definitely not an innate feature of so-called primitives. They don't even have a word for war" I ask Vinnie, "How come you can talk intelligently at times, Vinnie, and other times you talk like, um, a high school drop out?" Dodger says, "What the fuck, Dylan, he's selective who he shows his brainiac side to. Right Vinnie?" Vinnie shrugs, mumbling, "I don't know," and Chubby asks, "Okay, Vinnie, so why is there always a war going on someplace in the world? I mean, if that study claims it's an alien concept to these so-called primitive tribes?" Dodger pokes his finger at Vinnie's chest, "Yeah, what's up with that, mister brains?" Vinnie frowns, "Don't call me names, Dodger." Dodger goes, "Sure, Vinnie, but why are there so many wars?" We're all looking at Vinnie like he's got the answers, and he appears to be liking the attention. He pontificates, "Well, as you probably know, war was unheard of before the advent of agriculture just like it is for these tribes of hunters and foragers in the study." Dodger's like, "Um, no, Vinnie! You're the only one here, including adults, who knew the agriculture connection with war." Vinnie's surprised. He looks at Dodger, "Oh, really?" and then he goes on like he was never interrupted, "After the advent of agriculture, there's..." Dodger interrupts again, makes a face mimicking Vinnie saying, "Advent," as if it's a strange choice of words. Frowning now, Vinnie says, "Um, yeah, advent, which is to say after humans began farming about five or six thousand years ago. That's when wars began appearing on the landscape. It's been generally accepted that war's an evolutionary and ancient predisposition human's inherited in their generic makeup. That's like from as long ago as seven million years, which takes human evolution back to when we shared a common ancestry with chimpanzees, who also waged war between themselves." Cory goes, "No offense, Vinnie, but how do you know all this, again?" Dodger gives Vinnie's shoulders a hug, saying, "He's smart, Cory, and he reads about stuff like this. That's how he knows." Robby looks at me, questioning, "Vinnie's smart? I didn't know that." I go, "That what I hear," and Dodger says, "Straight 'A's, right Vinnie? He's my brainiac friend. Everyone should have one. I memorize some of the smart shit he says and then spout it out and people think I'm fucking smart too." Vinnie shrugs, "I know this stuff because I read up on this shit, like I said. I did it because Dodger might be going to a war. Don't you guys wonder why we have all these fucking wars." Chubby's exasperated, "Fer chrissakes! Yeah, Vinnie, that's what started this whole fucking discussion, ya nut, but you're talking in fuckin' circles, dude. If humans are predisposed to aggression, why aren't the hunters and foragers the same way? Which is it, do humans have an inherent predisposition for war, or not?" He goes, "Fuck if I know. I'm trying to tell you there's too many conflicting theories for me to form a conclusion. Human predisposition for war was ingrained in their generic make-up, but didn't show itself until agriculture emerged on the scene, which led to societies. Then reasons for war developed. The prevalent reasons, since recorded history back thousands of years anyway, generally include either a competition for resources, religion, political beliefs, or oppression. There are other reasons too, but it's generally agreed these are the main five." Dodger asks, "Is this shit gonna be on the test?" We're chuckling as we all refill our cups with light beer and then back at the table, Chubby elevates the discord, "Have any of you toads ever thought what the monumental coincidence of Lou Gehrig dying of Lou Gehrig's disease?" I go, "It's no odder than Tommy John requiring Tommy John surgery on his elbow." Chubby grins at me, mumbling, "Good one, bro," and Vinnie says, "Speaking of idiotic topics, have you guys read about the 2013 Darwin awards?" Connor asks, "What the fuck are they, Vinnie?" He goes, "They're true stories of mind-numbingly stupid behavior of human beings during the past year. Like in Detroit when a man got stuck and drowned in two feet of water after squeezing head-first through an eighteen-inch-wide sewer grate to retrieve his car keys." I go, "Hope he at least got his keys." Cory asks, "What's another one, Vinnie?" "How about this dude named, Santiago Alvarado. He got himself killed when he fell through the ceiling of a shop he was trying to burglarize. Death was caused when the long flashlight he had in his mouth, ya know, so he's hands would be free, rammed through his mouth into the base of his skull when he hit the floor." Robby snickers, "That must have left a mark. Are these fucking stories for real?" Vinnie says, "I read about them on Google," and Chubby goes, "Can't argue with Google." Vinnie, still enjoying being the center of attention, goes, "Lets see... hmm, oh yeah, I got another one. There are ten nominees for dumbest act by a human during the past year and this was the third dumbest. Two inebriated numbskulls, a husband and wife, were bored one night so they went driving around their neighborhood at two o'clock in the morning. Mr. and Mrs, Stiller were the dummies in question. For shit's and giggles they lit a quarter stick of dynamite