Date: Thu, 12 Mar 2015 11:20:08 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter   43

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR


Chapter   43


by  Donny Mumford




I had another poor night's sleep visualizing scenarios of fuckwad Marty's
doing horrible things to Ryan. He was AWOL for eight hours without 'checking
in'  with his 'master', so to speak. Ryan's suppose to check in to say
where he is,  what he's doing, and with whom. Right after class yesterday Ryan di
d 'check in'  or 'reported in' or whatever the fuck Marty calls it. Then
Ryan spent the next  eight hours with me and my roommates lifting weights,
eating dinner, drinking  beers, and watching Monday Night Football. That's as
normal a Monday afternoon  and night as you'll ever find on a college campus.
Well, we're basically just  off campus, but it was a normal day for college
students. Ryan's arrangement  with Marty was initially mutually agreeable,
but it's become a very one-sided  affair now that Marty's calling all the
shots. Those two are much deeper into a  dom/sub relationship then I've ever
been a part of, and they've been in it for a  much longer duration too.
Willie and I could pull it off for a couple of days  maybe, like we did in Key
West a year and a half ago, but that's my outside  limit. Ryan and fuckwad
have been going at it for over three months now and I'm  guessing from what
Ryan's said, and hinted at, that he's being treated badly and  it's getting
worse. The abuse from Marty and Marty's cohort, Rex, has escalated  to an
unhealthy degree, both physically and mentally for Ryan. They arranged to  be
roommates during the summer. One of them looking for a gay dominant buddy-sex
partner and the other a gay submissive buddy-sex partner. It seemed an ideal
 arrangement on paper, and Ryan was happy with it for the first few weeks.
Now  it's turned ugly because Marty's steadily been increasing his
dominance, little  by little, until now Ryan needs to basically get permission to
take a piss. It  reminds me of the situation Chubby and the window washer boys
found themselves  in during the summer of our junior year. A subject that
won't be mentioned, but  I know Chubby sees the comparison and he's being
especially supportive of Ryan  in mostly a nonjudgmental and nonverbal way, but
supportive nonetheless.  He's going out of his way to befriend Ryan and
include him as part of our  special roommate group.

Helping Ryan to help himself is my objective, but I'm flying blind going
strictly by my instincts. My idea is to show Ryan he's an important friend of
 ours, one we value. I'm hoping to build up his self esteem so he'll feel
he  doesn't deserve being treated the way Marty's treating him. Ryan will
then  hopefully be motivated to call the whole thing off. In other words get
completely out of the arrangement he's in with Marty. Monday I managed to at
least plant the idea in Ryan's mind that he can and should break-up with
Marty.  It's a touchy situation because of Ryan's basic addiction to being
submissive,  especially during sex. In the past he's been involved in two or
three similar  arrangement's and each case resulted in complete disaster. In
fact, whenever  he's gotten himself involved in serious sub/dom relationships
and they all  followed the same pattern. Hot sub/dom sex with the dominant
part escalating  until Ryan ends up being treated like an inanimate sex toy
and whipping boy.  It's frustrating that he keeps making the same fucking
mistake, but being  critical of him at this point won't help his self image
and could reinforce in  his mind that he deserves to be punished.


Last night after Ryan left the apartment, looking scared, Robby and I
talked quietly about his situation without coming to any additional conclusions.
 It'd be easy to throw Ryan under the bus, labeling him as a three time
loser.  It's been three times that I know of where he's gotten himself in
similar  situations, never learning his lesson. But as I said, throwing that fact
at him  as a type of aggressive criticism, isn't constructive and would
worsen his  chances of extricating himself from his increasingly untenable
position. I'm  worried that Marty's capable of continuing to increase his
dominance, his  control of Ryan, until Ryan's freewill will be seriously
compromised. I've read  that this can happen in the underworld of so-called
'master'-'slave'  arrangements. I'm intent on preventing that, although right now I'm
not entirely  sure how I'm going to do that. The sticking point is Ryan's
unwillingness to  confront the situation with Marty and therefore he's more
or less enabling Marty  to continue doing these things to him. Not that I
know what all these 'things'  are.


Like I said, Chubby's shown compassion for Ryan's predicament and so had
Robby. Both are concerned for him and Robby's said he thinks I have the best
chance of getting through to Ryan. Nothing like a little pressure, huh?
Robby  also basically acknowledged he's fine with the strong bond between me
and Ryan.  He sees the affection I have for the third member of our threesome
and he knows  Ryan and I have frequent sex together, and honorably he's not
letting jealousy  diminish his resolve to help Ryan face the facts. Robby's
convinced, and with  good reason, that he and I are true lovers and when
everything is said and done  we're going to marry each other and live happily
ever after. He's no longer  wasting energy being jealous at this point. I
have an even deeper loving feeling  for Robby because of the way he's handling
this. I'm proud of him. One thing led  to another last night, and before
falling asleep we were able to put Ryan's  problems aside for awhile and have
ourselves scrumptious lovers sex. It left us  breathless and deeper in love
than ever.  Breaking our premature engagement  has allowed us to relax and
enjoy being in love without a lot of rules and  regulations. We've both made
big strides in reducing the degree of jealousy we  feel for the other's
outside interests, and this is a side benefit of us knowing  we have a true love
relationship with each other. I'm not saying the green  monster known as
jealousy never raises it's ugly head, just that we don't  consider it as
important as we once did. Jealousy can be a destructive force  without any
redeeming qualities if you let it eat you up. It's basically a  narcissistic
emotion, although a little jealousy is normal if you love and care  for someone.
We understand ourselves better now and our arrangement is working  for us
quite well. Lots of compromise, fer sure, but that's part of a mature  loving
relationship. We may be immature in some ways, but not where our love is
concerned. Another thing we've talked about is this: If we get Ryan free of
Marty and then two  months later he's right back in the same predicament with
another dominant  fuckwad, what will we do then? There's got to be a time
when we give up on Ryan,  but as far as I'm concerned that won't be until he's
given up on himself. I  don't get the feeling that time is now, so I won't
give up trying to help  him.


