Date: Sat, 30 Apr 2016 15:07:40 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME    Chapter  23

DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME



by  Donny Mumford



The Barns' family, plus the Moms and their guys all left the beach  around
five-thirty. An hour later Chubby and I are getting ready to do the same
thing. It's been a beautiful beach day, but now we need to shower  and get
dressed for Chubby's birthday dinner. The Army boys and  Vinnie are staying on
the beach for a couple more hours, then  they'll meet us at the 40th street
amusement pier later tonight. It's  been a very good day for me personally.

The aforementioned perfect  beach day, plus the outrageous daytime sex with
Charlie in the alcove, which  is one for my scrapbook, and then the reunion
with Dodger and Vinnie,  and meeting Norman. Dodger's grown-up in some ways,
seemingly  even more confident then he used to be. I guess one does grow up
faster in  the Army as compared to living at home with mommy and  daddy...

Chubby and I are carrying our beach chairs, trudging  silently through the
sand as I'm thinking about Dodger's and my  history together. We've always
had a strong, but unusual 'connection'  that I've never really understood,
and I mean right from the  first minute I met him. Robby introduced Dodger as
his  younger, little brother. And at that  time Dodger was 'little', being
skinny and about five  foot, five inches tall, but I'm not at all sure he was
ever 'younger'. I  mean he was younger, age-wise, but he acted older with
more  self-confidence than we were back then. I didn't recognize it  then,
but in hindsight I can see that Robby and I were naive compared to  Dodger.

That's especially true where sexual matters were concerned. The  brothers, I
found out much later, had an incestuous relationship that I'd  assumed Robby
instigated, but now I'm not so sure about that. It's not a  topic I'm likely
to explore with either of them though. I'm pretty sure  that relationship
has ended now anyway, but I don't know if it ended  because Dodger joined the
Army, or if it ended when Robby and I became  serious lovers. One thing I
know for sure; the brothers are extremely  competitive about everything and
they always have  been.

Another thing too, Dodger's always pretended to looks up  to me, and he's
given me tons of compliments over the years, but even  with his
semi-subservient act, he's always been the one in-charge  of any sexual encounter we've
ever had together. Not that there's been  very many encounters. There's the
two or three times with Vinnie  as the third guy in, and a few other times
with just Dodger and me, usually  while getting his hair cut. Hell, Dodger
fucked me in the pool that  very first afternoon we met. I tried to stop him,
but couldn't because he's  a champion swimmer for one thing, and he was more
insistent we do it  then I was insistent we don't do it. He's this very
likable, friendly,  funny kid that can somehow have his way with me. I don't
know, I can't put it  into words. He's uniquely Dodger, that's about it.

Immediately after being  introduced to him he dropped his bathing suit and stood
there naked  holding out the swim suit for me to wear. I hadn't expected to
go swimming;  hell, I didn't even know they had a pool. Dodger might be the
most  naturally dominant side-sex partner of my life. Everything he says he
says with  a grin, like he's doing nothing unusual as he's getting Vinnie and
me to do sex  the way he likes it. I comply with his 'commands' while
rolling my  eyes; that sort of thing.

That's all in the past, of course, and things change. Even so  I know
Dodger and I will most likely screw around at some  point, if only for old time's
sake. Ha ha, the three-ways with Vinnie bring  to mind Vinnie's big cock
and his numb-nuts manner of doing exactly  what Dodger tells him to do. Then
there's the intrigue of what Norman has  in his pants. Anyway, I'm pretty
sure Robby expects Dodger and I to  engage in a little buddy sex since he's
totally aware we've  done it in the past. If I know Robby though, he's more
concerned  about Dodger telling me his brother's not right for me than he is
about us  doing some buddy sex. I don't want to hear that bullshit  either, so
Dodger can save his breath. I've made up my mind that  it'll always be
Robby and me together at least until the sun rises in the  west, or we both drop
dead, whichever comes first.

