Date: Thu, 26 Mar 2015 11:34:15 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter  47

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR


Chapter  47


By  Donny Mumford



Driving to  the Five Guys restaurant in Peabody is a hassle normally, but
today our drive is  made even worse because the North Shore Mall, where we'll
be going after lunch  is a mile up the road from Five Guys. The eight days
of Hanukkah is being  celebrated and it's less than three weeks 'till
Christmas so buying presents is  on a lot of people's minds. This extra traffic
creates worse than normal  problems on this always busy road. Anyway, I'm glad
Chubby's driving and not me  because I tend to use the horn a lot when I
drive. Blowing the horn is like  playing road rage Russian roulette because
you never know if you're blowing your  horn at someone with a hair up their
ass and who just happens to have a handgun  handy. Still, the idiotic things
people do while driving, especially with their  cellphone's, is enough to
make a normally sane person do radical  things. With Chubby driving I mostly
just wish these other drivers, 'good luck  and take care'. By 'good luck' I
mean, go fuck yourself, and by 'take care' I  also mean, go fuck yourself.
Just thinking that makes me feel better, almost how  I feel after blasting the
horn. Chubby doesn't hit the horn so much as he takes  cursing to a whole
new level wishing drivers to do unnatural sex acts with small  farm animals
that I doubt very much humans or animals in general are capable of  doing. He
perseveres though and we make it into Five Guys' parking lot, which is
another nightmarish experience because it's an extremely busy restaurant with a
very small parking lot... always a combustible combination. Chubby turns
off the  engine finally, and with a sigh of relief, mutters, "Fuck, I could
have done  without that hideous drive." I go, "We should have gone to the
Rockingham Mall  in Salem, New Hampshire. Route 93 isn't nearly as bad as route
114." He goes,  "Well fuck it, we made it so lets eat,"


Inside we stand in line to place our order and my cell phone rings. The
caller ID indicates 'Ryan Wilcocks'. I'm almost nervous answering, "Hi, Ryan,
how are you?" He says, "I'm fine, how are you?" I go, "I'm good. Chub and I
are  in Five Guys in Peabody. We're gonna do some Christmas shopping after
we eat."  He says, "I do my Christmas shopping on line, buying stuff for the
rents with  dad's credit card." I ask, "Um, you missed class yesterday, um,
I wonder..." He  says, "Yeah, I had an accident. Broke my little finger,
but it's no big deal. I  just didn't feel like going to class after my
hospital experience. I wasn't even  going to go to the hospital but Marty
insisted." I ask, "Ya going to class  tomorrow?" "Yeah, of course. I was just calling
about Rob's study group. I  overslept, and..." Then someone yells something
in the background, probably  Marty, and Ryan says real fast, "I'll see you
tomorrow. Bye," and clicks off. I  look at my phone a second, then smell my
coat sleeve. The greasy-frying smell in  this place is sinking into our
clothing. Chubby see me smelling my sleeve and he  mumbles, "Yeah, Five Guys
might want to consider an exhaust fan above their deep  frying station." I go,
"I'll say. Jesus, how would you like to work in here  eight hours a day,
you'd never get this smell off your skin." Chubby points at  my cellphone, that
I'm still holding, and asks, "Who was that?" I say, "Ryan, he  had to get
off the phone though. He says he's going to class tomorrow. Some kind  of
accident, and he broke his little finger." Chubby looks at me, "How the fuck
do you break a little finger?" I shrug, but I'm pretty sure I know how he
broke  it. It was in Marty's fist at the time of the so-called accident. I'll
bet I'm  right too.


Trying to clear my mind of that painful thought I'm looking around doing
my usual people watching and get stuck staring at a older woman talking to
another woman sitting at a table with her. I'm pretty much watching in horror
as  little bits of chewed food flies from the woman's mouth as she talks
while  chewing her hamburger. Gross! The talker is an older woman wearing
garish  makeup. It consist of a freaky shade of deep blue for eye shadow and
neon-red  lipstick. It looks as if crayons melted on her face, and then on her
over-powdered cheek there's a round dark eyebrow pencil beauty mark. The
younger  woman says something and crayon face smiles too sweetly showing
lipstick on her  teeth as well as chewed food. I look away because she's not only
gross she's a  little scary too. It's our turn to order so Chubby gets my
attention, and I tell  the smiling face behind the red and white tiled
counter, "A regular hamburger  with ketchup and onions, small  fries, and a Coke."
He nods, and Chubby  says, "The same". Chubby always does that in
restaurants. He just gets what I  order so he doesn't need to be bothered deciding
what to get. We walk away from  the counter and look for an empty table to
wait for our food to be prepared.  It's crowded so tables are scarce. I say,
"One of these days, Chub, I'm going to  order something crazy like spinach
soup at a restaurant just to see if you'll  say, "The same for me." He squeezes
my hand, mumbling, "No you won't. There's a  table." Yeah, a messy table.
Whoever sat here last left all their trash behind,  so I suggest, "Lets eat
in the car, and avoid the debris of used paper plates,  used napkins, that
pile of peanut shells, and those half full soda cups. One of  the cups has a
half circle of lipstick on the rim. I almost look over at crayon  face again,
but stop myself so as not to ruin my appetite. Chubby sits down at  the
messy table pushing the thrash to the middle of the table, saying, "Merely
detritus of jollity left by the chimps who ate here before us. No worries
though, Five Guys has a reputation for being a clean place, someone will be over
 to clean up shortly. Sit down, bro."


I'm sitting across from Chubby and sure enough two seconds later a  smiling
Five Guys' female employee comes to our table and begins cleaning the
mess, then while wiping the table top with a sponge, she's saying, "I don't know
 who's brilliant idea it was to have peanuts in the shell at every table.
Messy,  huh?" She's leaning over sponging the table with Chubby staring at
her prominent  tits. He takes a peanut and cracks it open, dropping the shells
on the just  cleaned table, saying, "The shelled peanuts are why we eat
here," and the girl  laughs as she swipes up the crumbled shell Chubby just
dropped on the table.  "Enjoy your lunch, guys." The employees are unfailingly
friendly here and the  food's cooked to order, taking only about five or six
minutes after you order.  There's classic rock music playing and peanuts to
munch on, which is weird, but  it's impossible not to shell a few free
peanuts.  Amazing how much fresher  and just better tasting cooked-to-order
burgers are than the precooked and then  microwaved stuff offered at most fast
food joints. And the burgers here come  without the thumb hole in the top bun
I see in the hastily microwaved and  rewrapped precook burgers at
McDonalds. Our number's announced so we pick up our  food and sit at our clean table
and take a bite. Chubby mumbles, "Burger-porn."  I open my bag of fries,
asking, "Why do we always order individual fries, Chub?  They give us a big bag
of fries that we never finish. Next time we'll share an  order and save
$2.49." He nods his head, swallows, and says, "You're right  again, bro! My
only complaint about Five Guys is that it's overpriced. The  burgers are hot,
juicy, and fresh, but overpriced. Pretty fuckin' good  though."