I'm laying in bed this  Tuesday morning thinking all those thoughts while
Robby's in the bathroom taking  a shower. Me being jealous of Marty's
influence over Ryan is a very small and  insignificant part of my emotions for
those two. The strongest emotion I have is  despising the fuckwad. I hate him
because he's a sick perverted person for  mistreating Ryan the way he has. And
I don't even know everything he's  doing to Ryan, but what I do know is bad
enough. I know Marty beat Ryan up a  week or two ago because I saw Ryan's
black eye and other abrasions on his face  to prove it. Also, Ryan let it
slip that Marty makes him take an enema before  he'll fuck him, so that's
probably every day and daily enemas aren't healthy.  Marty's also paraded a
pajama-wearing, 'stoned' Ryan around in public on a  leash, and he grounded Ryan
for a week, and now Ryan needs to ask permission to  do just about anything.
I can't imagine what other things Marty and Rex do to  Ryan to get their
sick kicks, but even if there are no other obscenities, the  ones I know about
are reasons enough to get Ryan out from under Marty's control.  And, ya
know, right now I wish I could stop obsessing about  this!


To get my mind off the Ryan/Marty dilemma, I check my text messages and
emails. First I return a text to Cory Dunlevy commiserating with him about his
 latest mistake in boyfriends, telling him that he and I have got to make
time  together so we can catch up on things. He texts me back right away
saying he'd  love to hook up with me... and he needs a haircut too. Ha ha, not
too many guys  want to give up the profession-quality free haircuts. When I
think of Cory I  can't help but think back on the night I drove from New York
city drunk and  without having slept for like thirty-sex hours. Cory was my
guardian angel that  morning. He's come a long way improving himself as
person too. He deserves most  of the credit, but without patting myself on the
back, I believe I helped Cory  change from an antisocial homophobe to a gay
young man who's now comfortable in  his own skin, and generally speaking
more open and accepting of others. His  improved outlook on life has been a
factor in an improved home life with his mom  too. Him and his mom talked it
out and she's helped the home environment  immensely by eliminating the
overnight house guests who had been sleeping with  her, some of whom used to slap
Cory around. So I feel really good for  Cory.

Ah yes, and then here's a text from Sonny too. Ha ha, that hot shit
promises me all kinds of punishment for not coming home last weekend. Yeah,  Sonny
and me are a perfect example of two guys participating in harmless sub/dom
buddy sex. He's all bluster and confidence, but it's all in sexy good fun
for at  most an hour or so. Not three or four months like Ryan's no-fun,
harmful sub/dom  arrangement. I write a sarcastic text to Sonny and sign it,
'Me, and they'll be  no haircut Friday night!' I'm putting my foot down on that
because Ryan feels  good about himself when he gives me a successful
haircut. Of course that only  happens occasionally and almost by accident. Hmmm,
maybe I need to write a  handbook on how to have harmless fun with sub/dom
sex. My mom would be so proud  of me. Ha ha. I probably won't do that.


I owe Dodger and Connor emails too, so I get out of bed and write a  couple
of emails on my computer. That's much easier than doing it on my iPhone.  I
only write humorous things to them, then add some sentiment because I want
them to know I sincerely miss and love them both. It's tricky making the
emails  different for both, but I know they read each others so I do my best.
After  sending the emails I'm like, hmmm, I may have gotten a tad mushy with
the  sentiment part, but it's heartfelt. Damn, I feel good getting those
emails sent.  Oh yeah, Dodger's email told me to check in on Vinnie and I
promised I would so  I text Vinnie right now. My text says he needs a haircut
and that Dodger wants  him to visit with me. Amazingly, a first time ever
occurrence happens: Vinnie  texts right back telling me he's in chem lab and
he's well aware what Dodger  wants, and can he see me Saturday? Ha, another
ballsy kid texting in class. I  text that I'll text him Saturday if I'm gonna
be home from college. Ain't  texting the best! No small talk or awkward
pauses, just right to the point.  Genius! No messages from Ryan unfortunately and
that's worrisome, but I'll  reserve judgement until I see what condition
he's in an hour and a half from now  at our first class today.


Robby comes out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam, "It's all
yours, baby," and he kisses the side of my face as I sit at my desk. I go,
"Here, Rob, read the emails I just sent to your brother and Connor. Tell me if
 they're too sentimental." He leans over me with a hand on my shoulder and
reads  the emails from my computer screen, then goes, "Two very sweet
emails, Dylan,"  and I get another kiss. Robby goes, "I need to write both of them
emails too.  Damn, time slips by, ya know?" I nod, "Yeah, but we can't
forget those boys just  because we don't see them," and Robby's like, "Forget
them? I think about Dodger  every day and I miss him every day too. I couldn't
forget my brother if I tried.  We're like you and Chubby, extraordinarily
tight even for brothers." Walking  into the steamy bathroom, I'm saying, "In
some ways you guys are closer and in  other ways Chubby and me are closer,
but yeah, we're closer than most brothers.  Any hot water left?" He grins, "I
thought about using it all up to get even with  you for the times you use
it all, but then I remembered I love you more than  life itself so I turned
off the water and here I am. Oh, and I shaved too," I  turn around and walk
back to him, "Let me see," and I peer at his upper lip  closely. He goes, "Ya
can't see anything now, ya nut, I just shaved." I go,  "Well don't! I wanna
see your mustache." he mutters, "It's hardly a  mustache."


By the time I've showered and done my other bathroom  necessities, then get
dressed, Robby's done his coffee and  is
 waiting for me to have a morning  cigarette on the balcony with him. I
make a quick mug of fresh brewed coffee in  the miracle Keurig machine and we
step out on the balcony wearing our winter  jackets. Mine has a hood which I
put up. "Cold," says Robby, and I go, "It'll  get colder, but only one snow
storm so far." Robby mumbles, "One too many." I  don't want to keep talking
about Ryan's dilemma, but Robby brings it up. He's as  worried as I am and
we talk about our original inclination of just pounding the  shit out of
Marty. The one big drawback to that is Ryan asked us not to during  our talks
last night. That plus the retaliation possibilities Marty might take  out on
Ryan. So we put off the bull in the china shop plan for later  consideration.
Getting tough with Marty is what we'd probably have done a year  or two ago
without giving it a second thought, but we've matured some since  then.
While beating up Marty is an awesomely delicious concept it's not the  solution
in this situation, not at this  time anyway. In fact Ryan hasn't actually
ever asked for our help, not when you  get right down to it. I've been sorta
forcing it on him because I think he needs  it and I've got him thinking
that maybe he does need help. The 'maybe' is the closest I've been able to get
him agreeing with me. Maybe he needs to reconsider his  involvement with
Marty and maybe he needs my help. I could be out of  line butting into his
private life, but I gotta go with my gut feeling. It's  more than just a gut
feeling though... the way Marty and that other fuckwad,  Rex, are treating Ryan
is just wrong. There's no debate about that, not even if  Ryan rationalizes
somehow that he likes it, it's still wrong. And no matter what  he says,
I'm convinced Ryan doesn't like the treatment he's getting. I mean, who  could
like it?


