Date: Wed, 11 Sep 2013 05:29:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: donny mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: final edit Chapter 25 Dylan's Summer Vacation  by Donny Mumford

			DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO

				Chapter 25

			     by Donny Mumford


It's hard to believe Ryan's actually gone. One day he's here and the next
day he's not. What a kick in the nuts that is. I really feel for Ryan,
too. He finally got in his comfort zone, making friends and falling in
love. He was able to leave his old life behind, a life of being dominated
by sadists, thinking himself a loser and a nerd. Now he's moving out of
state and it's a crap shoot if he'll meet new friends, never mind a
boyfriend. I can only hope he doesn't regress back to his old, destructive
self. On the plus side he may be able to visit me later this summer, and
even if he can't, we'll meet again at Merrimack in the fall. Oh well,
hopefully Chubby can cheer me up tonight; it's dinner at the restaurant
with him and the moms. If that won't cheer me up, nothing will. I took a
shower with Ryan a little while ago, but I still need to put on some
upscale clothes for the dinner. Changing into khaki shorts and a Polo golf
shirt, I go up to Chubby's for some front-loading before meeting the
moms. Inside their condo I see that Chubby's wearing clothes almost
identical to mine; we share a brain about most things. "Dylan, brother, you
look cooler every time I see you, dude!" Chubby's upbeat as usual and I
need that tonight. We hug and I kiss his cheek with Chubby saying, "You can
do better than that," so I kiss his lips. He doesn't usually allow that,
but he's obviously aware I'm depressed about Ryan leaving, so he's
determined to cheer me up. I can always depend on Chubby for moral support,
or any other kind of support I need. It's a wonderfully comforting feeling
to know he's always there for me no matter the situation. I say, "I'm a
little down in the dumps tonight, Chubby. I feel terrible for Ryan and I'm
feeling a little sorry for myself, too." He goes, "I know, Dylan," as he
rubs my shoulder. "You and Ryan got really tight, but you still have me and
Robby to lean on." I mumble, "Thanks, it's so unexpected. Ryan's parents
thought it would be better to let Ryan enjoy himself up till the last
minute, and maybe they're right, but it's a shock to Ryan, fer sure."
Chubby says, "Yeah, guess they didn't want him agonizing over it day in and
day out, but they should have given him some warning or a hint that they
might be moving so he had time to get used to the idea." I go, "I guess."
Chubby points at my bandage on my face covering the sutures, and asks,
"How's that healing?" I go, "Oh, it's still ugly looking. it looks angry
actually. I got it wet in the shower and washed it, then put some
disinfectant stuff the nurse gave me on it and covered it up. Hope it
leaves a cool little scar." He chuckles, and I ask, "What are we using to
front-load tonight?" "We're going to do some shots and beers." I go, "Oh
gawd, not shots." He's like, "Yep, we'll drown your sorrows." As he gets
out shot glasses, I ask, "Do you do shots regularly?" Chubby's like, "Hell
no! I hardly ever drink booze except at parties, or with you once in
awhile." Nodding my head, I go, "Good! Okay, what poison are we imbibing
tonight?" He looks in the cabinet, muttering, "That depends largely on what
mom has on hand." Taking out a bottle of Jack Daniel's, he goes, "Ah ha, it
looks like our old friend Jack is on tap tonight." Making a face, I go, "Oh
God! That stuff goes down like liquid fire." Chubby reads the label, "It's
Single Barrel Jack Daniel's, that's premium booze, bro." I shrug,
"Whatever."


Chubby puts on an old 'Counting Crows' CD and out blares the song, 'Round
Here'. He smiles at me as I sing along with the familiar lyrics. Getting a
cold Rolling Rock pony bottle of beer from the refrigerator, he opens it,
then pours two shots of whiskey. "Here we go," Chubby says and we pick up
the shot glasses and touch them, making a 'clicking' sound. The toast comes
from Chubby, "To us brothers... love and trust forever," and we pour the
evil liquid down our throats. Swallowing it as fast as I can, then grab the
beer and dilute the Jack with a much less potent booze, as Chubby grins at
me. The urge to throw up overwhelms me for a second, I hiccup, take two
deep breaths, sweat breaks out on my forehead, my stomach heaves, and as I
blink my eyes real fast until everything calms down. I look at Chubby, and
mumble, "Not too bad, little brother," and he goes, "That whiskey's smooth
as silk going down, isn't it?" I hiccup again, mumbling, "Smooth as hot
gravel is more like it. How come you can drink shots so easily?" Chubby
shrugs, "Don't know. They just don't bother me. Well, I get drunk if I have
too many, but they're easy for me to drink." He frowns for a second, and
then adds, "That's probably not a good thing though, now that I think about
it." Taking another swallow of the bitter beer, I hiccup again, then Chubby
takes the bottle and lets some beer roll down his throat. He does it
without swallowing somehow, it just flows down his throat. I finish the
beer and Chubby gets another one as I suggest, "Let's share a cigarette."
On the balcony, I light a Marlboro Light and take a drag with Chubby
saying, "After work today Ryan said he's in love with you. When'd that
happen?" Passing him the cigarette, I'm like, "Don't know, it just happened
and I fell for him too which complicates my life considering I'm head over
heels in love with Robby, too." Chubby exhales some smoke saying, "It don't
seem fair that you're always in love with one or more boys and I can't fall
in love for the life of me. I want to, but it doesn't happen." My turn for
the cigarette, and as Chubby drinks some beer I talk with smoke coming out
my nose and mouth, "Maybe you need to try falling in love with a boy
sometime. They're easier to love than a girl, ya know." He says,
"Apparently, but I'm already loving you so any other boy couldn't compare
to my older brother." I smirk, "You love me, but you're not in love with me
and that's a big difference. We exchange beer and cigarette, so I take a
drink and he takes a drag, then I say, "Here's a suggestion. You and me
fall in love which will solve both our problems. I'd leave my other
boyfriends for you, and you could give up your failed attempt to fall in
love with a girl." He laughs, mumbling, "The scary part of that is you're
serious about it. Don't fall in love with me, Dylan, we're each other's
best friend and I need you as my best friend more than anything else." I
ask, "Why can't we be both lovers and best friends?" He says, "This is one
of your sillier discussions, bro." Maybe it hits too close to home for
Chubby, but I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I say, "Yeah, I
guess it is, but it's getting my mind off Ryan moving to fuckin' Georgia."
Chubby pats my back, muttering, "I know, and I'm very sorry for your
anguish. Let's do another shot," and he flicks the cigarette butt way over
the balcony railing. It's still sunny and very summery at six-fifteen on
this Thursday evening in late June. The longest daylight of the year
occurred a week or so ago. Next week is the Fourth of July holiday, whe we
get time off from work, and then the summer's downhill from there.


