Date: Mon, 16 Mar 2015 11:55:36 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter  44

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR


Chapter  44


by  Donny Mumford


Tuesday afternoon I'm still with young Francis Walsh who appears eager  for
his lesson in gay kissing. With his cute face, long blond hair, and slim
body it's hard to believe he's never hooked-up with a fuck buddy, but that's
what he claims. Someone with his attractive attributes would surely have
come up  with a fuck buddy by his senior year of high school, so there's got
to be some  thing about him I'm not aware of yet. It's possible he's just
another naively  innocent gay lad chasing his dream of being fucked, but not
doing anything to  make it happen. I mean, until now when Frankie/Francis
asked me to fuck him. I'm  wondering will he, like Travis earlier today, decide
otherwise when the moment  of truth is eminent. For Francis it might be one
of those 'be careful what you  wish for' kind of things. If I was smart I'd
politely tell him to get lost, but  I've never been real smart about sex.
Initially I'll try discouraging him of  course, but if I'm convinced he's
serious about it I might accommodate him.  After all he is almost nineteen so he
should know what he wants by now. We've  been smoking cigarettes on one of
Merrimack's parking lots next to Robby's  pickup, which I have the use of
this Tuesday afternoon.


We drop our cigarettes butts and get into the pickup with Francis/Frankie
looking anxious. I can't help but think that life's a funny smorgasbord of
possibilities at times, some of which are worth following up on. I'm just
not  sure yet if this is one of them, but finding out might be fun. Inside the
pickup  he's like, "Okay, what do I do?" I ask, "Whaddaya wanna do?" He
smiles,  blushing, "Um, you know, make out with you, like we started to do. So,
how do I  begin." I take his hat off and toss it in the back seat, then
ruffle his long  blond hair, asking him, "Are you really this obvious?" He
shrugs grinning, then  reaches over and runs his fingers over my buzzed hair,
saying, "You look cool  with this haircut. I had a buzz cut until about two
years ago and I haven't had  a haircut since then, as you can probably tell,
but maybe I'll get one when I go  to college." I roll my eyes, "Is that
right? When you go to college, huh?" and I  slide over to him, away from the
steering wheel, "Okay, give me a kiss, Frankie,  and show me what you got." He
mutters, "Yeah, but first true confession time:  I've only made out one time
in my life. It was with a girl and it was terrible.  I didn't know what I
was doing, and didn't want to do it with her in the first  place. So you'll
need to teach me mostly." I go, "Sure," and he takes a deep  breath, but
doesn't do anything except just sits there.


After waiting ten seconds or so, I ask, "Are you sensing that it's a
little bit odd for us to be making-out when we basically don't know each other?"
He laughs, "No, I don't think it's odd at all. That's not why I'm
hesitating.  It's that I'm afraid you'll make fun of the way I do it." I go, "Well,
you must  have watched videos of gay guys kissing, right?" He goes, "Only
every night  under the covers. I jerk off watching gay guys do stuff, gay guys
who know what  they're doing." Grinning, I ask, "Do you wack-off into a
sweat sock like I used  to do?" He laughs, "No, no sock. I cum on the sheets,
heh heh, every night and  it feels good too. I've been jerking-off since I was
twelve years old. I do it a  couple of times a day." Hmmm, a horny little
fellow. I ask, "Haven't you ever  asked a buddy to at least jerk off with
you? You know, like a circle jerk." He  goes, "Nope, never had the balls," and
I'm like, "Well then, where'd you get the  balls to ask me to fuck you?" He
says, "That's different, you're hot, plus I  don't know you, so I can always
say I was kidding or I change my mind without  everybody at North Andover
High hearing about it." Yeah, I can see that, except,  "How come you're not
worried about me being a pervert and taking advantage of  you?" He shakes his
head, chuckling, "You, a pervert? No way, you're a nice guy,  I can tell."
I go,  "Yeah, you're right about me, but be careful of other  strangers you
ask to have sex with. There are perverts out there aplenty, as  well as
other kinds of dangerous predators." I'm thinking of scheming asshole's  like
Marty, who would eat this cute kid up as a snack. "Anyway, we don't need to
make-out now, Frankie. Maybe another time." He goes, "Oh no, I'm finally in a
 car with a for-real gay guy and I want to learn about making-out, but I'm
just a  little bit nervous." I mumble, "Listen, at least try a kiss, or
what are we doing here?"


He takes a deep breath, then  leans over closing his eyes and kisses my
lips like you might kiss your baby  sister goodnight. "That was a sweet kiss,
Frankie, thanks. Now my turn," and I  get a handful of hair at the back of
his head pulling his face against mine and  suck on his lips until his mouth
parts enough for me to slide my tongue onto his  mouth. He presses his face
against mine and moves his tongue as he's quietly  murmuring, "Mmmmm,
oooh."Fifteen seconds of kissing and sucking tongues until he  gasps, pulling his
head away, pushing at his crotch with his fingers. He sucks  in a deep
breath, than lets it out, asking, "How did you do that?" I'm like, "We  both did
it, Frankie." I'm actually kinda surprised he didn't freak-out when my
tongue went in his mouth. Hmmm, I didn't feel his pale blond mustache either. I
tell him, "Tongues are as sexy as lips, especially yours. You're a hottie
yourself." He goes, "Really? Thanks!" I say, "See if you can kiss me like I
kissed you." Fuck, I feel like I'm seventeen again and experiencing this for
the  first time. He looks serious as he licks around his lips leaving them
shiny with  his saliva. His hand goes behind my neck and then he sucks on my
lips pushing  his tongue in my mouth while moving his head side to side a
little bit rubbing  our noses together. He keeps it up for thirty seconds or
so and then slowly  pulls his lips off mine making a wet sucking sound as
our lips pull apart. It  takes a conscious effort on my part not to push at my
crotch now too. Damn, he  tastes and smells really good. I'm sneaking in a
deep breath without being  obvious about it as he stares at me a few seconds
before asking, "How'd I do?" I  nod my head, giving myself another second
or too to catch my breath. Don't want  to sound as breathless as I feel, then
I manage to mutter, "Okay, pretty good,"  and do a fake cough collecting
myself a little more. But wait a minute here! I  smile and point a finger at
him, "Don't give me that bull crap you've never  kissed a guy before."


He's laughing, showing his cute grin and those super white teeth of his
with the little separation between the two top front ones, then he says, "I
gotcha there, didn't I? Yeah, I lied. I have a kissing buddy,  but he won't
blow me and I won't blow him, and forget about fucking. So I need your help
in  those two areas, plus I didn't really know if my buddy and I were doing
it  right." "What's your kissing buddy look like, Frankie? Is he hot?"
Frankie goes,  "Afraid not, his nickname's pork chop, which should yell you all
you need to  know. He's the round mound of rebound except he can't play
basketball. He  doesn't smell too good either, but you do. You have an awesomely
sexy smell that  I can hardly believe." I grin, "Thanks, everybody says
that," and he's like,  "Dude, be honest with me, how do I smell?" I shrug, "You
smell pretty fucking  sexy yourself." Big smile, "Really?" I nod, "Yeah, for
real." He goes, "It's a  bitch being shy about being gay. Pork chop's the
only guy who knows we've kissed  a few times, but both of us lie our asses
off about not being gay." I'm like,  "What the...? I mean, how do you two
rationalize kissing if you aren't gay?" He  goes, "Oh fuck, we tell each other
we're practicing so we don't come off like  dorks when we take girls out,
which we never do anyway. We're bullshitting each  other, basically." I mutter,
"Mutual bullshitting, eh?" He laughs, "Yeah, make  fun of us. How'd you
start messing around with guys?" Ooh yeah, I'm so sure I'm  telling him my gay
introduction starring fat Carl and his BO. I say, "I don't  know, it just
happened," and that's true enough. I had no idea Carl was going to  have me
sucking his dick the first night we worked on the school paper together.  I
thought he was gay, but I wasn't sure I was. Surprise!