Neither of us  finishes our fries and we shrug at each other as we're both
throwing two half  bags of fries in the trash. Then back in the car we
mostly sit in traffic for  fifteen minutes traveling the one mile from Five Guys
to the North Shore Mall.  Chubby's like, "Next year we do Christmas shopping
in October." Once we're in  the mall parking lot our next test is seeing if
we can maintain our cool while  finding a parking spot. Someone pulls out
of a spot and then it's a race between  four cars to see who gets there
first. Finally we park and start the half mile  walk back to the mall muttering
and scowling at each other. I mumble, "Fun,  huh?" and Chubby yells, "This
blows, Dylan!" I'm like, "What the fuck did you  expect?" then Chubby grabs my
arm, both of us stopping, and he says, "Let's not  take our frustration out
on each other," and I'm like, "You're right, we'll hug  it out." We hug and
afterwards Chubby mumbles, "It still blows, but we will  overcome together.
Fuck! I feel much better, lets go get 'em." Inside the mall  there's lots
of people, but I'm always surprised there aren't more people  considering all
the cars in the parking lot.


We shop for  our moms first. Each years I get one gift for Chubby's mom and
two or three for  my mom, and a couple for my brother. Chubby does the same
for his mom, my mom,  and me. This year I'm buying a gift for Robby too,
but I'll buy that when I'm  alone. Our Christmases have never featured
extravagant gift giving. The moms  started the tradition of only buying what they
can pay for, never buying on  'time'. Chubby and I follow the mom's lead and
pay cash or use a debit card. We  like to find gifts for each other we
wouldn't normally treat ourselves to. For  example, I buy my mom a $65 bottle of
Channel #5 eau de toilette spray for her  date nights. She loves Channel,
but won't pay that much for it herself. Same for  the $39 box of dark Godiva
chocolates I buy for her. It's her favorite candy but  it's stupidly
expensive so she wouldn't think of buying it for herself, and  therefore it's the
perfect Christmas gift. Of course Chubby's copying off my  gifts for his mom
getting a different Channel bottle and a 'mixed' box of Godiva  milk and dark
chocolates instead of all dark chocolates. I look at him, like  'Really?'
and he burst out with a laugh, and then asks, "What?" Next we go to  Ann
Taylor's  because mom likes Ann Taylor clothes but rarely buys herself  anything
there, looking instead for quality items marked-down at Marshall's. I  pick
out a dressy blouse she can wear on dates along with her Channel perfume.
The blouse is marked down from $119 to $66, so a nice bargain. Chubby gets
his  mom a scarf and a nice looking piece of Ann Taylor costume jewelry.
Then  at various shops we get some stocking stuffers for our moms and each
other.  Chubby and I mostly buy these inexpensive gifts, some gag gifts
actually,  separately so we don't know what each others getting. By now we've been
in the  mall almost two hours, most of that time spent waiting in line to pay
for stuff.  At Ann Taylor's we waited in a line for fifteen minutes and
then that register  malfunctioned and we had to get in the back of the other
line. There was  definitely some inventive cursing and mumbling under a number
of people's  breaths.


All Chubby  and I buy gifts for at Christmas are the moms and each other
and of course i buy  for Robby. So we're mostly done with the moms gift buying
except for little  items we might pickup the next two weeks or so. Now we
need to get gifts for  each other. We're standing near the Mall's Santa
Clause, who's "Ho Ho Ho," is  sounding suspiciously like, "No No No," and who can
blame him? Little kids that  their moms drag with them to the mall, because
they're too cheap to pay for baby  sitters, so now many of the kids are
throwing temper tantrums. We roll our eyes  at each other hearing many a sharp
word exchanged between our fellow shoppers,  and we also hear the
occasional, "Happy Holidays," or, "Season's Greeting," so  not everyone is a grinch.
Then my grinch brother says, "Like I always tell  people: whether you're
offended by me saying, 'Merry Christmas' or 'Season's  Greetings, be assured I
don't really mean either one of them." I go, "That's the  holiday spirit,
Chub! I know what I'm buying you for Christmas, it's something  you really
need." He goes, "Oh no, I love this wallet. I've had it for six  years!" I go,
"How the hell did you know I was thinking about a wallet? Anyway,  your
wallet's falling apart. I was going to get you one at Brooks Brothers. Real
leather." He says, "That's sweet, but think of something else 'cause I love this
 fuckin' wallet." A woman says, "Watch your mouth," and Chubby mumbles,
'What the  fuck's her problem?" There's a little fuss over in the Santa Clause
line so we  look over there. A little girl apparently doesn't want to get on
Santa's lap,  but the mother plops her on there anyway so she can get a
picture. Santa asks,  "What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?" and she
says, clear as day, "What,  didn't ya get my email?" Chubby goes, "Oh brother!
Lets get away from  here."