Inside the condo again, Chubby pours another shot for each of us as we
finish the beer, then he gets another one. Pony bottles are only seven
ounces, so it's not like we've even had a regular size bottle of beer each
yet. I do the toast, "Good luck Ryan, here's hoping you make many friends
in Georgia," we touch glasses and throw the shots down. Ghastly burning, my
eyes watering as I gulp beer. Easier than the first one though. Chubby
says, "By the tenth shot you'll be swilling them down without a problem." I
go, "Tenth shot my ass, that's it for me. Ask me a factoid." He goes,
"What's the only animal in the world that can't jump?" Hmmm, I go, "Let me
think. Something big... how about elephants?" Chubby gives me a blank stare
for a second, then mumbles, "That was too easy. Here's another one: What
was invented first, a cigarette or a match?" It's a fifty-fifty chance, so
I guess, "Cigarette?" and he's like, "You're no fun. One more shot and then
we can go." In the background the 'Counting Crows' are working their way
through their song, 'Hard Candy' as Chubby pours the shots and I get us
another beer. We lift our glasses and Chubby says, "To our lifelong
friendship," and down the hatch goes the Jack. Same result with me gagging
and cursing, then swallowing beer. Wiping my forehead, I say, "Damn, that's
good shit," and Chubby laughs giving me a hug, saying, "Love ya, bro." He
puts the whiskey away and we take the beer out to the balcony and share a
last cigarette before dinner. As we smoke and drink the beer, Chubby says,
"Connor emailed me a joke to tell you; he says the joke is so you don't
forget him. He's apparently one more in a long list of gay boys in love
with you and I can't say I blame any of them. I'm jealous, sure, but I get
it." Grinning, I'm like, "Yeah, the list is long. What's the joke?" He
goes, "A guy breaks into a house and finds a couple in bed. He ties the guy
to a chair and gets on top of the woman, then the guy goes in the bathroom
and the husband tells his wife that the burglar's obviously dangerous so if
he wants sex with her, she shouldn't resist him or he might kill both of
them. The husband adds, "Be strong for us, honey, you know I love you." She
says, "Oh, you misunderstand. When the guy was on top of me, he told me
he's gay and he thinks you're cute. He asked if we had any vaseline so I
told him it's in the bathroom. Be strong, honey, you know I love you." I
go, "Oh, a gay joke, huh. How's the burglar going to cornhole the guy if
the guy's tied up in a chair?" Chubby snickers, "Yeah, I wondered that too,
but figured maybe it's some esoteric gay thing and that you'd explain it to
me." I'm muttering, "Gay bashing is frowned on, bro," as I take a drag and
pass the cigarette to Chubby. He tells me about his time at the mall with
his new girlfriend, Gina DiPietro, "She's cute and she has an excellent
sense of humor, plus a great body." I go, "She laughs at your jokes and
factoids, huh?" He goes, "Bro, I don't tell jokes and factoids on a date,"
I go, "You do with Mary Jo," and he's like, "Oh yeah, that's because I've
known her so long. No, with Gina, it's my clever banter that she
appreciates with a laugh or two. Plus, she's a touchy-feely chick, meaning
she has to touch me whenever she says anything. Like I told ya, she thinks
this haircut you gave me is phat and she told me I'm cute a half dozen
times, too." I ask, "Did you tell Gina I gave you the haircut?" He goes,
"Of course, I'm always bragging about you. Not to Mary Jo so much, she
can't stand you, but to lots of other people. Hell, just today I was
bragging on you to the guy in the convenience store where I get my
cigarettes." I ask, "You know someone who works there?" He says, "No, I
don't know him, I was just bragged about my brother to him." I'm like, "He
must have been quite interested in that." Chubby gives me the cigarette
saying, "It's hard to tell; he's from India and doesn't speak much
English." I go, "Uh huh," then, remembering Bean's comment about Ray's
Italian girlfriend, I ask, "Does Gina have a mustache?" Chubby goes,
"Certainly not!" I go, "Well, she's Italian, and you know...." He laughs,
"What you don't know about girls is a lot," I go, "Yeah, and I'm gonna keep
it that way. Let me see that picture of our dad." Chubby pulls out his
wallet and hands me the picture. I go, "Damn, he looks young!" Chubby says,
"So do you and me. You look more like him than I do." I disagree, "Nah, you
do, but you and I look alike. That's what people say." He makes a face,
"Yeah, but you're taller with a big dick while I'm a midget with a short
dick." I say, "Get out of here, I'm only a couple inches taller than you
and there's nothing wrong with your dick. You're perfect in every way."
Chubby grins, "Yeah, I know, I was just being humble."