Francis says, "Well, come on, lets do some more making-out." Yeah, why
not. Our faces come together again with our lips kissing and tongues sliding
together. Soon Frankie's arms are around my neck as he's sucking on my lips
almost like you see fish do when they eat tiny fish food in a fish tank.
Constant puckering and sucking, puckering and sucking until it's kinda
uniquely  sexy as hell. Then, somehow I'm laying on my back with Frankie on top of
me and  we're sucking lips and tongues. Licking lips with our noses rubbing
together  until I feel his boner against my stomach just above my groin. It
feels like a  steel spike, not long and not thick, just hard as steel... and
pointy. I've got  a nice boner in my shorts too, but it's not as hard as
Frankie's. We're both  moaning 'cause it's pretty sexy and hot. His scent
can't be overlooked, a guy's  scent is such an important factor in my evaluation
of sexual heat and Frankie's  up there pretty hot. We're finally both
gasping for air and then Frankie's  humping his packing against me. He's doing
desperate sounding grunts, red in the  face, then he groans, "Ooooh, aaah,
fuck, oooh, mmm, fuck." He sits up bumping  his head on the steering wheel,
breathing deeply as I stare at him from my prone  position on the seat. His
fingers are kneading at his crotch and then I see the  slowly spreading wet
spot to the right of his zipper. He's biting his bottom  lips still grimacing
and then he sits back taking another deep breath. I mumble,  "Blew a load in
your pant, huh? I've done that, Francis. Felt good I'll bet." I  grab the
steering wheel pulling myself up to sit next to him. He's rubbing the  back of
his index finger under his nose like it itches, shaking his head slowly.
Then he looks at me and mumbles, "I knew I'd do that. I almost did it when
you  did the cigarette kiss before we got in the truck." I mutter, "Smokin'
hot kiss,  ya mean?" He grins, "Whatever the fuck you call it. I'm such a dork
for cumin'  in my fucking pants kissing you. Jesus!" I go, "I told you I've
done that myself  like fifty times, don't worry about it."

Now I'm rubbing under my nose too because seeing him do it made me think
my nose is itchy. Damn, the power of suggestion. He looks at me with a grin,
saying, "Would you please take my fuckin' cherry once and for all? I'm
begging  you." I shrug, "Doing it just because you asked me to feels weird."
Huh, in the  past I'd never think twice, but I don't know, now it seems, um,
like I said,  weird. I mumble, "I don't even know you." He nods his head,
mumbling back at me,  "How do you think I feel?" Smelling the back of my hand,
I'm looking at him and  thinking he's a fairly cute and sexy eighteen year
old boy who's asking me to  fuck him, so why am I hesitating? He looks at me
and goes, "Okay, you're right.  Lets get to know each other first." His cell
phone plays the first notes to the  song, 'Chocolate' and he holds his
finger up, like: 'Just a second' and takes  his cellphone from his pocket. I take
mine out too and see there's a text from  Robby asking if I want to join
him and a couple of his teammates for pizza, then  a movie. Hmmm, no, I don't
want to do that because I always feel like the odd  man out when he's with
his teammates. It's not that Robby doesn't include me in  the conversations
so much as the conversation's mostly about the baseball team  and I'm
basically their audience. They take turns telling me funny or weird  stuff relating
to the team. All I can add is a ,'Huh' or 'Jeez, you're  kidding!', or
maybe force a laugh once in awhile. Anyway I text back saying I'm  not feeling
pizza and a movie tonight, and then wish Robby a good time telling  him I'll
check him out later.

Meanwhile Francis is chuckling while texting someone, so I text Chubby
asking what he's doing tonight. He text right back reminding me he and his bud
John Beverly have to be the dates for some sorority function two of their
girlfriends talked them into attending. Probably Judy Rinker and Mary
Butler.  Huh, I don't expect to hear from Ryan either, so maybe I have time to get
to  know Francis/Frankie. I look at him as he's texting someone back again,
then he  looks over telling me, "That was my brother, Mark. I told him I
won't be home  for dinner. So, now can we get to know each other?" Huh, I ask,
"Don't your  parents care if you skip dinner?" He goes, "Oh, it's Mark and
me for dinner  during the week. My mom works nights. She's a waitress." Wow,
just like Chubby  and me when we were growing up. I ask, "And your dad, he
work nights too?" He  shrugs, "They divorced ten years ago," and I'm like,
"That's a shame, Frankie,"  and I tell him about Chubby and me growing up
like he and his brother, fixing  our own dinners. Frankie goes, "Well alright!
We're already getting to know each  other. Wow, what a coincidence about our
moms being waitresses and all!" Yeah,  it is actually.


Unable to think of anything else to do, I drive us to my apartment  finding
a parking spot in the lot next to ours. The wind has died down finally,
but it's still cold and I don't have gloves. Inside the building I'm rubbing
my  hands together, muttering, "Cold as a witch's tit out there," making
Frankie  laugh. I try remembering who said that and, ah yes, it was Travis. In
the  apartment we take off our coats, then Frankie wanders around the
apartment  looking at things as I look at him. He goes, "Damn, it's awfully neat in
here  for three college students, isn't it?" I shrug, and he goes, "You
ought'a see my  bedroom." I get a beer from the refrigerator offering Frankie
one, but he shakes  his head, "No thanks. Can't stand the taste of beer." I
sit on one of the  kitchen bar stools and he leans against the bar looking at
me for a second, then  he says, "I feel so comfortable with you and that's
funny because usually being  alone with basically a stranger in his home
would freak me out a little. I guess  ya might say I'm not the confident type."
I go, "Not too many eighteen year old  boys are. Hell, I'm still don't feel
confident in some situations myself, but  you're easy to get along with."
He asks, "I don't make you nervous?" I snort,  "Nervous? Hardly. Why should I
be nervous?" He's fiddling with my toiletry kit  that has all the barber
stuff in it. Not looking at me, he says, "You're cool,  you know that? Cute
and cool." I take a swallow of beer thinking Travis said the  same thing to
me. Huh, maybe I appear cool to them and sometimes I even feel  kinda cool
myself, but not usually. I mutter, "Thanks," and then to be polite, I  add,
"You too, Frankie." He chuckles, probably because I insist on calling him
'Frankie'.