Chubby left for an early class before we got out of bed so Robby and I
lock up the apartment and drive to the campus, parking close to our first of
two  classes today. My stomach feels funny again from anticipating seeing
Ryan.  That's two days in a row now that I've been apprehensive about what
condition  I'll find Ryan in, and it's getting old real fast. We're late so we
jog across  the parking lot with me freezing because I forgot gloves again. No
Ryan  sighting, but he'd be crazy to stand outside in twenty degree
temperatures with  this fucking wind bringing the wind chill factor down to ten
degrees or lower. I  don't ski or snowboard so winter has no redeeming features
as far I'm concerned.  Inside the building it feels very warm and we hustle
down the corridor bumping  fists with Scott Tinsdale and his shadow, Ears
Henderson, as we pass them  jogging in the other direction. This class is in
a classroom as opposed to a  lecture hall and a quick scan of the room tells
me Ryan's not here. Robby and I  exchange 'looks' as we sit down just as
the professors begins talking with his  back to the class. College professors
are some weird dudes.


I tell myself to concentrate, take notes, and stop thinking up the worst
possible reasons Ryan's not here. After fifty minutes, that seemed more like
five hundred, we get a fifteen minute break before the second half of this
once  a week class. Leaving our backpacks under the desks and our text books
open on  top of the desk we bundle up to brave the Antarctic conditions in
order to  satisfy our nicotine habits. Robby and I stand behind the brick
wall with a  metal plate naming this building after some dude who donated the
money to build  it. This structure partially blocks the wind so we can light
our cigarette.  Exhaling smoke and frozen breath combination we shrug at
each other, like... who  the fuck knows where Ryan is. We're tired of talking
about it... we both know  what the shrug meant. It's getting to be boring
trying to imagine all the  possible circumstances preventing him from being in
class. Without either of us  mentioning Ryan's name, Robby goes, "Ya might
as well text him, although he  probably won't answer." I text, 'Are you
alright?' and it's delivered and read,  but no return text. I mutter, "The
fuckwad probably confiscated Ryan's  cellphone." That's all we say about it
because, like I said, it's getting  frustratingly boring. Then we start
criticizing Ryan for not standing up for  himself, telling each other variations of:
There's only so much you can do to  help someone who doesn't want to be
helped.

The second half of class drags by, then and it's mercifully over and  we're
on our way out of the building in grouchy moods. That's mostly because,
while we're a little pissed off at Ryan, we're also worried about him in spite
 of ourselves. We have hotdog's for lunch back at the apartment listening
to a  One Direction CD, talking hardly at all. Chubby texts me about someone
vomiting  in his morning class, some of which splattered on John Beverly. It
struck Chubby  as the funniest thing ever. I just roll my eyes and pass my
cellphone to Robby.  He reads it, mumbling, "Your brother is easily amused."
Ryan's not at the last  class of the day either, but I don't bother to text
again because I'm convinced  Ryan's cellphone is in fuckwad's pocket. It's
only two-thirty and now the rest  of the day is free time. Outside the
lecture hall, Robby goes, "Uh, would you  get really pissed-off at me if I go to
the baseball office? You can take the  pickup, I'll get a ride from
somebody." Yeah, somebody named Danny Monday. I'm  taking a cigarette out of my
Marlboro box, "No, I'm not pissed off, Rob. You go  ahead, but I will take the
pickup or I'd freeze solid walking to the apartment."  He hands me the keys
smiling, "You're awesome! Thanks, babe." I mumble, "No  problem," and there
really is no problem. We'd probably just mope around the  apartment anyway
considering the down moods we're in.


Robby jogs off leaving me with his backpack again. Finishing my cigarette
I'm trudging towards the parking lot, the wind in my face blowing like
twenty-five miles an hour. I've got Robby's backpack over my right shoulder and
mine over my left, but I don't get far before Travis Hunter comes up behind
me  and stops me, "Ya got a minute, Dylan?" Oh fuck! "Um, it's kinda cold
out here,  Travis. What, um, do you want?" and I almost add, 'this time,' but
I don't. He  goes, "A haircut, remember?" I'm like, "You're serious about
that, huh?" I  really need to put him off because I'm not in the mood, but he
says, "Yeah, I'd  appreciate it because I'm taking Liz out to dinner
tonight. It's her birthday."  My hood just blew off my head and Travis puts it
back on giving my head a pat,  "How about it, Dylan?" Fuck, I'm not good at
hurting peoples feelings, but  before I can tell him no, he quickly adds, "Hey,
what's your little friend,  Rory, doing in the emergency room anyway." I
go, "What? You mean Ryan?" He  shrugs, "I thought you said his name was Rory.
The kid wearing glasses, he has a  buzz cut which by the way, I do not want
for my haircut." I go, "Uh, come on,  Travis, lets get in the pickup," and I
jog towards it with Travis jogging behind  me. We get inside and I get the
engine going and revving it, hoping for some  heat. At least we're out of
the wind.