Finished our second cigarette, which means we both had only one cigarette,
we go into Chubby's bathroom and take turns with his electric toothbrush,
then gargle with ACT mouthwash. After washing our face and hands, we share
a box of Good & Plenty as we walk down to the Jeep. Licorice does a pretty
good job of covering booze breath. "You saving your money, Dylan?" I say,
"Yep, I've hardly spent any of it. That Mini Cooper convertible is almost
ours." He chuckles, "We got a hell of a long way to go." I'm like, "We make
four hundred dollars a week," He says, "Yeah, and in ten weeks it'll be
four thousand each, if we don't spend a penny of it. So that's eight
thousand all together. You can't buy a Mini Cooper for eight thousand
fuckin' dollars." I ask, "How much is the Jeep worth?" He goes, "Ah ha, I
forgot about trading in or selling the Jeep. It's probably worth around
seven thousand bucks I would think." I go, "If we ever clean all your fast
food wrappers out of it, we might get seventy-five hundred for it." We talk
about that on the ride to the restaurant and conclude we might need to save
our money this summer and next summer in order to get a late model Mini
Cooper that we can be proud of. Inside the restaurant the guy at the front
desk recognizes us for once, and says, "Back near the kitchen, boys." It's
a Thursday night and the restaurant is half full so that's probably why the
moms chose a Thursday for our dinner. Walking to our table I see my mom
delivering the check to a couple who have finished their dinner and are
ready to go. Mom's got her big friendly smile and some friendly chit chat
going for her. Everyone likes my mom as she never has a bad thing to say
about anyone. She's worked full-time since she was seventeen years old and
never complained about it once, as far as I know. Mom comes over and hugs
me with a big kiss on my cheek, saying, "Oh, you are so good looking! Both
of you," and then Chubby gets the hug and a kiss, as he mumbles, "Thanks,
Dee." Tris comes over and repeats basically the same thing my mom just did,
so Chubby grins, asking, "Do you moms rehearse your greeting?" Tris says,
"Oh Jeffrey, what a thing to say. Love and affection for you boys comes
very naturally to Dee and me, it comes straight from our hearts." He
mutters, "I know and we feel the same way about you two." Mom says, "This
is our table right here. Have a seat and check the menu while we finish up
our station. We have a forty-five minute break and then there's a party of
twenty-five people due in at eight o'clock that we'll be waiting
on. Someone's fiftieth anniversary, isn't that wonderful?" I go, "Jeez,
that's a long time alright." We sit and Chubby says, "We'll start with a
cocktail if you moms don't mind." Tris giggles and the moms go back to
work. I mumble, "That went over like a lead balloon, Chubby." He shrugs,
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I look at the menu as an older
waitress, who we've seen here before, puts two bottles of Bud lite on the
tables, saying, "I'm just setting these down for awhile, I did not serve
you handsome boys beers." We say, "Thanks," then Chubby tells her, "We'll
watch them evaporate," and she says, "I've no idea what you're referring
to," and off she goes. "Better than nothing," Chubby mutters, as we each
pick up a bottle and swallow some beer, then I check the menu for something
different and spot tonight's special... grilled rack of lamb.