He glances sideways at me, "Um, Dillie, my pants are wet with spunk. Do
you think I could borrow a pair of yours?" I say, "My pants will be too long
for  you, but my brother's might fit. Well, the length will be alright but
the waist  might be too big. Or better yet sweat pants with an elastic waist
band." He  follows me into Chubby's room which is a shambles of clothes and
bath towels on  the floor along with fast food wrappers, two empty pizza
boxes, empty beer  bottles and soda cans. Frankie says, "This is more like what
I expected a  college guy's apartment would look like." I go, "Yeah,
well..." and grab a pair  of old sweat pants, then says, "Come on, follow me." We
go into my bedroom as  I'm telling him, "You can wear a pair of my clean
underpants." He laughs, "Why  is it a 'pair' of underpants when it's really just
one?" I mutter, "How the fuck  should I know?" He kicks off his sneakers
and drops his jeans, stepping out of  them. On the front of his jockey shorts
there's a large wet cum stain. He says,  "I guess I should tell you I have a
small penis. You're hopefully gonna see it  sooner or later anyway, that's
if you do the favor for me," and he pulls his  underpants down and tosses
them in a corner, saying, "You can keep those,"  meaning his cum filled
underpants. He laughs and I have to chuckle myself  because he's kind of a funny
wild child, and without apparent inhibitions about  his small dick. He holds
it out, saying, "I should be embarrassed about you  seeing this penis except
what the fuck did I have to do with it? I was born with  this weenie. My
brother's is bigger, but not by a lot." Frankie's dick is about  as long as
Chubby's, which is to say a little over four inches, maybe four and a  half
when Cubby's got a boner. Same for Robby except Robby's and Chubby's cocks
have a much fatter head and shaft on than Frankie's.


I say, "It's not the size, Francis, but how you use it." He looks at me  as
he mutters, "Bullshit, it's the size." Well he does have an awfully skinny
penis, and his scrotum looks kinda small too. I ask, "What's Pork Chop's
dick  look like?" Frankie shrugs, "Fuck if I know. I've never seen it. It's
probably  huge though. How about you? Can I see yours?" I give him a look,
like, 'Get  real!' and he goes, "Okay, don't show it to me, but is it alright
if I wash my  cock and balls in your bathroom?" I laugh at his bluntness,
then go, "Certainly,  it right through that door." He goes in and a couple
seconds later I hear the  water running. I'm looking for my rattiest pair of
clean jockey shorts. He comes  out drying his junk, asking, "Um, would you blow
me?" then he laughs, "Oh fuck,  I can't believe I just asked that. Jesus
I'm retarded! Oops, that's a bad word,  sorry, Dylan." I've got nothing to say
to that, so I throw him a pair of jockey  shorts, mumbling, "Cover that
needle dick of yours before it makes my mouth  water." He puts on the
underwear, saying, "You're kidding, but do you like oral  sex with your boyfriend,
the buzz-headed kid with the glasses?" I say, "The  other one you saw me with
is my boyfriend. The kid with the buzz cut is Ryan.  We've been fuck buddies
at time too though, and yes I blow them sometimes. I  like it actually." He
smirks at me cupping his dick that's now covered by  underpants, "Well I'd
love to offer my little dick any time you get the urge to  blow me. I'll be
your sex toy if you want." I mutter, "Oh, how thrilling," and  he says,
"Seriously though, you make me so friggin' horny. You could do anything  to my
body you wanted and I bet I'd love it." I say, "Get dressed! You were  horny
before you ever laid eyes on me." He laughs, "Yeah, but you make me  really,
really horny!"


When he's dressed I go back to my seat at the kitchen bar and my bottle  of
beer. He goes back to leaning on the kitchen bar, saying, "I feel so much
better now. Thank you, Dylan. Really! You're nice, and I'm serious about
that,  all joking aside." I mumble, "I'm happy your happy," and swallow some
beer. He  lifts the toiletry kit, asking, "What's this doing here? Shouldn't
it be in the  bathroom," as he unzips the toiletry kit and looks inside. Then
holding up the  trimmer clippers, he looks at me grinning, "You're not
thinking of using these  on me, are you?" I shake my head, "No, but somebody
should." He laughs running  his fingers through his long hair, then he goes,
"Hey, where's my hat?" I tell  him it's in the back seat of the pickup, then
asks if it's him or his brother  doing most of the cooking for their dinners.
That gets us comparing notes about  growing up without much parental
guidance. From what Frankie tells me him and  his brother aren't nearly as tight
as Chubby and me were during our preteen and  teen years. Both Frankie and
his brother Mark have always had their own circle  of friends, only doing
things together mostly just when they're making dinners  together. They've
always had dinner at six o'clock every weekday night where  Chubby and me never
had any schedule. His mother doesn't work Saturdays like our  moms, so
weekend dinners are prepared by their mom. The brothers went their  separate way
mostly, but at least they got along very well most of the time. He  tells me
his older brother graduated high school and is now working as an
electrician's and not interested in college like Frankie says he is. Their  mother
collected a small amount of child support after the divorce and still  receives
it for Frankie. So, financially she theoretically should be better off
than our moms. I'm finishing the last beer by the time Frankie's telling me
about some of the trouble he'd gotten himself into over the years. I don't
know  how much embellishing he's doing, but it sounds like he's seen more than
his  share of trouble at school while his brother seems to have been a
pretty  straight kid in more ways than one. For one thing Mark's been going out
with  girls since middle school and presently he's dating the same girl he
dated all  through his senior year of high school, which was the year before
last.


Finally Frankie runs out of stories about himself and I'm kind of feeling
sorry for him. On the one hand he seems to be getting along okay except for
being, like I said, a bit of a wild child. On the other hand he seems a
little  lost and lonely because he doesn't have much to say about friends in
general, or  the fact that he's gay. I ask, "None of your friends know you're
gay, huh? Do  you think any of them suspect?" he goes, "I only have two
friends, Dylan. I know  other guys at school of course, but I hang out with just
the two, and that's  only just occasionally. But no one's asked me if I'm
gay so I guess they don't  know." I'm like, "Well, if you have one good
friend consider yourself lucky. Two  is even better." He looks down, "They're
each other's best friend actually. Ya  might say they tolerate me because I can
get either my brother's Mustang or my  mom's Toyota on weekends sometimes,
and they rarely can borrow their parents  cars." Okay, now I feel even
sorrier for him, but I don't understand why this  good looking likable wise ass
wouldn't be popular, or at least have one good  friend. And why's he still
playing with the barber equipment from the toiletry  kit? Now he's holding the
scissors up closing then and opening them. He takes a  few strands of his
hair and clips it off, saying, "Whoa, these are sharp." I  ask, "How come you
haven't gotten a haircut in two years?" He shrugs, "I don't  want one. My
mom was giving me and Mark buzz cuts with clippers she bought at  Rite Aid
some years ago. They don't cut very good and she's a terrible barber,  but
haircuts are expensive. Mark makes money so he goes to the barbers, I just
stopped letting mom try cutting my hair." I nod my head, and he looks at me
from  the side of his eyes again, adding, "We're poor. I guess you'd think we
are  anyway. You're mom must have money if she's sending you and your brother
to  college. What year's your brother in?"


I ignore the brother question on the grounds it's too confusing trying to
explain half brothers with different mothers. Instead I tell him, "Hey,
we're  pretty poor ourselves, Francis. Your mom collects child support at least,
and  ours never did. Plus we borrowed most of the money for college.
Furthermore, my  brother and I have given each other haircuts for as long as I can
remember, so  we're pretty much in the same boat as you and Mark in that
regard." He's looking  at the Oster classic 76 clippers now, saying, "This
looks like a profession  clipper," and I say, "That one is. I bought it on
Ebay." Now I'm thinking I'd  like another beer, so I add, "Ya wanted take a
quick ride with me. I wanna get a  six pack of beer." He laughs, "How you gonna
get served? You look like your my  age." I say, "Come with me and find out,"
he puts the clipper back in the  toiletry kit, "Sure, I'll come with you."
We get our coats on as he's saying, "I  just thought of something. Um, after
you fuck me, if you ever get around to it,  will you give me a ride home?"
I open the front door nodding my head that he  should walk out in front of
me, and as I'm locking the door, I say, "I'll give  you a ride home anytime
you want, Francis. What the fuck kind of guy do you  think I am?" He bumps
against me, "You can call me Frankie if you want to." I  grin and he leans his
head over and kisses my lips, then smirks at me.  Cute.


