Date: Sat, 27 Dec 2014 11:34:48 -0500
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S  SOPHOMORE  YEAR Chapter  25

DYLAN'S  SOPHOMORE  YEAR


Chapter  25


by   Donny  Mumford



Ryan just went off with a friend of his roommate's leaving me all by my
lonesome. Well, I'm one of about fifty students scattered here and there in
the  bleachers at the baseball complex, but since I don't know any of them
it's sort  of like I'm alone. We're all taking advantage of our free-time to
watch  Merrimack's baseball team's pick-up game. Of the fifty students in the
bleachers  only one interest me at the moment. He's a certain British lad
who I first  noticed in line at the bookstore on registration day. Then I saw
him again last  night in the hall outside Ryan's dorm when I was high on
crack-laced pot. He  said something to me last night, although for the life of
me I can't recall what  it was and now he's sitting by himself at the top of
the bleachers. I'm  interested in him because he's a cute guy with a cool
accent, which is reason  enough right there, but there's also something very
sexy about him and that of  course intrigues me even more. Maybe I'll
introduce myself and maybe I won't,  but right now Robby's up at the plate so I
want to watch him bat. After that  I'll see what I'm going to do about the lad
at the top of the  bleachers. Staring at my boyfriend with the bat on  his
shoulder, the center of attention in the game at the moment, I have to grin
because he's so fucking hot looking. Plus, he also happens to be my own
true-love boyfriend, so ya know, that's cool. Looking around briefly to the
guys  in the stands I can't help but wonder how many of them are gay, in the
closet or  'out', and secretly wishing Robby was their boyfriend. Of course
there's a  possibility no one else here is gay, as unhappy a scenario as that
might  be.


The pitcher throws a fastball that Robby  watches go by for ball one, then
another fast ball is fouled off by Robby for  strike two. Now a pitch comes
in slower and Robby puts a beautiful swing on a  change-up hitting a double
down the right field line scoring a man from second  base. Way to go Robby!
In college they use aluminum bats and it makes a cool  sound when the bat
makes contact with the hardball. Baseball's too  slow and tedious for some,
but I've always thought it fun to watch and play no  matter at what level.
That includes sandlot, little league, Babe Ruth, high  school, college, minor
leagues or the major league. There are lots of levels of  play although most
of us never even get to play high school baseball, never mind  college or
higher. My boyfriend's the starting second baseman for our college  team and
I'm proud of him. Now I want to see him score, but the next guy up pops  out
to the third baseman and the inning's over.


Okay then, it's back to  contemplating my British boy. The question is,
should I try making conversation  with him or should I sit in his general area
and see if he makes conversation  with me. That's preferable from my
viewpoint. He seems a cool customer though  and maybe a little intimidating, or it
could be my old nemesis, shyness, is  playing with my head again. I'm pretty
much over my childish shyness, although  it can still sneak up on me from
time to time. The past year or so it's more  like I'm ballsy and outspoken
with cute guys I don't know, but would like to  know. This British lad falls
into the category of someone I'd like to know and  the only question
remaining is: will I do anything about it? I'm well aware of  the ten to one odds
against him being gay, but I've beaten those odds any number  of times.
Anyway, I'm convinced there are significantly more than one out of ten  guys with
gay tendencies, although most are hesitant to act upon them. Somehow  I've
been able to bring those tendencies to life in certain guys, but that
doesn't mean I'll be able to do it in this case. Therein lies the challenge of
course. Hmmm, how to approach this? Well, finally I tell myself to grow some
balls and I stand up. Huh, okay now that I'm standing I need to do
something, so  I casually light a cigarette trying for cool, then wander down the
bleacher  bench away from the Brit. It's important I look at anything except a
certain lad from England. The perfect  scenario would be him noticing me and
him finding someway of making contact  first. However, he isn't even
looking in my direction so I'm going to plan  'B'.


To a novice at this sort of  thing, me walking away from the object of my
intentions may appear an odd  counterproductive strategy, but the whole idea
is to give the appearance of a  totally random meeting between us. An
unexpected coincidence of happenstance  bumping into the guy in question. It's
like, 'Oh, don't I know you? Funny  bumping into you here.' It's that sort of
thing and it requires skill and lots  of forethought in making it all appear
totally random. The novice is advised not  to try this at home though, it
should only be tried by professional boy-watchers  like myself. Amateurs could
easily wind-up with a bloody nose. Fortunately  there's a booth at the end
of the bleachers where a couple of entrepreneurial  frat boys are making
money selling $1.00 Cokes for $2.50. That gives me a  plausible reasons for
walking in this direction. I buy a can of Coke and now I  have two props, the
cigarette and the can of Coke. Taking a sip of soda I ever  so casually begin
walking up the bleachers. Sip of soda, then a drag on my  cigarette, not a
care in the world. I'm just someone who's wondering what the  view is like
from the top bleacher, totally oblivious that anyone is sitting up  there way
over to my right. I'm just another student bumbling around killing  some
time watching our college baseball team's pick-up game... rah  rah!


When I'm standing on the top  bleacher, but way over to the left of the
British student, I pause here a minute  smoking and gazing out over the field,
then casually glance in his direction  projecting at attitude of having
nothing particular on my mind. Hmmm, my glance  over in his direction indicates
that all my clever posturing is going to waste  because the cute guy I'm
interested in is still not paying the slightest bit of  attention to me. He's
reading a book, then looking at the guys playing baseball,  then back to the
book. What the fuck's up with that? Oh well, I'll take this  opportunity to
get a nice long look at him anyway. From here I'm guessing he's  my age,
height, and weight. I don't have to guess that he's got a cute face or  that he
has light brown hair that's too long with a bit of a wave that  fortunately
for him stops this side of being curly. I can see that, so I don't  need to
guess. I can't tell the color of his eyes or his exact facial features
though. I'll need to be closer for that, but from here he's pretty fucking
sharp  looking. I'm guessing he has a bit of an attitude too, that's if I'm
reading his  body language correctly. Very interesting.