to toss out the window and scare the shit out of their neighbors except the window was up. The dynamite bounced off the window and exploded in the car, kaboom!" Two guys mumble, "Bullshit alert," and Vinnie yells, "Check it out on Google!" Then he calms down, to say, "The stupidest award however went to a zookeeper, Friedrich Riesfeldt, from Paderborn, Germany." Chubby goes, "How can you remember all this shit? You're not making it all up, are you?" Vinnie goes, "Uh uh, Chubby. I read this stuff and it stuck with me. This Friedrich dufus fed an elephant he was doctoring twenty-two doses of a strong animal laxative and more than a bushel of berries, figs and prunes. He was trying to give the plugged-up pachyderm relief from the animal's long-term constipation problem. Finally the ill-fated Friedrich was attempting to give the ailing elephant an olive oil enema when the beast unloaded a shit storm. The sheer force of the elephant's unexpected defecation knocked the man to the ground where he struck his head on a rock. Two hundred pounds of elephant shit buried him." Cory asks, "Did he live?" Vinnie shakes his head, "Nah, he was buried in shit and suffocated." Dodger says, "At least those dumb fuck's aren't part of the gene pool any longer." Mr. Dickers yells, "Food's ready, folks," and we all wander over to get in line. I ask Vinnie, "Are those Darwin awards for real?" He say, "Yep, Google it if you don't believe me. Lots of informative stuff there." I mumble, "No shit." There's a bottle neck at the buffet line with the more aggressive diners managing to make their way to the head of the line. I don't care if I eat now or twenty minutes from now so I'm near the end of the twenty-five guests in line. Non aggressive Vinnie's behind me. I ask him, "How much surfing the web do you do?" He says, "Oh man, I get going and before I know it two hours has gone by. Ya know, a puzzling thing I noticed on sites dedicated to supposedly true funny stories, like the Darwin awards. True stories that happened to everyday people. They share what they think are funny situations that happened to them online and people post comments. Fuck, most of these supposedly funny stories I frown at, never mind laugh. Totally unfunny shit that some idiot thinks is hysterically funny. Then the comments left by others with some claiming the incident was so funny they couldn't catch their breath from laughing. I'm like, what the fuck? That's not a funny situation, it's boring" I nod my head, "Huh. Well I don't surf the web much, but there's things that happening every day that make me go, what the fuck? Ya gotta understand there are more than five billion people on this planet and a lot of them aren't too smart. I mean the average IQ is 100... the highest IQ ever tested was 228. So there has to be a lot of people with IQs under 100 if that's the average." Vinnie goes, "IQ tests only test how well you take IQ tests. But whatever their validity, humans aren't testing as well as they did a hundred years ago. The average IQ has dropped over 14 points in the past century." I mumble, "Really? Balls, I'm feeling dumber by the second." A middle age woman behind us is saying something to another woman, but all we hear is, "She got a goat and all I get is a duck. I mean, where's the fucking justice?" Vinnie and I exchange frowns about that, and then we're at the buffet table. The Dickers do nice cookouts. Many tasty foods to choose from, all homemade by the Dickers and their neighbors. Sort of a pot luck deal. I assume relatives bring dishes too although I don't know who's a relative and who's a neighbor. I know one thing, Robby's obnoxious cousin isn't here. Don't remember his name from the going away party, but I'm not missing that guy. Robby put the asshole in his place, so I guess his cousin took the hint. Now, what do I wanna try from this smorgasbord in front of me? I take two pieces of fried chicken, two slices of beef tenderloin, mac and cheese, creamy cole slaw, two halves of deviled eggs, cold three bean salad, and three barbecue spare ribs. Everything is hot that's suppose to be hot, and cold that's suppose to be cold. What more can you ask. My plate's piled fairly high, but it's one of the smallest plates at our table. There's limited talking as we eat, except about the food, which gets very good reviews. Then the neighbors and relative surprise us by proposing numerous toasts to the Army boys during dinner. That's nice. When the mood hits them, the adults take turns holding up their drink glasses and making a toast. The guys at our table hold up our beer cups muttering, "Hear, hear." It's corny, but we do it smirking so that makes it okay. Somebody puts on a CD that was made of the band's patriotic medley at the going away party, so that's playing in the background and it's lively and fun. No one's fighting yet, so that's another good too we got going for us. One of the relatives, a very thin tall man stands up with a cocktail glass containing a dark amber substance and gives a toast to Dodger and Cory, mixing-up Cory and Connor's names, and getting a few chuckles from us. Connor grins, "Jeez, I can't get no fucking respect from this crowd," and Cory asks jokingly, "Isn't that nice of that man to toast me." The same slightly