We're  browsing  in a novelty shop now, and I'm like, "Hey, Chub, this
sounds just  like the letters you used to send to Santa." It's a card that says,
'Dear Santa,  I've been good all year. Um, I mean, most of the year. No,
I've been good  occasionally is more like it. No, that's not right either! Oh
fuck it, I'll buy  my own shit!' Chubby laughs, then says, "Very festive
Christmas card." I go,  "And you get twenty per box for only $19.95." He goes,
"Less than a dollar a  card. Oh wait, I don't send Christmas cards. I email
mine." We get an overpriced  slushy drink and then find a bench to sit on
while we drink our frozen  concoctions. A minute later someone comes up behind
Chubby and puts their hands  over his eyes. I turn around and see two girls
giggling. Chubby goes, "I  recognize your giggle, Rocky," he turns around,
saying, "And who else would you  be with except Denise. Hi girls." As he
stands, one of the girls asks, "And  who's this you're with, Jeff?" pointing at
me. We get introduced and Rocky turns  out to be Roxanne, the first Roxanne
I've ever met. She says to Chubby, "Your  little brother is taller and
cuter than you, Jeffy," and the other girl says,  "Oh, Jeff's plenty cute
enough," as she flicks her fingers through Chubby's  hair.  Chubby explains to me
the girls are in one of his classes. Denise  asks, "Where's your wingman,
John Beverly, Jeff." He shrugs, "I'm not sure.  We're here, I know that much,
and obviously," as he points at our shopping bags,  "We've been Christmas
shopping. How 'bout you?" Rocky goes, "Yeah, same for us,  but we just got
here. The fucking parking lot is the pits though!" Then she  fiddles with the
collar of my sweatshirt, asking me, "Are you a junior or senior  at North
Andover High, Dylan. Or do you go to Andover High?" Chubby says, "He's  a
sophomore, but he's shy around girls, so no touching, okay? I kinda feel
protective of him." He pinches my cheek, saying, "He is awfully cute though,
you're right about that, Rocky." She says, "Pretty hair too and look at those
eyes." The only thing I've said is, 'Nice meeting you,' when we were
introduced,  but nothing since then. Let Chubby have his fun, and anyway I like that
I look  younger than my advanced years.


Denise takes  Chubby's slushy and sips on the straw for thirty seconds,
then yells, "Popsicle  headache!" Jesus, girls! They giggle their way through a
couple of minutes of  bantering and flirting, then the girls pull Chubby's
arms, "You gotta come with  us, Jeff!  Help us choose clothes for our
brothers." Chubby asks me, "Ya  wanna come, bro?" I give him a 'look' like, 'Are
you out of your fucking mind?',  and he laughs, then says, "Okay, you stay
right here on this bench and watch our  stuff. And don't get lost in the mall
like last time or I'll need to go on the  public address system again to
find you. Stay right here and finish the drink I  bought for  you." I rub my
nose and meekly says, "Yes, Jeffy," then snicker  as Chubby laughs out loud
and the girls exchange 'looks' of their own. As Chubby  and the girls walk
away, one of the girls, in a stage whisper, asks Chubby, "Is  your brother, um,
a little slow?" Chubby mumbles some bullshit to them and the  girls go,
"Aaah, that's a shame." I'm chuckling to myself. Then I hear, "Is this  seat
taken?" I look up and see a for real, live dork. I like most dorks and  nerds.
I think they're cool because they don't really give much of a shit what
the world thinks of them. They're themselves in other words, while most people
 work at hiding the dork in all of us. I say, "Sure, you can sit here," and
as  he's taking his backpack off, he says, "I didn't know if you were
saving the  seat for someone." Why would anyone wear a backpack shopping at the
mall? He  arranges his backpack just so on the floor and while taking off his
winter coat  he stumbles over his back pack. I pretend not to notice him
getting flustered.  Glancing at the coat he's taking off it looks like one you
might wear to the  North Pole. It's too big for him and has one of those
hoods with fake fur around  the edge. He drapes the coat over the back of the
bench, stumbles over his  backpack again, and then sits down blushing. After
a few seconds he pulls his  backpack further between his feet, almost under
the bench, then takes out an  Apple laptop and goes on line, telling me,
"They have good wi-fi in here." I go,  "Uh huh, I guess." Ha ha, what a dork.


Looking at  him out the corners of my eyes I see he has the dork eyeglasses
of course, and  while there's no pocket protector he does have three
ballpoint pens in his  two-sizes-too-big flannel shirt that's buttoned to the very
top. Probably three  different colored ballpoint pens for highlighting and
taking notes. I want to  get him in a little conversation, so I ask, "Do you
go to Merrimack, by any  chance?" His expression makes me think the
question's too hard for him, then  holding out his hand stiffly, he says, "Yes, I'm
Morgan Matose, I'm a freshman."  I take his hand, saying, "Hi, Morgan, I'm
Dylan Newman, nice to meet ya." He  squeezes my hand once with his sweaty
palm and then lets go, saying, "Yes, nice  meeting you too," and goes back to
typing his laptop. Huh! I'm looking at him  openly now and see he's got a
calculator hooked on his belt, the belt that he  wears too high. It's up
around his belly button. It's pretty much guaranteed he  has a number of smart
devices on his person or in his backpack, but how would I  evaluate his
cuteness quotient? Hmmm, I guess he'd register on my cute-o-meter  scale
favorable. Yeah, except for that nemesis that so often messes up cuteness  in guys,
his nose. It's too pointy and fuck's up what otherwise would be a cute
boyish appearance. He has very clear, clean-looking skin though. He also has a
boy's regular haircut with a very straight part in his thick head of hair,
but  there's way too much hair tonic in it smelling like Vitalis. The dark
hair on  the top of his head is combed severely to the side and would probably
stay in  place in a hurricane. I'm guessing he probably thinks he needs a
haircut too,  although most guys' hair looks the length of Morgan's right
after a haircut.  He's skinny with dark soft peach fuzz on his upper lip. Really
hot red lips on  this kid too, and a cute chin. His shiny brown eyes look
big behind his  eyeglasses. I'm not sure, but in a pinch I just might be able
to overlook his  pointy nose.

Dorks,  generally speaking, have quirky personalities and are often
ironically funny and  willing to be self deprecating. It's also not uncommon for
dorks to have  ginormous IQs and simply hope to be accepted as the eerily
smart kids they are.  Fine with me. The term 'dork' applies to other things too,
like it can mean  penis, and there's a dork boner too. That's a boner you
get in class and then  you're called upon to stand up. You flip the boner up
and secure it under the  waistline of your pants before standing. That's
called a dork boner. Those in  the 'know' about such things are still aware you
have a boner, but at least you  fool those who aren't in the know. Another
thing dorks are known to do while  bathing in a bathtub is fart and then
either bite at, or merely pop the  resulting bubbles. That's a basic dork move,
fer sure. To make conversation, I  ask, "You into Dungeons and Dragons,
Morgan?" Without looking up from his  laptop, he goes, "Only two or three hours
a night." Yep, dorks spend many hours  of each day on computer devices,
laptops, iPads, or whatever. Most of them can  name all the elements in the
periodic table too, although I don't see the value  of it myself.


