Date: Mon, 14 Mar 2016 12:00:57 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME  Chapter  16

DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME



Chapter  16



by  Donny  Mumford



Saturday morning it's raining cats and dogs. Now what the fuck does that
actually mean? Seriously! I know that it infers a hard rain, but why cats and
 dogs? That's something for me to ponder some other time. For now I'm lying
in  bed thinking about getting up when I hear loud thunder and then almost
immediately lightning flashes, seemingly right next to my window. Jesus!

Some  people say they like thunder storms... not me. Then it occurs to me that
I  didn't have a scary dream last night. Not that I remember anyway. I was
half  expecting a nightmare about the potbellied man wearing a Speedo
bathing suit.  Checking my wristwatch I see it's a little after nine o'clock.

Good! I was in  bed before midnight so that's a really good night's sleep. Oh
yeah, and there's  a Red Sox game today that Chubby has box seat tickets for,
although the game's  not happening if this rain keeps up. Ya know, it's
always  something!

Getting out of bed I feel grungy. Last night Robby and I never did get to
swim in the reservoir, and when I got home I was too tired to shower. Well
I've  got plenty of time this morning. I take a long hot shower, then do all
the other  things I need to do in the bathroom. Last thing I do is stand in
front of the  mirror looking closely at my face. I'm looking for any signs
of beard growth.  I'll be twenty-one in less then two weeks so there should
be something  happening. Growing a beard this late in life probably means
that when it finally  happens it'll be sparse at best. I'm thinking some
whiskers maybe just on my top  lip, plus some on the lower part of my chin and
below my sideburns. And I mean  soft whiskers, not the thick bristly kind some
guys have. I'll let my skimpy  beard grow out a little, like I don't give a
shit, and then keep them short  using a beard trimmer. With my face really
close to the mirror; hmmm, is it  my imagination? No, there's definitely
short blond hairs on my upper lip, more  like peach fuzz, and on my chin too.

Holy shit! Finally I'll be joining the club  most guys join around the age of
sixteen or seventeen. Oh  boy.

From the shelf in the shower I get shaving cream and a new disposable
razor; the stuff previously used to shave pubic hairs. Carefully shaving the
peach fuzz off my face I'm hoping that old saying about hair growing  back
thicker after it's shaved is true and not total bullshit. Hmmm, I wonder if
there's after shave lotion somewhere in here although I can't imagine why
there  would be. Looking in the medicine chest I find a bottle of Advil, a tin
of  Band-Aids, sun block, an intensely squeezed tube of toothpaste, and a new
 toothbrush. That's about it except for prescription pain pills that are
past the  used-by date. Wonder what they were for? Anyway, wearing just boxer
shorts, I  change my bedding putting on clean crisp sheets and shoving the
dirty sheets in  an overflowing hamper.

I'm dressed and making coffee in the kitchen looking at my mom's bedroom
door. It's closed so she's in there but still sleeping. I hope she had a good
 time last night after work. The moms really need a vacation and it won't
be long  before we'll all be in Wildwood together. Sipping my too-hot coffee
I start  texting Chubby just as he comes in through the front door with a
big smile on  his face. Rain water's dripping off his baseball cap as he
exclaims, "Hi Dylan!  It's raining cats and dogs out there." I ignore that
reference as we hug, then a  little kiss on the lips and I tell him, "I finally
needed to shave this  morning." He goes, "You're shitting me! Huh, we're both
way behind where we  should be in that department, but I've got what I think
could be a mustache if I  don't shave for a couple of weeks." I pass him a
mug of coffee, saying, "Our dad  apparently didn't have much of a beard
gene." Chubby goes, "You have the  picture. Let me see it, bro." I take out my
wallet and hand Chubby the picture  of our dad when he was almost eighteen.

We both look at the picture for a  second, then Chubby says, "He's good
looking, huh?" I nod my head, "He looks  like you more than me." Chubby goes, "He
looks like he's thirteen," and I say,  "For sure he never saw a whisker on
his face." We look at each other for a  second, then shake our heads slowly,
"Put the picture away, Dylan." I do that  and we're quiet for a minute
while I add more milk to my coffee. We get misty  every time we look at that
picture. I carry it in my wallet for six months then  it's Chubby's turn.

Because of the heavy rain we bring our mugs of coffee to the basement,
then out to the garage for a smoke. We don't talk about our dad very much
because we didn't know him, for one thing, but mostly it's sad he died so
young. That picture of him reminds us how intricate and strange life is. We're
alive because of the boy in that picture. It's sort of mystical that we're
three  years older then he was when we were conceived. It gives me chills
thinking  about it. I break the silence by telling Chubby about last night at
the  reservoir. He's like, "Fuck! That's creepy!" We talk about that for a
little  bit; then, finished our shared cigarette we go back upstairs. For
breakfast we  share a little individual size box of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes
eating it dry  from the box. Then, since breakfast is supposed to be the most
important meal of  the day we have a second box of Frosted Flakes. Mostly
we're cursing the  weather, then checking the forecast on our iPhones. "It's
supposed to clear up  by noon, Dylan." I mumble, "Yeah, I see that.  Good!"

Finished our breakfast we see the rain has let up a lot, so we're on  the
balcony standing close together under the big golf umbrella that Chubby
borrowed from somebody two summers ago at a chip and putt golf course.  The
umbrella was just laying against a bench. Damn nice umbrella too. We're  sharing
another cigarette talking about hitting golf balls at a driving range.

Chubby wants me to give him golf lessons so we can play the Framingham eighteen
 hole public golf course before summer's end. We'll start by spending some
time  at the Wildwood driving range during our vacation. Then we talk about
what we'll  bring with us to Wildwood this year. For one thing we're trying
to decide if we  should bring our skim boards, or if we're too old to do
that this year. "Nah,  we're not too old, Chub. We'll bring our skim boards,
but we should advance to  paddle boarding too." Chubby like, "Yeah, okay. I
wonder how much paddle boards  cost." I shrug, "We can check online," which is
what we  do.

In  my bedroom I Google 'Paddle boards' and together we go, "Holy shit!"