inebriated guys stands up again, this time saying, "I meant Connor," which the people at the adult tables thinks is a laugh riot. They're all braying laughter with guys patting the guy on the back making us think... what the fuck? Vinnie says to me, "See what I mean?" referring to his surfing of unfunny comments that some people found hilarious. Humor is an illusive concept and obviously not understood by everyone in the same way. As we're finishing up our plates, Seth says, "I had a weird dream last night. It's like my bellybutton was a Philip's head screw and I'm slowly unscrewing it. When I finally get it out, my dick falls off and I'm staggering around outside someplace with my dick in my hand. Then a fucking bird flies down and carries my dick off in it's beak. Whaddaya think the dream means?" We all make faces at him, then Chubby says, "The Sopranos! It means you stole that from Tony Soprano's dream." Seth says, "I did not. Tony and I apparently had the same dream, that's all." We chuckle as Vinnie's mumbling, "Plagiarist." Remembering my gifts for the Army boys, I pull the gift boxes from my cargo pants, saying, "Dodger and Connor, so you don't forget us here back home we got you a little welcome home present to take back with you. Wear it and remember us civilian boys." Dodger grins, "A gift! You hot shit's!" Chubby says, "It's from Dylan. The rest of us are too cheap to buy you a welcome home gift. Think of Dylan when you wear that thing." I go, "It's from us roommates." Dodger's ripping off the paper, mumbling, "I'm hoping it's money in big denominations." Connor yells, "Dodger! What an asshole you are." Huh, Connor showing some spunk. As Dodger puts the bracelet on, he says, "Connor's trying to teach me manners... heh heh, that's a big job. Thank's, Dylan, you're awesome. I love it." Connor's choked up as I pat his back with him murmuring, "Thank you, Dylan." All the guys are nice, making a big fuss over the leather bracelets. Connor holds up his wrist, saying, "This is so cool, it's just like yours, Dylan." I'm like, "Not really?" The army boys seem touched. I'm glad I decided on the bracelets. Connor's giving me this adoring look, mouthing, 'I love it'. Chubby tells some bullshit story about how he was going to get them something except he knew they'd be embarrassed so he thoughtfully spared them the embarrassment. To get off the topic of the welcome home gifts, I ask Cory if he wants another beer, and he goes, "Hey, thanks, Dylan. I'm gonna get some more ribs and potato salads too. It's killer potato salad." Robby nods his head toward the pool house. He, me, and Chubby walk there lighting cigarettes as we go. Chubby says, "I should hangout with Cory all the time. It'd cut down on my smoking significantly." We draw beers from the keg and smoke our cigarettes. Chubby goes, "Any of you guys notice that this year's freshman on campus dress like they're either going to workout or go camping. Are we behind on the styles?" Robby says, "I don't care if we are, but I know what you mean. There are a few freshman out there with their pajama styles that look stupid. I'm sticking with sweats and sneakers. I'll put on jeans when I wanna dress up for a party or something." Vinnie comes in lighting a cigarette, asking Dodger, "Why the fuck did ya sneak away from me, Dodger?" Dodger wraps Vinnie in his arms and gives him a kiss. Chubby asks, "Am I the only straight guy here?" Dodger's like, "I don't know, Chub, are you?" We smoke and drink in the pool house breaking each other's balls until we hear a rumbling sound from someone's stomach, followed by the unmistakable sound of a long fart, and then the gaseous odor. Everyone laughs because farts are funny, then everyone yells, "It wasn't me!" Vinnie's waving his hand at his ass trying to propel the fart towards us, saying, "Yeah, it was me, awww. First you heard the borborygmus, then the fart, and lastly your olfactory glands picked up the unmistakable smell of a well deserved sulfur fart. It's the cabbage in the fucking cole slaw." Robby says, "Can you turn him off, Dodger? And what the fuck is a borbotygus, or whatever he said?" Vinnie goes, "It's a rumbling in your intestines that people call 'your stomach growling'." Dodger puts his hand over Vinnie's mouth, muttering, "Down, Vinnie! No more intellectual bullshit. Be your normal fucking lovable clueless self, dude." I ask, "How many deviled eggs did you eat, Vinnie?" He goes, "Seven, why?" I mumble, "The kid eats seven fucking deviled eggs and he blames his fart on the cole slaw." Another little squeak of a fart from Vinnie gets everyone laughing and bitching again. Then Seth comes in, and asks, "Who farted?" More chuckles, then a grinning Seth, goes, "What's everyone up to?" Before anyone says anything, he notices we're smoking, and asks, "Dylan, can I borrow number four?" I give him a cigarette saying, "Don't keep count, Seth," then I pour a cup of beer for Cory and take it outside, mumbling, "I need some fresh air," when it's actually that I feel bad everyone's sneaking away from Cory to smoke cigarettes. Cory's still at our table along with Connor. They're finishing up their second plate of ribs discussing something, but they abruptly stop talking about when I put Cory's cup of beer down in front