Date: Wed, 20 May 2015 17:09:56 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR Chapter  63

DYLAN'S SOPHOMORE YEAR


Chapter  63


by  Donny Mumford



Six of us are on our way  to Fort Lauderdale with Chubby driving. He'll
drive the first hundred miles of  this twenty-one hundred mile road trip and
then we'll change drivers. Twenty-one  hundred miles is a guess based on
various mileage projections and  driving times for a Boston to Fort Lauderdale
road trip. There doesn't seem to  be a consensus of how far or how long it
will take. In any case, Connor's in the  shotgun seat next to Chubby, Robby and
I are in the seat behind them, and  Vinnie's with Dodger in the third seat
of this 2013 Ford Flex station wagon, or  maybe it's an SUV. Whatever it is,
it's roomy. Chubby drives to the Mass  turnpike, then 60 miles on that toll
road before getting off at route I-84 W. At  the thirty mile mark on I-84
Chubby's pulls to the side to the side of the road  and Connor takes over. He
drives another thirty miles on I-84 before connecting  with route I-91
towards New Haven, Connecticut, then route I-95 south towards  New York City.
There's a gnarly backup with many lanes merging into two lanes as  we approach
the George Washington bridge. Tedious stop and go traffic, but we're
finally on the lower level of the bridge bringing back memories to me of my solo
trip to the big apple last summer. Connor's frustrated by the traffic
back-up on the bridge, but a half hour later he's back on I-95 south and smooth
sailing. Chubby says, "I don't think this is a very direct route. This GPS
sucks!" We don't have a map though so we're at the mercy of the  GPS.


Continued smooth sailing  for Connor and when he gets on the New Jersey
turnpike he realizes he driven  further than a hundred miles. He's frustrated
with himself as Robby takes over.  It already seems like a long trip.
Everyone is weirdly quiet, mostly listening  to the radio and murmuring complaints
about this or that. First it's too hot in  the car for some, and then it's
too cold. Hard to please six guys at the same  time. When Robby pulls away a
ringing-dinging sound starts up, and he grumpily  asks, "Who doesn't have
their seatbelt on?" Connor says, "I just sat down! Give  me a second will ya?"
Oops, short tempers already, and from Connor of all  people. He's sitting
next to me now that he's changed seats with Robby. Connor  whispers to me,
"That was nerve racking going across the George Washington  bridge with people
butting in front of me merging and honking their horns. And  then I forgot
to check the speedometer and I drove past the hundred mile mark."  I'm like,
"It was construction on the bridge that screwed everything up. You did
great, Connor, and now you won't need to drive again for at least five hundred
miles. By then we'll be going straight on I-95 for almost nine hundred
miles all the way to Florida, so no more merging." He grins, changing the
subject, asking, "How's my pompadour look?" I chuckle, mumbling, "I wish I never
 mentioned that word, pompadour." Robby's on the New Jersey turnpike for a
short  time before pulling over for gas. Then it's another eighty miles or
so before  the lady's voice from the GPS tells him to get on I-95 again. He
mutters, "Why  the fuck didn't we just stay on I-95 the whole way?" No one
has an answer to  that so he drives on for another nineteen miles before his
turn is up. I replace  him as the driver and Robby sits next to Connor.
Connor says, "Sorry I snapped  at you about the seat belt, Rob." and Robby says,
"Ah, you didn't snap at me,  buddy. It's a bitch you had to handle that
cluster fuck at the  bridge."


The guys are  talking more now, mostly because Robby brought up the topic
of the side trip to  Disney World again, and they're all talking about what's
the best day to do  that. Robby wants to hook up with Danny obviously and
naturally everyone has a  different idea of when to take the side trip.
Frankly it's kinda annoying  hearing the bickering while I'm driving, but I don't
mention it. The GPS lady  tells me to connect with I-495 west, so I do that
for about eighteen miles  before the speedometer registers my hundredth
mile and I pull to the side of the  road and Vinnie takes over the driving. As
soon as he sits down he complains,  "This fuckin' seat is hot! You guys been
farting on it or what?" Dodger yells,  "Turn the air conditioner on if
you're hot." Vinnie says, "Air conditioner? It's  sixty degrees outside," and
Dodger says, "The seat should keep you warm then.  Stop complaining." Vinnie
finishes with I-495 muttering under his breath the  whole way. We're in
Delaware now with Vinnie mumbling out loud, "We're going in  circles, or
something," and Robby's asking, "When are we gonna get something to  eat? I'm hungry
and thirsty and I gotta take a piss." Too much complaining! I go, "Cool it,
there's rest stops on  this road according to my iPhone," and the guys
quibble about when we should  stop. We've gone just over four hundred miles and
it's taken  us eight hours. It's pitch black outside and we're all hungry
and ready for a  break. Dodger says, "Good news! We only have seventeen
hundred miles to go," and  everyone groans, muttering, "Why didn't we fly?"


Vinnie takes the next  exit after seeing a sign advertising a gas station
and some fast food joints. We  drive six miles at thirty miles an hour on a
dark two lane town road before we  see some stores, most of them closed for
the night. Then there's an open Burger  King and a 24-hour BP gas station
next to it. First we fill the gas tank and  then we're in Burger King and now
I'm bitching, "Fuck, thirteen more hours of  driving, at least thirteen
hours." Chubby says, "I've seen all kinds of  estimates for driving from Boston
to Florida. One site indicated it's a  twenty-four hour road trip and one
says eighteen hours and another one says  twenty-one hours." Dodger mutters, "I
guess it depends on where you're going in  Florida. It's a long state all
the way to Key West." We all get cheeseburgers,  fries, and sodas and then
look around for a clean table. As we eat everyone's on  their smart phones
trying to decipher how far we are from Washington, DC. The  best guesstimate is
two hours. That would be ten hours into our trip. I ask, "Do  you think
that's the halfway point?" Robby's frowning looking at his phone, "I  think we
gotta clear Virginia and get into North Carolina before we're at the
halfway point." Balls to that!