I'm like,  "Oh well, fuck paddle boarding, the cheapest one is $399 and they
go up to over  a thousand dollars." Chubby's shaking his head, "Fuck paddle
boarding is right!"  Chubby lying on my bed now with his hands behind his
head, and I'm at my  computer as we start a list of things we need to bring
with us to Wildwood. I  type in each item as we think of it. The list isn't as
long as our lists when we  were kids, but we still need to bring beach
chairs and the beach umbrella for  the moms, because renting them is stupidly
expensive. Beach blankets and towels,  some floating devices for the pool at a
nearby motel, sun screen because it cost  twice as much in Wildwood, food
for the same reason, a couple of cases of beer,  and the list goes on until
we're tired of doing it. Turning off my computer, I  get up, saying, "As we
think of other stuff, Chub, we'll add it to the list,"  and he says, "Add a
cooler," so I sit back down and bring up the  list and  add 'cooler'. Totally
bored with the list by now, we use individual controllers  to play against
each other on my Xbox 360.

It's still raining, but lightly now and the sky's getting brighter. Its
eleven o'clock so Chubby texts Robby and Matt that we'll be picking them up in
 ten minutes. Our plan is to get to the game in time to watch batting and
infield  practice. Chubby says, "I've never seen batting practice," and I go,
"Come to  think of it, neither have I. I wonder why we never thought to do
this before."  He shrugs and we go down to our Jeep. Everything is dripping
wet but it's just  misting now, and the sun's trying to break through the
clouds. When all four of  us are in the Jeep we head down route 93 into
Boston. As we get near Storrow  Drive, I ask, "Ya got the tickets, right Chub?" He
goes, "Oh fuck! Where can I  make a U-turn?" Matt says, "He's got the
tickets," and Chubby says, "Yeah, I  do." I punch his arm and Chubby grins at me,
then mouths, "Love you, bro." The  normally heavy traffic, plus the added
traffic going to Fenway Park has turned  Storrow Drive into a parking lot.

We're barely moving forward as time ticks by.  If I was driving I'd be really
frustrated, but Chubby's cool as a cucumber,  saying, "Matt, check out the
bazooms on that girl in the convertible." Matt's  like, "Jesus! And look at
the dork she's with." They talk about that as Robby  and I smirk at each
other, shrugging at our lack of interest. Girls' tits are  kinda gross, but then
so are tits on guys. Bill Belichick comes to  mind.

Finally there's a gap in the traffic and Chubby makes a few quick moves  to
get us over to the outside lane. It's still slow going but we're away from
the merging lane that's moving at the speed of a glacier. Finally we're in
the  vicinity of Fenway Park so we look for a free parking spot. Abandoning
that  fool's errand after fifteen minutes, Chubby pulls into one of the
rip-off  parking lots and pays thirty-five dollars. For thirty-five dollars
we're still  ten blocks from the ballpark. Closer parking lots are fifty
dollars. The lot  we're in parks the cars bumper to bumper so after the game we're
at the  mercy of the cars around us. They'll need to move before we can. In
other words  there's no sense hurrying to the parking lot after the  game.

Robby says, "The Red Sox have the highest average ticket prices in all of
baseball," and Chubby mumbles, "Well, since we didn't pay a dime for these
tickets I couldn't care less." We talk about how the Red Sox organization
somehow talked Mayor Manino, when he was the mayor of Boston, and alive, into
 selling them exclusive rights to a public street: Lansdowne Street that
borders  one side of Fenway Park. During game days and nights this street
becomes part of  the park and nobody can walk on the street unless they have a
ticket to that  day's game, which we do.

A guy scans our tickets and now we're on Lansdowne Street with about
twenty thousand other people.  Matt recently turned twenty-one so he gets  in
line at one of the booths that sells beer. There's no shortage of suckers
anxious to pay $9 for a twelve ounce plastic cup of domestic beer. Matt buys the
 maximum beers allowed at one time, which is two. He gives the beers to
Robby and  me saying, "My treat guys," then gets back in line and buys two
more. One for  Chubby and one for himself. Total cost: $36.00. It's fairly
obvious the Red Sox  aren't taking any chances on losing money from concessions
sales. Hotdog's are  $5.50, Cracker Jacks, $4.50 and so forth. We make our
way through the crowd  to the correct gate for our seats, but we're told we
need a special ticket to  watch batting practice. I look at my ticket and see
it cost somebody a hundred  dollars. You gotta be shitting me!  A hundred
dollars to watch a baseball  game and that doesn't include watching batting
practice? Huh! Chubby says, "I  guess that's why we've never seen batting
practice, Dylan." We walk back out to  the crowded Lansdowne Street to smoke a
cigarette and finish our  beers except an usher tell us, "No smoking on
Fenway Park grounds,  fellows." Chubby says, "Oh thank you for that information,
sir, we're from Utah  and don't know the rules here." None of us stops
smoking though; we wandered  away from the usher over near the edges of the crowd
and finish smoking  there.

When we finally get to our box seats we find they're not actually box
seats. We're twenty rows up from the real box seats which begin on the other
side of a wide isle below us. There's a steady stream of people walking in
both  directions on the isle, but we're high enough up that we can see over
them. Pity  the people in lower so-called box seats. All they'll see is the
constant stream  of people walking in the isle. Our seats are pretty much even
with first base,  so we got some pretty good seats, just not box seats like
the ticket claims they  are. The game starts and seems to go much faster at
the ballpark than when  watching a game on TV. The players become real
people, and in person their feats  of athleticism seem more remarkable. It's fun
to watch them live, but at the  same time the ticket prices and the fact
some of these baseball players are  being paid $20 million dollars a year to
play a boy's game; well, it all seems  somehow absurd. I'd feel like a sucker
if I paid a $100 for the ticket. There  must have been a time when it was
all more reasonable and less absurd. Less  expensive tickets with the players
making a lot less money for doing exactly  what they're doing now. You know,
more in line with reality. Still, there are  only 750 major league baseball
players from all over the world, so they're  pretty unique individuals.