Chatty Travis says, "Yeah, I wanna look good tonight, and I don't have
wheels to drive down to the plaza to Supercuts. Normally I can use my roommates
 car or go with him, but he's using it himself right now. Don't know where
he got  to, but his car is gone." My fucking head's gonna explode from too
much  information! He continues, "Reason I'm asking you for the haircut's
mostly  because Liz is driving up from Framingham for her birthday and it's
like a two  hour round trip. The least I can do is look spiffy for her." I
mutter, "Spiffy?"  and he goes on, "She goes to community college, you know,
commuting from her  parent's place. Her folks wouldn't cosign for college
loans, can you believe  that? Said she'd graduate owing sixty or seventy
thousands dollars without a  job. They've got a point though..." I cut him off,
"What about Rory, er, Ryan,  at the emergency ward?" He goes, "Oh yeah, my
roommate got drunk last night and  he thought it'd be a good idea to start
leapfrogging over parking meters, one  after the other all the way down the line,
and he eventually had a crash  landing. We're all mocking the shit out of
the clumsy oaf, laughing our drunken'  asses off, but this morning his wrist
is all swollen and turning colors so I  told him, 'You asshole, you broke
your fucking wrist', ha ha." I repeat myself,  "Yeah, but what about, Ryan?" He
goes, "Can I smoke in here?" I go, "No, what  about, Ryan." He's like,
"Well, I drove Murph to the emergency room. We went to  Muthuen hospital
although it's further than the one in Lawrence. The extra miles  are worth it
because I'm keeping my ass out of Lawrence on general principles.  There's some
bad ass places in that town." I'm gonna fucking strangle this kid.  I'm
twirling my index finger like, move it along. He says, "Oh, sure, I saw Rory
going into the emergency room with an older looking kid who was holding Rory's
wrist up like maybe he also had a broken wrist, or something's broke." I'm
like,  "Or something's broke? Well, did you see him when you were inside?"
He shrugs,  "I wasn't looking for him. It was crowded. Anyway, when Murph
finally gets  called they take him down to X-ray and I wondered..."


I drive off the parking lot not listening to anymore of his meandering
tale of Murph's broken wrist, whoever Murph is. Leapfrogging over parking
meters? What the fuck? I'll ask more about Ryan when we get inside the
apartment. Travis is again talking about his girlfriend, Liz, who he told me one
time he's been going steady with since they were juniors in high school.
Longer  than Robby and me have gone together. In the apartment's parking lot
naturally  there's no close parking spots, but I find one in the back. We get
out and with  me carrying both backpacks we trudge towards the back door right
into the teeth  of the freezing twenty-five to thirty miles an hour wind.
Why is it that no  matter which direction I'm walking it's always right into
the wind? I hate the  winter months! Travis is shouting something but I'm
not paying attention and  then we're inside where it's blessedly hot. This
building doesn't skimp on heat,  so I gotta give 'em props for that. Sometime
we actually open the balcony door a  little in the winter to cool off the
place. Get it under eighty degrees anyway.  Better than the alternative. A last
shiver that Travis and I do together and  then up the steps we go, with him
saying, "Colder than a witch's tit out  there."


Inside the apartment I drop the backpacks on the sofa. Travis says, "Nice
digs, dude." I ask him, "Ya want a beer?" 'cause I certainly do. He says,
"Yeah,  thanks." I get two Rolling Rocks from the refrigerator leaving three
remaining,  which I'll probably drink later. Opening the beers, I ask, "Did
you see any  blood on Ryan injured hand or wrist?" He scratches his cheek and
a full day's  beard growth. He goes, "No, definitely no blood. Wait, yeah,
he had two fingers  like taped together, so it probably isn't his wrist. His
little finger and the  one next to it, whatever that one's called." Yeah,
what is that finger called?  Huh, a broken finger, so why was Marty holding
his wrist up? No blood though so  that's good. I take a long swallow of beer
and for once it taste good. "Okay,  Travis, first thing is you need to take
your shirt off. I'll shampoo your hair  before the haircut." He looks
startled, "Really? You'll shampoo my hair?" I go,  "Yeah, I do it before every
haircut," and he goes, "Like those fancy salons,  huh?" I wiggle my finger at
him in the come-with-me gesture and he follows me  down the hall unbuttoning
his shirt. I pull the bedroom's straight back chair  into the bathroom and
motion for Travis to sit. He's seems completely relaxed as  if someone
shampoos his hair every day. We both take a big pull on our bottle of  beer and
then set them on the toilet tank top.

As I'm attaching the little hose with the spray head to the spigot I'm
looking at Travis. He's has chest hair that's brownish and curly and cover both
 pecs. It's maybe more than I consider sexy. Too much body hair and it
begins  turning me off. Hair on the shoulders and/or the back and it's like 'get
the  fuck out of here, you hairy ape'. Travis doesn't have a very hot torso
either,  although it's not horrible. He has nice hair on his head though.
It's a light  shade of brown with some wave to it, but it's very long in an
eighties style  covering his ears and collar.  It's called a layered cut,
popular back in  the day before my time. I know it's a layer cut because I've
read on line about  guy's hair styles, which is something I'm interested in.
When I knew Travis from  our Framingham High days he was a good looking
nerdie kid, but in kind of a hot  way, At least I thought so. He'd do his
awkward come-on acts to me back then and  it was kinda cute. Anyway, he's got some
gay leaning I'm sure of that. What I'm  saying is, we never hung out
together, but I kinda liked him in high school.  Last year too, but this year he's
apparently thinking he's found his cool  groove, which he hasn't. He
hasn't, but doesn't know it and consequently he's  been more of a pain in the ass
than anything else. He's still very good looking  though, although not cute
if you know the difference, and there is a difference.  He wore glasses up
till this year too, which I thought made him look vulnerable  and sexy in
that nerdy way of his. I like some nerdie kids a lot because they're  humble
and always trying to please. Then there are the arrogant nerds who look  down
on everyone because they get good grades or something. I don't like them at
all.

I say, "I'm going to wet your hair and then shampoo it, Travis. You don't
need to do anything except relax." I don't say, 'And keep your mouth shut',
but  I should have. Travis says, "I think this is cool, Dylan. Thanks, man.
Ya know,  you've always been the coolest guy I know. You're kinda someone
I've always  looked up to." Huh, maybe he's not so bad after all. I modestly
mention, "Dude,  there are much better candidates to look up to than me, like
almost everybody."  He shrugs, "Just saying. And I admire you for being
openly gay without flaunting  it or being a sissy about it." I have nothing to
say to that. So he adds  something I'm already very well aware of, "I've
always been curious about what  it's like being gay. What's it like having, you
know, sex with another guy. I  don't think I could put anybody's cock in my
mouth though. Heh heh, not even my  own if that was possible." I mumble,
"Could we not talk about this, or anything  really. I'll put a CD on." Then I
stop and look at his hair in that retro  eighties style. I could do a
layered cut, but I don't want to. I go, "Ya know  what, Travis? I refuse to redo
your current hair style, which is a layer cut in  case ya didn't know." He
says, "I know what it's called," and I ask, "How the  fuck long have you had
your hair like this?" He turns his head, looking at me,  "Like this?" and he
runs his fingers through the hair on the side of his head,  "Um, as long as
I can remember." I go, "I'll bet your father has the same  style, doesn't
he?" He nods, "Yeah, what style should I have?" I shrug,  "Certainly not the
style middle age men wear. Chose any other style you like,  but I don't do
these old time hair styles 'cause I don't like 'em. Sorry, but if  you want me
to give you the haircut you'll need to have a style a little closer  to
relevance in the twenty-first century." He asks, "Then you cut it like you
think it should be cut," and I'm like, "You want me to cut it the way I think
it'll look good?" he says, "Yeah, I guess. Not a buzz cut though, okay?" I
mumble, "Leave it to me," and then go in the bedroom and stick a Counting
Crows'  CD in the player hoping this will get him to shut up.