There's a table of  teenagers making a lot of annoying noise and looking
for trouble. Actually they  sound drunk and normally we'd be giving them some
shit. Now though we've got  other things on our minds so we ignore them and
eat our food while talking about  what point we're at in our road trip, and
how far we have to go. Then we're all  bitching about the speed everyone
drives on I-95. It's like 85 miles an hour is  the norm and we've been mostly
in the right lane the whole time going seventy or  seventy-five miles an hour
with people passing us giving us the finger. It's  sort of contradicts the
urban legend about speed traps. None of us has been to  sleep yet and we'll
be driving through the night, so we agree to try and get  some sleep. No
more listening to the radio or talking. The driver will wake up  only the next
driver when it's time for his shift. We all have a cigarette  shivering in
the parking lot before getting back in the car, and then Vinnie  drives back
to I-395 at a snail's pace because the road's narrow and dark as a  pocket.
He finds the highway and Vinnie gets on the exit heading in the wrong
direction going north instead of south. I'm dozing off when I hear Dodger yell,
"Hey, Vinnie! We past that same billboard a half hour ago. Jesus Christ,
you're  driving north on I-95." Vinnie yells, "It'd be nice if somebody was
helping  here. You're in the shotgun seat, Dodger, and you didn't tell me I got
on the  wrong ramp." Dodger calms down, "Yeah, my mistake. There's an exit
two miles up.  You can turn around there." I try dozing off to sleep again.


As I doze off I'm  thinking that while my knowledge of geography leaves
something to be desired,  I'm almost positive we'll need to drive through North
Carolina, South Carolina,  then Georgia before we reach Florida. Fort
Lauderdale is down the east coast of  Florida past Orlando and almost to Miami
near the tip of the state. Well, the  tip not counting the Key islands, which
extend all the way to within something  like thirty miles of Cuba. Maybe
we'll take a side trip to Cuba too. Probably  not. I finally doze off, then the
next thing I notice is we've pulled over and  Vinnie's whispering to Dodger
that it's his turn to drive. Opening one eye I see  them do a quick kiss
before changing places. The next thing I know the car's  stopped again. I take
a peek and see Connor filling the gas tank at an all night  gas station.
Huh, that means Vinnie finished his hundred miles, Chubby did his  second
hundred miles, and Connor's somewhere into his second hundred miles.  It'll be
my turn next so I might as well wake-up completely now. Rubbing my face  I
check my watch seeing it's two-thirty. Great, I got three hours sleep. This
sucks! Getting out of the car, I ask Connor, "Where are we?" Connor says,
"Some  where in Virginia," and I'm like, "I guess this is approximately the
halfway  point. How many miles have you driven this time?" He says, "Almost
ninety," and  I'm like, "I'll take over now. You drove more than your share
last time. Try to  get some sleep." He nods his head, mumbling, "Thanks,
Dylan," and pats my  shoulder.


It's I-95 S all the way  from here on. There are supposedly notorious speed
traps along I-95, in Virginia  and the Carolinas especially, although we
haven't seen any cars pulled over yet.  As I drive the thought is always on my
mind that I'm responsible for the lives  of these five guy, all of whom I
like and some I love, so that's my motivation  for staying awake and paying
attention to my driving. There are more cars on the  road at this hour than I
expected, but it's not heavy traffic. I finally see the  first twirling
blue lights ahead indicating a cop car. I wonder how fast that  driver was
going before getting stopped? I drive the speed limit past some poor  sucker
getting a two or three hundred dollar speeding ticket from some blood  sucking
town cop. We've read online that the cops look for New York state  licenses
especially, but any northerner's car will do. By the time my hundred  miles
is up I've just entered North Carolina and it's approaching four o'clock  in
the morning. There's almost half a tank of gas left, but I pull into an all
 night gas station to fill it up anyway just to be safe.


I use my debit card and  start filling the tank trying to stay awake.
Robby's the next driver but Dodger  gets out of the car, mumbling, "Gotta take a
piss." He does that in the gas  station's rest room, coming back with a
Coke, saying, "Caffeine," as he holds  the can of Coke up, then, "I'll take a
turn driving since I'm already awake...  let my brother sleep." The order of
drivers gets mixed up from then on, but  nobody cares. I sleep until the
sound of guys whispering wakes me up to bright  sunshine. I ask the obvious
question, "Where are we?" and Robby, who's driving  now, says, "Apparently were
close to South Carolina heading for someplace called  'South Of The Border'.
There's a tacky billboard every fuckin' couple of miles  reminding drivers
how far they need to drive to get to Pedro's South Of The  Border." I ask,
"Yeah, what's that?" Robby says, "It's a big sombrero at exit 1  as far as I
can tell. We'll be there pretty quick because  we're  almost finished with
North Carolina." Checking my watch... it's six o'clock in  the morning so
we've been on the road for fifteen hours. Then I see one of the  billboards
Robby's talking about. Pedro is a Mexican cartoon character wearing a  big
sombrero. The billboard reads, 'For the traveler's convenience South Of The
Border is twenty miles away from this billboard'. It claims South Of The Border
 is America's favorite oasis and the gateway to the southeast. Huh! It's in
 Dillon, South Carolina, twenty miles from here. Chubby goes, "What the
fuck,  let's stop there for breakfast, and to see what all the fuss is  about."


Everyone's awake now and we're all hungry, tired, and in need  of a
restroom. We're all a little grumpy too as we pull into South Of The Border  and
park at Pedro's Diner. This self-proclaimed oasis opens at ten o'clock, but
the diner is open twenty-four hours a day. Looks like we'll miss visiting
Sombrero Tower, Reptile Lagoon, and Pedroland which is an amusement park. The
diner though is doing a bustling business. We get a table for six, everyone
 yawning and bitching that it's still about a nine and a half hour drive to
Fort  Lauderdale. We takes turns using the bathroom then everyone orders a
big  breakfast and while we drink coffee waiting for our food we try
figuring out how  come this trip is taking us so long. We come up with a number of
delays: the  half hour delay at the George Washington bridge, the traffic
jam going through  DC, the forty-five minutes we spent at Burger King for
dinner, and then the lost  hour when Vinnie got on I-95 in the wrong fucking
direction for like thirty-five  miles and had to circle back. All in all it
looks like it's going to take us  twenty-four hours to reach Fort Lauderdale,
which is the outside time any of us  saw for online predictions of this road
trip.