Driving to Tracy's I tell Frankie a little about the speakeasy  emphasizing
no one is admitted unless they have a valid college ID. I don't want  high
school kids bothering Tracy, not that Frankie is likely to do that since he
doesn't like beer. That makes me wonder, "Do you and your two friends smoke
 pot?" He says, "We're not that cool. We're nerds, well they're not, but I
am.  Maybe they smoke weed themselves, but they never invited me to. I'd
like to  though. Ya got any?" I go, "No, and don't tell me you're a nerd,
Frankie! You  lie a lot, don't you?" He shrugs, "No more than most guys." There's
something  sad about this kid, some underlying sadness. Hmmm, I casually
asks, "Would you  say you're having a good time being a teenager?" He goes,
"No, of course not!  Who the fuck has fun being a teenager?" I'm like, "Me,
for one. I was actually  sorry to turn twenty and leave my teen years behind."
He laughs, "Who's lying  now? You're not twenty." Fuck it, I'm not going to
argue about that. After a  minute or so he asks, "Are you? Are you really
twenty?" I'm parking below  Tracey's deck not seeing any activity up there.
Damn! Then I look over at  Frankie, "Yeah, I'm really twenty. I already told
you I'm a sophomore. You do  the math." He goes, "You could have skipped a
grade or two." I mutter, "I could  have, but I didn't 'cause I'm not smart
enough to do that, nor would I have if I  was smart enough." He mumbles, "You
sound pretty smart to me." I go, "Wait here,  I'll be right back."


Getting out of the pickup, I look up the steps figuring this is a waste  of
time, but I'm already here so I may as well see if Tracy's in. Walking
across  the deck I'm looking up at the new tent like structure covering the
deck. It  looks cool. Knocking on the door and then lighting a cigarette, I'm
checking out  the sides of what's basically a tent. The sides are opaque heavy
plastic and  it's warmer in here than outside even though he doesn't have
the space heaters  going. I knock again and a girl answers the door. Oh no,
Tracy's going back to  the chicks? The girl says, "Tracy's not opening
tonight. Can't ya tell? Jesus,  dude!" I ignore her, figuring she's too hefty to
be Tracy's latest squeeze. I  say, "Yeah, I noticed. I'm not fuckin' blind.
Is Tracy in?" I hear Tracy yell,  "Who is it, sis?" and his sister raises her
eyebrows looking at me, like, 'Who  are you?' I tell her, "Dylan," and
Tracy must have heard me because he's at the  door now, "I'll take care of this,
Barb." She shrugs and disappears as Tracy  says, "My asshole sister's here
on an unexpected visit." then he kisses my lips  before asking, "Can you
come back in an hour? She'll be gone by then. I've been  thinking about you,
and then here you are." I go, "Oh, um, I was hoping to buy a  six pack off
you." He chuckles, "And me getting my hopes up you came over to see  me when
the truth comes out that you just want my beer. Boo, Dylan." He's  smiling
though, he goes, 'Sure, I'll get ya a six pack. That all you need, a
six-pack?" I say, "Well two would be better."


He grins at that, then he goes, "Come in and have a shot with me first."  I
follow him inside as he tells me, "It's single malt scotch, twelve years
old  and smooth." As usual he doesn't wait to see if I want a shot, which I
don't. He  pours two shots handing me a shot glass, saying, "To you and me
spending a night  of fucking together all night long," and he clinks my shot
glass with his and  shoots the whiskey down his throat as I reluctantly do the
same. Tears run down  my face with Tracy laughing at me, then hugging me
and kissing me again, "You're  awesome, Dylan!" I'm looking over his shoulder
at his sister watching us as she  talks on her cell phone. With my eyes, I
try warning Tracy his sister's  watching. He turns around to look, then turns
back to me, saying, "She knows I'm  bisexual. She's the same way although
hell would freeze over before I'd fuck  anyone as mean and overweight as she
is. We don't have what you'd call a close  sibling relationship. It's more
on the rivalry side. She's here borrowing money  'cause dad's allowance is
never enough for her. She goes to BC in town. " I go,  "Oh," but that was way
too much information. Tracy asks, "Is Rolling Rock  alright? I got a great
deal on ten cases." I go, "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Trace."  He's like, "Come with
me and pick out a few six packs. Pony bottles or twelve  ounce ones, your
choice."

I follow him into the spare bedroom-supply room where he's fucked me
twice, so I should have expected his next moves. He's closes the door and locks
it. Without a word, he puts his arms around me kissing my lips, his hips
humping  against mine while his tongue's doing sexy things in my mouth. My hand
goes  right to his stubby ponytail holding onto it as my other arm goes
around his  neck. I love how Tracy does this extemporaneous sexy stuff, showing
off his self  confidence and aggressiveness. He has a very sexy scent too
and a slightly  scratchy, patchy beard that's very sexy, especially the
mustache part that feels  good and looks cool on him. It's not a real mustache,
just part of his 'look'...  the two day growth of beard 'look' that's become
popular. He's so cool and sexy.  We get into a hot sloppy make-out, our
bodies grinding together, our combined  saliva around both out mouths, and some
quiet moaning and groaning from both of  us as he massages my butt cheeks
with both hands almost lifting me off the  ground pulling my junk against his.
It goes on for two minutes or so with our  boners coming on us fast, poking
against the front of our pants. He pulls down  my jeans, then my
underpants, and strokes my cock tightly with his fist. He  turns me around, smacks my
ass hard, then both his arms come around my waist and  he pulls me back
against him dry humping my ass and kissing the side of my face.  Tracy is so
fucking confident, hot, and sexy. I'm moaning quietly, very sexually  aroused.
The back of my head lays back on his shoulder with my body docilely  laying
back against him. Dropping a hand down Tracy massages my balls and then
strokes my boner again until it's dripping precum and sticking straight out
from  my groin as hard as a boner can get.


Letting go of my boner, he pushes the back  of my head and I bend forward
as he takes a condom from his pocket, pulls down  his fly and pulls out his
long boner. He rolls the condom on his cock, mumbling,  "Hold onto that
table, Dylan, I'm going to fuck you wicked fast." I'm gripping  the edge of the
table, sticking my ass up. He gets the condom on, dropping the  wrapper on
the floor and smacking my ass hard again, "SLAP!' rings out in the  room.
Looking back I see his boner's a real good one sticking straight out from  his
body just like mine and that turns me on further. His cock's long, very
hard, and so tight it barely moves as he  reaches between my legs grabbing  my
scrotum and pulling my balls back and up, with him murmuring, "Can ya get
your ass up a little more for me, Dylan?" I exaggerate pushing my ass up, and
he  goes, "Good, thanks." Still holding my balls in his fist, keeping my ass
up and  me on my toes a little, he plugs the head of his cock past my
sphincter muscle  and goes, "Mmmm, ooh," while pushing his long cock up my ass
steadily. The  trip's aided greatly by the condom's lubricant with excess
lubricant scraping  off all around my asshole, then warming to my body
temperature and oozing down  under me, probably going on Tracy's hand that's holding
my sack of nuts. When  he's tight against my buttocks he gives my nuts a
tight squeeze and I yelp. He  lets go of my nuts and they drop down swinging
back in place a little sore, but  I don't notice too much because my rectums
sorer.