Back in the bathroom, I say, "Let me do this in silence, okay, Travis?
I'll try giving you a much needed make-over, um, in the hair style department.
You're sorta okay otherwise, heh heh." That was stupid. Don't insult the
poor  bastard, fer chrissakes. He grins at me nodding his head, which somehow
reminds  me of the nerdie/sexy Travis from our high school days. Hey, maybe
he responds  to someone telling him what to do, like an authority figure.
Wetting his hair I  look at the side of his hazel eyes and see a moving disc
on his pupil. Oh, it's  his contact lens. Man, how do people wear those
things? Like most of the guys I  do this for, Travis closes his eyes as I get
into shampooing his long hair. This  might be the longest hair I've shampooed
yet, and it's weirdly not sexy at all.  Not at all, and maybe that's because
it reminds me of a girl's hair. The tricks  our brains play on us, jesus!
Why should it matter if it's a guy's or girl's  hair? I don't know, but it
matters to my conscious mind. Yeah, my conscious mind  that's been affected and
conditioned by millions and millions of separate  inputs, big ones and tiny
ones, most of which I'm not even aware of. It's so  fucking mysterious how
we're all perceiving some of the exact same things  differently. I guess
that's because none of us has the same programming from  everything we see or
feel or perceive day after day from the day we're born.  They're are lots of
things a lot of people can agree on generally, like some  form of music and
many other things too of course, but not everything.  Everyone's different
to some degree; for example, just think of the countless  unimaginable
variety of fetishes people have. What programing of their  subconscious caused
them to chose that fetish? Cue the Twilight Zone music. That  old movie blows,
by the way, and why do I wonder about this kind of shit anyway?  Waste of
time.


Due to the un-sexiness of shampooing Travis' hair, it's a quicker than
usual shampoo and I'm rinsing the suds out after two minutes or so. With all
this fucking hair though it takes twice as long to rinse it and dry it than
any  guy I've had the occasion to do this for. It gets dry eventually and I
comb a  part on the left side. It's a very straight part indicating dense,
medium fine  hair, but no surprise because he's got nice hair like I said.
"Come on in the  other room, Travis, and I'll give you the haircut in there.
You've got nice hair  and it should be shown off in a better hair style than
you've been rockin' like  forever. Um, no offense intended." He says, "Not a
buzz cut thought, right?" I  laugh out loud at that because he's said the
same thing ten times in the last  half hour. Patting his shoulder, I mumble,
"No buzz cut, right." I explain to  him I don't have a barber's cape, which
he shrugs at as he sits on the stool.  The stool sits, as usual, on the tile
part of the floor just before the wall to  wall carpet begins for the living
room. I don't want to freak him out with too  short of a haircut so I use
the five/eight inch guide on the clippers, then run  them halfway up the
sides and back of his head leaving hairs between a half-inch  and three-quarters
of an inch long. Tons of long hairs fall all around him and  to his credit
he says nothing. Probably scared shitless, heh heh. I know this  haircut
will show off his good looks better than the ladies' cut he's had for  years.
Most of the rest of the haircut I do with scissors and comb so as not to
give him a heart attack. The clippers would be twice as fast but he's not used
to hearing clippers running.


Luckily I have professional barber's scissors that cut though his hair
easily. 'Scrunch, scrunch. scrunch," as the scissors reduce the nine or ten
inch  hairs around his head to between two and three inches long. To me he
already  looks a lot cooler. What would really look cool on him is that latest
style of  buzzed sides and long hair on top like I've given a couple of guys,
but it's too  much of a change for Travis so I've chosen this longer
version of a preppy style  cut. It takes a good twenty minutes before I'm
outlining around his ears with  the trimmer clippers. I've tapered the hairline at
the neck slightly and it's a  very good haircut. Around Travis on the floor
is definitely the most hair I've  seen there since Dawg went from his long
ponytail to a tight buzz cut. Ryan's  ponytail was barely long enough to be a
ponytail so there wasn't nearly the hair  on the floor as this haircut has
produced. I pass Travis the handheld mirror,  asking, "What do you think?" He
looks at himself while running his fingers  through his hair on top and in
the back. Nodding his head, he goes, "Cool, feels  good! Yeah, very cool,
Dylan. Wait'll Liz sees me." I say, "She'll like it,  Travis," and pat his
shoulder, then brush off the long hairs there. He stands  and now we're both
brushing hairs off him. He finally says, "I'm taking a  shower, Dylan, so I'm
good like this." I mutter, "Yeah, okay," and he says,  "Thanks, Dylan,
really! I needed a push to change my appearance and you're  right, this is much
cooler. You're really talented, you should make this your  career, dude." I
tell him what I tell everybody, "Nah, then I'd have to give  haircuts to men
and children I don't want to give haircut to. Now I do it for  friends of my
choosing." He goes, "Thanks again for including me."