Feeling better after  eating we wander around a little, reluctant to get
right back in the car. We  count eleven souvenir shops, two gas stations, an
amusement park, a big motel,  indoor golf at the 'Golf of Mexico' which is
kinda corny. Also there's a two  hundred foot high glass elevator ride to the
top of Sombrero Tower, which isn't  open, plus various other so-called
attractions. Without being snobby about it,  this place is dismal and maybe the
cheesiest place I've ever been to. We get  back in the car with Vinnie
driving again and reconnect with route I-95 south.  Staying alive on this highway
is objective number one, and then it's all about  counting off the hours
until we're there. It's warm outside now and getting  warmer so the air
conditioner is blasting away. We're still changing drivers  every hundred miles but
the order of drivers got screwed up so it's turned into  a game of chance.
We draw straws to see who the next driver's going to be.  Eventually we
escape Georgia and enter Florida with a mock cheer from everyone,  and then we
drive on for another hour before stopping for lunch at an exit for  Saint
Augustine. Right off the interstate there's another McDonalds. We're in
Florida but still a good four hours drive from Fort Lauderdale, which is where
we'd initially planned on having lunch. Nobody's in a very good mood as Chubby
 says, "Well, I thought we'd have lunch in Fort Lauderdale, but that
calculation  was a little bit off." I mumble, "After this trip it better  really
rock when  we finally get there," and Robby says, "Ya know, we're going  to
go right by Orlando on the way to Fort Lauderdale." Dodger says, "Forget
about it, Rob, we're not stopping! We need to get the fuck to Fort Lauderdale
and check into our hotel, then reassess our situation. After a good nights
sleep  we'll all feel differently about things." Vinnie mutters,  "We should
have flown," and Dodger says, "How come you didn't voice that opinion
Saturday when we were planning this trip?" Vinnie shrugs, "I don't know," and
Chubby like, "This time of the year it would have cost five to six hundred
dollars for a round trip. Sure, we've had a shitty twenty hours so far, but it
 cost each of us less than fifty bucks to get to where we're going."
There's  general shrugs, but no response to that as we eat our  lunch.


During the  last four hours of the trip everyone, except the unfortunate
driver, is again  sleeping on and off so there's little to no chatter or
complaining except by the  person who's next to drive. We're still determining
who drives by drawing straws  using the ones we stole from Pedro's diner. The
guy who just finishes his turn  arranges the straws in his hand so it's not
obvious which one is the short one  and the rest of us choose a straw. The
short straw drives. Very democratic.  We've abandoned any pretense of safe
driving and instead drive the same speed as  the vast majority of other
drivers on I-95 south, which is to say at least 85  miles an hour. We're really
pushing it to get this trip over with. Ironically  it's Chubby, who began the
trip driving the first hundred miles, who is the  driving when we finally
hit Fort Lauderdale with a chorus of, "It's about  fucking time!" Our
increased speed the last four or five hours cut some time off  our revised expected
time of arrival. Chubby drives into Fort Lauderdale a  little after six at
night. Ten minutes later we're checking into the Avalon  Waterfront Inn on
the beach and it's still bright and sunny outside with  temperature in the low
eighties. Nice!


The hotel is old,  claiming to be Florida's original beach hotel. It's
situated right in the center  of Fort Lauderdale's most popular strip, which is
Fort Lauderdale Beach  boulevard. The rooms cost a mere hundred dollars each
per night. Both rooms have  a queen size bed and a sofa with a pull-out
double bed. Our check-in goes  without a hitch, which is no small thing. I half
expected the clerk to say  something like he couldn't find a record of our
reservation, or the rooms are  for two people maximum, or some other screw
up, but that's not the case.  Grabbing our stuff we go up to check-out the
rooms. Amazingly they both have a  balcony on the ocean side. We've agreed
ahead of time that Dodger and Vinnie  will share the queen size bed and Connor
will have the pull out bed in one room.  Robby and I will use the queen size
bed in our room with Chubby getting the  pull-out bed. So with tax and
everything it's about thirty-five dollars a night  per person. You can't beat
that for a beach front hotel.  Both rooms are on  the third floor but they're
not next to each other. Dodger's room is three rooms  down from ours. Just
the luck of the draw that Robby, Chubby, and me get a room  at the end with
an extra window. In this case the extra window looks out at  another hotel's
parking lot. Lovely view.

Robby, Chubby, and I are  out on the balcony for a smoke and checking the
awesome view. Beautiful white  beaches, and like Key West the sunsets are
supposed to be spectacular here  too.The boys come out on their balcony and we
get silly, waving and shouting  back and forth at each other. During the
shouting we decide to put on shorts and  sandals and go for a walk around the
hotel and then on the beach. Outside we  discover a beach promenade which
runs alongside the Atlantic Ocean and offers a  large variety of things to do
as far as shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants go.  It can't compare with the
boardwalk in Wildwood of course, but it's cool  and already jumping with
lots of loud college kids eating and drinking outside.  Back on the hotel
grounds we find two heated swimming pools and an outdoor  grille and picnic area
that we might take advantage of. There's also a very cool  outdoor patio
facing the ocean where they serve drinks and food. It's got  impressive columns
supporting the roof and old time looking fancy railings along  the outside
like this might have been considered a luxurious resort in the past.  Now
it's old and slightly run down, but there's free wi/fi in the room and cable
TV, plus of course daily maid service. The rooms are kinda small and the
bathrooms haven't been updated in like twenty or thirty years, plus the
furniture's pretty worn, but the mattresses seem new and all in all we're really
pleased with the place. Plus, how much time will we be in the rooms anyway.
Then  it's down to the beach carrying our sandals and walking on the sand
with  memories of the arduous road trip fading fast.


As we walk we make plans  to eat at the outdoor place we saw on the
so-called promenade. Also we set as a  high priority connecting with someone we can
get a couple of cases of beer from.  We're leaving that up to Dodger's and
Chubby's charming and ballsy manner in  dealing with matters such as that.
After an hour walking on the beach enjoying  the sun and warm weather, we're
back at the hotel taking turns showering, and  then we get to the restaurant
a little after eight o'clock. The place is still  jumping so we need to
wait for a table. Naturally Chubby tries getting a beer at  the bar even though
there's a discouraging sign that reads, 'If you don't look  like you're at
least thirty, we need a picture ID before serving you alcoholic  beverages'.
That doesn't bode well and even though I watch Chubby get the bar  tender
laughing, he doesn't get a beer. We're still tired from limited sleep the
past twenty-four hours so there isn't the usual bullshitting and messin'
around  we'd normally be doing. Plus, there was only two guys from about a
hundred I  passed on the beach earlier that I thought were cute. Most college guys
do not  look like kids. They look like they could be twenty-five to thirty
years old.  It's unusual for guys our age to look youngish like Robby,
Chubby, and I do,  although others like us exist because I've seen them on
campus. Still, I don't  have a good feeling about this trip and side-sex. On the
other hand I didn't  expect much last summer in Wildwood and that turned out
to be an awesome week as  far as me meeting cute gay guys. Of course Robby
wasn't with me then so I was  free to take advantage of opportunities for
side sex when they popped up. This  will be more of a challenge.