Feeling a surge of false  confidence I begin wandering down the top
bleacher towards him and when I'm  within ten feet of him he looks over at me with
a questioning expression on his  face that seems to infer...'What have we
here?'. I stop, and for something to  say, ask, "Are you, like me, wondering
why they're playing baseball during  football season?" His expression changes
to one reflecting, 'What the fuck?' as  he says in a boyish, friendly
voice, "You're asking the wrong person that  question, mate. I don't know shit
about American sports. I'm trying to figure it  out myself," and he holds up
his book, 'Baseball for Dummies'. He gives me a  little smile, adding, "I'm
using this book about baseball to help me figure out  who's who on the field
down there, and why. Ya know?" I smile at him nodding my  head as I continue
walking towards him. He's watching me the whole time and  looking amused
about something. When I'm almost next to him, I ask, "Do you mind  if I sit
with you?" He shrugs, mumbling, "Sure, take a pew." Take a pew? What  the...?
I sit down ignoring that and hold my hand out. He takes it in his right
hand as I'm saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan Newman." No reaction from him, so I add,
"You  know what, I think I saw you last night. A friend of mine has a dorm room
in  Tuckerman Hall and I believe you're one of the guys I saw in the
corridor.  Either you or your twin." He says, "It wasn't my twin because I don't
have one,"  and he smirks nodding his head like he's now recognized me, "Oh
yeah, you're the  piss-head in the hall last night. I remember you." Huh,
we're still basically  holding hands, but not shaking until he tightens his
grip and shakes my hand,  saying, "Oh fuck, how bloody rude of me! I'm Freddie
Holmes, but my friends back  in London call me 'Sherlock', for the obvious
reason. How's it going, mate?" I'm  thinking, 'Sherlock? Obvious reason? Oh
wait, Sherlock Holmes, but what a clumsy  nickname. I go, "Yeah, it's going
good. Nice to meet ya. Um, cool accent ya got  there."


He looks at his hand that I'm  still holding, then I glance at it and blush
letting go of his hand, mumbling,  "Ha ha, London, huh?" He says, "Yeah,
North London, Muswell Hill to be precise.  Have you traveled abroad?" I go,
"I've been to Key West. That's as far from  Massachusetts as I've ever been."
He smirks, mumbling, "So then, the answer to  my question would be, 'No',
right?" I nod my head, thinking, 'Smart ass!' He  looks friendly though and
not as intimidating as I thought. Smiling, I ask,  "Were we too loud last
night?" He shrugs, "Too loud, ha! Does a bear shit in the  woods?" I grin, "So
the answer to my question would be, 'Yes', right?" He laughs  a friendly
laugh, muttering, "Touché." Then he goes, "The noise didn't bother me
especially, although you might have been a little more neighborly and shared  your
weed." I blush again, "Oh, you could smell it?" He chuckles, "Mate, it  stunk
up the place!" I'm like, "Oh, so everyone on the second floor knew we were
smoking pot?" He says, "They'd have blocked hooters if they didn't notice
it."  I'm like, "Hooters? You had girls in your room? I don't understand." He
points  to his nose, saying, "Hooters, noses." What the...? I ask, "Ah, you
call  someone's nose a hooter? Hooters are tits." he laughs, "You yanks have
fucked-up  the English language something awful, haven't you?" I go, "No, I
don't think  so," and he says, "I'm just fuckin' with ya, Newman. No
offense."


Freddie's wearing a gray  hoodie over a t-shirt with writing on the front,
but I can't make out what it  says. He's got skinny faded jean on and
hightop sneakers. In other words, the  same thing guys around here wear. He's back
to looking at his baseball book, so  I say, "Um, Freddie, I can explain
anything about baseball you want to know. You  don't need no stinking book." He
closes the book, mumbling, "It's all bollocks  anyway." I exhale some smoke
wondering, 'What the fuck does 'bollocks' mean?' He  looks at me, "Can I
bum a fag off you? Would ya mind?" What the fuck... fag? I  frown at him and
he points to the cigarette between my fingers. I look at my  cigarette, then
at him, asking, "You call cigarettes 'fags'?" He goes, "Not  always,
sometimes I call them 'ciggies'." Frowning at him, I take my Marlboro  box from my
pocket as he grins a seriously cute grin with awesomely boyish  dimples,
saying, "Or sometimes I call cigarettes Marlboros, as in... may I bum a
Marlboro from you?" I'm staring at his mouth. There are little spaces between  his
super-white top teeth. Wow, that is so fucking cute. I'm a little flustered
 by him because he's uber relaxed and comfortable and seemingly very sure
of  himself, and he used that word, 'fag'. So, the first cigarette I take
from the  pack drops from my fingers and rolls off the bleachers falling to the
ground  below us about twenty feet down. Freddie's grinning as he watches
me watching  the cigarette disappear. He goes, "Oops" as I mutter, "Fuck." I
look over at him  shrugging, like... so-what?, and then hold the pack out
for him to take a  cigarette. He manages not to drop it, puts it between his
lips, saying, "I don't  have a light either." Lighting his cigarette with my
Bic lighter, I'm asking,  "You want me to smoke it for you too?" He
chuckles, "I can take it from  here."