I get the broom out along with a dustpan and he's like, "Here, let me do
that." Mumbling, "Yeah, thanks," I put the barber stuff in the toiletry kit
and  leave it on the bar, and then hold the dustpan while he sweeps the pile
of hair  onto it. As he does that he surprises the shit out of me, asking,
"Do you think  you could do it up my rear end, Dylan? Um, as a favor. I've
always wanted to see  what that feels like." Recently there have been a couple
of times I've been  speechless and this is another one. I can't think what
to say. He adds, "I know  how fucking nuts that sounds, but would you? I've
got a condom and, um, if you  want to, um..." Three phony coughs as I stand
up looking at him, thinking maybe  this is a joke, but no, he appears as
serious as an undertaker. Dumping the hair  in the trash, I go, "Ya kinda
caught me off guard with that one, Travis. How  long you been planning on asking
me that?" He blushes and way to go, he can  blush. "Um, I've been working up
the balls to ask that for three or four years  now." I chuckle, "Seriously?
You've been wanting to ask me to fuck you for three  or four years, huh?
Jesus!" He shrugs, "I'm a nerd, Dylan, what can I say." I'm  rubbing my face,
"Um, did you ask anyone else?" He goes, "Nope, I didn't want  anyone else.
I'm not gay, just curious and you're better looking than my  girlfriend, heh
heh, so I asked you. You know, as a favor, like I said. Also,  I'd ask you
to keep this between you and me, please."


I'm putting the broom and dustpan in the closet trying to think how to
handle this and finally I come right out and say, "I'm kinda not feeling it,
Travis. Sorry." He looks confused, "Oh, I thought you'd like to fuck every
guy  you see. Ya know, since you're gay." I snort because he's half right,
then say,  "No, no that's not the way it is. Do you want to fuck every girl you
see?" He  says, "Yeah, most of them anyway, but then I'm still a virgin."
Jesus, come  right out and say whatever's on your mind, Travis. I go, "That's
not really any  of my business, but I wish you good luck in future, um,
endeavors in that  regard, or whatever." He nods his head a few times, then
rather reluctantly it  seems to me, mumbles, "Okay, I'll suck your cock first
if it's necessary. Is  that the way it's done?" Now I'm feeling bad for him.
I don't want to make the  poor bastard grovel. I say, "That's how it's done
sometimes, Travis, and there's  other foreplay too, but I wouldn't want you
to do anything you weren't  comfortable doing. Why don't we both think about
this some more and talk about  it later?" He says, "Whatever you say,
Dylan, but I've got this weird feeling  for you. Maybe it's because the last half
hour you've been shampooing and  cutting my hair. It's a funny feeling in
my stomach and, um, in my dick a little  too. Couldn't you make an exception
and satisfy my curiosity. I'd never tell a  fucking sole and I'd be in your
debt." Well fuck me! I mumble, "Okay, Travis,  lets see what we can work out
here.'


This is a unique situation because I do not have the hot's for him, and I
won't make him suck my cock, and I don't want to kiss him... so how the fuck
am  I gonna get a boner? This could be terminally embarrassing. All of a
sudden  Travis holds up his hands, "Wait! Is it okay if I change my mind?" I
hope he's  changing it the right way. I mumble, "Of course, Travis. Um, what
have you  changed your mind about?" He says, "I'm chickening out. I can't do
it, um, not  now anyway." Oh, thank God! Keeping my cool, I go, "No problem
at all, Travis. I  think that's the smart choice on your part. Maybe you
wanna try having sex with  your girlfriend before experimenting with the
alternatives. Just a suggestion."  Whew, that was a close call, but I don't want
to appear too relieved or it might  hurt his feelings that I don't want to
have any sex at all with him. It's funny  too, because before today there
were times I thought it might be hot to jump in  the sack with him. Before he
can change his mind again, I say, "I'll give you a  ride back to your dorm."
He's looking down, "I feel kinda like a shit, Dylan,  for backing out at the
last second." I'm like, "No, no, not at all, Travis," as  I hand him his
coat, "That's the smart move. Who knows what the future holds  though. Ya
know, maybe sometime, ya know..." He says, "You'd have done it  through, right?"
I shrug, "I sort of said I would." Which doesn't actually  answer his
question, but it's close enough and I probably would have... maybe.  As we're
going down the steps to the parking lot, he goes, "Man, my heart was  racing
there for a minute or two. It's weird that I thought I wanted to do it  for
over three years, thinking how I'd ask you and all, and then when you're  just
about to answer my curiosity, bam! I chicken out." I go, "Huh," and we go
outside into the Antarctic again.


On our way to Merrimack, Travis says, "That's between you and me, right?"
I say, "Positively! It's like the subject never came up." This is more like
the  Travis I kinda liked before this year, acting unsure of himself... a
likable  nerdie/sexy guy. He says, "And I'm really liking this haircut too! Ya
know,  sometimes I feel like a little kid when I'm around you. You've got
your shit  together and I guess that's why I think you're so cool." Oh yeah,
I've got my  shit together alright. Ha! I hope he never gets a job in human
resources because  he can't read people worth a damn. He'd be hiring all the
wrong people, and I  can't help but chuckle, then say, "I'm glad you like
the haircut, but I do not  have my shit together, whatever exactly that
means." He mutters, "Compared to me  you do." At his dorm he looks at me with a
little grin on his lips, saying,  "This has been quite a unique experience,
Dylan. Thanks for everything. Maybe  another time, huh?" I nod my head
returning his grin with a little smile, "Sure,  you bet, Travis, who knows? Have a
good time tonight," and I give his shoulder a  pat. He holds his fist over,
still grinning, "You're the best, Dylan." I bump  his fist and he gets out.
Giving him a wave, I drive away feeling like I dodged  a bullet. It makes
me laugh thinking, 'what if'. What if he hadn't changed his  mind and  I
couldn't get a boner up. That would probably hurt his feelings  and embarrass me
no end. I'm trying to figure out why I don't find him sexually  attractive.
I mean, he's nice looking, he has a beard and a decent body. He  should
have at least seemed kind of sexually interesting, but he wasn't. Not to  me
anyway. Hmmm, I guess maybe he has too much body hair and too mature of a
beard, but that sounds like rationalizing even to me. Oh fuck, what difference
does it make. Somehow I like him more as a person now though, but I still
don't  want to have sex with him. I'll leave it at that. What to do now
though? It's  four o'clock in the afternoon and already getting dark. I could
hang out in the  apartment and maybe do a paper or two. Whoop-dee-doo.