We get seated outside on  this warm night with a fresh breeze off the
ocean. I'm glancing around and I do  see a couple of cute guys laughing and
drinking shots and beers at the bar, so  that's encouraging. At the table for six
next to ours are three guys and three  girls all with sunburned noses.
They're average looking, but smiling and happy  as they drink their beers. One
kid has a hat on with a UConn logo, as in the  University Of Connecticut.
Before I can point that out Chubby's already talking  to the UConn guy, who's
almost right next to Chubby. The six college students at  the next table are
good guys explaining they flew down here Saturday and they're  staying at
the hotel next to ours. The girl closest to me starts a conversation  with me
asking where we're from and where we go to college. She's kinda nice
looking, but big... as in tall, not fat. She also has ginormous jugs that are
half hanging out of her skimpy top. The six of them are juniors at UConn,
they're also a little drunk, but very friendly and she tells me about a bonfire
beach party tonight. There are a ton of rules and regulations for the
beach, but  there's a section at each end of the three mile beach that more
raucous behavior  is unofficially permitted. It's BYOB, bring your own booze, of
course, and  police conveniently don't patrol that area knowing this is
spring break week.  The UConn guys and girls learned this bit of interesting
news from prior trips.  There are no homes or hotels within a couple hundred
yards of that section of  beach. Big tits tells me her name is Jill. I
introduce myself explaining we're  underage so getting our BYOB might be a problem.
The guy she's with hears me say  that, and tells me, "No sweat, dude, I'll
buy whatever you guys need. It's  spring break, man, so ya gotta get a
little drunk." Within five minutes a cute  waitress has taken our orders and the
guys at the next table are just getting  their food orders now. Then, after
dinner this guy, Rick, is going to buy us all  the beer we need. We all
throw a twenty dollar bill on the table planning on  buying whatever we can get
for a hundred and twenty dollars. Should be a good  start anyway. Chubby
says, "Yeah, Riley here," nodding toward the guy he's been  talking to, "And
Rick will hook us up with some booze after dinner." So things  are looking up
except Jill keeps flirting with me. I guess Rick isn't her  boyfriend after
all. Naturally I try being as cool as possible because I don't  want to
alienate any of our sources for the beer that we'll need during spring  break.
There are college traditions you don't want to fuck with and getting  drunk
on spring break is one of them.


While eating his fried  shrimp dinner Riley's still taking with Chubby.
Then Chubby bumps fists with the  guy and gives him twenty-four dollars, but
not from the hundred and  twenty dollars that's still in front of him. When
Riley gets the waitress'  attention he orders another round of beers, but when
it arrives he passes the  beers to us. Chubby yells us, "My treat guys.
Riley tells me they don't give a  shit if we're under age drinking beer as long
as the beers were served to  someone who's at least twenty-one. There's
different ways these places pander to  the college crowd without technically
breaking the law. All the restaurants are  after the college crowd's
business." We're all like, "Riley dude, that's so cool  of you! Thanks, man!" and
then we tap bottles together thanking Chubby for  treating. We're off to the
races already. Our food arrives along with a bus boy  assisting the waitress.
She sees the beers on our table, but pretends she  doesn't, saying, "Enjoy
your dinner, guys." I'm staring at the bus boy, who's  seriously cute,
although too young. It's another encouraging moment though,  seeing another cute
guy. As I cut into my chicken breast Jill holds her fork  towards me, saying,
"Try this fish, Dylan, it melts in your mouth." I'm like,  "Oh, thanks, but
I have an allergic reaction to seafood." She says, "Wow, that's  too bad,
sweetie." I shrug and grin, friendly like. If it was that bus boy  offering
me something off his fork, or his fingers for that matter, I wouldn't  be
allergic to whatever he was offering, not that I'm allergic to fish either.
Both tables finish eating at the same time and we ask for checks with Jill
saying to me, "Ride over to the beach party with me, okay?" This is awkward,
but  I say, "That'd be cool, but I've got to stop at the room to make some
calls. My,  um, mom's sick and I wanna see how she's doing." Jill's like, "Aw,
that is so  sweet," and she rubs my head, "I like your haircut." I blush
not knowing how to  handle this forward girl. For some reason I say, "I like
your haircut too, um, I  mean," and now my face is on fire. Jill says to one
of the other girls, "Isn't  he adorable, Amy?" Amy says, "You're robbing the
cradle again, Jill." Jill's  like, "Oh fuck you, Amy, you're just jealous."
She looks at me rubbing my head  again, adding, "Dylan and me have karma.
Don't we, Dylan?" I shrug and out of  the corner of my eye I see Robby
glaring at Jill.


When we're outside  Dodger makes sure we knows how to get to the beach
party and then he and Chubby  go off with Riley and the other guy to buy beer.
When Vinnie sees Dodger leaving  he's like gum on Dodger's sandal and he goes
on the beer run too. The rest of  the two groups split up with Jill giving
me a hug. Then, with her face  dangerously close to mine, she says, "I'll
see you on the beach, bad boy," and  then a kiss on my lips. A quick one, thank
 God. And guess what...  Jill has  bad breath. Connor, Robby, and me walk
towards our hotel with Robby beside me  smirking, "Just an observation, babe,
but that chick's four inches taller than  you." I chuckle, "Yeah, she's a
big one alright, but that'll make it all the  easier to see her coming so I
can hide." Robby puts his arm across my shoulders  as we walk, "Just think,
if you were hetero all the girls would be drooling over  you," then he goes,
"What the fuck am I saying? You've got gay guys drooling  over you now." I
go, "That's just so not true." Up in our room I'm washing up in  the bathroom
as Robby takes a piss, saying, "Would you be mad if I stayed in  tonight?
I'm so fucking tired. I couldn't sleep in the car and..." I go, "Robby!  This
is spring break, fer chrissakes. You're suppose to be tired and hungover."
He goes, "I'll fall asleep on the beach." Well, there's still Connor, so I
go,  "Okay, I don't mind. I'm kinda tired myself. Yeah, get to bed. I won't
be out  very long myself. I don't think any of us will, but I want to see
what this  beach party's all about." We do a nice kiss and then I text Connor
asking if he  ready to go, but he doesn't text back so I call his cellphone.
It rings eight  times before he answers. He tells me the same thing Robby
just told me. He's  beat and he's staying in tonight. What the fuck? It's not
even ten o'clock! I  don't want to make Connor feel bad though so I tell
him, "Yeah, that's probably  a good idea. After I check out the scene on the
beach I'll be turning in early  too." Balls to that! Deadbeats!