Even the twenty-fifth worst player on a team was  easily the best athlete in
the town he grew up in, and almost certainly the only  major league player
ever from that town. Still, a $100 to watch a baseball  game?
The Red Sox win the game in two hours and forty minutes without needed to
bat in the bottom of the ninth. Then we join 37,000+ people leaving at the
same  time through eight exits... and its slow going. It's impossible to
justify the  cost and the inconvenience of dealing with gridlock traffic both to
and from the  game. Nothing about it makes any common sense whatsoever, but
I wish I could  come again next Saturday. Also, I discovered something
today.  Chubby was  right about Matt. He was a good guy all day being very
friendly with a few funny  quips during the game. No officiousness coming from
him today, and he did buy us  those nine dollar beers. On the other hand
neither he nor I warmed up to one  another all that much, so us being best
friends probably won't happen. We'll  settle for being friendly acquaintances,
which is okay  too.

The drive home is just as bad as the drive coming to the game. No, that's
not right, it's worse driving home in bumper to bumper traffic because at
least  when we were coming here we had the baseball game to look forward to.

Anyway,  it's five-thirty by the time Chubby drops off Matt, then Robby, at
their houses.  Robby gives my shoulder a squeeze telling me, "I'll be over to
pick you up in  forty-five minutes. Okay, Dylan?" I nod, "Sure, see you
then." We drive away  with Chubby asking, "Are you having another dinner with
the in-laws, bro?" I  chuckle, "Yeah, but they're not in-laws yet, Chub,
although I guess they will  be. I don't see the in-laws and me ever being real
tight though." Chubby goes,  "Most in-laws aren't real tight with their
child's spouse I wouldn't imagine." I  mumble, "Yeah, parents are often under the
misconception that no one's good  enough for their kid." Damn, a disturbing
thought occurs to me: Robby's family  is a close knit group. When Robby and
I are married we'll need to be at all the  family gatherings, and they
celebrate every fuckin' thing you can think of. Oh  the hell with it, I'll worry
about that later.

After another shower, a quick one this time, I get dressed and I'm  waiting
down at the curb looking for Robby's pickup. While I wait I light a
cigarette to look cool in case I know someone in one of the cars that keep
whizzing by me. I can't help smiling to myself thinking about Dodger and me
texting yesterday. He told me he's unequivocally going to be in Wildwood when
I'm there. His word, unequivocally. I didn't know if I believed him at first,
but he did ask for all the information about dates and addresses. Then,
just  fifteen minutes ago, right after my shower, he texted me that he made
reservations at the Beach Comber motel for two nights. That motel is not near
our condo, but it's supposedly only three blocks from the boardwalk, and
therefore three blocks from the beach. He bitched about the $198 per night
rate,  so I guess I believe him about meeting me in Wildwood. What I didn't
mention to  Dodger is the Beach Comber motel must be pretty dumpy because for
one thing they  had vacancies, which is very rare, and secondly $198 a night
is probably the  lowest rate in Wildwood. What the hell, it couldn't be
worse than the barracks  Dodger spent six months in, right? He might think the
Beach Comber's  luxurious.

Robby drives up, and cutely says, "Hey, good looking, wanna go for a
ride?" I grin at him, casually flicking my cigarette butt off my crotch, then
kicking it into the street before walking around the pickup cursing the
cigarette butt under my breath. As I get in the passenger seat, Robby asks, "Do
you like lamb kabobs?" Huh? What the fuck are lamb kabobs? I go, "Um, kabobs
 sound, um, interesting!" I don't tell Robby I've never eaten lamb. I ask,
"What's the difference between lamb and sheep?" He goes, "Jeez, I don't
know."  I'm like, "And to think we at the country fair just a few weeks ago."

Whatever,  Chubby and I have never bought lamb chops because we can't get it
out of our  heads the Mary had a little lamb thing. Little pet.  Cute little
lambs  bleating, "Baaa, baaa." As we drive to Robby's house I tell him
about Dodger's  latest text. He doesn't seem too thrilled about it, mumbling,
"Yeah, he texted  me too, but whether he'll actually show up, who knows. Don't
hold your breath."  Huh! I ask, "Rob, um, did you and Dodger have another
argument?" He shrugs,  "Nah, not really. I guess I'm jealous he might be with
you on vacation and I  won't." Well, I again try talking him into spending
the weekend with me in  Wildwood, but he claims he can't get away. His
father is a workaholic and Robby  can't say 'no' to him.

We have a beer in the pool house waiting to be called for dinner. When
Robby's dad calls us in I find that Saturday night's dinner is served in the
dining room, and I discover something new about food too. Lamb kabobs are not
a  specific part of a lamb. They're cubes of lamb meat on skewers with
alternating  slices of onion and cherry tomatoes. The whole mess is sprinkled
with olive oil,  rosemary and thyme, then cooked on the grille and served with
rice pilaf.  There's also broccoli, and a mixed salad. What can I say? The
kabobs aren't  horrible or completely uneatable, but lamb is not something
I'd want again  anytime soon. It must be an acquired taste because Robby
can't eat enough of the  kabobs. I guess it's the food you grow up with. I eat
very slowly moving the  contents of one kabob around on my plate. The
conversation is about the Red Sox  game mostly, with a ten minute period of shop
talk between Robby and his dad.  Not bad. Chocolate cake and vanilla-bean ice
cream for dessert. After thanking  the Dickers for dinner, Robby and I are
on our way to the movies again. It turns  out to be a really funny movie this
time starring that fat lady with the potty  mouth, Melissa
something-or-other. Topping off a really good day, Robby and I  get under clean linens on my
bed and made love for quite a long time. Eventually  we take a break and
both fall asleep like we did the other night. Robby wakes up  at four in the
morning and staggers out of bed to go home, promising to return  for Sunday
brunch.

Brunch is at Chubby's condo this morning and when I let myself in he has  a
nice surprise for me. After dropping me off yesterday he went to Stop &
Shop and brought the fixings for this morning's brunch. I'm like, "Way to go,
bro!" Robby knocks on the door when Chubby and I are making corn beef hash.

 We'll drop a poached egg on top of each portion just before serving them.