One thing I need to do is get gas for the pickup so I drive to a BP
station, self serve naturally, and pump some gas. The place is lit up like a
movie set. There's a skinny teen pumping gas into an aged Mustang across the
pump from me. He's about Ryan's size although with his winter coat on it's
hard  to tell exactly. I'm guessing he's thin though. He has a NFL Patriot cap
on his  head with long limp blond hair hanging straight as a poker almost to
his  shoulders. Cute kid in a funny sort of way. Slim blond boys with very
pale  complexions are usually cuter than your average teen, at least they
seem to be  to me. This kid catches me staring at him and looks startled as he
blushes a  dark pink, but still defiantly stares right back at me holding
eye contact way  too long. Normally eye contact between guys lasts much less
then a second. I've  got a bemused expression on my face wondering, 'Huh,
what do we have here?' He  finally drops his eyes to the gas nozzle in his
hand and pulls it from his car.  Without looking at me he puts the nozzle on
the pump, asking, "You go to  Merrimack, right?" He has what I guess I'll call
a cute musical voice. Yes,  voices can be cute too. I nod, "Yeah, I do, how
'bout you?" Shrugging, he  mutters, "Nah, I don't go there." That makes me
blurt out a laugh, then say,  "No, I didn't think you did. Do you go to high
school here in North Andover?"  From his appearance I would have guessed
middle school except he's driving so  he's gotta be in high school. He glances
at me, "Yeah, senior at North Andover."  A senior?! The gas stops pouring
through the hose with an abruptly jolt, so I  pull the nozzle out and place
it on the pump. He mumbles, "I'm thinking about  going there next year. How
do you like it?" I go, "Good, it's good, not great.  Kinda small, but I'm
more than fine with it." Twisting on the gas cap, then  sticking a credit or
debit card in the pump, he asks, "Would ya show me around  the campus?" I'm
finishing up with the pickup's gas cap, then getting out my  debit card, "I'd
be glad to show you around sometime, but it's dark  now."

He's got his receipt and he's leaning on the driver's door of his car
staring at me again, so I ask, "What's your name?" He walks past the pump to
where I'm standing. I look up wondering, 'What the fuck?'. Up close I see he
has  a couple of red spots around his chin and a very light, short mustache
of blond  peach fuzz and some on his chin too. Brown eyes and sexy lips that
he uses to  create a sort of pouting expression. Fucking sexy actually. He
says, "What's  yours?" I'm like, "What's my what?" he mutters, "Your name.
What's your name."  There might be something a little 'off' with this kid. I'm
ready to go, but he's  standing right in front of me. Chuckling a little,
"I say, "Well fuck, dude, I  asked you first," and he smiles this beautiful
smile with teeth so white the  bright glare of the spot lights seem to shine
off his teeth. There's a space  between his front two teeth, which I've
always thought was really cute and  youthful. It's not a cool look for adults of
course, but who cares about that.  And this kid isn't plenty youthful
looking even without that little space  between his front teeth. He says, "Yeah,
you asked first, didn't ya. I'm Francis  Walsh, and you are?" I go, "Dylan
Newman," and I use one of Chubby's tricks of  putting an 'ie' on formal
names, adding, "Frankie," instead of his stated,  'Francis', "Nice to meet you."
He laughs out loud, then goes, "Frankie! No  fucking body calls me Frankie
twice, Dillie." I chuckle, "Dillie! No fucking  body calls me that twice,
Frankie." He's grinning with these big dimples, his  eyes shiny, red spots like
rouge on his cheeks. He goes, "If you show me yours,  I'll show you mine.
School, that is."


Wow, that was a double entendre if I've ever heard one. He'll show me  'his
if I show him mine', huh? We're standing here smirking at each other, so I
say, "It's dark out so I don't know how much you'll see, but okay, I'll
take you  around the campus. Ya wanta follow me?" and he goes, "Would you
follow me  instead? I need to I'll drop my car off at home." I'm frowning
thinking, 'This  is weird'. He adds, "I live less than a mile from here. My brother
needs the  car." Shrugging, I mumble, "Yeah, I guess," and he mutters,
grinning again,  "Thanks, Dillie," and steps over to his car and opens the door.
Looking back at  me he goes, "You won't kidnap me will you?" I laugh, "No,
Frankie, I haven't  kidnapped anyone since, um, ever." He smiles, "Call me
Francis," and gets in his  car, starting the engine. I'm not calling a guy
'Francis', fuck that. He's right  about living a mile from the gas station
though. It's less than a mile when I  pull up to the curb in front of an
average looking two story house as Francis  drives his Mustang up the short
driveway of the house. Turning off the Mustang,  he gets out and walks down to the
idling pickup, getting into the passenger seat  holding out his hand, "We
forgot to shake hands when we introduced ourselves."  Smirking, I shake his
hand and he holds onto my hand, saying, "It's okay if you  kidnap me." Yeah,
there is something 'off' about this kid. I hope he doesn't  pull a knife on
me. Baby faced mass murderer.


Making a U-turn on his street I drive back past the gas station down  route
114 to Merrimack. He doesn't say anything, so I ask, "How ya doing so far
in your senior year?" He asks, "How do you mean? Academically or
romantically?"  Oh brother! I say, "Both, Frankie," and he laughs out loud again, then
says,  "Are you stupid? I told you not to call me that. I'm not five years
old."  Without any malice in my voice I say, "Fuck you, Frankie," and he does
an  elaborate shrug, and says with exasperation, "Okay, you win. I'm
Frankie." I  ask, "Do your friends actually call you Francis?" He laughs, "No,
they call me  'Frank' or 'Frankie', why?" A nut case! I say, "No reason. So how
ya doing in  your senior year?" He says, "Academically I'm doing good. I've
got about a 3.2  GPA, but romantically the year's been a disaster." As I'm
driving onto the far  end of Merrimack's campus, down near the chapel, I
ask, "Why such a disastrous  year romantically?" He goes, "I'm gay and nobody
else at North Andover High is."  I laugh at that, saying, "Bullshit." He
grins, "But you are, aren't you?" Holy  shit! I'm like, "Yeah, I'm gay, but
how'd you know?" He's like, "Oh, I wouldn't  have known except I saw you kissing
a little guy with a buzz cut outside  McDonalds last week. Little guy with
little round eyeglasses." Huh, ya never  know who's observing you. He says,
"That kiss was so fucking hot I almost blew a  load in my pants."