Tracy waits maybe thirty seconds with me feeling the hurt inside me fade
away and be replaced by that filled-up feeling with my prostate vibrating out
 pleasure signals as my shoulder's shudder and submissiveness slides over
me. I  moan as Tracy leans down, quietly asking, "You okay, Dylan? Feeling
okay?" My  shoulders shudder again, this time with anticipation as I nod my
head and he  pulls his cock back, back, back, back with buzzing sensation up
and down my  rectum, and then he pushes it steadily all the way back up my
ass until his  groin his flat against my buttocks again. Tracy murmurs, "Best
ass ever," and he  lays on my back, his arm coming around and his fist
around my boner again  stroking it with my body shuddering and a long drool of
precum slowly leaving  the gaping pee slit at the head of my hard cock.
Stroking, stroking, stroking,  stoking like he's milking my nuts. Then he lets go
of my quivering boner,  straightens up, grabs my hips, and it's,
"SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP," in my ears for  three incredible fast minutes with my head hanging
between my arms. My arms  straight out, my hands gripping the edge of the
table, my body jostled around  roughly as Tracy's slamming his cock up my ass
hard and very fast. I'm making  whining sounds as quietly as I can, aware of
his sister's in the next room. My  cock's so hard it doesn't hardly move
with my body's jostling. The sensations  from nerve endings in my prostate and
anus are indescribably awesome and I'm  basically shaking as my orgasm is
flying towards climax. Tracy grunts and  reaches down getting him arm around
the front of my throat yanking me upright  away from the table, my back
against his chest now, me on my tiptoes gasping to  get air in past his arm
around my throat, his hips constantly hammering that  wooden boner of his up my
ass. "SLAPSLAPSLAP," and I start to squeal but he  covers my mouth with his
other hand, the side of his jaw against the side of my  face, his beard
driving me crazy as I jerk in his grasp with stars colliding  behind my eyes and
cum streaming in a rainbow arc from my quivering boner.  Tracy's pulling me
back as he arches his back and grunts in my ear and I feel  his hard stream
of cum splatter inside my rectum. Another squeak from me as I  shoot two
follow-up arcs of cum. All my cum lands on top of the table and now  Tracy's
whimpering as he humps against my buttocks finishing his  orgasm.


Big exhale from Tracy, then a noisy gasping inhale as he lets go of me  and
pulls his cock out of my ass. I'm still shivering with sexual sensations,
millions of nerves endings sizzle spastically before dying out. My gaping
open  anus tingles as my buttock muscles clench and more lube drools under me
to the  back of my scrotum. Tracy gasps squeezing my shoulder, then mumbles,
"Awesome,  Dylan, just... oooh, great sex, man." He leans his forehead on
my shoulder from  behind, his sloppy cock still encased in latex lays against
my right butt cheek.  With a gulp he straightens up patting my shoulder
now, "Man, I needed that,  thanks, Dylan, you're the best. Let me wipe that
lubricant off your ass for ya."  I exhale a lot of air, puffing out my cheeks,
and making a wheezy sound as the  air sneaks out between my teeth, almost a
whistle sound. I'm still feeling some  random buzzing in my body from that
big climax. Wow, that was fast! I ask, "How  fast did you fuck that orgasm
out of me this time, Tracy? Must have been a  record." He's wiping my ass with
what looks like a clean rag this time, saying,  "It was fast, Dylan, and I
think we blew our loads almost at the same time too.  Dude, I was thinking
about jerking off, that's how horny I was. Glad you stopped  by instead, and
I insist you take this beer as a token of my friendship. Don't  fucking read
anything else into it. Let me do something, okay! For once." I go,  "Hey,
thanks, Trace," and he pulls my underpants up, then my jeans. He smacks my
ass one last time, mumbling, "You're welcome, and thank you from the bottom
of  my fuckin' heart for the use of that awesome ass of yours." I'm pulling
up my  zipper and buttoning my jeans as Tracy lifts two six-packs of twelve
ounce  Rolling Rock bottles from a case and hand them to me. "Ready?" he
asks, and I  grin, muttering, "Was I actually fucked? It was so fast." He
chuckles and  ruffles my hair, then gives my shoulders a hug, "I gotta watch
myself, Dylan, or  I'll find myself falling for you hard, dude."

We walk out of the supply room, and then back through the apartment to  the
kitchen that's just off the deck. His sister is flashing down a shot of
scotch with a lit cigarette between the fingers of her other hand. She shakes
her head as the shot hits her stomach, then asks, "You girls have a
quickie, did  ya? I heard some kinda squeal," and she points the cigarette at me,
adding,  "Probably from the girlie-boy here." Tracy smiles, but says
menacingly, "If you  don't want me to slap the shit out of your fat face, shut the
fuck up!" She  shrugs like that outburst was nothing unusual, gets up and as
she's walking  toward the living room, she mumbles, "Hey, fuck you too,
brother." Nice. Tracy  says, "I'm sorry about that, Dylan. I had to grow up with
that bitch." I'm not  sure what to say to that, so I mumble, "Oh, sorry,
um..." He chuckles, "Hey, I  survived her and she survived me." He walks me to
the door and with a hand on my  shoulder, says, "Don't be a stranger,
Dylan. Text me any time. I'm always happy  to hear from you, and seeing you is
even better." Then from behind he kisses the  side of my face. I thank him for
the beers, "And, for, ya know. That was a  wicked nice surprise, Tracy." He
grins and rubs my head again as I go out on the  deck and over to the
steps. I hear, "See you soon," from Tracy, and then the  door closes. Going down
the steps I feel good about Tracy and me. His fast  fuck's are so hot and
intense and different. Plus he really seems to like me. It  all makes me feel
good.


At the pickup I put the beer in back and get in the driver's seat,  saying,
"Sorry that took so long, Frankie." He asks, "He's a friend of yours?" I
go, "Yeah, he is. I didn't realize how tight we'd become until this year." He
 says, "Just an FYI incase you care: you positively reek of booze and it's
not  just beer." I tell him about Tracy and his shots of whiskey, and how he
doesn't  take 'no' for an answer. Starting the engine I'm smiling, thinking
about Tracy  and me in bed all night sometime. Holy shit, how many of those
fast fuck's could  he manage in a whole night. I'm in a very upbeat mood,
so I look at Frankie,  "Hey, dude, let's cook dinner together tonight." He
grins, "Thanks, that'd be  fun. What'll we have?" I ask, "What do you like?"
and he says, "Meatloaf, mashed  potatoes with gravy, and a salad with
Thousand Island dressing." I laugh, "Very  decisive, Frankie. Okay lets hit Stop &
Shop and get the stuff we need." He  says, "Um, I only got like some change
on me, maybe a dollars worth. If you  drive me home maybe Mark can lend me a
couple of bucks." I go, "I just got  comped for two six packs of beer so
I'm passing the favor forward and treating  you to dinner tonight, but you
gotta help prepare it and help me clean up  afterwards." He looks down,
mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan, I'll pay you back."  Driving away from Tracy's I squeeze
the back of Frankie's neck, saying, "My  treat this time, okay?"Then I have
a thought, "Hey, buddy, how come you don't  get a part time job? Make a
little money." He shrugs,  "I don't know. I  used to have a paper route until
the Herald gave the job to men who deliver  papers from four or five routes
from their cars at like four o'clock in the  morning and the Herald bills the
subscribers. And I'm kind of intimidated  applying for a job." Intimidated?
Poor bastard. Maybe he's an Asperger's  kid.