An awkward silence follows with him  looking at me and blowing smoke my
way, so I drop my cigarette butt and light  another one, just for something to
do. Still nothing from him except more of his  exhaled smoke circling my
head, so I ask, "I'm guessing you're not a smoker on a  regular basis, right?
Cigarettes too expensive here, are they?" With exhaled  smoke drifting from
his nose and mouth, he says, "I smoked my last one an hour  ago and then
threw my matches away because I smoke too fucking much. I'm fuckin'  addicted to
the ciggies." I go, "Huh," and he grins, adding, "They're actually a  lot
cheaper here, ya know. In London a pack of Marlboro cost eight pounds, which
is about $13.00 American. A pack here is under $10.00." I go, "No shit!
That's  highway robbery in London, and so is $10.00 a pack here. You gotta come
with me  to Salem, New Hampshire, where a carton of Marlboro goes for
$55.00." His  eyebrows go up, "Really? That's like $5.50 per pack. Bollocks!"
There's  that word again. I say, "Do you have a car on campus?" He shakes his
head, 'no',  so I say, "No problem, you can come with me. I'll need to go
sometime this week  anyway." He's like, "Awesome, mate! Nobody told me about
Salem." I shrug, "It's  like a fifteen minute ride, no big deal. Booze is a
lot cheaper there too." We  smoke looking at each other until the silence
makes me uncomfortable again, so I  ask, "How about gasoline? How much does it
cost per gallon in London?"  He  grins at me for reasons unknown, then says,
"It cost, in American dollars, about  $2.28 per liter, why do you wanna
know?" I shrug, "Just curious. I like to know  what things cost. So a liter is
like a gallon?" He laughs, "You muppet, a liter  is one-forth gallon." I'm
shocked, "You're saying a gallon of gas cost ten  fucking dollars over there?
He says, "Yeah, and you Americans whine about paying  three dollars and
change per gallon, don't ya?"


I don't know if I care for  that attitude, so I ask, "What, are you
un-American or something?" He grins at  me, then says, "Um, I assume you know that
un-American is a pejorative political  term in discourse for US citizens who
are perceived as diverting from American  culture and political values.
Since I'm not a US citizen I can't be un-American,  can I?" I mutter, "Oh, no
shit? But I knew that," and he laughs squeezing my leg  making my dick move
around some in my pants. I say, "Well, is there anything you  like about
America?" He goes, "Of course! I like a lot of things here in the  states. I
like Americans generally speaking, we're allies, ya know." He's  smirking at me
again as he reaches over and picks up my can of Coke that I set  down next
to me, asking, "Do you mind?" I shake my head, "Help yourself," and he
drinks from the can. I like that he didn't wipe the opening with his hand as if
I had cooties. I ask, "I'm a curious guy, what specifically do you like
about  America?" Dragging off his cigarette, he says, "Well, I only know a
little about  Boston and North Andover so I can't speak generally about your
country. I like  the places I've been though." He takes another swallow of Coke
and hands the can  back to me. As I'm drinking some Coke, he says, "For one
thing you've got a lot  of beef here in the states. Big steaks, which I
love! I've eaten at that steak  house down route 114 twice already and loved
it. Reasonably priced too." What  the fuck? That place is expensive. I ask,
"You mean Burtons?" and he goes,  "Yeah, that's the restaurant, Burtons.
Awesome." It is not reasonably priced.  Price wise it's similar to Boston prices
which is expensive for a suburban  restaurant.


Freddie Holmes takes a final  drag off his cigarette and blows the exhaled
smoke towards me, grinning again,  then he drops the butt off the bleachers.
I'm only halfway finished my second  cigarette but I've had enough of it,
so I drop mine too, asking, "What else do  you like here, Freddie?" He
smiles, "Oh, the availability of all kinds of meat,  not just beef, which as I've
said is number one in my carnivore heart, but that  Entenmen's brand crumb
cake is fuckin' awesome too.  I could gorge myself  that." Hmmm, I chuckle,
asking, "Are you jerking me off now with that crumb cake  thing?" He goes,
"No, not at all, I love it, but would you like me to jerk you  off for real?"
I'm like, "What's that....?" as my face gets red again. He shakes  his head
smiling, like 'Oh, nothing.' Then he says, "Cost of living is great  here
too, and you've got lots of wide roads and highways, and all kinds of good
stuff. Stuff I'm sure you take for granted." I shrug as he adds, "Plus all you
 American fawn all over my British accent. It's quaint of you." We're
quaint?! Oh  fuck! I let that go because who knows what he means by it. "Hooters'
are 'noses'  and we're quaint? Get fucking real! "Um, Freddie, are there
things you don't  like about America?" A shrug, "My number one complaint has
got to be the  drinking age over here. It's behind the times and makes no
fucking sense  whatsoever. At eighteen years of age you American boys can get
killed in a war,  but you can't get a pint in a pub until you're twenty-one.
Stupid!  Also, the low speed limits on those fine highways is dumb too. And
lets  see, oh yeah, when I can get a pint, the fuckin' beer is weak, your
coffee's  weak too, and you've got bland tasting cheeses here. They're some
of the things  that annoy me about America, such as I've experienced so far
anyway." I go,  "What the fuck you talking about? Weak coffee? Have you tried
Starbucks?" He  asks, "Do you think bitter coffee is the same fucking thing
as strong coffee?" I  mumbling, "I don't know. I hate Starbucks though. I
drink Dunkin' Donuts  coffee." Freddie chuckles, muttering, "Swill." It makes
me laugh and I repeat,  "Swill? Really?" Then I tell him, "Us guys get
around the stupid drinking age by  having guys who look twenty-one, or who have
good fake ID,  buy beer and  booze for us and we buy it from them." He
shrugs, "Okay, but then ya gotta sneak  it into your dorm room like it's a
machine gun or something, and anyway it's not  the same experience as going to the
pub with your mates. Totally different  atmosphere and all." I say, "Yeah,
I guess. I live in an off-campus apartment  with my brother and, um, friend.
Not a dorm." Dammit! I should have said  'boyfriend'. I'm not ashamed of
it, I'm proud of it. Kinda late to go back and  say 'boyfriend' now though.
I'd look like a geek.