Down in the lobby I text  Chubby telling him the news of the two casualties
from the twenty-four hour road  trip. Chubby texts back telling me that
after they buy the booze they'll pick me  on the way to the beach party, but I
text him saying I don't want to wait around  and that I'll walk down the
beach. He calls me and I tell him it's no more than  a mile and a half since
our hotel is in the middle of the three mile beach. Fact  is I'd like some
time to myself just walking near the ocean on this beautiful  night. Chubby
doesn't care for the idea, but I insist and he relents saying  he'll see me at
the beach party. On the beach I take off my sandals, light a  cigarette and
enjoy the solitude after twenty-four hours in a car with five  other guys. I
love them, but this is nice too. However it's a little  disappointing to
discover I'm not the only beachcomber tonight. There are  loud mouth college
students into the booze romping on the beach in small groups,  both guys and
girls. It takes me a few minutes to realize the obvious... they're  going to
the same place I am. Not wanting to take a chance of running into  another
Jill, I walk near the water gazing out at the endlessly rolling ocean.  The
oceans of the world occupy about two-thirds of the planet's surface, but
human's have no gills. What's up with that? Shouldn't it be planet ocean
rather  than planet earth? Huh, yeah but life came from the sea, so there's that.
 Anyway, oceans fascinate me with their never ending poetry in motion, and
then  they can get deadly at times too.

The moon's shining off  the ocean and way out there it looks like the sky
meets the water out as far as  I can see. I'm walking on the wet part of the
beach where waves run out of  energy, foamy and clear, then undertow pulls
the run off back into the sea. It's  so peaceful, then I step on a shell,
"OW! Fuck!" I'm hopping on one foot. Back  on dry sand I sit down and look at
my foot. It's not cut but it sure felt like  it was. Putting my sandals on I
stand up and light another cigarette looking at  the lights way down the
beach. Can't hear anything yet, but that's gotta be the  beach party. Maybe I
should have stayed in tonight too because I'm really  feeling tired all of a
sudden. I'll hook up with the guys and hope they're  getting tired too. That
frigin' road trip was exhausting. Walking towards the  lights for maybe ten
more minutes and then I can clearly see the beach party.  There's a lot of
college guys and girls there already, but I don't see the  bonfire that Jill
told me about. There are strings of overhead lights though and  music of
course. Lot of dancing and laughing and loud talking. As I get closer I  zero
in on two guys on the outskirts of the festivities smoking and watching
what's going on. One of the two looks very familiar except as I keep walking I
see he has a patchy curly beard on his upper lip and chin, plus longish
hair  that's curly at the ends. It's his naked torso that looks the most
familiar.  Very slim but with nice definition. I think, but I can't be sure, it's
Willie.  That can't be, of course, but as I get closer and see him laugh at
something his  companion said, the bridge of his nose kinda wrinkles when he
laughs... just  like Willie's nose, and he has a longish head as opposed to
a more rounded one.  It's gotta be Willie, doesn't it? I've always thought
Willie was very good  looking, cute in a unique way. It's gotta be him, but
how can that  be?


I stop and light another  cigarette staring at him and now I'm sure it's
Willie except I didn't notice a  beard or curly hair when I saw him last. Of
course his hair was never this long  either. He's with a guy who has a
similar build to Willie's and might be African  American. He has light skin
though, so he could be Hispanic or Latino or Puerto  Rican... I don't know the
proper way to refer to them. I thought Hispanic  encompassed many ethnicities
although I get race and ethnicity mixed up. In any  case the guy is gorgeous.
Damn! The first guy sure looks like Willie, but the  coincidence is hard to
fathom especially considering I ran into him in Wildwood  just last summer
too, so what are the chances he'd be at the very next vacation  spot I'm at?
I walk a little closer to them and hear Willie's voice. It's him
definitely. That voice is very familiar to me and I've always liked hearing him
talk. My dick is very active in my cargo shorts now as I take a deep breath
feeling funny. Willie, the first boy I thought I was in love with. My first
real  boyfriend, and for almost two years we did many things together. I've got
this  squirmy feeling in my belly and balls, almost like I'm nervous. I'm
coming up to  Willie from behind him with the other ridiculously good looking
guy staring at  me as I walk. I put my finger to my lips, like, 'Shhh' and
then wrap my arms  around Willie and recognize his scent immediately. It's
always turned me on.  What the fuck, Willie's always turned me on, period.
He's like, "The fuck?" and  easily escapes my hold around his chest, turning
around to see who I am. I  couldn't be smiling any harder, totally shocked at
how happy I am to see him.  His eyes open wide as he goes, "Dylan! Oh my
God! Can I believe it's you in the  flesh," and he wraps his arms around me
kissing me on the lips, then licking my  lips, then kissing me again.