Five minutes later the same older waitress comes back, asking, "Have you
decided yet, fellows?" She avoids looking at the beer bottles, as I say,
"Yes, ma'am. I'd like onion soup for an appetizer and for my entree the
grilled rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes, and a salad with the house
dressing." She says, "Excellent choices," then looks at Chubby, who says,
"You took the words right out of my mouth, Betty," as he reads her name
tag, adding, "My brother's always makes excellent choices so I'll have the
same as him. Medium rare with the lamb and may I say you're looking awfully
good tonight." She tries not to smile, but ends up chuckling, saying, "Tris
said you were both con artists with the compliments, but thank you. You two
always look good and your moms never stop talking about you both. I wish my
boy could cook, heh heh. Okay fellows, Dee and Tris already placed their
orders and they'll be joining you shortly, and by the way, Jeffrey, we
always prepare lamb medium rare here unless someone wants it well done,
which is just sad." I ask, "What are the moms having on their salads
tonight?" Betty says, "Grilled chicken," and off she goes. Chubby always
waits for me to order, then just gets what I get. I ask, "Have you ever
looked at a menu?" He goes, "Only when I absolutely have to, everything
looks good to me and it's just easier to get what my big brother gets." The
moms come over and sit down. "Okay, boys, time to pry into your
lives. What's new?" I tell them about Ryan's father getting transferred to
Georgia, but don't mention Ryan and me being in love. They know about me
and Robby already and it would just confuse them mentioning I also love
Ryan. Hell, it confuses me. Then I say, "Chubby's got a new girlfriend. She
has a mustache." Chubby laughs, "She doesn't have a mustache, but she's
Italian." And Tris asks, "What about Mary Jo?" Chubby's like, "We're not
engaged or going steady or anything like that. No, I'm not about to mention
Gina to MJ because MJ has a bit of a anger management problem." Tris wants
to know, "Are you mentioning Mary Jo to Gina?" Chubby goes, "Nah, I'm too
considerate for that, I mean, why make her feel bad? We haven't actually
been on a date yet. It's Dylan who called her my new girlfriend, not me." I
ask Chubby, "What do you call her?" He says, "A friend who happens to be a
girl," and our soup arrives. The moms rarely get appetizers, so mom says,
"We'll let you eat your soup in peace while we check on our tables." They
leave and Chubby says, "I want to test your memory bank. What are we doing
after dinner?" I go, "Something we've been neglecting. We'll take care of
our feet." He goes, "I knew you wouldn't forget," and slurps some onion
soup. I go, "No slurping," and try the cheese-ladened crouton on top of the
soup. Very hot, but very delicious. Chubby says, "Just eat the broth. If
you eat all that bread and cheese it'll fill you up." I go, "Ha, fat chance
of that." The broth is very good too, so I say, "Killer onion soup. Some
restaurants give you weak broth and very little of it, too. This is a
winner." I eat everything in the bowl and so does Chubby. He goes, "Oh
great, now we won't be able to eat our entrees." As we finish the soup, an
uber cute busboy comes for the bowls and soup spoons. I stare at him, and
see his name tag which reads 'Joe Mc Carthy', then ask, "Are you Charlie
McCarthy's brother, by any chance?" I just made up the name, but he gives
me a cute grin and says, "Yeah, I am. Do you go to prep with him?" Chubby
knows my trick for starting a conversation with cute boys and he chuckles
as Joe looks curiously at him. I go, "Um, I beg your pardon, but I'm a
sophomore in college." Joe pushes his light red hair away from his blue
eyes, asking, "What college?" I go, "Merrimack," and he says, "Really? Do
you know Tyler Bysicel?" Now I don't know who's pulling who's chain, but I
say, "Yeah, I do," and Joe goes, "No wait, Tyler goes to Harvard." Chubby
laughs and Joe manages to almost hold back his grin as he takes away the
dishes. I mutter, "I just might write a formal complaint about that
smart-ass busboy."


We're talking about work when our waitress, Betty, shows up with our racks
of lamb. I can tell they're cooked on a grill because of the nice grill
marks. Chubby says, "Betty, these bottles of beer evaporated. Maybe you
better bring two more or whoever these are for might get piss.., um,
angry." She says, "That's a first, beer evaporating in a half hour. Enjoy
your meal," and she takes the empty bottles with her. Chubby asks, "Will
she bring us another bottle or not?" I see her coming with two more, so
say, "Of course she will." She sets them down and I say, "This will be
reflected in your tip, Betty." She laughs as Chubby and me pretend to
ignore the bottles. She has a good personality, which you'd expect all
waiters and waitresses to have, but not all of them do. Mom and Tris rejoin
us bringing their plates of salad and we have a very nice time telling the
moms about work, our thoughts regarding a new car, and things we've been
doing lately. Some of what we tell them is even true, while other things
have been edited to make them feel good, thinking that our lives are happy
and carefree. Chubby downplays working two jobs and I avoid all aspects of
my sex life and mention little white lies about Robby and me going to the
movies or bowling. Things they can relate too. They never mention money
problems or boyfriend problems to us and we keep our problems to ourselves
too. Why worry each other? For the most part Chubby and I are leading happy
and carefree lives so we're basically being honest about that. We hear
about how wonderful the twins are, who the moms have been dating this
summer. They mention again how the guys are probably too young for them,
but they have a good time with them so that's what's important. Our moms
are both thirty-six so I wonder how old the twins are. My mom says,
"They're twenty-seven, just boys really, but very responsible and they have
good jobs." Chubby says, "Sounds like a double wedding," then to me, "We
can hang out with our step-dads, Dylan, we're almost the same age!" Tris
goes, "Ooooh, Jeffrey!" It's always a good time with the moms and they both
eat more than half their salads this time. Chubby and I discover we weren't
filled up by the soup and we eat everything on our plates. Really good. The
moms kiss us and say they'll be back to say goodbye, mumbling, "Don't
forget a tip for Betty," and I go, "Do we ever forget?" Mom says, "Of
course you don't, honey," which begs the question why she reminded us of
the tip. They go back to work and Betty takes our order for Irish coffees,
like we had last time we were here when Connor was with us. Betty asks,
"Will this be reflected in my tip, too?" her tongue firmly planted in her
cheek. I go, "Absolutely. What's the cake situation like tonight?" She
says, "It's a chocolate cake with butter cream frosting, or you can have
carrot cake." I go, "My brother's allergic to carrots so we better get the
chocolate cake, and I could go with a dip of vanilla ice cream too." She
looks at Chubby, who says, "Ditto."