Freddie taps his 'Baseball for Dummies' book and asks me some  questions
about the game of baseball. We talk about that for awhile passing the  can of
Coke back and forth. Freddie's very likable, but I'm guessing some of the
things he's says are tongue in cheek, or maybe they're not. I'm just not
sure. I  also think he makes up words as he goes along. In some ways it's almost
a  language barrier, but I enjoy looking and listening to him; I'm sure
about that  much. He has the sexiest mouth too, it's all bright pink with his
white teeth  and the little spaces between the top ones, and his lips are
sexy and as  kissable as any I've ever seen. Awesome pale clear complexion too.
Talking  baseball though isn't going too well. What seems obvious to me
about the game's  nuances just confuse him. I say, "Yeah, there are exceptions
to the rules in  baseball, fer sure," and I try explaining a few of them,
but mostly I'm focusing  on his sexy soft-looking short, sorta scruffy
whiskers. Pale brown whiskers in  all the places you'd expect to see them, not that
his beard is thick at all.  It's sparse and sort of curly like his wavy
hair. I interrupt our baseball  discussion completely now, asking, "Do you
always rock this three day whisker  look ya got going for yourself today?" He
laughs, "Whiskers are on cats, I have  a beard. And no, I don't always ignore
my beard, just some days when I'm too  lazy to shave. It appears I'm not
alone in that regard considering the number of  short beards I see on guys here
at Merrimack. How about you, Newman?" I say,  "You can call me, Dylan,
Holmes." He smiles, "Right, Dylan it is. Do you always  rock the clean shaved
look?" and he reaches over to slowly rubs two fingers down  my cheek, asking,
"Or aren't you old enough to shave yet?" I never know if this  dude is
putting me on, or what. He's grinning, mumbling, "You must be eighteen  to be in
college, right?" I go, "What the fuck ya talking about? I'm twenty  years
old as of last month. It's just that my dad didn't have much facial hair.  Me
and my brother take after him, that's all." His fingers continue lightly
running down my cheek in a sexy way as he says, "Shit, I wish my dad was like
that, shaving is a pain in my arse," and his two fingers slide off my jaw
leaving my cheek tingling. I do a fake cough or two wishing I could adjust
my  junk.


Hmmm, him touching my cheeks  like that, plus earlier he asked if I wanted
him to jerk me off, and then using  'fag' as the word for a cigarette. It
all makes me wonder, ya know? I take a  chance, testing my theory he may be
gay by reaching over and rubbing my fingers  through his short curly whiskers.
He doesn't move his head as he smirks cutely  at me. His whiskers are very
soft as I rub the back of my fingers up his cheek.  Grinning at me now, he
asks, "How do they feel?" I blush again, mumbling, "They  feel alright,
they're cool." He just stares at me making me uncomfortably  self-conscious so I
drop my hand, asking, "You a freshman?" and he's like, "No,  I'm what's
called a sophomore here." I go, "Oh, yeah, that's right you're in  Ryan's dorm.
Ryan's the friend I mentioned earlier. He's a sophomore too, like  me." He
smirks at me again nodding his head a little like he's confirming  something
to himself. I smell the back of my hand and we're quiet again. Hmmm,
Freddie's apparently quite comfortable saying nothing. I don't believe I've ever
had a discussion with a stranger who's as relaxed and comfortable as he is.
Maybe it's a cultural thing. It's almost like he knows me or  something.

I do another fake cough, then  smell the back of my wrist for a few seconds
while he continues staring at me.  He's looking into my eyes and I'm trying
not to look down although that was my  initial inclination. Freddie
casually reaches over and runs his fingers through  my hair now. As usual he's
grinning while I stupidly hold my head as still as a  statue. My mouth's open
slightly as I stare back into his sexy green eyes. It's  like I'm in one of my
trances, then his eyes shift to my hair as he asks, "No  offense, Newman,
but who's your barber?" I mutter, "Huh, what?" He grins, "I  need to know so
I can stay far away from that butcher whoever he or she is."  It's been like
one blush after another for me ever since I sat down with him. I  mumble,
"Oh, yeah, my haircut," and his fist closes on a fistful of short hairs  on
top of my head. "Um, ha ha, a so-called friend of mine, Ryan actually, gave
me this haircut. Um, a mistake obviously." Then in self defense I go, "You
don't  appear to frequent barbershops too often though, what with your long
hair and  all." His hand is still gripping a fistful of my hair as he quietly
asks, "Don't  you like my hair style, Newman?" I mumble, "It's 'Dylan', and
yeah your hair's  cool. I like it." He grins jerking my hair, pulling it,
so I grin and get a  fistful of his hair. He laughs, then says, "You didn't
seem sincere about liking  my long hair, so how should I get it cut?" I pull
his hair again, grinning, "No,  Holmes, it's fine! I just fuckin' told you
that." He pulls my hair hard, saying,  "Aren't we the most mature college
students on this campus, pulling each others  hair?" and he laughs. So I smirk
at him, "You mean you don't do this with fellow  students in London?" He
laughs again, "Nah, not likely. I wouldn't think of  doing this, but it's
different with you, isn't it, eh?" Again I don't know what  he means, but I'm
pretty sure he's making fun of me again. He says, "Seriously,  Newman, I've
noticed many American college students, and I guess younger kids  here too,
lean toward shorter hair styles than I'm used to." I do my forth or  fifth fake
cough in the last couple of minutes thinking how I wish I could tell  him
about my awesome barbering skills, but with Ryan's messed up home haircut in
view, I don't dare. I let go of his hair, saying, "I don't know, Holmes.
There  are a lot of guys here with longer hair too. Anything goes I  guess."