of him and sit myself down. Connor says, "I'm gonna get another cup of beer too." I go, "Oh man, I would have gotten you a cup." He says, "No problem, I'll be right back." Cory watches him walk away, then says to me," Um, Connor and I have been emailing all through his basic training. You knew that, right?" I nod my head, and he says, "Well, we were just talking and, um, we might want to see if we, ah, are compatible in, you know, bed. The problem is we don't have the bed necessary to see, um, if we're compatible, or whatever." I go, "How about my bed? I'll bunk in with my brother." He's looking down, mumbling, "We knew you'd offer, but we can't kick you out of your own bed. If my mom still had the apartment..." and he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do? I say, "You'll sleep in my bed tonight. It's settled. Did you get much of a chance to talk with Seth last night?" Matchmaking is proving to be more difficult than I expected, but I'd love to get a couple of the shy gay guys together once and for all. Especially Seth considering the crush he has on me. That'd go a long way towards relieving my guilty conscience. Cory says, "Seth's hot and he's really cute, but there's an edge to him that, ha ha, kind of scared me off. I think he resented me asking him not to smoke." I go, "Oh fuck, yeah. I know Seth's a little defensive at first, but just until he feels comfortable with you. He was the same way with me at first too, but he's really a sweet guy under that hard-ass facade. And you should have told him you have CF. He'd understand why smoking around you isn't healthy for you." Cory shrugs, "He sure as hell isn't defensive around you anymore. He said he's, um, in love with you. Heh heh, I told him I think I am too." Cory's face gets dark red as he mutters, "Whew, it's hot out here. Those outdoor fireplaces really put off some heat!" I grin at him, muttering, "You're awesome, Cory. Hey, you of all people should know all about having an edge when you first meet someone." He nods, "Yeah, I acted like a total dipshit when I first met you. Sorry about that... boy was I wrong about you." Before I can say anything about that, Connor is back, asking, "Do you guys know how killer whales kill sharks?" I go, "Chubby's spouting factoids again, huh? Yeah, the killer whale torpedoes up from below a shark exploding the shark's stomach. That's an old one, so I guess Chubby's recycling them for a new audience." Connor grins, "That's the right answer, Dylan, but heh heh, any chance you could have pretended you didn't know the answer to that?" He's grinning, adding, "Ya know, so I'd get to impress Cory." I go, "My bad," as Cory says, "I'm already impressed, Connor. Um, ah, Dylan says we can sleep over his place tonight, if you still want to try, you know." Connor asks, "All three of us in that twin bed? Cool!" and I say, "No, ya nut. You two take the bed, it's too small for three. I'll sleep with my brother. No big deal." They exchange looks, then Connor asks, "Will it be okay with your mom?" I laugh, "Of course! Mom asked me to invite you guys to Sunday brunch anyway. Sleeping over makes it more convenient." Both guys try not to grin, as they mutter, "Oh, okay if you insist, thanks, Dylan," then Connor says, "You're awesome, Dylan. We were driving Rob crazy this afternoon, weren't we Cory?" I ask, "How so?" and he goes, "Seth, Cory, and I were outdoing each other saying how awesome you are." I go, "Oh, Rob's used to hearing that. Everyone thinks I'm awesome." We all chuckle with Cory mumbling, "Everyone's right too." This is awkward, so I change the subject, "Anyone want more food?" Shrugs from the two of them, then Cory says, "What the hell, I'm stuffed but I could force a couple more ribs down." Connor, Cory, and I get up and head for the buffet. The noise level has noticeably increased, and it's mostly the adult types responsible for the increase. They outnumber us guys more than two to one. Many of the neighbors and relatives have been making quite a dent in the hard liquor bar set up behind their two tables and the decibel level has increased about the same level the booze at the bar has decreased. Us underage guys are drinking only light beer so the so-called grown-ups are getting higher from the booze than we are. The medley of patriotic songs has been replaced with a 'Counting Crows' CD so me and Connor sing along with the line, 'Round here we stay up, very, very, very, very late', as we're waiting our turn at the buffet. A few adults are ahead of us and the heaviest woman here is piling a lot of food on her plate holding things up. The man immediately ahead of us, who appears to be in his fifties, turns to us and gets his arm around Connor's shoulders hugging him, while slurring, "We're all proud of your service to our country. It allows us here at home the freedom to have parties like this. God bless you, son." Then an over energetic full body hug with crotches pressed together. Letting go of Connor with one arm, the man is rubbing Connor's sheared head as Connor's face becomes dark red. I gotta wonder if this guy is maybe getting his secret rocks off by fondling my beautiful friend Connor. I go, "Yo!" giving the man a quizzical hard stare. He breaks eye contact with me and says to