I've got goose bumps all over me as I hug and kiss him back.  The other
fellow, who is African American, looks on grinning at us, like, 'What  the
fuck?' Willie finally leans back with an arm around my waist and his other  hand
rubbing my head, as he says, "You kept your hair short the way I like it,
didn't you? It's so cool, Dylan," and another hug and a kiss. Then he lets
go of  me and takes my hand in his, saying to his good-looking companion,
"Taye, this  is the Dylan Newman, in person." Taye says, "Wow, you weren't
bullshitting bro, he's special alright." I have that little boy feeling I get
with Willie sometimes, a submissive sense that he's developed in me over the
 years we were together. I feel tongue-tied as I blush looking at Willie
and then  squeezing his hand. Damn, my balls and dick feel tight as Willie's
telling me,  "Taye's my roommate at Cornell, and don't waste your time trying
to hook up with  him, Dylan, he's beautiful, but straight." Taye says, "You
gay boys are  something. Willie's told me all about you, Dylan, and no
offense, but I know way  the fuck more than I need to know about the Dylan
Newman. Willie's an  original to say the least." I go, "Oh, um, huh," then follow
that up with a  couple of fake coughs, feeling like an idiot. Willie laughs
giving me a hug  still holding my hand and now we're standing with our
sides touching. Willie has  hold of my hand so when he hugged me my arm sort of
went around his waist in  back. It's awkward standing like this, but of
course Willie couldn't possibly be  more comfortable and relaxed. He says,
"Dylan can verify all the adventures I  told you about, Taye. The shit I got us
two into back then is sick. Ha ha, How  about it, Dylan? Remember that summer
I took us to that Marine's barber shop and  then later I bungled us into a
gay sex club and they put us in hammocks?" I go,  "Uh huh," and Taye says,
"Look guys, I'm gonna let you two have a reunion. I'm  beat and still
hungover from last night. I'll see you back in the room, Willie,  and it's been
really nice meeting you, Dylan," We bump fist with me using my  left hand as
Willie's still holding my right hand behind his back.


Taye walks off as he and  Willie exchange grins while giving each other the
finger. Then Willie looks at  me, saying, "This is the nicest surprise I've
ever had in my life, Dylan. I'm so  glad to see you." We're walking side by
side with him still holding my hand, as  he says, "You saved my life a
couple of times and I never repaid you. Plus, ha  ha, I still love you something
awful." He stops, looks at  me pointing to  his chest, "It's like a pain in
my heart when I think about you," and he laughs  as we start walking again,
"I told Taye all about us and he says it's a sweet  romance you and I had,
and that I'm a romantic." I interrupt him, "Where we  going, Willie?" He
says, "To my rental car. Anyway, Taye's my second roommate  this year. College
is awesome by the way. My first roommate drove me crazy with  his homesick
bullshit. What a baby! Taye was advertising for a roommate so we  met and hit
it off. I told him I was gay right away and he said, 'So what?' He's
awesome, but a committed heterosexual. Isn't he beautiful though?" I go, "Yeah,
but why are we going to your car?" He says, "So we can go someplace and
catch up  obviously. Oh, there's the car up ahead. It's that red Mustang
convertible. It's  a rental from Hertz at the airport. We flew in Saturday. Where
are you staying?"  I tell him as I look at his hot rental car sitting there
with the top down. He  says, "Jesus, that place is falling apart," meaning my
hotel. He goes, "We're at  the Ritz-Carlton at 1 North Fort. It's on the
beach. Really nice suite and I'm  treating Taye for the week." Willie's always
been the most generous person I've  ever met. Not that it's his money yet,
but it will be one day.

Willie leans me against the front fender of the Mustang with  him against
me, stomach to stomach, asking, "How have you been? Do you ever  think of
me?" I run my fingers through his long soft curly hair murmuring, "Yes,  I do,
Willie. I'm always wearing some of the gifts you've bought for me and  every
time I do I think of you." He grins, "That's nice, Dylan. Thanks for
thinking of me. Um, are you still going with what's-his-name, um, that Robby
guy?" I nod my head, "Yes, we're in love and we might get married after
college." He goes, "Oh, congratulations," and I ask, "What's with the long hair.
Do you curl it?" He laughs, "Fuck no, it curls on it's own. I wanted a new
look.  Sometimes I wear it in a ponytail. It's cool." I go, "Yeah, it is. Um,
and  you're growing a beard?" He says, "I started growing a bread when I
knew you,  but I shaved to try looking as young as you did, and do, you cute
thing!" Then  he lays his chin on my shoulder with the sides of our faces
touching, murmuring,  "If something doesn't work out with what's-his-name you
know I'll always love  you. I owe you so much for straightening out my life."
Still playing with his  hair, I say, "You did most of the straightening out
yourself, Willie, not me."  He kisses my cheek, then lifts away from me and
my hand drops away from his  hair. We stare at each other a second, then he
says, "Hop in and we'll take a  ride," and then he smacks my ass grinning
at me. With his curly scattered  whiskers and his always cute face he's
looking very handsome and sexy as hell.  He's better looking than ever. I'm
chewing on my lower lip feeling that squirmy  feeling low in my belly and around
my groin. I almost always get that sensation  being around Willie. He looks
at me another second, then nod his head at the  car, "Get in, Dylan," and
another harder smack on my ass with him still  grinning. I know him so well.
He's testing me to see if I still feel submissive  to him. I'm feeling it and
I like it even though I know what he's doing. I want  to enjoy this feeling
for awhile so I says, "Yes, Willie," and get in his  beautiful rental car,
then put my seatbelt on watching him.


He walks around and gets  in the driver's seat, then turns to me asking,
"Would you like to drive, baby?"  He's the first boy to call me that and now
Robby calls me 'baby' or 'babe' all  the time, and Ryan's starting to do it
as well. It's just a little thing that  somehow adds a tiny bit to my sense
of submissiveness to those three. I shake my  head and then grin at him.
Willie smiles knowingly and starts the car. He can  see my submissive posture
towards him. As he pulls away, he asks, "How are you  doing at college this
year?" I tell him my GPA and he gets excited, "That's  awesome! Get that
European carryall from the back seat, will ya?" Undoing my  seatbelt I reach in
back pulling a case that looks suspiciously like a lady's  purse to the front
seat. "Look inside that thing, Dylan. My latest GPA score is  in there." I
look through some college workbooks and papers of Willie's until I  find it.
I'm like, "Oh fuck, you have the exact GPA as mine." He's excited,  "Yeah,
isn't that weird?" I put everything back in the case and toss it in the
backseat, saying, "Yeah, what a coincidence, but not as big a coincidence as us
 being in Fort Lauderdale at the same time." He goes, "Cornell's on spring
break  too, and where are college students suppose to go on spring break
except here?"  I say, "Fort Lauderdale used to be a lot trendier in years gone
by, but you're  right, it's still popular and not too expensive. Plus, they
cater to the college  crowd, like allowing that beach party at the end of
the beach." He says, "That's  not the end of the beach though. There's still
beach all along where we're  driving. It's just not maintained here because
it's off the strip. No motels and  the closest houses are over to our left."