Letting go of my hair,  Freddie leans back against the railing at the top
of the bleachers, saying,  "You're cool, mate. Um, can I bum another fag, er,
cigarette off you. I'll pay  you back." I go, "Sure, but you don't need to
pay me back," and pass him a  Marlboro, then my lighter. He lights his
cigarette, inhales, and says, "That's a  pretty damn slow game ya got going on
down there, you have to admit that. It's  like fifteen or twenty seconds
between each pitch. That's if the batsman doesn't  step away from the plate, then
it's even longer." I shrug, "I'm used to it. I  grew up with baseball. Do
pitchers in cricket pitch faster?" He chuckles, "In  cricket the person
throwing the ball is called a 'bowler'. Your catcher is a  'wicket-keeper' in
cricket, and hitters are called 'batsmen'." I go, "Huh,  weird," and he shrugs,
saying, "Actually I don't watched much cricket either, to  be honest about
it." I ask, "What sports do you watch?" He says, "Football  mostly, but I
don't mean American football. You call it soccer over here. Why  you call
American football 'football' baffles me because the ball hardly ever  touches a
player's foot." I mumble, "Soccer's boring. There's no scoring." He  grins,
"It's what I grew up with," mimicking what I said about baseball. Then he
adds, "The closest to your football we have is rugby. Totally different game
of  course although there's tackling and passing the ball, but never
forward. And  rugby is played without all that armor your girlie football players
wear." He  laughs, "Our boys are too tough to wear all that shit." I ask,
"What do they  wear, just a jockstrap?" He drags on his cigarette chuckling,
"I'd like to watch  that match. It'd be fun, eh?" I've got nothing to say to
that, so Freddie adds,  "Rugby players wear a jersey, shorts, maybe a
jockstrap, socks and boots. That's  about it." Huh, I've heard rugby's a rough
sport although I've never seen a  rugby match.

Freddie finishes his  cigarette and drops it off the bleachers, saying,
"I've enjoyed our time here,  Dylan, but I've watched all the baseball I care
to see. It's bollocks! Heh heh."  I wonder again what bollocks means. It
seems he uses it to indicate something  that's awesome and then another times he
uses it to indicate something that  sucks. Freddie gets up so I ask, "Where
you going now?" and he stretches,  saying, "I've gotta study in my dorm for
a quiz tomorrow." I go, "I'll walk with  you if you don't mind. I've had
enough baseball this afternoon myself." He  smiles at me putting his arm
across my shoulders, asking, "Are we going to be  mates then?" I go, "Sure, why
not?" and he says, "Good, you're by far the most  interesting person I've run
into so far at Merrimack. My roommate's a cunt."  We're walking down the
bleachers to ground level with me going, "Oooh, don't let  the PC police hear
you say that bad word." He goes, "Oh bollocks! PC bullshit's  has invaded
Europe too. I guess I should have said, 'My roommates a twat'  instead of
cunt." I laugh, "That's no good either," and we both laugh with  Freddie hugging
my side against his. At the bottom of the bleacher we head up  toward the
dorms with his arm still across my shoulders. I guess this is how  'mates'
walk together in London. He says, "How about you and me forming a  completely
non-politically-correct secret society enabling every single word and  slang
word in the English language." I go, "That'd be rad, Freddie, and have I
mentioned your English accent is da bomb!" He laughs, "Yeah, I think you did
if  'da bomb' is a good thing." I think for a minute, "Um, yeah it's a good
thing.  It's the voice inflection that tells if it's rad or not." He goes,
"We  definitely gotta hook up," and he drops his arm from my shoulder and
takes out a  cellphone. "What's your cellphone number?" We exchange numbers,
programming them  into our cellphone's. At his dorm I finally work up the
balls to ask, "Did you  leave a girlfriend back in London?" He says, "No, do you
have one?" I shake my  head 'no' making a popping sound with my lips when I
say, "Nope!" He grins at  me, muttering, "Good," and he rubs my hair,
"You've actually got nice hair,  Dylan. Pretty blond hair, eh?" I make an
embarrassing gulping sound trying to  say 'thanks'. He laughs, "You're da bomb,
mate! I'll text you," and he goes up  the steps and inside the building without
looking back.

Smelling the back of my  wrist, I try to get a sense of how I feel about
Freddie and me. I like him and  the chances he's gay are higher than one in
ten, for sure. Not that I'm  confident of his sexuality one way or the other
yet, but I'm thinking I might  get the chance to give him a haircut after
all. Who knows what could happen  after that? I'm walking back to the baseball
game to get a ride home with Robby.  I guess I also want to make sure it's
not Danny Monday Robby gives a ride to.  Plus, Robby and I are gonna have us
a sexy time after the game. Adjusting my  junk finally, I take a seat on the
bleachers near the dugout to get a close look  at the players coming and
going. This is my first chance to evaluate the  cuteness of this year's team.
It's disappointing how few really cute guys there  are in the world,
although there's usually something cute about every guy.  There's unfortunately
exceptions to that just as there are exceptions to the  rules of baseball. It
wasn't as easy to explain the nuances of the game to  Freddie as I thought it
would be. And, damn, I didn't find out much about him  now that I think
about it. Why's he going to a small college in American in the  first place?
Where did he go to college last year and does he have siblings and  what's his
dad and mom do? All kinds of shit I don't know about him. Of course  mostly
I don't care about any of that, but it's better to know stuff than not.
Maybe it would tell me something about him 'cause I gotta admit I'm interested
 in him. Robby and I are still in our side-sex mode so I'm free to explore
the  possibility of a fuck-buddy relationship with a hottie from another
country.  Hmmm, they probably fuck the same way we do because how else could
you do it? Be  interesting to find out, and then I think of my Italian
fuck-buddy during the  Wildwood vacation and the other guy from India. I can't
remember either of their  names, but that's the good thing about buddy-sex, it's
just sex for the fun of  it with no commitments other than pleasuring each
other. Yeah, so everybody  fuck's the same way, but still it'd be cool to
add a London fuck-buddy to my  life experiences. Actually I'd love to visit
London and have a pub adventure  some day.