Connor, "Um, okay, good job, son," and with a last rub of Connor's back he makes a hasty retreat back to his table. He was right ahead of us in line but didn't wait to put anything on his plate. His paper plate is left on the buffet table with left over scraps of food. I pick it up with the tips of my fingers and dump it in the trash wondering what that man's act was all about. Connor, still red-faced, mumbles, "That was weird, huh?" I nod my head and then look over at the back yard gate as seven or eight guys I've never seen before come through the gate glancing around, trying to look cool. Dodger's stoner friends I assume. Connor follows my eyes, then says to Cory, "There's Blade and Hummer!" They both call out, "Hey, dudes," and the stoners head toward the only friendly faces they see here, Connor's and Cory's. They met for the first time last night. There's some fist bumping and one arm hugs, plus lots of, "Dude, wassup?" and then the kid nicknamed 'Blade' asks Connor, "Where's the fuck's my main man?" Connor says, "Dodger? He's in the pool house," and he points to it. Blade nods his head, muttering, "Catch ya later," then he nods at me, mumbling, "How ya doing?" He punches Cory's shoulder lightly, saying, "Hey, yeah, the nonsmoking, dude, right?" All the stoners follow Blade out of the yard and into the pool house. Apparently Blade forgot Cory's name, but remembered him as the non-smoking kid. Connor says to me, "Those guys aren't as bad ass as they look. They're pretty good guys for the most part." I say, "Why do their eyes look glassy and red?" He shrugs, "I don't know, drugs I guess. They were like that last night too." Then he asks Cory, "Was that one preppy dude with us last night?" Cory shakes his head, "Nah, and neither was the tall kid." From the quick look I got of them they all appear to be around eighteen or nineteen years old, and none of them stood out with especially cute looks. The preppy guy Cory mentioned had a sexy kind of arrogance about him that registered with me when he stared right into my eyes. I glanced away rather than ask the normal question: 'What the fuck you looking at?' He didn't seem to be the type person who would take kindly to that question. Now there's a lot of noise coming from the pool house along with boisterous laughter that has the adults looking in that direction. The three of us put some food on our plates and head back to the table. I've got two pieces of fried chicken and some sort of cheesy potato casserole. This food is damn good! The three of us could use another beer, but none of us feels like going into the crowded, raucous pool house to get it. As we eat our third helping, Cory tells me a little about last night, mostly spent in Hummer's parent's basement. He says Hummer's parents are rich, if their house is anything to go by. The parents weren't home of course. The stoners would take turns going in the bathroom to get stoned on crack or whatever, then come back to drink beer and bullshit with the guys. There were three girls with them who seemed like they were spaced out too, but no one was especially violent or acted like bullies. Connor says, "I think there was some fucking going on too. One of the girls and one on the guys would disappear for ten minutes or so. Cory and I minded our own business." I ask, "How'd they treat you two?" and Cory goes, "Good. They were nice to us and even let us in the pool and dart games. Dodger was his usual outgoing self telling funny stories about the trouble they'd all got into over the years." Connor says, "Yeah, most of them went through middle and high school together, but at least three of them are now drop outs." I shrug, "Not the kind of guys I like hanging with, but to each their own." Cory says, "They were okay, kinda funny and fun, weren't they Connor?" He says, "Yeah, they reminded me of some of the guys at basic training. If you're on their good side no problem, but if you're not it can be a problem." Huh, I never knew how wild the guys were that Dodger hung out with. I say, "How about Vinnie?" Connor says, "Dodger treated Vinnie exactly like he does around us." I go, "You mean Dodger kissed him and all that?" Both Cory and Connor go, "Oh yeah," then Cory says, "They know Dodger and Vinnie are boyfriends." What the fuck? I ask, "Dodger's openly gay with those bad asses?" Both guys say, "Yep," and Connor adds, "A few of those guys I think might be gay or bi too. None of them seem to give a shit one way or another. That's what it seemed like to me anyway." I ask, "Did they know you two are gay?" Connor goes, "I don't think so," and Cory chuckles, saying, "That's because when they asked us we lied." They both chuckle again, then Connor says, "Even though, for the most part, they seemed okay I was a little intimidated by them and thought it'd be best to join the majority crowd for the evening. That being the straight guys." Cory goes, "Yeah, but last night was fun too." Connor mumbles, "If you like thrill rides, yeah, it was fun. I didn't know what they might do from one minute to the next, but nothing bad happened to us, so ya know. I'm guessing there were quite a few laws broken in the area of banned substances though." I go, "Lets see what's up in the pool house." We wander in and head right for the