Morgan has a  skinny neck that I'd like to squeeze the back of and maybe
feel how much Vitalis  is in his dark brown hair. It's not a bad smell, the
Vitalis hair tonic, it's  just that it's like from the sixties or something.
Guys use mousse mostly  nowadays. I've never given anyone a boy's regular
haircut like Morgan has, but  I've seen pictures of it and he's definitely got
what's called a boy's regular.  It's mostly a haircut style for boys nine
years old and younger, but you see it  on dork adults too. Morgan must go to a
very old barber though because that's a  classic look for younger boys who
don't know any better. Huh, but I'd really  like to replicate that haircut
on him sometime. That'd be fun!  I say,  "FYI, Morgan, I go to Merrimack too
and I'm also a talented barber. I'd be glad  to give you a free haircut
anytime." Still without looking up, he says, "Thanks,  but I've always gone to
my grandfather's barbershop and I wouldn't want to hurt  his feelings. I'm
past due for a haircut now, but I've a heavy workload at  Merrimack to
consider too." I knew he'd think he needs a haircut... ha ha, so  predictable. Then
he looks at me and points at his head, saying, "No matter what  I tell pop
pop, he always gives me this same haircut, mostly with the clippers.  It
goes with my dorky self wouldn't you say?" Pop pop? In a serious manner, I
say, "I'm a big admirer of dorks, Morgan," and he laughs out loud with his
mouth  wide open, a braying laugh like a, well, like a dork laughs, so I chuckle
along  with him, then tell him, "No, really, I'm a bit of a dork myself."
He looks me  right in the eyes and grins the cutest fucking grin with
awesomely white teeth,  then says, "I'm afraid you're much too good looking and way
too cooly dressed to  be a dork, Dylan. I really like your earrings. An
earring in both earlobes is so  cool." Then, what the fuck, I squeeze the back
of his neck, shaking him a  little, saying, "I am so a dork!" He hunches his
shoulders pushing his head back  against my hand, moving his head back and
forth against my hand, muttering,  "Okay, you win, you win, you're a dork."
I smell the back of my hand and yep,  that's Vitalis hair tonic alright.
Chubby bought a bottle of Vitalis once when  we were eleven or twelve and we
liked it, but it wasn't too cool using it so we  stopped. Smelled good though.
If dorks like something it doesn't matter to them  if it's cool or not,
they use it, end of story.


He's typing  away and now I'm weirdly hooked on looking at him. Wow, I
can't get over those  sexy lips of his! Finally I ask, "What are you typing?"
Not looking up, he says,  "My blog," and I go, "Oh, you have your own blog,
huh?" He stops typing and  snickers; then, staring hard at his keyboard, he
says, "Um, yeah, Dylan. I just  told you that." I go, "Let me read it," and he
freezes for a minute. Doesn't  move a muscle, doesn't even breathe, then
abruptly holds his laptop over so I  can see the screen as he scrolls back to
the beginning of the typing he did  sitting here. I mumble, "Thank's, dude,"
and read, 'Hello, I'm Morgan. This blog  at one time had a vague
sort-of-point, but it has now become me just posting  stuff I like. Thankfully there
are awesome people like me who apparently like  the stuff I like and follow
my blog despite it's pointlessness. Good on ya',  follower people. WARNING:
this blog contains feminism and Homestuck!' Oh fuck,  Homestuck is a dorky
web comic published on MS Paint Adventures, and how I know  that I can't
imagine. Anyway, I nod my head, trying not to laugh, "Uh huh, good  blog, Morgan.
Um, what are you doing here at the mall? Shopping?" He says, "Oh,  why am I
here, but not shopping?" I nod my head, but he's not looking at me  again,
so I mutter, "Yeah, what's the story?"  He does an elaborate shrug,  "Um, I
had to get out of the house to get away from my asshole brother, okay?"  I'm
like, "Oh, that's too bad..." and before I can say more Chubby does that
thing of putting his hands over my eyes from behind like Rocky did to him ten
 minutes ago. I say, "Please dear god make it be Chubby and not Roxanne."
He  comes around in front, "Dylan, what if the girls were still with me?
You'd hurt  their feelings." I do a Morgan-esque exaggerated shrug, saying,
"Duh, I'm slow  witted, they wouldn't mind." He laughs, "Yeah, that's right, I
forgot." Morgan  drops his head closer to the laptop, emphatically not
looking at us, but I pat  his shoulder and introduce him to Chubby and Chubby to
Morgan. He takes a deep  breath, hiccups, then mumbles, "You don't seem slow
witted to me, Dylan," I go,  "Thanks, buddy," and squeeze the back of his
neck again. He does the same  hunching of his shoulders, his head moving
against my hand again, but  grinning his cute grin, saying, "That gives me
chills." I'm starting to think  Morgan gives me chills too. He seems so vulnerable
I'd like to give him a big  hug and a kiss on his cheek.


Chubby asks, "Have we done enough shopping for one day yet,  bro?" I get
up, "Yeah, I guess so." I squeeze Morgan's shoulder, "Hope I see you  around
campus, Morgan." He nods and blushes, but doesn't say anything. Chubby  and I
walk away carrying our shopping bags with Chubby telling me about the
advise he gave the girls for their brother's Christmas sweaters. He picked out
what he now feels were hideous sweater claiming to the girls the sweaters
were  way cool and they bought them. I go, "Why'd you do that?" and he's like,
"You  know I can't pick out clothes. I pointed to the first two sweaters I
saw. They  were very bright. I buy my stuff copying whatever you buy, bro,
but sometimes in  different colors." Then he stops, "Wait, we're going in the
wrong direction. We  came in the other end of the mall." I look around,
"Yeah? Ya sure?" He goes,  "Yes, we came in through Macy's and that  anchors
the other end of the  mall. Look up ahead, it's Sears." I go, "Oh balls!" and
we turn around and  retrace our steps dodging the shoppers who insist on
walking three and four  abreast. Asshole's! After four or five minutes we're
approaching the bench we  sat on and I see a chunky kid with dark red hair
putting on Morgan's oversized  Antarctic winter coat with the hood and fake
fur. Another kid, short but well  built, is holding Morgan's laptop out of his
reach. I go, "Chub, look at that!  Morgan is a damn nice dork. Let's help
him out." Chubby mutters, "Yeah, lets. I  hate bullies," and he walks up
behind the kid holding the laptop up and rips it  from the kid's hand, pushing
the kid against the bench, then passes the laptop  to Morgan, saying to the
bully, "Grow the fuck up! This isn't a middle school  playground." I grab
Morgan's too-big coat and pull it off the other kid, saying,  "If you two
asshole's would be so kind as to follow us out of the mall we can't  discuss this
further in the parking lot." Then there's some typical shoving and  cursing
until a Mall rent-a-cop comes over, which affords the asshole's a  graceful
exit. They don't appear to be the fighting type. Finger pointing of  course,
and threats that this isn't over from them, then like little boys do,  then
flash us the bird as they scurry away.



















































































































