Robby  cuts up the fruit while Chubby and I carefully cook the poached eggs
in  simmering water. We added a teaspoon of vinegar to the water to help the
eggs  stay more or less together. They're cooked until they're almost done,
then we  float them in a pan of warm water. Just before we serve them
they'll carefully  be slipped back into simmering water for thirty seconds to
reheat them. There's  toast and jam, plus Chubby's favorite cinnamon buns that
are baking in the over  giving the kitchen a nice aroma. Fresh squeezed
orange juice, which the three of  us take turns squeezing, plus coffee finishes
off today's  brunch.

While eating Mom and Tris do their thing, complimenting all of us about
this or that and concentrating on Robby until he's blushing. They mean well
trying to make Robby feel included in the family, although I know he'd rather
 they do less of it. We talk about our coming vacation and the moms seem
even  more excited about Wildwood then Chubby and me. Of course the moms can
get  excited about a gum drop. Their fiancés will be with us the entire week
this  summer, which is nice for the moms. After brunch, as usual, the moms
insist on  doing the cleanup. Like last Sunday, the three of us guys drive to
the high  school to check out pick-up games. After going to the Red Sox
game yesterday  we're in the mood to play some baseball. We get there early
enough to be part of  a baseball game. It's not soft ball but rather we play
with a regulation hard  ball, so baseball gloves are a must. Beautiful weather
all afternoon. Frankie  shows up too late to get in the game, so he's one
of the four spectators in the  stands. After the game he gets me aside
wanting to dock our dicks, but that  isn't happening, not here and now anyway.

He'd been at a pool somewhere  yesterday and has a sunburned nose looking extra
cute with his buzz cut. His  haircut looks better on him today than I
thought it looked right after I did it  for him. We're sure to find time next
week for some docking, and maybe more than  docking.

Sunday night Chubby and I make dinner and enjoy it with the moms. It's a
summertime Sunday diner of chicken on the grill, potato salad, sliced
locally-grown tomatoes, Chubby's coleslaw, and corn on the cob. I stay in Sunday
night with Chubby watching a movie on HBO. A night off is a nice change of
pace  occasionally and has the side benefit of me being well rested and ready
to go  Monday morning. After setting the alarm fifteen minutes early so I
can make  Chubby's and my lunch, I'm in bed before eleven. In the morning I
use the two  extra chicken breast we grilled last night for today's lunch.

The chickens  deboned and sliced thinly, then piled high on rolls with lots of
mayo, and for  crunch some lettuce. Simple, but very good. Quart bottles of
Snapple too, plus a  family size bag of Lays potato chips and big
double-chocolate brownies. Good  lunch!

Working on my own Monday, side by side with the other guys, seems to make
the days go by faster. The opposite of last week when I was working with
Matt.  Everyone gets along fine. Chubby and I talk about next week in Wildwood,
New  Jersey. As for Robby and me I'm looking forward to pretty much a
duplication of  last week's sexual activities. He needs to work tonight, but he
thinks it'll be  the only night this week we won't be together.

Coincidentally Frankie texted me  at lunch saying he can use his mother's car if I'm
interested in getting  together. Why not get together so I text him to come over
before dinner and  we'll do our quick docking sex. Not that I'm especially
horny because since  coming back from Georgia Robby and I have been having
the best sex ever. It's  just that Frankie looked sexy yesterday at the ball
game so I'm kinda 'up' for  docking with him and his nice looking dick. On
the way home Frankie texts me  that he's parked at the curb below my condo.

That boy's an eager beaver! I text  back that he should drive around back and
as Chubby and I drive up I see Frankie  just making the left turn a hundred
yards in front of us. Chubby parks at the  curb and as we're going up the
steps we make plans for a pizza dinner tonight,  then we'll go to the mall to
buy a few new things to wear in Wildwood. It's sort  of a tradition we've
been doing ever since we got the  Jeep.

Inside my condo I go downstairs to the basement and let Frankie in. We're
not tight enough to do any kissing. Just a fist bump, I rub his head and he
rubs  mine with both of us asking, "Wassup?" and neither of us answering.

Frankie  isn't what you'd call shy. He says, "I'm so hooked on docking cocks
with you I  jerked off about ten times this weekend thinking about it." I
mumble, "You need  to get yourself a boyfriend." He's pulling down his fly,
saying, "Your turn to  suck my cock first, then I'll suck yours." Frankie
'gets' the concept of buddy  sex pretty well and he's got just enough
aggressiveness in him to interest me.  It's only five o'clock so it's not like we're
rushed for time here, but he's  already got his cock out so I bend over and
suck it into my mouth. He has a real  nice penis even though it's circumcised,
but I can't help notice he again proves  not to be a slave to cleanliness.

His crotch area is a bit raunchy smelling, but  sort of in a sexy way. And
I've been working outside all day myself so I really  shouldn't talk. There's
something about Frankie I find enticing in the same way  I find Bean kind
of enticing, but without knowing exactly why in either  case.

Frankie gets aroused quickly, like before, and in less then a minute his
dicks firmed up enough for docking. Next time we do this I want to it with
flaccid cocks. See how that works. Frankie goes, "That felt good. How 'bout
if  you suck me off to climax and we'll do the docking later?" I snort, "How
'bout  we don't," as I take my dick out. He shrugs, bends over and takes my
dick in his  hands to slide it on his pink tongue into his mouth. He's
really good at sucking  and licking cock so I'm soon shuffling my feet and
rubbing his buzzed head  until, too soon, he pulls my cock from his mouth, saying,
"That's good enough."  See, he has that little bit of a take-charge
attitude that I like. I gotta smile  to myself imagining Frankie dominating my ass,
although I'm not sure he could  pull it off.