keg. After filling our cups Cory looks around and shakes his head, "I gotta go outside. There's too much cigarette smoke in here." I nod my head and look around. There's a lot of animated conversations going on. Dodger and Chubby taking turns telling about the going away party, while two guys I don't know are in a conversation with Robby. I say, "Okay, we got our beer so we'll join you outside, Cory." Outside the pool house Mr. Dickers calls me, waving his hand like I should come to him, so I mutter, "Here, Connor, take my beer. I'll see what he wants and then hook up with you guys." Cory and Connor wonder over near the covered pool and sit near one of the outdoor fireplaces. The neighbors and relatives are yucking it up giving every indication they're having a nice adult time. A few of the woman have had enough to drink that they feel comfortable given in to their secret habit. Four of them are smoking cigarettes in a little cluster on the other side of the buffet table giggling, and I suppose gossiping. Mr. Dickers is talking on his cell phone. When I get to him, he holds the cell phone against his chest, and asks me, "Can you find Rob for me, Dylan? We need to deal with these ass..., er, with some financial backers for our business venture. I need him to take some notes." I go, "Sure thing," and head back to the pool house checking my watch. It's after ten o'clock on a Saturday night, which seems a strange time for a business call. Inside the pool house I wave at Robby, motioning for him to come here. He nods his head, says something to the guys he's talking with, and comes over. "Where ya been, Dylan? You were gonna stick with me tonight. I was just telling Alex over there..." I interrupt, "Excuse me for interrupting, Rob, but your dad's on his cell phone and he asked me to get you." Robby frowns, "Why?" I shrug, "He said it's financial backers or something, and he needs you to take notes I think." Robby gets a concerned look on his face, and says, "Oh, thanks. You sure he said financial backers?" I nod my head, "That's what it sounded like, but it's noisy out there." He makes a face, then says, "I'll catch up with you later." I grin, "Sure thing, mister business man." He forces a grin, rubs my head, and says, "Love ya," and then hurries off. I don't know what the fuck's that's all about. I look around again, wanting a cigarette, so what the fuck, I light one wishing I had my beer with me. Well brainiac, go pour yourself another one. At the keg a guy pokes his finger in my chest, saying, "You must be Dylan, right?" I look at him, and say, "Yeah, how'd you know?" He smirks, "Who else could you be? Here, let me pour you a beer. I wanna talk to you." As he's pouring the beer he looks back at me, asking, "Okay with you if we talk?" I shrug, "Yeah, I guess. What about?" He passes me the cup of beer, saying, "Nothing special," and pours his own beer. He's a stocky kid, but not fat. He looks about my age, an inch or two shorter, but probably outweighs me by twenty pounds. His clothes are kind of preppy although up close I see he has four studs in each ear and his light brown hair, while cut neatly, is spiked on top. The mousse glistens in the lights. Nice facial features without qualifying as cute. He qualifies as nice looking though and in an almost delicate way. There's a lot of contradictory aspects to his appearance actually. The preppy clothes, including a high school football letter jacket, contrasting with the ear studs and moussed, spiked hair. Maybe he's a preppy stoner. He has this thing where he wrinkles his forehead and raising his eyebrows with his eyes open wide like he's constantly surprised about something, or amused. He says, "Come outside for a second," and grips my forearm leading me outside. Naturally I like that approach and Cory told me there's probably two or three gay stoners so lets see if this guy's one of them. Outside he reaches inside his letter jacket and takes out a pint of VO whiskey, saying, "Hi, I'm Tom. Here," and he pours whiskey in my cup of beer. I hate fucking whiskey in my beer! A shot and a beer is called a boilermaker whether the two are drunk separately or the shot is poured into a beer. They're horrible, that's what I know for sure. I go, "Hey, I don't want that shit." He pours some in his, saying, "Drink up," and he drinks a third of his cup of boilermaker while I just look at him, asking, "Whaddaya want, Tom?" He burps, then laughs, and says, "I wanna talk to you. Come on over here. It's too fucking smoking inside," and he incongruously lights a cigarette. No, it's not a cigarette, it's a joint. I go, "Yo, what the fuck? Rob's old man will shit if he smells marijuana out here." Tom says, "Okay, walk down the driveway with me. I don't want to get Rob in trouble. He's your boyfriend, right?" I go, "Yeah," and he says, "You guys are way good looking. Wow, how come I'm stuck with guys like Blade? That blows, ya know?" I shrug, "Blade seemed alright," and Tom blows marijuana smoke in my face, saying, "Drink your fucking beer. You'll like it," and he gives me the cutest grin while licking his lips. He's like playfully funny and relaxed, but he never stops staring at me. Even in the semi-dark his pupils are very dilated. It's an interesting look. To do something, I