I look over  at Morgan, who just stood there during the little fracas. He
sees me looking at  him, then whines, "I never saw those guys before in my
life. They just came over  and asked could they try on my coat." It is a
preposterous coat. He adds, "I  said, no, but they grabbed it anyway." I ask,
"You about ready to leave, Morgan?  Come on, walk out with us." He gives me
that cute fucking grin again, "My two  handsome bodyguards, huh?" I hold his
coat for him and he turns around and, holy  shit, what a cute bubble-butt ass!
Then it gets covered when he slips his arms  into his coat. I let go of it
and Morgan gathers up his stuff, puts on his  backpack, and stops. "Oh, I
gotta wait for my mother who's shopping. I don't  have a ride back home." I
ask, "You commute to Merrimack, do ya?" He goes,  "Yeah, from Methuen. I drive
mother's Volkswagen." Chubby says, "Text your mom,  we'll give you a ride
home. It's on our way." That's what he does and then the  three of us go
outside and wander around the huge parking lot looking for our  car. It takes
fifteen minutes or so to locate it with Morgan's trying to be  helpful. We
describe the Jeep to him and he's the one who spots it in a place  I'd told
Chubby I'm positive we didn't park. Chubby's unlocking the doors  smirking at
me, so I go, "You didn't remember where we parked either." We get  inside and
Chubby tells me, "That's sort of true, bro, but I also wasn't  absolutely
positive, like you, that it wasn't over here. Just saying..."  I've got
nothing to say to that so we drive Morgan to a nice house in  Methuen, which is
about eight miles from Merrimack's campus. During the ride he  sits in the
back of the Jeep with our shopping bags, doing something with his  cellphone.
At his house he gets out, saying, "Thank you very much. I'll look for  you
on campus, Dylan," then he hands me a slip of paper with his cellphone
number on it, and says, "In case you need to get in touch with me." I'm startled
for a second, then Morgan gasps, "Can I have your number?" and he blushes
brightly taking a deep breath, then holding his arm out while bending over
he  takes another deep breath, then hiccups. I suck on my lips to keep from
laughing, and then tell him my cellphone number. He writes it down in green
ink  using one of his three ballpoint pens, mumbling, "You know, your
cellphone  number I might need to, um, it's for, um, ah, if I ever need an
emergency  haircut, ya know?" I say, "Sure," and he trots up his driveway typing my
 cellphone number into his phone.


Chubby says,  "Looks like you've converted yourself another disciple, bro."
I say, "He's a  good guy. I like Morgan except we pretty much have nothing
in common." Chubby  stops at a red light, looks a me, and says, "It's weird,
but I have kind of a  special spot in my heart for dorks, if they're good
dorks." I go, "I was telling  Morgan the same thing, Chub." He says, "Of
course it is a little curious he  wants your phone number," and I shrug
muttering, "Emergency haircut. You heard  him," and he's like, "Yeah, I heard what
he said, but I never heard of an  emergency haircut." I let that go, but I've
heard of 'em. A guy remembers he's  gotta be someplace he want to make a
good impression and he need a haircut, but  all the barbershops are closed.
Happens all the time. More importantly though  I'm wondering if young Morgan
might need help with something other than an  emergency haircut. Perhaps
something along the lines of what young Francis was  looking for. Hope so,
that'd be sweet! Yeah, but that's a long shot." After  dropping Morgan off,
Chubby drives us the rest of the way to the apartment. Like  Chubby told Morgan,
Methuen is on our way home from the North Shore Mall. It's  the town before
North Andover on route 114. Everything's on, or right off, route  114 it
seems. Back at the apartment we find Robby just finishing a bowl of  chicken
broth and a twelve ounce glass of ginger ale without the fizz. He tells  us he
still feels all beat up and sore inside. Vomiting and diarrhea are violent
bodily functions and doing one or the other for three hours yesterday, like
 Robby experienced, can take it's toll on a person. I ask, "Are you going
to be  able to go to classes tomorrow, Robby?" He says, "I honestly don't
know, but not  if I still feel like this." "Can I do anything to help you?" and
Robby says,  "Thanks, but I'm just gonna go back to bed. Didn't sleep much
last night."  Chubby and I watch him walk back to the bedroom, then look at
each other and  Chubby says, "Hope I never get food poisoning." I mutter,
"No  shit."

We drink a  couple of beers, then order a pizza delivered for our dinner.
We make a salad to  go with the pizza always conscious of a well rounded,
healthy meals. After  dinner I work on some of the stuff Robby was going to
cover in our study group.  Funny how now I don't feel right unless I at least
review my notes from the  previous class. Robby's been good like that,
getting me in the habit of  studying. Good habits are usually just as hard to
break as bad ones. While  having a smoke on the balcony, just before getting
ready for bed, Morgan texts  me. 'Thank you for thwarting those asshole's at
the mall.  Sincerely, Morgan.' Huh! I text back, 'No  problem. My bro and I
were glad we happened by. Dylan'. No further  texts.


After taking a shower  and putting on pajama bottoms I get in bed with
Robby and gently kiss his lips,  but he's sleeping soundly. Well, it's been
another day without sex. It was nice  spending it with Chubby though. Wait a
second, Robby and I did it in a bathtub  full of water this morning. Whew! It's
important to remember that muscles will  atrophy without use and I can't be
sure sexual organs, specifically one's penis,  wouldn't do the same. Why
take a chance, ya know? I hug Robby enjoying his scent  and the next thing I
know I'm hugging a pillow. The showers running so Robby's  up and probably
getting ready for class. Good! It's makes me feel funny-weird  when Robby
sick. Since I took a shower last night I'm pretty much good to go,  except for
needing to use the bathroom for other matters. I venture into the  steam
filled bathroom, take a long piss watching the bubbles form on top of the
water, then laugh remembering the dork trick of biting at or popping fart
bubbles in the tub. And that makes me think of Morgan at the mall. I'll look for
him around campus, fer sure. For all I know I've passed him on campus any
number  of times without realizing it. I like that pointy-nosed short dorky
kid with  those sexy lips of his, whoa! He looked so clean too. Damn, I'm
always amazed at  the unlikely guys who turns me on. Morgan should be one of the
last guys on  campus I'd think was sexy hot, but I think he is somehow.
Yeah, but why am I  surprised? I mean, I had the hot's for that long drink of
water, Theodore  Tesdavery the third, AKA, Stringbean. That's cooled
considerably lately of  course, and then last summer, for a while there was Ray, who
I thought I had the  hot's for, so nothing should surprise me.