The Irish coffees come first and I realize the shots and beers during front
loading, plus the beers with dinner, have already given me a little buzz,
so these Irish coffees probably weren't a great idea. As we wait for the
cake and ice cream, Chubby says, "Gina is very religious, which is fine,
except she asked me what religion I follow and I was stumped." I go, "We're
Protestant Christians, nondenominational." Chubby says, "Yeah, but we don't
go to church." I shrug and drink some spiked coffee, getting a whipped
cream mustache as a result. Then I say, "We went to Sunday school when we
were kids and sometimes we go to church services on Christmas and Easter."
Chubby drinks some too-hot coffee and we both use the cloth napkins to wipe
whipped cream off our mouths, as Chubby's mumbling, "So this is what the
napkins are for." I ask, "What'd you tell Gina about your religion?" He
goes, "Well, it seemed important to her so I didn't want to be flip about
it.  I avoided the direct question by telling her some philosophy. I said
stuff like, psychological studies suggests a belief in a supernatural God
acts like a glue in society and motivates people to follow the rules, you
know, obey the law and whatnot, be moral and stuff like that. Furthermore,
a belief in the afterlife helps people grieve and maybe not fear death so
much. You know, like, 'we will meet again', that sort of thing. I wanted
her to know that I appreciate the concept of religion." I go, "That's very
deep, Chubby." He goes, "I can be deep." Taking another sip of coffee, I
think 'Wow, somebody hit this coffee with a lot of Jamison whiskey'. Chubby
goes on, "And while all that stuff is true about belief in God, what
matters even more than the afterlife thingie is the effect our belief in
God and religion has on what happens at the human scale. You know,
relationships to others and generally things that we experience in our
lifetime." I'm like, "You mean like basically following the Ten
Commandments or if not that, be civilized to one another?" Chubby nods his
head, "Yeah, stuff like that. Then Gina throws me a curve ball by telling
me Jews don't believe in an afterlife, so how do they fit in as far as the
grieving and fear of death goes?" I frown, "Oh, I didn't know Jewish people
didn't believe in heaven; it is kinda hard concept to wrap your head
around, and it must be crowded up there after all these centuries of people
dying. What'd you say to the afterlife question?" Chubby goes, "Fortunately
I didn't have to say anything because we ran into a couple of kids she
knows and we started talking with them about the new 'Killers' CD." I go,
"That can be deep too." Our cake and ice cream show up so we start in on
that.


Half finished with the dessert, Chubby asks, "Are you happy, Dylan?" I tell
him, "Yeah, I think I am, but I was happiest when it was you and me
twenty-four seven. That was before we started working, and while we needed
to work in order to get our driver's license and eventually the Jeep, we
lost something along the way." He goes, "We're still the closest best
friends and brothers the world has ever known." I go, "Yeah, but at one
time we were inseparable and therefore closer. How 'bout you, are you
happy?" He says, "I'm not sure, to be honest. Happiness is a fuzzy
concept. I imagine it's different for different people. I'd think everyone
wants friends though, and acceptance and maybe a little praise thrown in
there every now and then. It can't be just about money either, although it
certainly helps, but some really, really rich people are miserable." I go,
"Yeah, but I'd still take a chance on being rich; maybe not famous so much
because someone like Justin Bieber can't go out without getting mobbed and
photographed." Chubby's like, "Somehow I'm not feeling all that sorry for
him. Another thing we probably need to be happy is a significant other, to
be politically correct." I say, "Maybe it'll be Gina. Are you happy to get
up every day?" He nods his head and finishes the last of his cake. Reaching
his fork to my plate to steal some of my cake, he mutters, "Yeah, of course
I'm happy to get up everyday. I look forward to seeing you for one thing."
I go, "Here, finish my cake," and I push the plate over to him, and add,
"We'll say being happy to get up each day qualifies for happiness." Chubby
mutters, "For now, but let's see what the future brings. Hey, remember all
the fights we used to get in? You had a black eye, one eye or the other,
all the way through the first semester in middle school." I go, "Yeah,
haha. We got in so many fights because at the slightest perceived insult to
either of us, our fists started flying through the air." Chubby says, "Heh
heh, nobody fucked with us after awhile. We lost half the fights, but even
a winner in a childhood fight gets his ass kicked. Remember the Chavez
brothers?" I go, "Holy shit, they put you in the hospital. And that fucking
dog, oh my God! It came charging down the yard with only that flimsy
rope-leash to keep it from reaching the sidewalk. I hear the throaty growl
of that huge German shepherd dog in my fuckin' nightmares." Chubby's
finished both desserts now. He chuckles, saying, "We got some licks in on
the Chavez brothers, but they were much older than we were, and a hell of a
lot bigger. Hitting my head on the sidewalk is what put me in the hospital
though, not them." We talked on about our childhood and how we'd get
suspended for fighting and the moms had to go to school and listen to the
guidance counselor's bullshit before we were allowed to get back in
school. The moms stood up for us though, they've always been on our
side. Then we go into elaborate detail about how wonderful it is that we're
brothers, and we both get teary-eyed. It was getting a little maudlin with
our reminiscing so it's fortunate the cute busboy showed up to clear our
table and the moms came over to say goodbye with some hugs and kisses. For
the moms' benefit, Chubby and I were speaking overly cautiously, like
people who have had too much to drink talk, trying to prove they haven't
had too much to drink. The moms say, about ten times we need to drive
carefully and go directly home. We assured them we will, leave too big of a
tip, and then we're outside in a hot, humid night sharing a cigarette.