He fidgets in his seat a bit, then quietly says, "I'm so glad Mark sent  me
down to gas up the Mustang when he did. Five minutes earlier or later and
I'd  have missed being there when you were there." I grin muttering,
"Kismet," he  looks over frowning, but doesn't ask what 'kismet' means, or maybe he
knows what  it means. He says, "I was playing a video game and didn't want
to stop, but Mark  made me and because he did now I know you." I go, "Jeez,
Frankie, you'll give me  a big head. What's the big deal about knowing me?"
He says, "It's fun having  someone to do stuff with, that's all. And you're
so fucking nice. You must have  tons of friends. What's that like?" I'm
pulling into the Stop & Shop parking  lot, saying, "Whaddaya talking about? I
have an average number of friends and,  yeah, friends are priceless. You said
you have two, right?" He says, "Sort of,  if I text them. They never text
me." Fuck, I hate this! Now I'm going to be  feeling bad for him and Ryan. This
is sort of like when I first met Cory only  Frankie's a good kid who says
he's gay whereas Cory... um, no, this is nothing  like Cory at all. I don't
know what it's like actually. The truth is I still  don't understand why
Frankie doesn't have at least one good friend and a gay  sex-buddy as well. He's
an attractive, cute likable kid. It doesn't add  up.


We go inside and Frankie says, "Oh, there's Rich Davidson bagging." I  ask,
"Which one?" He points, "The redhead in the middle." I look down the line
of registers. About halfway down there's a kid with very dark red hair and a
 face full of freckles. His facial features are below average and made
worse by  all those big freckles and when he looks up, wow, a big nose dominates
his face.  He's stocky with a square body. I say, "Is that one of your
friends?" Frankie  says, "Sort of, ya know, when he and Tucker need a ride
someplace." This sucks.  I grab a basket, and as we're walking by this Davidson
kid, Frankie's real  friendly like, saying, "Yo, Rich, wassup?" Rich says,
"Whaddaya want, Walsh.  Whaddaya doing here anyway?" Frankie smiles, "We're
shopping for stuff to cook  dinner together, Rich?" Freckles makes a face,
then mimics Frankie, "We're  making dinner together, Rich. Jesus, fag alert."
Frankie goes, "Hey, be nice,  Rich, this is my friend, Dylan Newman."
Freckles glances at me, then says to  Frankie, "So what?" What an enormous asshole!
I walk on as freckles says, "Wait  a minute, Walsh. Ya got the five bucks
you owe me?" I stop and watch Frankie  frown, saying, "You said that was gas
money, Rich. Ya know, for gas if I drove  you and Tucker to the Rockingham
Mall that time. Which I did, like you wanted."  Freckles is exasperated,
"Yes, you used it for a gallon and a half of gas, but I  loaned you the money to
pay for the gas. Why in the world would I buy gas for  your car?" This
fuckin' kid!  I walk back, saying, "Here's a reason,  freckles! He bought the
gas so he could drive your ass to the mall." He doesn't  look at me when he
mutters, "Who asked you?" I get close to him, asking "Oh, you  got a problem
with me, freckles?" He stops bagging, the register lady stops  registering,
and she looks at us. I say, "Hey, freckles, I asked you a  question?" He
shrugs, so I go, "Are you always this big of an asshole, freckles?  Huh?" He
wets his lips, blushing around his freckles, then mutters, "I was  joking with
him. Why don't you mind your own business?" I ask, "Does he owe you  the
money or not?" He shrugs, "No, I was kidding, like I said." I ask, "It was  gas
money like you told him, right?" He still won't look at me, "Yeah, gas
money. Leave me alone." The register lady asks, "Everything okay, Rich?" I give
 her a big smile patting Rich's shoulder, "Yes it is, thank you for asking.
 Little dispute over five dollars but we worked it out," then I point at
the  orange in her hand, and say, "It's like highway robbery you people charge
a  dollar and a half for an orange, don't ya think?" She looks at the
orange as we  walk away.


Frankie's biting his bottom lip showing his super white teeth with the
space between the top front ones, finally saying, "Him and Tucker probably
won't  call me for a ride anymore now." I ask, "And your point is?" He looks at
me,  "They were the two friends I told you about." I go, "Holy shit,
Frankie, they're  not friends. They're asshole's." He goes, "Those guys are cool."
I go, "That oaf  is cool? Get the fuck outta here, he's a poster boy for
birth control, and  anybody named Tucker couldn't possibly be cool." He looks
back at freckles,  "Yeah, he's not good looking, is he?" I say, "No, and this
store used to have  cute bag boys, but now it's the opposite and I'd like
to know why." He says,  "Did you see how startled Rich was when I said you
were my friend? That's why he  couldn't think of anything to say. I never saw
him intimidated like that before  either." I mumble, "That's me, the
intimidator. He's a user, Frankie, taking  advantage of you and making a sucker of
you too. You don't need so-called  friends like that. Forget him." I hear
him swallow noisily, mumbling, "I wonder  what he'll do the next time I see
him?" This kind of thing pisses me off so bad!  I say, "Let me tell you
something, Francis, if he lays a hand on you, tell him  you've got a couple of
friends who'll be visiting with him shorty. Call me and  I'll introduce you to
my brother and then I'll introduce him to freckles while  reintroducing
myself. I'm dead serious about this too." Man, I can feel my face  is red and
hot. Fucking kids can be so cruel to other kids. Chubby and me have  never
given one shit about a so-called fair fight so we have zero qualms about
kicking his ass two on one, none at all. If we need to fight we use whatever we
get our hands on to come out on top and we're mostly successful. Oh fuck, I
gotta calm down, so I change the subject, "Hey, Francis, what do you and
your  brother put in the meatloaf you guys make?" Naturally we have different
recipes,  but we compromise on the recipe and then I buy what we need.

Back at the apartment I brown beef bones under the broiler and then put
then in a pot with College Inn beef broth. It's low fat and low sodium and
boiling that broth with the bones extracts flavor from the bones. In an hour
or  so we'll degrease the broth and combine a cup and a half of it with a
package of  dry beef gravy that'll add even more flavor, plus thickening the
gravy to the  right consistency. It makes a very acceptable beef gravy when
there isn't a  roast beef involved. I'm going to this trouble mainly to
fulfill Frankie's  requested mashed potatoes and gravy. He's peeling red bliss
potatoes that will  go in a pot to be boiled, then used to make the mashed
potatoes. It's a process.  Done that we put together the meatloaf. First beef
hamburger and ground pork are  combined in a bowl along with finely diced
onions that we sautéed earlier and  let come back to room temperature. In a
separate bowl we mix together an egg,  ketchup, mustard, brown sugar, garlic
powder, salt and pepper. When it's all  mixed, we pour it on top of the meat
and Frankie uses both hands to combine it  well with me dropping in small
pieces of Italian bread soaked in milk. Frankie  squeezes the milky bread into
the mixture thickening the meatloaf concoction. He  plops the whole mass into
a rectangle shaped Pyrex dish and we top with more  ketchup. That goes in
the oven and we turn on the heat under the potatoes, then  make a simple
green salad. Frankie wants Thousand Island dressing so I bought a  small bottle
of Ken's Thousand Island. While we were preparing this stuff we  listened to
a One Direction CD and I drank a beer without either of us talking  much.
Now we're out on the balcony wearing our winter coats, Frankie with his
Patriot's hat on and me smoking a cigarette while he pretends to smoke  one.