I look over wondering why they didn't build houses on this  side of the
road near the ocean, and then it's like Willie read my mind, when he  says,
"They get heavy weather here at times and the ocean can come up to this  street
so they couldn't build anything unless it was on stilts or something."
It's a beautiful night, but I missed the sunset while eating. I ask, "Did you
see the sunset? It's suppose to be as spectacular as the ones in Key West."
He  looks at me grinning, "We had ourselves a time in Key West, didn't we?"
I say,  "Yeah, mostly Willie, except for the beginning and end of the trip."
He looks  serious, "I try not to think of the beginning and end of that
trip. The days in  between were the best days of my life." We're quiet for a
minute thinking about  that time, then Willie says, "Yeah, I saw the sunset
here last night, and  tonight, but it's not as special as those Key West
sunsets. Nice though." Then,  like he's lecturing, he says, "Sunset occurs when
the trailing edge of the sun's  disk appears just below the horizon. The
period between sunset and dusk is  called twilight." I go, "Huh," and he laughs,
"You knew that, didn't you?" I  shrug, "Actually, no, I didn't... ha ha."


Willie parks a couple of  miles down from the beach party, saying, "Lets
checkout this area of the beach."  I get out stepping on sand. There are no
houses on the other side of the street  now. Across the street is a playground
with swings and sliding boards. Behind  that is a little league baseball
diamond in need of some attention with weeds  growing in the infield. Willie
pulls a sleeveless t-shirt from his back pocket  and pulls it on, then opens
the Mustang's trunk, saying, "Grab a couple of cans  of Bud, Dylan. We'll
wander down to the beach." There's a cooler in the trunk  with ice and cans of
Coke and Budweiser beer. I grab two beers and Willie closes  the trunk,
asking, "Ya got any cigarettes? I'm down to my last two." I go,  "Yeah, I've
got a half pack," and I follow him  over a little dune and down  to the beach
behind the dune. As we walk towards the water, he says, "See the  tuffs of
weeds or beach grass. I think it's bent grass, that's the kind that can  grow
in sand." He's full of obscure information like that. I grin at him, really
 happy we ran into each other. Seeing my grin, he asks, "What? Am I giving
you  too much information?" and he laughs, then adds, "I do that when I'm
nervous.  Seeing you like this makes me unsure of myself. I don't want to do
anything to  upset you." I go, "Willie, I've never known you to be unsure of
anything." He  puts his arm around the back of my neck with the can of beer
he's holding  wetting a spot on my shirt near my nip ring. "Dylan, you've
always been the best  boy for my ego ever!" and he hugs around my neck pulling
my head over to kiss  the side my forehead. He murmurs, "And nobody in the
world smells as good and is  as sexy as you. I can't describe it, but you're
delicious and I'm totally  serious about that." I mutter, "You're pretty
good for my ego too,  Willie."


We've got to watch where  we step because there's stones and rocks in this
grassy sand along with broken  shells. Willie points to a large cement
fixture, saying, "Let's sit on that and  drink our beers." Climbing up on the
cement block and sitting with our legs  dangling off the side, I ask, "What the
fuck is this cement block used for?"  Willie shrugs, "I don't know, but
there's another one over there. Probably a  poorly conceived abandoned idea for
some structure. Who knows?" For the next  half hour we smoke a couple of
cigarettes and drink our beers talking about our  lives with Willie doing most
of the talking. He seems much more grounded than  I've ever seen him and
there's a quietness about him. It's like he's finally  found peace and stopped
fighting the world around him. He tells me about trips  he taken with his
parent's and how they're getting along so well the last year  or so. Then he
tells me about his last boyfriend and how neither of them could  decide if
they were the 'top' or 'bottom' or submissive or dominant. "It was a  crazy
six months when we thought we had serious feelings for each other and the
sex was pretty good. The trouble is, Dylan, ha ha, nobody ever comes close to
comparing to you. One day the boyfriend and I just agreed it wasn't
working. No  passion really. Thinking back on it I'm guessing he stuck with me for
the  freebies. I'd buy him stuff and have him at the house a few weekends.
He was a  taker, not like you. Hell, I had to force stuff on you. Anyway, I
even took him  to Key West, but all I could think of was you." I go, "That
makes me feel bad,  Willie." He rubs my shoulder, "I'm sorry. There's no
reason you need to feel bad  though. It's my problem, not yours." I hug his
waist, knocking and empty beer  can off the thing we're sitting on, saying, "No,
it's not my problem, but still,  I love you, Willie, and I feel bad you
can't find mister right." He looks a me  with a rye grin, "You love me like a
friend, right?" I nod, muttering, "Yeah,  and I always will. You mean a lot to
me." He rubs his face, mumbling, "Thanks,  baby." After another pause, he
changes the subject by squeezing by bicep,  asking, "Have you been working
out? You've always had good guns, but you seem to  have bulked up even more,"
and I tell him about weightlifting through most of my  sophomore year. He
says, "God, you are so hot!" and we kiss.


Finished the second beer  we sit silently for a little while looking out at
the majestic ocean, then he  quietly asks, "Do you think there's any chance
we could, you know." I nod my  head, "Buddy sex with you is hard for me to
turn down. The memories alone can  get me aroused." He slides off the cement
thing we're sitting on, saying,  "That's sweet, Dylan," as I drop down next
to him. He rubs his hand over my  head, asking, "I asked you earlier, do
you keep your hair short like this  because I got you in the habit of very
short haircuts? You used to complain when  I took you for haircuts and I had to
get stern with you." Just thinking about  that. Me as a seventeen to twenty
year old being taken to the barbers for a  haircut by someone younger than
me. Being taken to get whatever haircut he  wanted me to have is such a
submissive act it makes my groin muscles contract  and my dick move in my
shorts. Man, I never get as dreamily submissive as I did  back in those days with
Willie, not anymore I don't. God they were sexually hot  times for me, and
one of the primary reason I stayed with Willie so long. That  and the fact I
did sincerely care for him and I'm very fond of him now too.  I do love him
as a special friend. Willie asks, "What are you thinking about,  baby? You
still haven't answered my question." I rub my fingers across my lips,  then
go, "Um, yeah, maybe it was you that got me liking short haircuts. You
surely got me to accept a lot of things I didn't think I'd ever like." He grins,
rubbing my head again, "You mean like walking hand in hand?" I nod, getting
a  touch of that little boy sensation, murmuring, "Yeah, Willie, and other
things  too. You did me a favor teaching me that it's okay to be gay in
public." He hugs  me and then kisses my lips tenderly rubbing his nose against
mine a bit, as he  goes, "Mmmm, you're so special," and then a serious kiss
with his tongue in my  mouth and my cock getting firm right away as I hug
both my arms around his neck  and let myself go, with a moan of arousal, Mmmm,
ummm, Willie, mmmm." I wanna  see where Willie wants to take me.