Chubby asks, "You okay to drive?" I say, "Probably, but you hold your booze
better than I do, so you drive." We're off memory lane and on the road
ahead for tonight, as Chubby asks, "You sure you don't mind the foot stuff
when we get home?" I say, "Not at all, I do it to Robby." Chubby's shocked,
"He has a foot fetish?" I go, "Don't get excited, Bro, he doesn't have any
fetish that I know of. No, I just felt like doing it and he thought it was
sexy, but nothing special." Chubby drags on the cigarette saying, "It sure
is sexy to me and I know that's weird, but no sense fooling myself by
pretending it isn't a turn on. Not that I think about it all that much." I
go, "Maybe you need to get a job in the shoe department of Bloomingdales or
some upscale shoe shop." He exhales and passes me the cigarette, "A
college- educated shoe salesman, huh. No thanks. It's funny, girls' feet
are sexy, but it's really boys' feet that get me going. Don't make too much
out of that though; fetishes are unpredictable." I'm thinking that it might
be important, like Ray saying he got a boner kissing me, but it doesn't
happen when kissing girls. Isn't that similar to Chubby saying he gets a
boner with boys' feet, but not girls'? And why plural 'boys'? Who else
besides me does he do foot stuff with? I don't want to trap Chubby with his
own words or ask a question that might embarrass him, so I'll leave this
topic alone for now, as it would be prying to question him about it. I go,
"How about my gayness; what we gonna do about that tonight?" He mutters,
"Nothing, I hope." Passing him the cigarette, I ask, "Does that seem fair
to you?" He emphatically states, "We're brothers, fer chrissakes!" I say,
"I believe Dodger and Robby are brothers too, not to mention Ray and
Elliot." Chubby frowns, "Ray's gay? Is that why you're hanging with him
lately?" I shrug, "He claims to be bisexual, but from things he's said
during his last couple of haircuts, I think he and Elliot have done some
stuff together, like oral sex maybe." Chubby flicks the cigarette butt over
a car to land where we can't see it. He scrunches his lips, reluctantly
asking, "Is that what you want us to do, oral sex?" I go, "I'd settle for
that, but only if you don't mind." Chubby puts his arm across my shoulders,
saying, "I don't mind, and the booze helps me say that." He gets in the
Jeep and we carefully drive home, with Chubby explaining, "I can't drive
too slow and cautiously because that attracts the police's attention almost
as much as speeding." That makes me wonder how many times Ryan's been
stopped by the police suspecting him of being inebriated because of his
slow, cautious driving. Neither Chubby or me has ever had a traffic
ticket. Once we got a warning because we forgot to get the car inspected,
but that's it. So our driving records are gold. For teenagers it's
especially impressive, but we don't get recognition for it; the cops and
insurance companies only want to talk about the teen drivers who are
irresponsible, not the good ones. Life isn't fair, in case ya didn't know.


At the condos I go in mine and Chubby goes to his, saying, "I'll be right
back; I'm gonna need a little more false courage for this evening's
activities." He actually sounds excited, but he probably calls it being
nervous. Sometimes those two things can get mixed up and you don't know how
the hell you feel. I brush my teeth because a clean mouth feels good, plus
I'm also nervously excited; I've only had Chubby's cock in my mouth a
couple of times in my whole friggin' life, and brushing my teeth is
something to do. Chubby comes in, saying, "I brushed my teeth, that's what
took me so long." See what I mean about us two sharing a brain. He's got
three beers and I sort of look at him, so he says, "They're small. I got
some warm ones out of the case in the storage area to replace these. Mom
never says anything about missing beers because she's either lost count of
them, or she knows we're drinking them, but she doesn't want to make a big
deal out of it because we hardly ever do it." I go, "Yeah, it's probably
the last thing you said because the moms have faith in us that we'll be
responsible. As far as they know we always have been, although occasionally
we're not, but we've handled those times ourselves without bothering them
with our mistakes." He opens a beer and we share it while discussing how
crazy a foot fetish is. It's an unfortunate fact that the longer you drink,
the easier it is to get the booze down. I say, "We're definitely gonna need
to deal with a hangover tomorrow at work." Chubby goes, "Yeah, and I need
to work for MJ's dad too, and then take her on a date. A movie is probably
going to be the only thing I'll be able to handle." "Hope you don't fall
asleep in the movies, Chubby." When we're done the with the first pony
bottle of beer, Chubby opens another one, sits on the chaise lounge, and
mutters, "Foot time. Do you want to check mine out or me check yours?" I
mumble, "You do mine first," so he goes, "Okay, we'll switch places. Make
yourself comfortable here on this TV-watching chair." I do that and Chubby
takes my sneaker off and smells inside it, looks up at me and says,
"Awesome foot odor, but it's just a very faint, lingering odor from
previous usage. You're feet always smell good." I go, "I had a shower a
couple hours ago; they're clean." He grins, muttering, "I know, it's too
bad, but it is what it is so I'll make the best of it." Pulling the sock
off, he smells that, and says, "Zero smell except maybe detergent." I shrug
while thinking about Chubby's cock. I'm of the opinion that brother sex,
when both parties are fully committed to it, could be the hottest sex of
all. I should ask the Dickers brothers about that. I guess it's incest, but
without the danger of impregnating each other, what's the problem, ya know?
I'm referring to brothers, not parent and child; that's way different and
indefensible.