Frankie inhales and puffs the smoke right out as I suppress a grin, he
says, "You know, when you said Rich would be a good poster boy for birth
control?" I nod, and he says, "Well, that's a Rodney Dangerfield line. He's dead
now." I go, "Rodney Dangerfield? Yeah, that name's familiar. Real old,
kinda fat  guy with bulging eyes, right? He goes, "That's him. He couldn't get
no respect.  That's his act, and he was also in the classic movie from the
70's called 'Caddy  Shack'." "Yeah, I saw that on cable, or some of it anyway.
Pretty fucking dated  if you ask me. 'Animal House' too. Everyone's always
saying how great that movie  is. It's stupid." Frankie shrugs, "Didn't see
that one. Rodney was always  putting himself down. He's my mom's favorite
comedian. He'd say, 'I could tell  my parents hated me 'cause they gave me a
toaster and a radio as bath toys' or  'My wife made me join a bridge club. I
jump off Tuesday.' or..." and I say, "I  don't get the bridge club," and he
says, "It's a card game." I'm like, "Oh, his  humor's worth a snort I guess."
Frankie says, "It's the delivery too, ya know. I  can't do it like him. I
saw him a couple of times on TV. I watch a lot of TV."  Taking a last drag
off my cigarette I flick the butt off the potted plant, it  bounces up in the
air and luckily drops over the railing. Frankie goes, "Cool!"  and I mumble,
"I was attempting to flick it directly over the railing." He  chuckles, "No
you weren't," and he flicks his way over the railing and he  doesn't smoke.
He hacks a lugie over the railing too, saying, "Cigarettes taste  like
shit." I can't spit like Frankie just did. Some guys can spit a tight ball  of
phlegm or whatever like fifteen feet. When I spit it comes out splattered in
a wide spray, so I keep my spitting to a minimum.


Back inside I open another beer feeling a slight buzz from the first
three. Frankie's leaning against the kitchen bar again taking the clippers out
of the toiletry kit, asking, "Do you think you could give me a haircut?" I
say,  "I'd be happy to cut that goldilocks hair of yours." He says, "How would
you cut  it?" Not feeling up to describing ten hair styles, I say, "Let's
go on line and  Google 'trendy guy's haircuts' and see what we get." I
already know what we'll  get because I've Googled that myself keeping up on
changing styles. We find that  all the trendy styles for young guys have short cut
hair on the sides and back.  Short to almost shaved sides and back with the
hair on top of the model's heads  going from short to long depending on the
thickness and curliness of the guy's  different hair types. Frankie looks
at each of the top fifteen trendy haircuts  shown for this year. His finger
is shaky as he's pointing at some of the models,  probably because he's
nervous about getting his haircut after two years...  two years with his blah
look. Then he says it, "I'm kinda nervous about this,  Dylan," and I say,
"Well, you don't need to decide now, Francis, you've got a  computer so you can
look at these models and decide later. And then if and when  you want to try
a new look, I can promise you this much, you won't find a better  barber
than me. That sounds like I'm bragging because I am, but it also happens  to
be true." He mumbles, "Ha, I wouldn't think of paying twenty dollars for a
haircut and I'm sure you're better than mom, so you'll be the person I'll
come  to." I pat his shoulder, "Anytime," and we go back to the living room
with  Frankie running his fingers through his hair. He stops, looks at me, and
says,  "I'm ready to do it now." I ask which style he chose and he leans
against me putting his arms around  my waist, the side of his head on my
shoulder, mumbling, "You chose what you  think will look best on me."


I say, "Sure, um, we've got a  half hour before dinner. Well do it now,
okay?" He looks up at me, still hugging  around my waist, "Kiss me, Dillie, I'm
a little nervous." I peel his arms from  around me, taking his hand and
leading him into the kitchen where I pickup my  beer bottle, "Here take a
mouthful of beer." He's like, "Why?" and I go, "So my  breath and mouth won't
smell or taste bad. Your mouthful of beer will counteract  the beers I've been
drinking this afternoon." He looks skeptical but takes a  swig and swishes
it around like it's mouthwash, which is the alternative method  of
counteracting my beer breath actually, except I want to keep drinking. Little  by
little he swallows his mouthful of beer making a face like he's drinking  cough
medicine. They he goes, "Yuck, how can you drink that?" I mumble, "It's an
acquired taste, fer sure," as I check the potatoes turning the heat down to
simmer. Then I turn around, put my hands on his shoulders pulling him to
me, and  slowly bring my lips to his watching his face. He closes his eyes,
puckering his  pouty lips a little, hot lips actually. I'm grinning at him,
waiting for him to  open his big brown shiny eyes which he does after a few
seconds. He goes,  "What?" and I say, "I like looking at you." He grins, "What
do you see?" I point  at the three red spots on his chin, touching each
one, mumbling, "The beginning  or end of three teenager pimples," then I run
the pad of my finger across his  top lip, "Baby mustache that looks sexy," my
finger outlines his lips, "Sexy boy  lips," and down under his chin, "And
the skimpiest goatee I've ever seen, but  it's fucking cute." He wets his lips
staring at me, "What else?" I trace across  his eyebrows, "Perfect narrow
brownish eyebrows," and barely touching one of his  eyelashes, making him
blink, I murmur, "Sexy boy eyelashes," and as my finger  travels lightly down
his nose, "A cute nose." Then kissing his lips quickly, I  say, "That's what
I see when I look at your face. You're a very cute kid,  Frankie, or don't
you think so?" He looks shy, "You're embarrassing me, Dillie,"  and I go, "No
need to be embarrassed." I put my hand around his bicep, saying,  "On the
other hand, you've got skinny biceps," and I pull my hand down his arm  to
his wrist, "And skinny wrists, so you probably have skinny legs too,
don'cha?" He grins, "Hey, go back to complimenting me. I don't ever hear that,  but
I hear criticisms all the time."


He'd be a fun boy toy  especially with short hair. I give him a four second
kiss on the lips and his  arms go around my neck as we get into a hot
make-out, but only for a minute or  so before he pulls his lips away and slides
his face next to mine breathing  deeply. I glance over his shoulder at his
ass, which is very hot looking, and  notice he's up on his toes a little like
Ryan does sometimes. His body is  skinny, but it feels nice hugging him. I
like slim, even skinny, much better  than the alternative. Frankie murmurs,
"I almost did it again. Maybe you're too  sexy for me." I grin, mumbling,
"Probably," and he laughs a little. I rub his  head, saying, "Lets do your
haircut now, okay?" He lets go of me taking a deep  breath nodding his head.
"Take your shirt off, Frankie, so it doesn't get wet  when I shampoo your
hair." I'm thinking this will be more fun than doing Travis'  shampoo because I
sense something building in the way of sexy heat for Frankie  that never
materialized with Travis. Frankie goes, "Shampoo? Why...," and I cut  him off
telling him I shampoo everyone's hair before a haircut. "It's nothing
personal, Frankie. I don't think your hairs dirty, it's just that it cut's  better
after a fresh shampoo, that's all." Partially a lie because his hair is a
little greasy. He confirms that,  saying, "I haven't shampooed it in the
shower for awhile, Dylan, so it probably needs it." Then he goes, "Holy shit,
you're going to shampoo my hair, oh God, hope I don't cum in my pants
again." I  just shake my head chuckling. Jeez!