The light is fading so I don't expect the game to last much longer and
then here come Robby's team off the field at the end of an inning. They'll be
coming up to bat now. I look at each players face and body type as they
hustle  by where I'm sitting on their way to the dugout. They're all buddy-buddy
with  each other exchanging congratulations and encouraging words, and
also  there's some good natured ball busting among friends. Teammates get
close, they  get tight with each other for the most part. I felt that even with
the silly  posse boys last summer. You've got each other's back, you know?
Well, like  everything, there are a few exceptions to that. Checking each
player closely  I've determined, of all the players on Merrimack's baseball team
that I've seen  so far, there's only one other than Robby that's worth my
attention. He's the  young-looking center fielder. Probably a freshman trying
to make the team. Maybe  even a 'walk on'. Cute kid although he's very tall
which can make certain sex  acts a tad awkward assuming his partner's
short. Nothing that can't be managed  of course. I'm casually looking into the
dugout watching my center fielder take  his hat off and, wow, he's got a nice
head of red hair cut short in my favorite  style. Combed down on top and
flipped up in front. He's got some cute freckles  across the bridge of his nose
too.


Upon closer inspection he's borderline skinny and he has a long neck, but
overall this redhead's looks are kinda special so I find myself staring at
him.  That is until he glances over and our eyes meet for a split second
only. Both of  us divert our eyes, but there's no doubt it was me who was
looking at him. Under  other circumstances I'd hold eye contact to see if he would
too. If he's a rare  one who can hold eye contact with another guy, well
that might be something to  check out. Warning though: you do not want to keep
staring if the other guy's  got some kind of a defiant challenging stare
coming back at you. In cases like  that refer to tip number 37 in the Dylan
Newman book on boy-watching which  strongly suggest you do the  prudent thing
and wander on your fucking way  like you have no more interest in him than
you might have for the hunchback of  Notre Dame's, Quasimodo. Huh, there's
Danny Monday on the other pick-up team...  he's playing first base. Yeah, he's
cute too, so counting Robby I consider three  out of the eighteen players
on both teams as qualifying as cute with a capitol  'C'. There are a few
others that are nice looking and/or sexy-looking. The rest  are relegated to the
trash bin unfortunately. Tip number 190 in my handbook says  when the
pickings are slim admit to yourself you can't make chicken salad out of  chicken
shit and move on to a better boy-watching location. Obviously none of us
has much to do with our God-given looks, which doesn't change the fact some of
 us are much cuter than others. As for the others: well, Mother nature's a
bit of  a cunt in that regard and so it's basically tough shit for you.
'Cunt' is  Freddie's word and it's actually a really good one and very
descriptive for some  individuals in both sexes. Pejorative too. That's another good
word.


Robby's team has loaded the bases with two outs. I have no idea what the
score is although I'd bet my right nut every one of these guys know what it
is  because at this level they're all super competitive. Oh boy! Here comes
my  center fielder up at bat. Grand slam coming up. If he hits a grand slam
home run  I'm coming out of the stands to give him a hug. Oops, first pitch
he hits weakly  to second base for a force out. The center fielder throws the
bat out towards  second base cursing, and someone behind me yells, "You
suck, Reds!" I look back,  but can't tell which Neanderthal yelled that. Red's
giving the finger to someone  and yelling something, veins protruding in his
long skinny neck. Jesus, what a  poor sport! Yeah, Red might be one to walk
away from, cute redhead or not. It  doesn't appear my center fielder gets
along well with others. It's disconcerting  when a really cute guy turns out
to be a complete asshole. Cute looks usually  makes me think of a sweet kid,
but that doesn't always hold true. There was this  cute kid in high school
who looked like a choir boy, but was one mean  motherfucker in actuality. He
was as big a prick as you're likely to run into,  and a total bully to
boot. Shame really. What a waste.


One of the team's captains calls the game due to darkness so the players
file into the locker room and most of the students in the bleachers drift
away.  I give a thought to going in the locker room myself but think better of
it. It'd  be embarrassing for someone to tell me to get the hell out. I try
not to put  myself in potentially awkward situations like I was prone to do
when I was  younger. It helps to be maturing and using my head rather than
my dick when  making decisions. Thinking back on the game I'm a little
disappointed Robby  didn't acknowledge me even once. Not even when he was coming
and going from the  dugout. I know about his concentration during a game, but
come on, would a nod  of his head in my direction be so hard to do?!   And,
if he comes out of  the locker room with Danny I'm gonna be pissed-off!
Before the game Robby and I  agreed to have a sexy interlude before dinner and
that does not include Danny  Monday. I've had elevated sexual heat for Robby
recently and it doesn't appear  to be lessening any. He's so sexy to me
anymore, well it's too a degree it's  almost uncomfortable. I've got to
constantly refrain from throwing myself at him  begging for sex. Not good!
Fortunately Freddie took my mind off Robby  temporarily giving me a little relief
from my needy sexual situation. Being  rational I guess my neediness has
something to do with all the side-sex I've  deprived myself of for what, weeks
now? Whatever, it's definitely been an  adjustment and well worth it if Robby
would simply come across a little more.  And, he better be as conscientious
at reducing his side-sex as me or we need to  have another meeting.