He has no problem pulling my foreskin over the head of his cock, and as  he
pulls it tighter his body's squirming a little bumping the head of his cock
 against mine, mumbling, "Damn, I like how this feels." Then he looks at
me,  "Don't you?" I nod, "Yeah, you do this good, Frankie." He's licking his
lips  tightening his fist on our docked cocks, then he moves his fist from
the root of  his up over the docked areas and down my cock until the side of
his fist is  tight against my crotch. As he's drawing his fist back the other
way, he says,  "I'm thinking of shaving my pubes like you, Dylan." I go,
"Ooooh, mmm," as  sensations sizzle from the head of my cock. He strokes our
docked cock three  times kinda fast and I'm up on my toes again, my forehead
against his. Stroke,  stroke, stroke as Frankie grunts, "Ummm, fuck," our
noses rubbing together now  with his breath smelling like Spearmint chewing
gum. "Aaah, ooh, Frankie..." He  gives me a wet sloppy kiss, mostly tongue, as
he steadily and tightly strokes  our docked cocks for a little over a minute
with both of us breathing noisily.  Then I moan, my hips buck as I learn
against him, "Aaaagh," with cum pouring out  of my swollen hard cock and
drooling out from under my foreskin. Frankie's hand  slips in my cum and we pull
apart grabbing our cock and stroking them. He grunts  and shoots a long thin
streak of cum right at me. It splatters on my shorts next  to my open
zipper, just like last time. He strokes another two quick spurts as I  step back,
yelling, 'What the fuck, Frankie?"

He's red in the face stroking his cock tightly, muttering, "Sorry, it  just
shot out, but fuuuck that felt good!" and his shoulders do a little shudder
 like mine are always doing. I take a deep breath as the sizzling
sensations  around my groin fade out. Another big breath and I mummer, "Yeah, that
did feel  awfully good." We walking into the half bath chuckling now with
Frankie saying,  "That's a fast climax, huh?" I go, "Amazingly fast, yeah." Then
I add, "Let's do  it with soft cocks next time." He wipes his dick with
toilet paper, saying, "It  doesn't work too good that way. It's hard keeping
our cocks docked if they're  limp, plus I like sucking your dick. We'll
continue doing it my way." Huh, bossy  fellow! That's cute. I go, "Look at the big
cum stain on my shorts!" He seems  sincere, saying, "I'm really sorry. It
just went off on its own, ya  know?"

We put our dick's away and have a cold Coke on the balcony. Frankie bums  a
cigarette and we're smoking and joking about how under-appreciated is
smoking-hot cock-docking. He's kind of a funny kid and since I'm not going to
see Robby tonight I give a thought to suggesting we sneak in a quick fuck
before  dinner, but I don't get the chance. Frankie flicks his cigarette butt
over the  railing, drains the rest of his Coke, and says, "Thanks, Dylan.

It's been real,  dude! Love doing that docking shit with you, but I promised my
mom I'd get the  car back by five-thirty." I walk him to the door, we bump
fist muttering,  "Later, man," and he's gone. Huh, I didn't expect that. Oka
y, well now I have  time for a shower before dinner.

After  the shower, as I'm getting dressed, Dodger texts me that he just got
 confirmation for his reservation at the Beach Comber. Huh! So he and his
friend  will definitely be spending a couple of days in Wildwood while Chubby
and I are  there. He's such a hot shit! I wonder if his friend is bi, gay,
or straight.  With Dodger you just never know, but if the friend is gay he
better watch  himself around Vinnie. Vinnie might cut the guy's dick off if
he thinks he's  taking time with Dodger away from him.

I'm basically in a countdown to Wildwood mode now. Tuesday's a normal day
at work and after work Chubby drops me off, then takes the Jeep for a new
inspection sticker. He has a date with one of his girlfriends after that. As
for  me, I'm waiting for Jameson who's coming over for a haircut. That's a
bit of a  surprise because when I saw him shortly after I got home he had a
barbershop haircut and I assumed he'd moved on from me in that regard. Not
the  case, and unexpectedly Manny comes with him. My brainiac friend, Manny,
gives  me a nice hug apologizing for not texting before coming over. No
problem. It's fun talking with them and catching up with their lives while
giving them haircuts. Obviously no sex from these two, not even a hint of  it.

When they leave I take a quick shower and get ready for my date with
Robby. We're having dinner together at Dino's Italian Cuisine restaurant. We get
there early and Tony, our favorite waiter, buys us a drink at the bar while
we  wait for our table. He says the drink's are on the house in
appreciation of us  being loyal customers. Probably our over-tipping has something to
do with it  too. We both have two cocktails before dinner. After dinner our
dessert is a  couple of after-dinner drinks. That's just the mood we were in.

When we get up  to leave it obvious to both of us we're a tiny bit drunk.

With some giggling,  knowing we're acting like fools, we have sex in the
pickup parked in the  restaurant's small parking lot. Two people come out of the
restaurant as I'm  doing my orgasmic squeal and even though I had my hand
over my mouth the man and  woman stop to look around when I squeal. Robby saw
them because he was up on his  knees giving my ass a good hard pounding,
but he ducked down giggling before  they saw him. Robby's lying on my back
continuing his thrusting. Thrusting and  snickering like he does when he's
drunk. Later that night we do it again in my  bed.

Wednesday  at work our asses are dragging and our heads are aching from
hangovers. To  make matters worse Seth's has a stomach virus of some kind and
leaves work at  ten o'clock. Robby insisted he go home, so we're one man down
with two of us  hungover like a mother fucker, to be crude about it. Robby
works with the crew  from ten o'clock on. Every time we pass each other we
exchange 'looks' shaking  our heads slowly, like: you gotta be shitting me.

Really hot day too, and in the  afternoon as Robby and I are putting up the
tailgate to the truck, he mutters,  "I'm never drinking anything alcoholic
again." I mumble, "Same here." We  make it through the day somehow, but Robby
says he's going to bed early and  we'll make up for it tomorrow night.

Meaning we'll make up for tonight's missed  sex. When I get home Chubby comes in
with me. He sees I'm hurting so he turns  the air conditioning up as I
collapse on the sofa. He gets two  Advil's for  me, then makes me a quart of the
boxed Campbell's dry chicken noodle soup mix  that we both claim is good for
hangovers, flu, and colds. The Advil, noodle  soup, plus a sixteen ounce
bottle of iced cold Coke keeps me alive at least. You  need lots of liquids
when you're hungover. Chubby stays with me while I slurp  down what serves as
my dinner, and then I go to bed with Chubby tucking me in  and telling me to
text him if I need  anything.