He takes off his shirt and I  notice a little body odor, but I chalk it up
to teenagers not always staying on  top of their hygiene. Chubby and me
always did because we'd tell each other if  we didn't. Actually most of the guys
I know are very clean, but I can see how a  kid like Frankie, with little
or no real friends, might slack off with hygiene  figuring what's the
difference. Anyway it's not like he stinks because he  doesn't. As a matter of fact
before he took his shirt off his face and neck  smelled sexy. He sits in
the chair that's still in front of the sink from  Travis' shampoo. I put a
folded hand towel under the back of his neck and wet  his hair. He gets
comfortable and then tells me what almost everyone tells me  the first time I do
this for them, "I've never had someone shampoo my hair  before." I say,
"You'll never be able to say that again, Francis." Now he laughs  when I call him
Francis where he used to laugh at me calling him Frankie. I look  at the
side of his face as I'm running my fingers through his hair making sure  all
his long hairs are wet. He has a pretty profile, very nice. I ask, "Um, no
offense, but why the fuck don't you have any good friends? And not like that
asshole in Stop & Shop. He's not a friend, he's a user." Frankie shrugs his
skinny shoulders, "I don't know."


Yeah, well neither do I. It  doesn't make any sense. I ask, "Do you believe
you're a nerd?" He goes, "Yeah,"  and I say, "No you're not, Frankie!" He
turns his head, frowning, "I don't get  to decide that, Dylan. Other kid do,
and they say I'm a nerd or a dork or dorky  or whatever." That blows, but
he's right, and then once he accepts he's a dork  it's hard to see himself as
anything else. I mumbling, "Well than, you're the  cutest sexiest dorky/nerd
in North Andover High, but frankly I don't think  you're a dork or a nerd."
He says, "Good, now there's one person who feels that  way." I give up on
that and do the shampoo. I though Travis' hair was long but  not compared to
Frankie's. I take my good ole time shampooing his hair and  scalp, and then
from necessity take a long time rinsing and drying it. When I'm  done with
the hair dryer his blond hair is much brighter, shining even. I brush  it,
then comb it, thinking... 'Nice fucking hair. A girl would love to have it'.
It's got much more body now, not limp like before the shampoo. I pat his
shoulder, "That's it, dude. We're done here." He stretches, "I almost fell
asleep. That was a truly awesome experience. I'll probably fall in love with
you  pretty soon, Dylan. Just a heads up to you that if I fall at your feet
kissing  them you'll know why." I go, "Okay then, I'll be prepared for that."
He stops on  our way to the living room, "Um, Dylan, that stuff I did in
the past that got me  in trouble." I go, "What about it? It wasn't anything
serious, just a little  acting out on your part." He says, "Yeah, out of
frustration mostly. Maybe I was  trying to get attention or something." I nod,
not knowing what to make of that,  so I give him a grin and a pat on the
shoulder.


In the living room, I'm  checking the clock, "Huh, guess we don't have time
for the haircut now, Frankie.  Don't want to over cook the meatloaf so it
dries out." he goes, "That's okay. I  don't know how much more stimulation my
body can take at this point. I thought  I'd cum in my pants again with you
touching me so awesomely during the shampoo.  Maybe I'll fall at you feet
now and get it over with." I go, "Lets eat first."  Frankie makes the mashed
potatoes, getting them creamy using and electric beater  and adding butter,
salt and pepper, and medium cream. I make the gravy by  degreasing the stock
and adding the dry beef gravy mix. It's nice and creamy but  not too thick.
Tasting a teaspoon of the gravy and then holding a teaspoon of  gravy to
Frankie. He tastes it saying, "Yo, that's good." I like that Frankie  didn't
wipe the head of my beer bottle before taking that swallow of beer, and  he
didn't hesitate using the same spoon I used for the gravy tasting. It's
insulting when someone thinks I have cooties or something. Of course there are
guys I'd balk at sharing a spoon with... heh heh, double standard, ya  know


We listen to the '1975' CD as  we eat. Frankie sings every word of the song
'Chocolate' using the lead singer's  accent perfectly. Dork my ass! I
thought he had a musical sounding youthful  voice, but I didn't know he could
sing that good. Hey, maybe my goal of getting  Ryan to have better self esteem
might work for Frankie too. I might put an ad on  the Internet... 'Have low
self esteem? Call 888 blah, blah, blah. Results not  guaranteed, but
whaddaya want, it's a free service by a well meaning guy who  doesn't actually know
what the fuck he's doing.' That'll pull in the clients. I  could add...
'Free shampoo and haircut if you're cute and young enough'. I  probably should
add, 'Please, no one under eighteen or over twenty-three need  apply'.
Frankie asks, "What are you chuckling about?" I shake my head, "My brain  took a
turn into nonsense for a minute there. No worries, it's under control.
Awesome meatloaf, dude!" He goes, "We're a good team, Dylan, can I move in?" We
both chuckle complimenting each other on the food. It is very good and the
meatloaf will be good for a day or two cold or reheated. Makes good
sandwiches  too. We eat until we're stuffed. I open another beer and Frankie says,
"Can I  have a little glass of that beer?" I pour him a juice glass of beer,
mumbling,  "Start out slow, my boy, it'll sneak up on you." He says, "I've
gotten drunk.  Threw up too. It was at my cousin's graduation party last
spring. I was drinking  seven and sevens. That's whiskey and seven-up." I
mumble, "Gag me with a spoon.  Gross drink."


Out on the deck again with  our coats on, we're smoking. Frankie tries
inhaling and gets into a coughing fit  that strikes me funny, and then we're
hugging and laughing, which leads us into  a very steamy make-out. I feel his
steel spike poking my thigh, and it feels  like it's pointing straight out.
This kid gets very sexually aroused quite  easily. It's a fucking shame he
doesn't have some hot kid his age sharing the  heat. They don't know what
their missing. Part of his heat for me is the fact  his body reminds me
generally speaking of Ryan's, but only size wise. Ryan's  body is much tighter and
the weight lifting has added muscle in places Frankie  has very little. Also
I find Frankie very likable and, like I said, he's a sexy  little thing.
It's partially the way he gets so excited and aroused too. That  adds to the
attraction I'm feeling for him. We take a break from making-out, but  he keeps
his arm around my waist and he's leaning against me. The top of his  head's
next to my nose and I'm smelling mostly the shampoo scent. Running my
fingers in the hairs on the side of his head, neither of us saying anything.
We're done with the cigarettes and I'm thinking of opening another beer when
Frankie quietly asks, without looking at me, "Have you decided if you'll do
me a  favor and fuck me yet, Dylan?" I go, "Uh huh, I don't..."


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






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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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