Where is he? Then there he is and I'm getting that damn squirmy feeling
again. It feels sexy-good actually. God, Robby's hot. I call out, "Yo, Rob,
over  here!" He says something to the skinny, redheaded center fielder, they
chuckle  and bump fists, then Robby jogs over to where I'm standing. He's got
a big sexy  smile on his face too. Hot damn! Robby hugs me around the back
of my neck, "Hi,  Dylan, I'm so glad you came to watch the game. I waved at
you twice, but you  didn't see me. Who's that guy you were talking to?" I'm
like, "I saw you wave,"  telling little white lie number 3067. He asks,
"Well then, why didn't you give  me a little wave back?" See, that's what's
wrong with little white lies, you  sometimes get caught. I go, "Huh? Oh, I loved
that double you hit, Rob. You  looked so sexy. It was a change-up, right?"
He goes, "Oh yeah, the double was a  change-up, but how 'bout the home run?"
I'm like, "I missed that one. Guess I  was getting a Coke or something."
We're walking towards the dorms and then we'll  go beyond the dorms to the
parking lot. Robby laughs, "You're so full of it,  baby. You were so into
talking with that kid you weren't even watching the  game." I say, "He's an
English dude from London named Freddie Holmes, like  Sherlock Holmes. He didn't
know shit about baseball so he had a "Baseball For  Dummies' book. I felt bad
for him sitting all alone and all, you know, so I was  trying to explain
the game to him." We're walking past the dorms now and I can't  resist
glancing over, but  Freddie's nowhere to be seen. Robby says, "I'm  trying not to
be jealous," and I say, "Oh, I noticed Danny Monday was playing  first base
for the other team today." Robby goes, "Was he? Um, what do you feel  like
for dinner?"


Now that I've effectively put that Freddie Holmes discussion to bed I can
move onto more important matters. "Rob, aren't we doing something before
dinner?" He frowns, "I don't think so," and I'm like, "I hope you're just
teasing because if not, I'm gonna start thinking you don't love me as much as
you say." He stops when we step on the parking lot black top, "No,
seriously,  Dylan, what were we suppose to do?" I stare at him, watching him
remember, "Oh,  baby, you mean? I thought we were kidding around about that earlier,
just  goofing. You mean you really want to have sex with me right now. I'm
sweaty and  grimy from playing baseball the last two hours?" I ask, "Don't
you want to?" and  he goes, "Well, sure, I always want to with you, but
shouldn't I clean up a  little?" I sort of lean against him and he puts his arms
around me as I mumble  in his ear, "I'm throwing myself at you, aren't I? I
just knew it would make you  back off. It would make anyone back off when
someone always expects them to jump  in bed at the drop of a hat." He rubs my
back, "No, it's not like that at all,  Dylan. I guess I'm not used to you
showing me this much affection. I mean, it's  what I've always wanted and
dreamed of, but I never really expected you'd be,  um, this much into me. I, um,
love it actually." Oh fuck, everything he does or  says anymore gets me
near creaming in my drawers. He's so hot! I hug him like a  damn fool, kissing
his neck. I can feel his head looking around to see if  anyone's watching us
so I stop, "Sorry, Rob, I can't help myself." He gets his  arm around the
back of my waist, "Come on, baby, lets get in the pickup and  decide what
we're going to do." Making the situation worse I'm almost laying  against him
as we walk. The whole time I'm telling myself in my head, 'Do not  start
kissing him as soon as you get in the pickup, you pathetic sex maniac'.  Then
try convincing myself I'm only a sex maniac around Robby.


Robby's talking quietly as we walk, but I've got this mantra in my head
about not attacking him once we're in the pickup, so I don't hear what he's
saying. At his pickup he hits the automatic key unlocking the doors, and
asks,  "Is that okay with you, Dylan?" I go, "Is what okay? I couldn't hear you,
you  talked so quietly." He says, "Go around and get in and I'll say it
again when  we're in the truck." I nod my head feeling like a smacked ass and
walk around to  the passenger door. Man have I fucked this up. Inside Robby
starts the truck,  saying, "I was saying for old time sake we could visit the
spot of our first  kiss. Whaddaya say?" I look at him grinning at me, and
can't stop myself from  leaning over and putting my arms around his neck,
murmuring, "The locker room,  yeah that'd be romantic." He laughs, "We're
probably the only two guys in the  world who think a locker room's romantic, but
yeah it is for us. Gimme a kiss,  baby," and we do one of the sweetest
lovers kisses ever. It lasts for about a  minute and my cock's a steel rod in my
pants when Robby murmurs in my ear,  "Don't ever think I don't want to have
sex with you, Dylan, it's my dream come  true every time we do it." He
kisses my lips again then licks up from my chin,  across my lips, and up the
front of my nose. A squirt of cum shoots from my  steel boner, as I go, "Oooh,
ooh, Robby, you'll make me cum." He rubs my hair  and kisses me again, then
says, "Put your seatbelt on." I do that and then  realize the locker room is
a hour drive from here, and say, "It's romantic, Rob,  but it's an hour
there and an hour back. You really want to drive that much?" He  says, "For you
I do," and I go, "Lets save that for Saturday night after our  dinner at our
favorite restaurant." He goes, "Okay, so where..." and my  cellphone burps
indicating a text message. He says, "Check that, it's probably  Chubby
wondering about dinner."