drink some whiskey-infused beer and make a face. He laugh, holding his joint to my lips. Not wanting him to think I'm a dork, I take a drag off the wet end of the joint feeling my dick move for the first time in two hours or so. Tom's got that confident thing going for him, and he's sexy. As I exhale the smoke, Tom says, "You're cool so I thought I'd make a business proposition to you. Everyone seems to hold you in high regard so you're the perfect guy for what I need." I ask, "What the fuck you talking about, Tom?" He says, "Snow, blow, cocaine, drugs. You know the drill, ecstasy, crack, whatever the fuck you want." I snort, "Oh, that shit. No offense, but no thanks. I'm not into that." He says, "That's no problem, it's perfect actually. You're not a crack head, but lots of your fellow college students are into some form of recreational drugs. Amylnitrite, you know, poppers or amphetamines like speed or black beauties, whatever. Oh, how about Ritalin? Lots of ADHD going around on college campuses. Big money to be made, Dylan, and a kid with your looks and personality wouldn't attract any unwanted attention from the authorities. Baby faced drug lord, ya know." I shake my head, then say, "Oh fuck, I left my gun at home." He laughs and drinks more of the beer and I find I'm drinking mine too. Ghastly taste, especially after drinking light beer all night. Tom puts his arm across my shoulders and hugs me, saying, "I'll start you out with just pot, okay? Build up a cliental and we'll add crack, which is the affordable high. Cocaine is the rich man's drug, but I can supply you with it if you need it. Do not go around blabbing that you're 'dealing' though. I'll come up and walk you through the way to do it for a couple of days." I laugh out loud, "You're delusional, Tom. I'm the last person you'd want selling drugs at Merrimack. I don't use them, don't know anyone who does, and don't know anything about illegal drugs, and furthermore I don't want anything to do with them. If you must, come to the campus and recruit someone to deal drugs who I don't know. Count me out though, dude. Fuck, how much plainer can I make it." He says, "Okay, lets say, if you could make a million buck this semester, and be certain no one would get in trouble, would you do it?" I go, "A million dollars? I don't know," and he says, "So you're saying, 'maybe'." He laughs and hugs my shoulders again holding his joint to my lips again and I again inhale from his joint. As I exhale my body feels relaxed and nice. Tom taps his beer cup to mine, saying, "To you, Dylan," and we both chug the rest of our beer. As I hold my breath feeling I might vomit, he rubs my hair, asking, "What kind of a fucked-up hair style do you call this?"He keeps a handful of longer hairs from the middle of my head in his fist and shakes my head, then says, "Here, take another hit off this fucker." The joint's at my lips again with Tom still holding a fistful of my hair, his face so close to mine his nose is poking my cheek. "Drag deeply and hold it. Then exhale it into my mouth." I lean against his firm body and inhale off the joint, "Hold it," he says,"then he mutters, "Exhale now," and his lips cover mine as I exhale feeling my cock get hard. Tom inhales my exhale, one of his legs between mine pressing on my hardening cock. With the fistful of my hair he pulls my head back, then pulls my face against his again, his lips on mine as I inhale the twice exhaled drag off his joint. His lips kiss mine and it feels so good and totally sexy. Then I choke into his mouth, the smoke escaping out the sides of my lips. He pulls my head back, then forward with his face close to mine again, "You taste good. Here one more hit." The joint goes to my lips, I'm dizzy but feeling really good as I inhale and hold it in my lungs looking at him. He grins, asking, "You wanna do it again, huh?" and he lips cover mine and as I exhale. This time his tongue drags along mine as my arms go around him and I moan into his mouth, "Oooh, mmmm." Tom says, "Come on," and he lets go of my hair to put his arm around the back of my neck holding our bodies tightly together. I can't feel my lips and part of my face is numb. My eyes are heavy and my heart's racing, but I feel fabulous. "We'll get in my truck and finish this bitch off there. This is high grade pot laced with a little crack. It's awesome shit you'll have guys spending their meal money to get again and again." He pushes me up against a new, black Toyota pickup truck. Holding the joint away from us Tom leans his body against mine and kisses me humping into my crotch. My lips and face are already losing the numbness as I kiss back hungrily, our tongues licking together. Then the joints at my lips again, saliva running down my cheek, "A deep drag this time, Dylan, we'll share it again." He rubs the palm of his hand up my forehead and over the top of my head, murmuring, "Deeper, really suck on this shit." I take a deep drag and hold it, my head lulling around and then Tom's lips are on mine again as I squirm against him with my lips going numb again. My hands are rubbing his body and up into his moussed hair getting my fingers sticky with the mousse. He finishes the kiss, takes a last drag off the half inch roach and flicks it away, saying, "Get