Chubby's got both my sneakers and socks off. I wiggle my toes, saying, "A
nice foot massage would be appreciated." Chubby's on the chaise lounge too,
sitting on his ankles at my feet. If he's not careful, he'll fall backwards
off the end of the couch. He picks up my right foot with both hands and
massages it with his face close to it examining my foot and I guess trying
to smell it. His verdict is, "Nice foot smell, but no foot odor if you know
what I mean. We should really do this right after we get home from work." I
go, "Okay with me." He grins, murmuring, "You're awesome, Dylan, you really
are." He's having fun so I'm having fun, it's really that simple and it
been that way all my life. Chubby does the same thing with my other foot; a
foot massage feels damn good. He says, "I like how a foot feels. Feet are
strong and complex, sort of mechanical structures with twenty-six bones,
thirty-three joints, and more than a hundred muscles, tendons, and
ligaments." I go, "You don't say, everybody knows that; tell me something I
don't know." Chubby blurts out a laugh, and says, "I love you, Dylan,
you're so funny," and he grins, then kisses my foot. Not a quick kiss, a
real smooch. He goes, "You have beautiful feet and I do too, actually." I
say, "Our feet are identical," he goes, "Except you have size nine and I
have size eight." "Technicality," I mumble, trying not to smile. Feet are a
serious matter with Chubby; he's also told me a foot fetish is the most
popular fetish for otherwise non-sexual body parts. And that's by a large
margin. I'm curious, so I ask him if he knows why there are so many foot
lovers? He says, "Because, my best bud in the world, the feet and genitals
occupy adjacent areas of the cortex, which is of course part of the brain,
and it's assumed in some guy's brains some crossover signals are taking
place." Chubby licks my foot and kisses it again, then massages some more
before sucking on my toes like I do to Ryan and Robby. I wiggle my toes in
his mouth and he grins, takes my foot from his mouth and points to his lap,
saying, "A four-and-a-half inch boner resides in there." I go, "Boners are
great, ain't they?" The beers have been forgotten as Chubby licks and
smells my foot and then picks up the other one for the same treatment. It's
not unpleasant, but I get a bigger charge doing it than having someone do
it to me. After making love to my feet, Chubby says, "Nice instep and
arch," and I ask, "Isn't that the same thing?" Chubby goes, "Yeah, but I
didn't know that you knew that, I was clarifying. And your toes are
awesome," they go back in his mouth. This goes on for awhile with Chubby
groping himself a few times. He had a spontaneous orgasm doing my feet one
time. I reach over and pick-up the beer and sip on it until it's all gone.


Finally, Chubby says, "This is so much fun, but it's your turn to do my
feet." I ask, "You want me to do everything you did?" He says, "Yep, fair's
fair." I shrug, "Sure, no problem." We switch places, with Chubby asking,
"What happens to the oral sex if I have an explosion in my pants?" I say,
"It'll still be on, explode away," and he says, "If I didn't explode
licking your feet, it's unlikely I will with you doing mine. The sexual
thrill is mostly in the doing, more than the receiving, well, for me
anyway." I take off his sneaker, smell it, and ask, "How come there's foot
odor in your sneaker?" He says, "Let me smell that puppy." I hand it to him
and after smelling it, he says, "Damn, that's nice. These must be older
sneakers than yours; this is residual foot odor." I go, "Don't get all
technical on me." His sock comes off and it has no particular smell and his
foot doesn't either. I tell him that and he goes, "It smells like a foot,
but you're not a foot-smelling connoisseur like me. There's subtle ways a
foot smells differently than other parts of the body," and again I wonder
what guy's feet he's smelling besides mine. To skirt that question, I ask,
"Do you personally know anyone else who has a foot fetish?" He says, "Lots
of people have that fetish," okay, he skirted my question, but I'm taking
an affirmative from his answer. He knows and shares some foot fetish
occasional with at least one other guy, and you know what? I'm happy he has
someone. Hell, I've got my outlets too, although an important one went to
Georgia. It'll be rough not experiencing some sub/dom play, but I'm going
to try not calling Willie. I'll wait for Ryan... hopefully I can do that. I
play with Chubby's feet approximately as long as he spent on mine, having a
pretty good time sucking my brother's toes, but now it's time to suck
something else of my brother's. So I drop his foot and shimmy up between
his legs on my knees, saying, "It's time for your gay brother to satisfy
his fetish." Chubby says, "Oral sex isn't a fetish," and I mutter,
"Semantics," and unbutton his shorts. Chubby says, "I still got a decent
boner from my foot play with your feet." Pulling down his zipper, I spread
open the front of his shorts, and ask him, "Hey, aren't these my boxer
shorts you're wearing?" He goes, "They may be, I got them from your bureau
when you were taking a shower." That makes me blurt out a laugh, repeating,
"They may be mine, huh? Just because they were in my bureau." He makes a
face, like, "I didn't know for sure...." Shaking my head, chuckling, I fish
his cock out and mutter, "He's a fat boy, ain't he?" Chubby laughs, "Yeah,
he's put on a little weight recently." I go, "Might as well air out your
nuts too," and I fish them out through the fly of my boxer shorts. A damn
nice set of nuts, with pubic hair peeking out the fly. I go, "I can shave
these pubes for you, it's no trouble." He mumbles, "Very generous of you,
but no thanks." His penis is stiff, but not a real boner. Without further
ado I lean down and take it in my mouth and Chubby's personal scent invades
my olfactory senses, oh so familiar a scent after a lifetime of smelling
Chubby's subtle natural pheromones. Everyone has their own personal
scent. That's why a bloodhound can sniff a piece of clothing someone wore
and then track down that person by sniffing the trail he leaves. We all
have chemical vapors, or odor, that's unique to each of us. The odor, or
scent of some boys is attractive to me; others I can't detect. A blood
hound has forty times the ability for scent detection that humans have, and
so a bloodhound can tell the difference between everyone on the
planet. Chubby's scent doesn't happen to affect me as sexually as Robby's
or Ryan's, but that's probably because Chubby and I aren't sexually active
together. So Chubby's scent isn't sexy, but it's my favorite scent in the
world; I've enjoyed it all my life. We slept in the same bassinet as
babies, we were bathed together and later shared a bed and on and on. So I
like his scent the best, sexy or not.