It's like traveling back  in time making out again with the first boy I
ever really made out with. Kissing  with fat Carl never felt like making out,
and when Willie taught me how to do  it, I knew the difference then. I'm in
the perfect frame of mind to experience a  submissive sexual experience. It
come naturally to me when I'm with Willie and  all my programmed memory banks
ignite and it's like two years ago all over  again. Willie has me backed up
against the cement block that's as high as my  shoulders. One of his hands
is rubbing through the short bristly hairs on the  crown of my head and the
other hand he uses to gently massage my cock and balls  as I slide deeper
into the dreamy stages of submissiveness. Oh it feels so nice,  so sexual, and
very arousing. Willie's familiar scent, taste and the feel of him  is so
familiar and comfortable. Also familiar is the way he assumes the dominant
role for whatever we do together. It's just the way it is between us and
tonight  I love it. My arms are still around his neck as his lips and tongue
against mine  feel so sexy, our mixed saliva surrounding our mouths making it
slippery and  hot. His fingers relentlessly rubbing my short hair and
massaging my now hard  cock, then light squeezing of my nuts as I moan and we drift
together off the  beach. There's nothing hurried about Willie as he conveys
to me somehow that  this time, right now, is the best time of his life and
there's no one else in  the world he'd rather be with than me. It's like I
get that message from him via  mental telepathy. No one could fake the
sincerity of Willie's love making. His  lips are to my ear making me shiver as he
murmurs, "So you'll remember how you  used to feel, I'm going to make you cum
in your pants first, and then you'll rim  my ass and lick my cock and
balls. Do it like you used to and I'll fuck you  really hard afterwards. Okay,
Dylan." I just moan, "Oooh, mmm," then, "Uh huh,  Willie." He murmurs, "That's
my boy, just like old times together." He pushes my  face back a little
using his hand on my forehead, and stares at me, "You're the  most special
person I've ever known, Dylan," than a hug as I hug him back and  rub the side
of my face on his curly whiskers getting my shoulders to shudder.  This is so
wonderful.


He kisses me again, a  long wet passionate kiss with his tongue sliding on
mine and I begin moaning  into his mouth. He moves his head to the side of
mine, going, "Shhh, baby, just  let it happen," and the hand on my head pulls
my head down so my forehead is on  his shoulder as he continues massaging
my cock and now his hand goes inside my  shorts and he's stoking my bare
boner, murmuring, "Be my boy tonight, Dylan," as  I'm docile against him. His
lips on my ear, cooing, "That's my boy, Dylan. Good  boy. Feel your orgasm
building," then a kiss on my cheek and more whispered  words in my ear with his
lips touching there, "You're so beautiful, baby. So  awesome and I love you
with all my heart." I'm hypnotized into a wonderful  submissive state as my
cock throbs and his long hard boner pokes out his shorts  and bumps the
front of my leg. I cling to him nodding my head slightly as he  whispers each
compliment in my ear until my orgasm builds to a crescendo, and he  whispers
a question, "You like being my boy, don't you, Dylan. We were and are  very
special together, each one bringing the best out in the other." I groan
then moan as sensations from my cock become almost unbearable now and my desire
 to climax is great, as I manage, "Yes, Willie, always," not even sure what
I'm  saying, but wanting to agree with him. The urge to climax grows in me,
but he  just keeps a slow stimulation on my boner that can't quite get me
over the hump.  "Oooh, Willie," and he puts a hand on my outside cheek
pulling my head around so  his lips can cover mine and his tongue goes into my
mouth for a hot wet kiss  again as I shudder and then hump my hips squealing
into his mouth with cum  pouring into my pants. I'm shaking as he takes his
hand out of my pants rubbing  my cum off on the back of my shirt. That hand
goes to my butt cheek now  massaging it, then pressing his finger on my
asshole. His lips slide off mine in  our saliva and he quietly says again,
imprinting it on my subconscious, "That's  my good boy," and my hips buck again as
my body shakes with another stream of  cum hitting my boxer shorts soaking
though the material now. My groin muscles  clench squeezing out drools of
cum, my shoulders shudder and I lay limply  against Willie, the side of our
faces together as my heart pounds and all kinds  of sensation sizzle around my
groin and then fade away and now I hear the quiet  around us. Quiet except
for the sounds of waves breaking on the shore, and I'm  out of my trance
knowing where I am again, but still in a very submissive  frame of mind.



Willie gently rubs my  head and rocks us slowly back and forth with an arm
around my back. I feel  totally relaxed and I'm very comfortable letting
Willie decide what comes next.  His scent is in my head completely and it'd be
hard to imagine feeling a hotter  body against mine than Willie's. We stay
in each other arms for a few minutes.  Finally he takes my hand, quietly
saying, "Lets walk on the beach a little." We  walk hand in hand as my cum cools
and squishes in my shorts with me leaning into  Willie's side and then he
lets go of my hand, and my arm goes around his waist  and his arm goes across
my shoulders at first, and then around the back of my  neck. We walk for a
few minutes until he says, "Light me a cigarette, baby," and  I do that
passing it to him after taking a drag. I go to get one for myself, but  he says,
"We'll share this one," so I put the box of Marlboro in my side pocket,
staring at the big wet cum spot that soaked through my khaki shorts. It's so
nice walking like this with Willie again....



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



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



Hoping some readers may be interested, there are three books of mine
published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them
for next to nothing. The books are under ten dollars. Three book about a 19
year  old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. Please
at  least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about
the  story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank  you.


Donny  Mumford

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

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