It is just that. Chubby says he's on his way back from visiting with Judy
Rinker and should he pick something up for dinner? I wonder what 'visiting'
means... hee hee. Way to go Chub! Robby and I discuss it quickly and decide
on  Chubby's meatballs and spaghetti dinner, cheap and delicious. I text
that to  Chubby as Robby drives us off campus. Then I go, "Our apartment's
available for  a half hour at least," and Robby grins at me pretending to speed
up for a  second. It's only a two minute ride if we make the light outside
the complex. I  mean the one where there's a five way intersection, and we
do get a green light.  Naturally Robby gets a parking spot in the first row,
muttering, "It's at the  end of the line. I hate when I can't get a close
spot." He's serious, but I let  it go concentrating mainly on keeping myself
in check, although I'm really  excited about our impending quickie. Walking
to the back door Robby takes my  hand, so I ask, "Aren't you worried about
someone seeing us and it gets back to  the team we're gay?" He says, "I'm not
gonna announce it, but if they find out,  fuck 'em. I'm proud you're my
boyfriend and if they don't like it, too bad." Oh  man, Robby just keeps getting
better and better. I snuggle against him making  him chuckle, "You nut,
Dylan." We go up the steps and down to our apartment.  Robby opens the front
door and inside he wraps me in his arms as he's kicking  the door shut. We do
a sloppy kiss this time for a minute or so that gets me  moaning, "Mmmm,
Robby, mmm, umm," and another sloppy wet kiss with our tongues  sliding
together. I feel Robby's boner poking my leg. Always a good  sign.


Robby takes my sweatshirt and pulls it over my head, then his. I just
stand here sucking my lips as he undoes my pant's, then my zipper and pulls my
pants and underpants down together. My boner bounces up and down a few
times.  Robby says, "Step out of them baby." I do but it take's Robby's help
getting  them over my sneakers. Robby's on his knees by now throwing my
pant/underwear  combination over, missing the sofa, then he grabs my boner and sucks
it into his  mouth and laps it with his tongue. My hands are in his hair,
my head back as I  moan, "Aaaah, oooh, Robby, oooh,"  he doing a lot of
sucking and then long  licks up the shaft before sucking on the head again with
his tongue all around  it. I'm lifting my heels off the floor one after the
other and squirming, "Aah,  aag," and my need to climax is quickly on me hot
and heavy. My balls are heavy  too and hard with my face getting red and a
million awesome sensations  tantalizing every fraction of an inch of my
groin. I squirm, then squeal, Eeeee,  aaah," as cum streams from my cock drooling
out both sides of Robby mouth with  him sucking my cock's head harder
getting more cum squirts out. I feel dizzy  with over stimulation and my
shoulders do their shudder as he stands up with cum  on his chin. He smiles, "Sorry,
couldn't resist, baby," as he leans in and we  kiss sharing some of my
semen. Then Robby gets undressed the rest of the way,  taking his sneakers off
first.


We're both naked with my cock a semi-boner now while Robby's is a fat
steel pipe. He hugs his naked body to mine and he is a little sweaty, but I love
 grunge once in a while, especially when it's Robby's grunge. More kisses
with  Robby's hard cock up between us leaking. He's moving his hands all over
my naked  body murmuring, "I love your perfect body, Dylan, so tight and
perfectly  formed." I begin to sweat a little myself now as we squirm
together, me clinging  to him feeling desire grow in me again. He's the one with the
perfect body and I  love rubbing mine against his. One tiny drawback is
that both our pubic stubble  is prickly. Other than that it's perfection. When
a long drool of precum from  Robby's cock smears our bellies he turns me
around and the wet head of his boner  pokes my asshole and then it's inside me.
I bend forward going, "Aaaah, ooh,  that feel good, Rob. Fuck me hard,
Rob," and he does. Grabbing my hips with both  hands, I grab my knees. Robby
groans, forcing his boner up my ass. He must  really be horny because he
usually does it slowly at first allowing my rectum to  adjust. I don't mind the
pain because it tells me my boyfriend can't wait to  fuck me. Robby leans over
me when he's all the way in, exhaling a long held  breath against my back.
He waits a few seconds, breathing hard, then he pulls me  against his groin
tightly making a hissing sound. Pulling his hard fat cock back  and then
pushing it right back up inside me going, "Mmmm, oooh fuck," and here  we go.
"Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds of male anal fucking hard and fast,  ramming
his body against my ass rocking me with each hard penetration. All the
familiar sensitive spots in my rectum come alive immediately increasingly
sensitive with each thrust up my ass. My cock's soon hard again as I'm groveling
 and humping back into his fast hard thrusts even as Robby's pulling me
back into  them with force. Robby cum's in less then four minutes with a large
load of  spunk exploding in my rectum and a loud, "Ummmmm, oooh fuck!" from
Robby.  My ass is very squishy and cum runs down the back of my legs as his
thrusting is wild for a full minute before he groans, slows down, and then
lays  on my back with his cock still up my ass. He hugs around my stomach
still  breathing hard, his heart pounding against my back. I feel such a love
for him  it brings tears to my eyes just thinking of our lives together for
years and  years to come... years leading to forever.


Breathing normally now Robby lifts off my back and thrust his softening
cock a half dozen times in my ass, mumbling, "I'll make up for this quickie in
 bed tonight, baby, I promise. When you act so hot for me like you've been
doing  lately it makes me crazy with happiness and horniness so much so I
get carried  away." I straighten up now too and lean my back against his chest
and the back  of my head on his shoulder, murmuring, "Keep doing that, Rob,
okay? It feels  good and you smell good too." He chuckles, "I do not smell
good, but thanks for  saying I do. Hey," as he pulls his soft cock from my
ass, "Let's take a shower  together, we need to shave our pubes too. Come
on," and he takes my hand leading  me through our bedroom and into the
bathroom. He turns on the shower, then says,  "Oh, shit! Dylan, go pick up our
clothes off the living room floor in case  Chubby gets back before we're done the
shower." I love that he's sending me to  do that. It's the sort of thing
the head of the household would do. Ha ha, I  know I'm nuts. Coming back with
my arms full of our clothes, I check my  wristwatch and see we've been in
the apartment for only ten minutes. Wow, great  ten minutes though.


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






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



I continue to provide this little advertisement in hopes that  some of you
readers will purchase the books that I have had  published. They 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


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

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