Okay, this might be the strangest encounter ever. I park in the upper
parking lot, kill the engine and turn in my seat facing him, saying, "You know
damn well there are other gay kids in high school, other than you, right?
You  just haven't  found anyone to, um, experiment with?" He shakes his head,
"No, I'm terminally shy," and again I say, "Bullshit! You're about as shy
as a  stand up comedian." He laughs, "Okay, I lied, I'm not all that shy, but
I still  don't know other gay kids except for the obvious ones and they
don't interest  me. Are there any gay college students at Merrimack?" I go, "Of
course there  are, not that I know that many. Maybe a half dozen out of
five thousand  students, but there are probably five hundred gay or lesbian
students going to  Merrimack this year. Granted the majority are probably
closeted. Are you in the  closet?" He goes, "Of course!" and I shrug, "Well, so
are most of the other gay  students in high school." He asks, "Would you rape
me?" I'm like, "Get the fuck  outta here with that! Of course I won't rape
you or anyone else." "Don't you  think I'm, uh, cute?" I shrug, "Whaddaya
you think?" He says, "Nah, I guess I'm  not. Not compared to you anyway." I
ask, "Do you wanna see the campus or not?"  He opens his door, "Sure, show me
around and point out the half dozen gay guys  you know. Forget about the
lesbians though."


I get out and lock the pickup wondering, 'Why am I doing this?' I walk  him
past some dorms and he asks what the dorm rooms are like so I describe
Ryan's room as well as Dougie's and Jamie's. He asks, "How come one has a sink
and the other room doesn't?" I go, "Ya got me. Maybe the sinks in a newer
dorm.  I live in those apartments down route 114 a mile or so, not in the
dorms." Our  breath's are frosty in this unseasonable cold day in December.
Usually doesn't  get this cold until mid January, then all of February, the
worst month of the  year. Francis wants to know, "Do any rooms have their own
bathroom?" I shake my  head, "Nope, it's communal lavatories at the end of
the corridor." he goes,  "Ewww. Maybe I'll stay in an apartment. Could I share
yours?" I laugh, "I'll ask  my two roommates." I'm pointing out the lecture
halls, then the sports complex  and finally we're in the quad getting hot
chocolates to warm up. He says, "This  hot chocolate tastes weird," and I'm
like, "Yeah, it does, but I didn't want a  coffee. Have you seen enough of
the campus yet?" He goes, "Yeah, Merrimack's  like you said, it's okay. Can I
see your apartment?" I'm like, "No, and why  would you want to?" He smirks,
then says, "I've never kissed a guy. What's it  like?" I go, "Have you ever
kissed a girl?" He nods his head, "Of course," and  I'm like, "It's like
that. Lips are lips." He takes his Patriot cap off and runs  his fingers
through his hair. He has it parted in the middle with all the hairs  the same
length, bangs and all. I say, "Isn't that long hair a pain in the ass?"  He
shrugs, "Yeah, sometimes. I saw you with another boy too. Really cute guy,  but
not as cute as you. You called him Rob." I go, "What the fuck? Are you
stalking me?" He's indignant, "NO! It's coincidence. I saw you first with the
little guy with the buzz cut and then with Rob, who has longer hair, but it's
 the same color as yours."


Very observant lad. Reminds me of myself. He adds, "I've only seen you
twice, and then today at the gas station. Couldn't believe it was you." I go,
"And you were too shy to ask me to rape you. Oh wait, you did ask me." He
laughs, "I don't mean rape, I mean," and he lowers his voice leaning his head
 closer to mine to say, "Fuck me. Fuck my cute ass, and it is cute too." He
 laughs sitting back, "I've checked it out in the mirror. Very cute and
hot." I  nod and smirk at him because he's kinda cool for a high school
student. I go,  "Give me your license," and he gets his wallet out saying, "You
don't believe  I'm eighteen, do you? And you should talk! You look my age."
Dougie or Jamie  said the same thing and it's not true for them or Frankie. He
passes me his  license and I take a look. Cute picture, and huh, he'll be
nineteen in May. His  picture on the license shows him with a buzz cut." I
pass it back to him, "You  looked cuter with the buzz cut." He goes, "Ah ha!
You think I'm cute, don'cha?"  I go, "Sure," and he's running his fingers
through his hair, that looks slightly  greasy, saying, "I look too young with
the buzz cut don't ya think?" I go,  "Nope." He asks me other questions as we
drink our imitation hot chocolate, the  latest question being, "Which one of
the guys I saw you with is your boyfriend?"  I ask, "Which one do you think
it is?" and he says, "The little guy you kissed?"  saying it like a
question. I go, "Maybe,"and we get up to dump our paper cups in  the trash. Outside
I light a cigarette and Frankie asks, "You smoke?" I chuckle,  "Um, what's
it look like?"


At the bottom of the steps he asks, "Can I borrow one from you?" so I  hold
the pack out and he lights a cigarette off mine. He takes a puff and blows
the smoke right out. Ha ha, I go, "You don't smoke," and he says, "Oh, no,
what's it look like I'm doing?" I say, "Not smoking, that's one thing it
doesn't  looks like. The other thing is it looks like a girl smoking for the
first time."  He laughs again. He laughs a lot. We're walking to the car,
"Why won't you show  me your apartment, Dillie?" That makes me laugh. Then I
grab his arm stopping  him, and ask, "Hey, have you ever had a guy give you a
smokin' hot kiss?" He  shakes his head, "I've never had any kind of kiss
from a guy." I cup his chin  with my hand, inhale off my cigarette, and kiss
him on the lips exhaling the  smoke into his mouth. He blows it right out
along with a saliva spay, without  inhaling, as he's blushing again under the
parking lot lights. I grin at him and  we walk to the pickup where he says,
"Do a regular kiss, okay?" Holding my  cigarette away from us I put my hand
behind his neck, feeling his hair on my  palm, and give him a wet kiss with my
tongue licking across his front teeth and  get a whiff of his boyish scent,
youthful, innocent, and delicious. Then pull my head away, saying, "That
was a very routine kiss between two guys. There are much sexier ones though."
 He's sucking on his lips while pulling at the crouch of his jean, then he
lets  out a long breath. I ask, "How'd you like it?" He nods his head, "Uh
huh, a  lot." I shrug, "Okay, get in the pickup and I'll demonstrate a couple
of others  one. Give you a tutorial so you don't act like a dork in the
unlikely event you  ever find a boyfriend."


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







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



I have had some books published and 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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