His cock tastes good, too. Of course, taste and smell are related. Chubby
rubs my hair, muttering, "Damn, you got better hair than me too. I got the
short end of the stick all the way around it seems." Taking his cock from
my mouth, I go, "Whining and being envious of me is no way to go through
life, Chubby," then go back to sucking me some of my brother's cock. He
chuckles and continues playing with my hair. When I get my tongue twirling
around the head of his cock and sucking the shaft, his cock gets real hard
and he begins squirming on the cushioned seat as a gasp escapes his
mouth. More tongue licking and lips sucking as I use two fingers to also
stroke his very hard boner and another gasp, then, "Jesus! Um, ooh, ohh,
mmmmm," and precum drools from his cock as his hips do small humps. My cock
is as hard as Chubby's and, as usual, I let myself get lost in the sexiness
of sucking a young guy's cock. Taking his boner in my fingers, I run it
against the inside of my cheek, then the head against the roof of my mouth
and a string of precum leaves a path wherever I move the head. Chubby's got
both his hands on the seat lifting up, humping his hips, grunting and
moaning. I go back to licking the swollen head and sucking the shaft and
then push it past my gag reflex area, with my nose in his pubes absorbing
his scent. Back out of my throat to suck just the head with both my lips
and my tongue, and he goes, "Ummmm, ooooh!" humps his hips and cums in my
mouth, and does he ever cum. A long stream followed by another one with
Chubby moaning and moving sporadically on the recliner. Two more good
spurts of creamy cum, and then I suck drools out. I swallowed some, but let
the rest drool out the sides of my mouth to avoid inhaling it up my
sinuses, which isn't a good look... blowing cum out my nose is kinda
crude. He's laying back on the chaise lounge breathing deeply, limp like,
as I suck his cock clean, then let it flop out of my mouth. Cum is running
down my chin so I wipe it with the back of my hand. Normally I'd lick it
off my hand, and normally I'd lick the guy's balls too, but with Chubby I
eliminate things like that because he might think it's a bit too much. Too
bad too because someone licking your balls is quite enjoyable. Chubby says,
"I don't get my dick sucked near as much as I'd like because the girls tend
to expect me to return the favor, and I've never been a fan of fish, as you
know. But the rare times a girl has done it, it's like amateur hour; they
can't come close to replicating you." I smile, saying, "Most active sexual
gays give good head because we know what feels good on our dick."  Then I
mutter, "I'm going to clean up a bit in the powder room." In there I wash
my face and hands. I'm feeling like I need to cum myself, but I won't push
the issue. I'm satisfied getting this rare opportunity to get Chubby's cock
in my mouth. Ever rarer is getting Chubby's cock in my rear end, but that's
another story.


He's very smiley now, saying, "Okay, that was damn good, Dylan. Thank you,
man your boyfriends are lucky," I go, "So are your girlfriends. Anytime I
can do anything for you, Chubby, I want to do it... so never hesitate to
ask. Feet or anything else, you're numero uno in my book, bro. Top
priority, just like you've always been." He says, "Thank you, and it goes
without saying the same holds true for me where you're concerned; anything
you need, you got it, bro." I say, "Well, I need to get on the chaise
lounge with you and watch the rest of the Red Sox game like we used to do
regularly." He says, "Nothing I'd rather do, Dylan. How 'bout bringing
those beers over so we can share 'em. Got any peanuts?" I get the beers and
hand one to Chubby, mumbling, "I'm not sure about the peanuts, let me
check." I go upstairs and right to my bathroom to whack off. I got so
aroused sucking Chubby's dick that I'd be uncomfortable the rest of the
night if I don't get relief. Dammit, now that Ryan's gone maybe I'll need
to go back to jerking off again. He gave me a great goodbye fuck hours ago,
but that's not quite like the three or four fucks a day I've become used
to. Guess I'll need to break that habit cold turkey. It was awesome while
it lasted. A climax from using my hand feels good for half a minute, but it
can't compare with the real thing. Shooting off in my toilet while sucking
on my lips, I then take a deep breath and go, "Mmmm," as nothing like an
orgasm. Then I flush the toilet, stroke my cock a few more times, then
quickly wash up and grab a can of Planters honey-roasted peanuts from the
pantry and scurry downstairs. "I found a can, Chubby." He goes, "Good, I've
got the game on and the Red Sox are up on Tampa three to one." I go,
"Surprising," and get on the chaise lounge right up against Chubby and we
watch the game sharing the beers and eating the sweet, salty peanuts while
talking about us. When we're done with the beers and peanuts, Chubby puts
his arm under my neck and I cuddle against him like I've done a thousand
times before. Love me some Chubby!


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


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