Around nine o'clock I hear the doorbell. I'd dozed off earlier, but I'm
just lying in bed awake now so I get up and pad to the front door. It's Robby
who says he's feeling better. I can't help but grin. We get in bed naked
and one  thing leads to another, then an hour and a half later we do it again.

Robby  leaves around eleven-thirty with us both feeling much better.

Thursday there's  rain showers all day which makes everything about cutting lawns
harder and  messier. By the end of the day Chubby and I can't wait for
vacation. We decide  we'll eat dinner at McDonalds because we don't feel like
making dinner  ourselves. Before we left work I learn that Dallas, Matt, and
Chubby are going  to shoot some hoops after dinner and they tried talking me
and Robby into  joining them, but we take a pass. We won't see each other
next week and we want  to load up on sex together. After McDonalds Chubby drops
me off and as soon as I  get in the house Robby calls me apologizing that
his father needs his help  tonight. Some kind of emergency requiring Robby to
go with his dad to the  property for next spring's major project. I try not
to act pissed off, but I am.  Then I'm more pissed-off when I discover
Chubby's already taken off for the  basketball game. I could text him to come
back and pick me up, but the hell with  it. I'll stay in tonight. Tomorrow is
the last day of work before our vacation,  and that's mostly on my mind. I
get a text from Bean asking what I'm doing.  Giving that possibility a
thought for two seconds before deciding not to reply.  Turning down sex again.

What's to become of me?
On our way to work Friday morning Chubby and I are antsy and anxious  for
tomorrow morning and our drive to Wildwood. Seth's back at work feeling
better so we're back to full strength and today's one of our lighter work-
schedule days. Robby's going around patting everyone on the back telling us to
enjoy the light workload today and our vacation that's mere hours away.

It'll  basically begin at four o'clock this afternoon. We're all in good spirits
 obviously and we enjoy an extra-long lunch break. I know Robby's putting
up a  good front while inside he must be dreading a week of supervising
borrowed  workers from other crews, and working right along with them. Needing
the  money Seth's forgoing a vacation week to work so Robby will at least have
a  right hand man to help him. The week before I left Georgia it was
Robby's crew  that provided a different guy every day to cover for that weeks'
vacation crew.  His dad thought about eliminating the weekly vacations, but in
the end continued  the practice because of the morale boost a vacation gives
all of  us.

I'll miss Robby next week, but Wildwood has always been the highlight of
Chubby's and my summers for years. It's become a special tradition for us.

Plus,  it's just for a week and then Robby and I can have our reunion date,
which have  always been really nice. As Friday's workday comes to end there's
lots of smiles  on our crew. I invite Robby to join Chubby a me for dinner
tonight and then ride  home with him in his pickup. After a beer Chubby and I
cook eight ounce strip  steaks on the grill and serve them with French
fries, corn on the cob, and a  salad. When the steaks come off the grill we let
them rest while we deep fry the  French fries. It only takes four or five
minutes the way we do them. We use  frozen fast food fries, meaning they're
the same size fries you get at McDonalds  or BurgerKing. The frozen fries are
dropped in hot vegetable oil. When I drop  them in the pot Chubby slams the
lid on because grease splatters like mad from  the water content in the
frozen fries. Five second later we can take the lid off  and move the fries
around in the sizzling hot oil so they don't stick together.  Fishing them out
of the oil onto paper towels, then we salt them right away so  the salt will
stick. They're as good or better than any from a fast food  restaurant.

After eating and cleaning the kitchen Chubby goes up to his condo. He's
needs to get ready for his date with Dallas' sister. Robby and I wander to the
 balcony for a smoke. We're both kinda quiet because this is our last night
 together for eight days. I look at him and smile, then rub his shoulder
and he  puts his arm around my waist pulling me against him. Dropping my
cigarette butt  over the railing, I take Robby's cigarette from his fingers and
drop it next to  mine, then lean in for a kiss. Three balconies over there
are some people having  cocktails, but we don't care if we're seen. Robby
murmurs, "I love you," and we  get our arms around each other for a hug, swaying
ever so slightly side to side.  No one's body feels as good to me as
Robby's. His scent and tight muscular body  is so sexy. He rubs his nose against
the side of my head, mumbling, "You're hair  isn't bristly anymore, Dylan,
it's soft." The ends have grown out the past  couple of weeks and are now
fuzzy instead of like sandpaper. It's almost  impossible to imagine it was only
two weeks ago yesterday that Ryan gave me my  last haircut in Georgia. He
insisted on it and I'm kinda glad he did. We  finished my stay the way it
started. Only two quick texts from him this week,  basically saying 'Hi'. No
details about how things are going for him in the  romance department.

Robby takes my hand, murmuring, "Come inside with me, Dylan." After two
weeks of blissful sex together it's going to feel strange not being with him
next week. We go inside but not to my bedroom like I expected. Instead we
sit on  the sofa and Robby says, "I, um. I'm not sure how to say this, Dylan.

I know  you're having buddy sex on the side, although I don't know who
you're doing it  with and I don't especially care. You've inferred you're doing
less of it then  you used to and you'll, you know, have sowed all the wild
oats by the time we're  married. We've agreed to that, and I'm reconciled to
it." I nod my head, glad to  hear he's okay with that, and he goes on, "Um,
its Dodger that I'm concerned  about. You know, side sex-wise." I mumble,
"Dodger? What...?" He holds up his hand  to interrupt me, saying, "We both know
my brother feels he's the Dickers brother  you should marry, which is
ridiculous considering you and I have been lovers for  over three years, plus he
has almost three years left on his enlistment. That's  Dodger for you. Anyway
I guess I wanted to see what you thought about, um, you  know, Dodger." I
shrug, "Whaddaya mean? I feel the same way about him I've  always felt. He's
one of the most awesome guys I know, but I'm not romantically  in love with
him. Not even a little bit. I love him as a special  friend."