in the fucking truck," as he hits the automatic key and a click is heard as the doors unlock. I grin at him and he grins back, murmuring, "You're the sexiest guy I've ever seen anywhere, cute too. How the fuck old are you?" For some reason that seems funny, so I laugh, "I'm fucking twenty, whaddaya think, Tom?" He's pushing me up into the passenger seat, mumbling, "You look about seventeen," which makes me giggle, "Seventeen? What the fuck, are you on drugs, dude?" and more laughing. Inside he sits next to me in the passenger seat, saying, "The high will wear off in ten or fifteen minutes. At least to the degree you can function. "I laugh, and say, "Function, hee hee." He chuckles, "So you never did crack laced pot before, huh? I'll bet you never had cannabis as pure as this shit either. It makes a damn good woobie." I go, "Woobie? Is that like whoopee?" He chuckles, "No man, a woobie is pot laced with crack. I don't mix in a lot of it though. You're not feeling sick, are you?" I mutter, "Sick, my ass. I feel good, but confused. Who's truck is this?" He goes, "It's mine of course. See, I was telling you the truth about the joint." He puts both windows down, and goes, "Shhhh, okay?" I sit here, half leaning on him for a minute, then say, "Lets get another fucking beer," and he's like, "Wait a couple of minutes, Dylan, I don't want you to ruin your image staggering around like you're shit faced. This will wear off in a few minutes. Lay your head back and enjoy the ride." He gets his arm behind my neck and cradles me against him with my head on his shoulder. This is nice in a weird kind of way. The side of his chin rest against my chin so I move my head and lean over to kiss him again. He gives me a wet kiss, then moves around on the seat, almost facing me, and we do a long wet kiss with our tongues moving together and me moaning, "Mmmm, oooh, mmm." his hand pokes at my crotch, then grabs my cock and one nut to gently massage them. I suck on his mouth and lick his chin as Tom lets go of my nut but continues squeezing my hard cock. Now he's pulling my zipper down and grabbing my bare cock to stroke it. I'm plastered against him moaning quietly, the side of my face against his. I moan in his ear, "Fuck me, Tom, mmm, fuck me." Tom gets a finger under my chin lifting my head so I'm looking into his eyes. He quietly says, "I'd love to fuck you, Dylan, it would be my pleasure, but I won't do it when you're high and not in complete control of all your, um, brain power." I'm bucking my hips so he lets go on my boner, saying, "Calm down, Dylan, relax and concentrate on your high." Then he hugs me and rocks me back and forth. Two minutes of almost hypnotically slow rocking and I'm limp against him slowly coming down off this drug induced high. It's definitely something I've never experienced before, not even that time in the House Of Blues. My hand plays with Tom's moussed hair and I do little kisses on the side of his neck as he slowly rocks us back and forth. Music from the backyard begins entering my head now as my mind begins clearing. I'm blinking my eyes, then lifting my head to look at Tom. "Um, whoa, that was a weird trip." He smiles, "Did you hallucinate?" I shake my head, 'no' and he says, "Good, it wasn't too strong for you then. How'd you like the high?" I ask, "I don't know, um, how long have we been in this truck?" He goes, "Maybe ten or twelve minutes. You okay?" Dropping my head to his shoulder again, I murmur, "Yeah, I'm okay," as I think, 'he feels good' and I snuggle in against him realizing I'm not quite myself yet. He runs his fingers through my hair, mumbling, "You never told me what this fucked-up haircut of yours is supposed to be." I mumble, "It's a mistake," and he chuckles, "Ya think?" Coming down faster now, I'm soon thinking a lot clearer but maybe not as clear as I can think. I don't feel sick or confused anymore and nothing's numb on my face, but now I'm beginning to feel stupid hanging all over this stranger. I sit up abruptly and lean back against the seat. Tom looks over, and asks, "Ya want that beer now?" I nod my head and he says, "You sit here. I'll get us another beer. You just sit tight for another five minutes or so, okay?" I stare at him as he gets out of the pickup and closes the door. Leaning in the open window with his eyebrows raised, his eyes open wide, and a grin on his hot lips, he asks, "You still want me to fuck you, Dylan?" to be continued... Donny Mumford _thinat20@yahoo.com_ (mailto:thinat20@yahoo.com) ======================================================== I have had two books published that are available on Amazon. Actually one book and one short story. The short story is titled "Concealed Agony - Gay Romance" (and I didn't pick that title.) Read the short story first. And the book is named "Oliver's Wildwood Vacation" They are both about 'Oliver'. You can easily find them by searching for 'Donny Mumford' at the Amazon web site. And I would appreciate it if you would provide a comment at the site for the stories as well. Thanks. Donny Mumford ============================================================================ Please consider a tax deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expenses of maintaining this story sites. Thank you!