Dressed now, making a  mug of coffee in the kitchen, I'm thinking about
Morgan's text last night. In  the social part of his dork brain, a part that's
not anywhere near as  effective as the brainiac part, he may have been
attempting to see if we  can be friends. The trouble with befriending Morgan is
I'd be misleading him  into assuming I have some of the same interest he has,
and Dungeons and Dragons  doesn't do it for me anymore. Plus the chances of
him being gay are one in ten,  or one in eight maybe, something like that.
Still, I'd like to give him a boy's  regular haircut because I've never done
that before, and if he were gay, I'd  love fucking his hot ass. Oh man,
that would be a blast. And, oh my God, what if  he's gay, but only 'tops'.
Okay, not I sprouting some wood! Would it ever be  super sexually hot to be
dominated by a skinny little freshman dork! Jesus! I  need to get a grip here,
that's what I need to do. Taking my coffee to the  balcony, then coming right
back in for my coat because it's turned winter-cold  again. Wearing my coat
and a wool cap I try going out again. Lighting up a  cigarette I see Chubby
walking into the kitchen wearing only his jockey  underwear. Damn, he has a
hot body! Chubby waves at me giving me his smile just  as Robby appears.
They say something with Chubby pointing to me so Robby turns  around waving
and then gets a coffee and comes over to slide the door open,  saying, "Good
morning, babe. I'm not ignoring you, just don't feel up to a  cigarette." I
ask, "Ya feeling better?" He nods, "Better, but not good. Don't  want to miss
class though. We only got two today." I say, "You look a lot  better, Rob.
I love you." He grins, "Me too, but I gotta close this door. It's  freezing
out there."


I drive  Robby's pickup to the campus telling him about Ryan's cellphone
call yesterday.  As I'm parking, Robby says, "Gee, it's good he called about
the study group. I'm  glad he's that conscientious." Well, actually Ryan
called to explain why he  missed it, if we had it that is, because he overslept.
I wouldn't call that  conscientious, but keep that thought to myself. I'm
again feeling nervous about  seeing Ryan, which has become a regular emotion
lately because first of all, I'm  not sure he'll even show up, and secondly
what condition will he be in if he  does show up. Plus I've got the hot's
for him and I don't like that he seems to  have the hot's for Marty. I guess
that's the bottom line. Robby's just concerned  that Ryan's alright where as
I'm concerned about that plus I want him to fuck me  so badly it's
embarrassing. All I can try to do is not embarrass myself in front  of him. That,
plus the little matter of bringing him to his senses about Marty.  As soon as
we get out of the pickup I see Ryan. His back is to me but I'd know  him
anywhere. From a hundred yards away it looks like Marty is giving Ryan his
marching orders for the day. Then Marty cups Ryan's chin jerking Ryan's head up,
 and then leaning down getting his face close to Ryan's telling him
something.  That other asshole, Rex, is looking on, probably smugly, although it's
too far  to see his expression. Maybe it's his body language. Marty jerks
Ryan's chin  again before letting go of it, and then he pats Ryan's cheek like
you do to a  good little boy. Ryan's nodding his head real fast like he
used to do with Robby  and then me. Now I do it to him. Fuck! I hate that Marty.





I mutter, "There's  Ryan," and Robby asks, "Where?" so I point to him, but
now he's walking away  from Marty in the direction of our first period
lecture hall. He's got his  backpack on and when he turns to walk away from Marty
I see the bandage on two  fingers of his left hand. Ryan's not looking in
our direction, and when he  reaches the steps he just stands alone sort of
slumped. When we're near the  steps I nervously light a cigarette telling
myself, 'Be fucking cool, don't fly  off the handle'. Robby calls, "Hey, Ryan,
you made it." Ryan turns around trying  to smile, but he grimaces instead.
Maybe because he's got a big fat lip. Another  accident no doubt. Robby walks
right up to him and they do a one arm hug, with  Robby asking, "How's ya get
the fat lip." Ryan mumbles, "Ran into an open closet  door," and then he
and I do a two-arm hug, with me saying, "I've been  missing you." He nods his
head but doesn't look at me. I cup his chin like Marty  did and lift Ryan's
head seeing tears in his eyes. We look into each other's  eyes now and he
mutters, "I'm sorry, Dylan." I look away so I don't tear-up as  Robby says,
"Come on, guys," and we go up the steps with Robby putting his arm  across one
of his teammate's shoulder and they laugh about something. I go, "Um,
Ryan, did you run into the same closet door you ran into when you got your black
 eye?" He mumbles, "The exact same one." I go, "Huh, how'd you break your
finger?" He shrugs, "I, um, don't want to talk about it. It was stupid." I
give  his shoulders a hug, saying, "Okay," and he leans into me hugging
around my  waist with the arm, the one with a hand that has two fingers in a cast
at the  end of it.


It's hard to  concentrate in class, but Robby looks at me, mouthing,
"Please, some notes."  Taking notes during class helps the minutes tick by quicker
so I do that. After  class it's too early for lunch, and we still have an
afternoon class, so the  three of us head for the quad to get out of the
cold. Coffees and sweet rolls  for Robby and me, but Ryan passes on the sweet
roll. Maybe his mouth hurts.  Robby says, "So, how'd ya break your pinkie,
Ryan?" He holds it up and looks at  it a second, then puts it under the table,
saying, "Just messin' around and  accidentally hitting the table with just
the tip of my little finger. It was  sticking out sideways. I almost threw
up." That's quite a story, but at least he  told Robby something. With me he
didn't want to talk about it. Robby bites into  his cinnamon bun and chews
looking at Ryan, then when he swallows, he says,  "That sounds kinda hard to
believe, Ryan. And you walked into another closet  door too, this time giving
yourself a fat lip, huh? It's a bit strange that you  played baseball for
four years in high school, so I was wondering how come ya  got clumsy and
uncoordinated all of a sudden." Ryan stands up knocking over his  paper cut of
coffee, mumbling, "I need to get something from my dorm." I look at  Robby,
he nods his head at the departing Ryan, so I get up and catch up with  Ryan
getting my arm across his shoulders, saying, "We want to help, Ryan. We're
not putting you down," and I lower my voice, "I love you, Ryan, and it's
painful  for me, very painful, to see you treated like this." He stops and
swallows with  some difficulty, as I say, "Come on back to the table, I'll get
you a new  coffee." He nods, mumbling, "Thanks." I get the coffee watching
Robby and Ryan  talking. When I get back to them and sit down, Robby says,
"Ryan says he's in  too deep with Marty and he would like it if we could think
of a way to extricate  him from his situation." I'm like, "Oh," and Robby
asks me, "You know a guy who  needs a roommate, right?" I nod, "Yep, a good
guy," although I'm mostly guessing  about that since I've only talked to him
half a dozen times.