Standing up, Robby says, "That's what I thought. He might, ya know, try  to
convince you to reconsider marrying me. You know how Dodger is. I thought
I'd  mention it considering he'll be spending a couple of days with you." I
standup  too, "Gee, Rob, that's kinda paranoid of you, don'cha think?" He
forces out a  little laugh, then says, "Yeah, after hearing what you have to
say on the  matter I guess I was paranoid. Forget I mentioned it, babe." I
mutter, "Yeah,  sure," and he gives my shoulders a hug, mumbling, "I feel kind
of stupid now,  but you've been away much of the summer with, um, Ryan, and
now you're going  away again and Dodger will be with you." I'm like, "For
two days only, and with  my brother and our moms. After that it's you and me
for the rest of our lives."  He chuckles, "Yeah, I like the sound of that." I
ask, "Did, um, Dodger say  anything to you about what you we're saying a
minute ago?" He shakes his head,  "Nah, you're right, I was paranoid. It's
just that I know how he feels about  you." This talk was weirdly unexpected. I
mumble, "So there's nothing Dodger  told you recently that's prompted you to
have this little talk with me about  him, right?" Robby shrugs, "Oh, he's
only trying to break my balls I guess.  Dodger kids around a lot." Yeah,
Robby's the serious one and Dodger's the kidder  and ball-buster. I give Robby a
hug, murmuring, "It's you and me against the  world, Robby." We have a
sweet hug. Sometimes Robby seems so  innocent.

A minute later, "How about we grab a couple of beers and forget I ever
mentioned Dodger." I go, "Sure. I'll see what Tris has in her refrigerator."

Then I add, "Wow, now that I think about it, Rob, this will be the last time
I  ever need to borrow beer from Tris' stash. I'll be twenty-one and buying
my own  beer when I get back from vacation." We walk outside, then up the
steps to  Chubby's condo with Robby saying, "Yeah, it's hard to believe we'll
finally be  twenty one. I'll tell you what though, you better have about ten
forms of ID  with you at all times because no one is gonna believe you're
twenty-one." I  mutter, "Look who's talking." Opening Tris' refrigerator I
see she's still on a  Coors kick so we both get two cans of Coors and I write
the IOU stating it's my  final one ever, and that the Romaro household has
some cases of beer coming from  me in the near future.

Back on my balcony we light cigarettes and pop the tab on the beer cans.

Robby takes a few swallows of beer as he's exhaling cigarette smoke through
his  nose, then asks, "Do you want to continue sleeping together on Friday
and  Saturday nights when you get back?" I go, "Sure I do!" Robby asks, "Is
your mom  okay with it? I mean has she said anything about me coming out of
your bedroom  Sunday morning?" Apparently Robby's stuck on his paranoia theme.

I shake my  head, "Nope. Mom hasn't said anything one way or the other." He
goes, "That's  cool," and I try putting it in perspective for him, saying,
"We've been more or  less on our own since we were eight years old and
they've come to trust our  judgement about everything, including who we sleep
with." He frowns, "Wow,  that's pretty fucking unreal." I go, "Yeah, it is, but
we grew up in unusual  circumstances. Never once did the moms ever need to
intercede for Chub and me  about anything. We've never been involved with
the police, not that the moms  know about anyway, and never once was it
necessary for the moms to talk with a  school administrator or teacher. As far as
they know we've never been in any  kind of trouble, although we've had our
share." Robby goes, "You guys have been  in trouble?" and I'm like, "Nothing
we couldn't get ourselves out of without the  help of our moms."

He talks about how his mother and father, his father more than his  mother,
closely monitored every step of the way while Dodger and he were growing
up. Hell, that's probably partially the reason Dodger basically ran away from
 home and joined the Army, but I don't mention that. It's also why Robby's
so  used to taking orders from his father. After all he's been taking them
all his  life so it comes naturally now that Robby's working for him. Just
the complete  opposite of Chubby and me. And it's also partially the reason
Robby was  initially very reluctant to take charge of him and me. Giving
orders was an  alien concept for him, but during the years we've been together he
finally feels  more comfortable with that. It's helped that he was a
take-charge guy on the  baseball teams in high school, then his supervisory
position at work the last  two years has helped as well. Those two things plus my
encouragement that he  should be our leader has finally resulted in him
partially being in  charge.

I like him being in-charge, but Robby and I know the reality of the
situation is I'll get my way whenever push comes to shove, but usually I like  him
getting his way. It's fun thinking of Robby as 'my man'. Everything being
equal, the truth of the matter is Dodger and Ryan actually are better suited
to  fill the role I have in my head about 'my man', that is except for the
small  matter that I'm very much in romantic love with Robby, and not with
either of  them. Love rules all for most of us. It's a delicious feeling
being in love with  someone, someone who at the very least loves you back as
much as you love him.  It's very delicious indeed. Another thing I was thinking
about when Robby was  describing how closely his parents monitored their
activities is this: they  didn't monitor the boy's bedroom very closely. The
thought the boys might be  having sex with each other obviously never entered
his parent's minds. I suppose  that's completely understandable of course.

A glitch in their monitoring  system.

After drinking our beers and telling one another the reasons we love each
other so much, we drift down the hall to my bedroom with our heads full of
compliments, convinced more than ever that we're perfect together. Now we're
in  a very romantic mood of course so we do lovers' kisses slowly and fully
with our  hands rubbing one another's body and our hips lightly humping. My
fingers ruffle  his soft, pretty hair as we moan quietly and our mouths
make subtle wet sounds  sucking together. It's dreamy with nothing on my mind
except Robby and this  moment. A long series of kisses followed by both of us
gasping for air, hugging  one another with the sides of our faces together
and our penises hard and  throbbing. Robby's voice sounds raspy as he
quietly says, "Lift your arms,  Dylan," and we begin undressing each other taking
turns removing shirts, then  stepping out of our sneakers and pulling each
others's shorts down, and finally  our underwear comes off and we both put a
fist around the other's hard  cock.