Okay, that's step  number one: Ryan admitting he needs help. Now for the
hard step number two: what  to do about it? I say, "Um, we'll brainstorm it
together, okay?" Don't want to  scare Ryan off by pushing the 'I told you so'
bullshit button. Especially now  that he's come around to thinking clearly
about this. Robby says, "Well, have  you mentioned to Marty that you don't
want to continue doing whatever the fuck  it is you're doing with him?" Ryan
takes a deep breath, "No, because he scares  the shit out of me." I say,
"Ryan, you're a tough little dude," wishing I'd left  the 'little' part out,
adding, "Is Marty some prize fighter or something?" He  says, "He's wicked
strong and so is Rex and together the three of us wouldn't  have a chance
against them." Robby goes, "I wouldn't be too sure about that," as  he glances at
me and I remember the way Robby has this other level he goes to in  a
fight... a scary level." I say, "We're never especially concerned about a fair
fight, Ryan, not nearly as much as we're concerned about winning. My brother
makes four, by the way, and he's the master at using whatever's at hand to
accomplish the mission." Ryan says, "And then what happens, we get thrown
out of  college or what?" Robby says, "That's a good point, so we need to
think about  it. We'll come up with something because I wanna see both my twin
boyfriends  smiling again." Ryan's looking down nodding his head, then he
mumbles, "That'd  be nice alright," and steals a glance at me. I grin at him
encouragingly. Like  me, Robby senses it wouldn't be smart to overdo the topic
of saving private Ryan  right now, so Robby changes the subject by
discussing our weight lifting day.  Our next scheduled day this week is Thursday and
today happens to be Thursday.  Ryan get into that topic a little telling
Robby and me he's been thinking about  this and feels we should all increase
our lifting weights. Me too even though he  added ten pounds to mine just a
week ago.


We kill time in the quad and then  have lunch at McDonalds where I see
firsthand how much better Five Guys' burgers  are. During lunch Danny Monday
comes in with two other guys and when he has his  lunch on a tray he sets it
down with the guys he came in with, then comes over  to put his hands on
Robby's shoulder saying a general hello to us. Robby asks,  "Wassup, Danny?" and
Danny tells him the team's organizing a flag football game.  He says, "We
need you to quarterback for infielders, Rob. And we got the coach's  okay to
turn on the outdoor light on the football field. It'll be cool." He  looks at
Ryan and me, "Sorry guys, this is an inter-team function only." Then he
must have remembered Ryan's the locker room manager/flunky, so he adds, "No
coaches or managers either, Ryan, sorry. You guys are welcome to watch
though."  Oh goody! Naturally any team-related activity has  Robby all for it.
It'll be dark by four-thirty so they'll  need the lights for their five o'clock
start. Danny goes over to his table and  now Robby's kinda psyched about
playing. I'd be psyched too except the game's  only for baseball team members.
Ryan says, "That sucks, Rob. I'm part of the  team," and I'm wondering if
Marty would even let Ryan play. It'd be rubbing it  in if I mentioned that,
so I don't.


On the way to last class I say to Ryan, "I don't suppose you can hang out
with me after lifting." He says, "Sure I can, assuming I want another
accident  to my body." I'm not going there so I don't reply. Inside the building
Ryan  stops me, "You know very well I'd love to hang out with you, Dylan, and
fuck it,  maybe I can. Sorry I was flip with you earlier. I'll text Marty,
he's been  feeling guilty about my accidents, so maybe he'll...." He texts
and ten seconds  later his cellphone rings. I hear, "Hi, Marty," pause, "I'm
good," pause, "Um,  sure, of course I will". Another pause, then I hear Ryan
say, "Um, is it okay if  I hang out with my friend after classes and, um,
after the lifting you already,"  and he turns his back to me, but I can still
hear him say, "Gave me permission  to do." I could throw up... 'gave me
permission to do'. Balls! Ryan's nodding  his head fast as if Marty can see
him, then he says, "Thanks, yes, I will.  Promise." He turns around trying to
grin, "Of course I can hang out with you.  What'll we do for dinner?" I can't
help but hug him, "That's great Ryan," and I  give him a quick kiss on the
lips, then glance around. Two girls see me glance  in their direction and
they both do air kisses. Fuck them. The class drags, but  it's eventually over.


Walking out of the building Ryan tells us he want to drive his Mini over
to the apartment. Robby says, "Why don't you ride with Ryan, babe," and he
gives  me a look that seems to say, 'To be sure he makes it to our apartment',
or  something to that effect. As we walk to his car, I ask Ryan, "Is your
fat lip  really sore?" He says, "Not too bad. I got it last night for what
Marty calls '  too much backtalk'. He feels real bad after he slaps the shit
out of me, but  that doesn't take back the beating or make it hurt any less.
My lip really hurt  this morning when I was sucking him off in bed, but it's
much better now." What  the fuck can I say to that? I chose not to say
anything, then Ryan stops and  says, "I brushed my teeth and gargled really good
when I got out of bed." I look  at him curiously, so he adds, "When you
kissed me earlier, I didn't want you to  think..." I ruffle his hair and he
grins doing the same to me, and I go, "Heh,  it's been a couple of weeks since
you gave me a haircut. Almost three." He says,  "Actually it's been three
weeks and three days. Do you really want me to give  you a haircut?" We start
walking and I go, "Yeah, of course, assuming your  little finger won't
prevent it." He says, "Nah, I don't use the little finger on  my left hand while
cutting your hair." I'm like, "That's right, you don't. Yeah,  I like it
when you cut my hair. It's sexy." He goes, "You didn't used to like it  and I'm
worried I might have gotten lucky last time when it turned out good.  Maybe
we won't be so lucky this time. I don't wanna mess it up, Dylan." I say,
"You won't mess it up, and I'll give you a haircut too. It'll be like the old
 days." He shakes his head, "No, Marty's taking me with him and Rex to
Supercuts  on Saturday." I go, "Supercuts?" and he looks at me, "Yeah, for a
trim he said.  He wants my hair long because he says he likes to run his
fingers through it."  I'm boiling inside both from Ryan's obsequiousness to Marty
and his matter of  fact way of saying, "no' to me.