Slow  stroking with our faces so close our noses rub together as we breathe
raggedly,  hearts thumping and our brains full of sexual desire. "Oh Robby,
I love you so,"  and he nods his head, "Me too, babe."  Letting go of his
boner I  slowly sink  to my knees to suck his cock. I'd love to give him
pleasure like he never  imagined was possible. I lick the head of his cock as he
rubs my head making a  low humming sound, "Mmmmm, mmm." Precum drools out
onto my tongue and I make a  swallowing sound with my cock throbbing in its
hardness causing an involuntary  moan to escape from my throat, "Oooh, ummm."

My body is tingling all over with  little chills as my shoulders shudder.

Robby purrs, "That's enough, Dylan. Ummm,  it feels so good though." He helps
lift me up with a hand under each of my arms  and we hug again as I float
in the air swooning. It feels so good doing this  with him.

I don't remember getting in bed but we're in bed hugging and rubbing our
hands on each other like we can't touch enough. Somehow we both know when to
go  up on our sides, Robby behind me. His arm goes over me and his fingers
play with  my nip ring as he guides the head of his granite-hard cock to my
asshole. I  tremble with anticipation feeling his cock begin spreading the
lips of my  asshole and then, "Ooooh. OOH!" as the head tightly penetrates
past my sphincter  and I whimper like it's the first time we've ever done this.

Robby's kissing the  back of my neck hugging my back against his chest and
I actually feel the soft  whiskers on his upper lip tickle my neck.

Slowly his hard sex organ moves tightly up my rectum with my shoulders
shuddering again and Robby oh so quietly moaning, "Umm, umm, oooh." His cock
feels extra fat tonight and I bite my lip at the wonder of it all. How can
anything feel this good? There are sexual thrills and then there's this
intertwining of two romantic lover's bodies that elevates the thrill of sex to
ecstasy. It's truly too overwhelming to appreciate all of it at the moment
it's  happening. Pleasure overflows and the overflow will be relieved in
dreams and  daydreams afterwards. For now though all I can think of is how
indescribably  wonderful Robby's making me feel. Our love thrives and grows from
this even as  I'm reveling in this immediate world of sexual  pleasure.

Withdrawing  his boner, and then sliding it right back up inside me makes
both of us moan and  shake together. Again he pulls his cock back and again
it goes tightly back up  my ass. Then a little faster, and, "Slap, slap,
slap, slap," sounds begin  ringing out as sensations from the sensitive lips of
my anus and the powerful  throbbing pleasure from my prostate escalate with
every, "Slap, slap, slap."  Robby and I moan as he increases the speed of
his thrusting, his arm more  insistently holding me tightly against him. The
pleasure centers in my brain  glow bright red as my balls churn semen and
move with their load up my scrotum  and prepare for climax. Two, three, four
minutes before of sexual pleasure  before I lose all sense of time as I squirm
against Robby, humping back at his  thrusting while whining with sexual
desire as my world expands like a star ready  to go supernova, an explosion
that will outshine an entire galaxy. I'm  struggling now, getting ready to
experience the pinnacle of human pleasure.  Then it's  here and I squeal,
struggling in Robby's arms as, "BOOM!" a long stream of cum  shoots straight out
from my cock streaking across the sheet. My vision goes dark  with pinpoints
of light streaming in at me as another streak of cum shoots up  from my nuts
and out my quivering boner, a boner so hard it aches with pleasure.

Moaning quietly, then a sigh as I'm trying to make sense of the pleasure soaring
through my body.

Shivering with the after effects of my climax I feel Robby's body get
stiff as he groans, humping against my butt cheeks, them "Arrggg, ooh," from
Robby and I feel his hard streak of cum hit my bowels, then another hard hump
against me and my rectum is sloppy with Robby's load of spunk. He humps
weakly  against my ass, then his body's as limp as mine. He takes a deep noisy
breath  and lies against my back forcing me onto my stomach, his heart
beating fast. My  shoulders do a late shudder and then I'm feeling so good I sigh
again, this time  with contentment. It feels good to breathe deeply while
feeling completely  sexually satisfied. What a wonderful feeling. I'm so
relaxed, and I feel so good  I can't help smiling, then take another deep breath
knowing nothing feels as  good as this.

A minute later I turn over and Robby's soft cock pulls from my ass with
some of his cum following it out. We get in each other arms, kissing lightly,
then I push him on his back with me lying on top of him. Lifting my head, I
 murmur, "That was so perfect, Robby. So unbelievable perfect and I love
you so  much I can't even find the words." We kiss again, then Robby murmurs,
"You're  perfect, Dylan. That's what's perfect, you." We get cum on us as we
cuddle  together and then lay on each other not talking for quite a while.

Maybe Robby's  doing what I'm doing, which is savoring our latest sexual act
together. How  awesome I feel lying with him. Nothing is as good as this.

We talk quietly after  our silent period, laughing a little as we try
describing our sensations during  our latest sex. It's indescribable, as I've said
hundreds of  times.

Later we shower together and do recreational sex that's rough. Robby
really takes charge pounding my ass doggy style. A true sex thrill ride that
creates an astonishing climax considering I had one an hour ago. We both sit on
 the floor of the shower stall afterwards catching our breath with water
pouring  down on us. A sweet kiss before we stagger up and finishing bathing
each other.  Drying ourselves we're laughing about the shower sex and both
feeling pretty  fucking good about ourselves. Robby gets dressed, saying, "I'd
feel awkward  being here in the morning when you and your mom are getting
ready to go on  vacation." I try talking him into sleeping with me, claiming,
"It's Friday  night, Rob, and you said we'd sleep together Friday and
Saturday nights the rest  of the summer." He's tying his sneakers, "Not this
Friday night though, and  anyway my parents pretty much screwed up my plans for
that." Wearing only boxer  shorts I walk him to the door where we kiss and
tell each other how much we'll  miss one another next week. And it's true, we
will miss each other, but it's  only a week. I watch him go down the steps
to his pickup and with a wave he  drives away. What a wonderful night
though. I fall asleep thinking about  Robby... in years past I'd be
thinking about Wildwood. So that's  new.



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



donnymumford@outlook.com



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



Hoping some readers may be interested, there are 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. They are about a 19 year  old
gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is  a
new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. 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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