Inside the Mini, Ryan turns the engine on and revs it, mumbling, "This
baby heats up fast." I'm still pissed off, so I say nothing. Then he looks
over,  asking, "You mad at me?" and I go, "Yeah, a little I guess." He nods his
head,  "Do you still want me to give you a haircut?" I should say 'no' to
him and let  Sonny go crazy on my hair again, but that'd be cutting off my
nose to spite my  face, so I mutter, "Sure." Dammit, I'm trying to cut down on
this childish  pouting, but I'm roaringly jealous that Ryan doesn't care for
me like he used  to. How could he when he bows down to the guy who's
beating the shit out of him.  He said, 'When I was sucking him off in bed this
morning' like it's so routine  it's hardly worth mentioning. He puts the car in
gear and drives agonizingly  slowly off campus, saying, "I don't blame you
for being mad at me, Dylan, I'm  mad at myself. That's why I told Robby I
need help." I ask, "Why couldn't you  ask me?" He says, "Because I'm
humiliated that I got myself into this mess and  when you look at me with disapproval
it's like a knife in my guts. I love you,  Dylan. Hell, I just about
idolize you and when you're disappointed in me it  hurts." Well it helps to hear
that!


After twice  as long as it normally takes to get from Merrimack to out
apartment building,  Ryan finds a fairly good parking spot. We passed where the
pickup's parked in  the second row, of course. He turns off the engine and
looks over at me moving  the pink tip of his tongue over his fat lip leaving
it shining with saliva. I  stare at him as he unfastens his seatbelt, leans
over to put his arms around my  neck, and presses his wet fat lip against my
lips, then his tongue slides on my  tongue and our noses bump together as
my eyes close and I inhale his scent. It's  become so special to me. My hands
go in his hair at the back of his head as we  slurp on each other's mouth
and my cock gets rock hard. Maybe I'll need to turn  it into a dork boner for
the walk to the apartment. It's a one minute kiss that  gets all my juices
flowing. Then Ryan holds my face between his hands, the  covering on his
broken finger feeling rough on my cheek, as he quietly says,  "I'm going to
fuck you so lovingly tonight, Dylan, you won't be as mad at me or  as
disappointed with me as you probably are now." My cock is so hard it aches. I  gasp
for breath and lean in for another kiss. After that kiss, he runs his
fingers through my hair, saying, "And I'm going to give you the best haircut  I've
ever done. Okay?" I nod as a strange submissive sensation come over me. I
say strange because he's not being dominant, is he? I feel kinda loose too,
like  I have no bones in my body except 'that' one.


Ryan  continues holding my face between his hands, again rubbing his nose
back and  forth against my nose as he smiles, then he says, "Nobody ever
makes me feel as  good as you, Dylan. I love how you so openly, um, like me." I
guess he felt it'd  be presumptuous to say he likes how I've got
uncontrollable sexual heat for him  and how I'm loving him and falling all over him, so
he says, 'like him' instead.  I manage to say, "Yep, I like you too,"
meaning in additions to all those things  left unsaid. I get myself together and
we get out and walk to the apartment  building's back door with me imaging
Ryan holding my hand or putting his arm  around my waist as we walk. Not that
he does either. Ryan could never replace  Robby in my heart, but it'd be my
perfect world if it was the three of us in  that condo Robby's buying at a
builder's discount when we graduate. Chubby could  live upstairs and then
I've got perfection. And yeah, I know it's a pipe dream.  And why the fuck
does 'pipe dream' mean 'wishful thinking'?


Chubby and  John Beverly are talking to Robby when Ryan and I come into the
apartment. Robby  must have told them not to mention Ryan's broken finger
or his fat lip because  no one mentions it, but they give Ryan a warm
greeting. I ask, "How come you  guys didn't get the free weights out?" Chubby says,
"Because when I did it  awhile back the weight guru yelled at me." Ryan
chuckles, then goes, "Well get  'em out now," and Chubby grins, saying, "Lets
go John Beverly," and they go into  Robby's and my bedroom to get the
weights. I tell Robby, "Too bad you got the  football game tonight, Ryan's hanging
out here after we lift and then we'll get  some dinner." Robby says, "Maybe
I'll see you guys afterwards." We're like,  "Yeah, maybe," but we won't see
him because the game is basically just an excuse  to have a beer and pizza
party afterwards. I hope Robby's stomach's up for  that.


The weight  lifting's fun with Chubby making fun of John Beverly, who can't
even lift what  I'm lifting. Ryan added another ten pounds to my bar and
that's twenty extra  pounds in two weeks. I bust my balls doing the
repetitions mostly because Ryan  told me last week that I didn't put as much into it
as he, Chub, and Robby do.  Fuck that, I put everything I had into it today
and I'm drenched in sweat as a  result, but I feel good. Even though Chubby
busts John Beverly's balls, John  want to lift with us next time too so Ryan
makes out a chart for him. After the  lifting we all have a beer finishing
off the last of the beer in the  refrigerator. While drinking the beers
Chubby tries talking Ryan and me into  playing poker with John Beverly and some
other guys. The card game's in someone  I don't know's dorm room, but I
always lose at poker and Ryan doesn't know how  to play, so those two take off
while Robby's getting cleaned up in our bathroom.  Then Robby leaves with hugs
all around, and Ryan and I left alone now act kind  of shy with each other
for no reason at all. Finally he says, "I'll do your  haircut now, okay?" I
nod my head sensing that strange submissive feeling  drifting over me again,
so I stand here savoring the sensation. Ryan nods his  head, probably
understanding how I'm feeling, then he says, "Get the barber  stuff out, set it
up, and take off your shirt." I do that as he watches, then he  asks, "Do you
want me to shampoo your hair like you do before giving haircuts?"  That's
not dominant, so why do I feel like this? I feel like I'm in a trance as  I
mumble, "Sure, thanks, that'll be nice."


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


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