At the condo Chubby and I stow the beach chairs in the back of the  Volvo
station wagon. We take turns showering and get dressed pretty  much alike in
Polo golf shirts, baggy shorts and classic Sperry Top-Sider  footwear, sans
socks. Ready for anything, we grab beers and sit on the  deck sharing a
cigarette. Our impressions of Dodger is the topic of  conversation and we're in
agreement that the Army hasn't changed him  as much as he's probably changed
the Army. Also of interest is the absence  of complaining and bitching
about Army life from Dodger and Norman;  apparently it's agreeable to them. We
have to chuckle at some of the things  Norman says, although he doesn't say a
helluva  lot.

Speaking of Norman, we try imagining what it'd be like growing-up  on a
farm in the middle of the country the way he did. All things  considered it's
agreed we prefer the East coast over North Dakota.  Then, as we're finishing
our beers, Bud and Rider come up the steps.  Chubby goes through basically
what I did the other day giving the guys man-hugs  and thanking them for
their generous birthday gifts and the awesome  birthday dinners. The Mom's
fiancés appear to like both of us a lot...  either that or they're both excellent
actors. One thing we  especially appreciate is that neither of the guys
probe us for  information about ourselves or our Moms. Oh sure, they ask
general questions  about college and our summer jobs, but nothing specific. It's
almost like  guy-talk with our peers except there's never a mention about our
sex lives,  and no winking innuendoes about theirs'.  So there's a lot to
like  about our future step dads.

The Moms make their grand entrance on the deck carrying a  tray of mixed
drinks for themselves and the guys, plus a platter of  cold shrimp with
cocktail sauce that they purchased at a seafood  shop. The shrimp were boiled very
fresh and then put on ice  so there's a snap when you bite into one. The
conversation centers  mostly around Chubby and me being twenty-one now, which
appears to be a bigger  deal to them than it is to us. There's the expected
advice about  not overdoing it in bars, and a reminder of how expensive
drinking in bars  can be, and don't drink and drive, and so forth. Chubby and I
act  serious, nodding our heads at what they say because it's well-meaning
advice, although unnecessary. We've had experience in bar-type settings,
many times at Tracy's speakeasy for one, and the occasional bar  or restaurant
we've managed to get served in even  though underage.

Later, at the restaurant, it's pretty much a repeat  performance of my
birthday dinner except Chubby's more gracious than I was.  He stays with the
table conversation all the way through dinner, and  is more effusive in his
appreciation of the gifts and the dinner.  He also makes the Moms smile as he
detailed what's wonderful about the new  backpack and Samsung tablet they
gave both of us for our birthdays. So  okay, next year I'll imitate Chubby's
enthusiastic appreciation. It's all good  though and for the first time I'm
beginning to feel Bud and Rider  actually are part of the family. I'm very
comfortable with both guys and  happy for them and our Moms. The Moms are
always upbeat anyway, but there's just  more for them to be upbeat about being
engaged to these two good guys.  Sometimes it seems too good to be true, but
then I tend to over-think  things instead of taking them at face value and
enjoying the good times in the  moment.

After dinner it's the same as the other  night: they're going to another
club for drinks and dancing while  Chubby and I are heading for the boardwalk
to meet Dodger and the boys.  Chubby drives, saying, "You know what we
should be doing, Dylan; we should be  going to bars and clubs ourselves." I say,
"Yeah, I know. Dodger's visit is  unfortunate timing, but we can still stop
at a bar. How about that one near  the boardwalk. You know, the one we pass
walking from our condo to the  beach." He goes, "Chickie and Pete's?" I nod,
"Yeah, that's the one. So what if  we're a little late meeting up with the
guys." Chubby goes, "You're right again,  bro. We need to christen our
twenty-first birthdays together with a shot  and a beer in a real bar. The drink
we had at dinner doesn't count."  After parking the car in our driveway, we
walk the block to Chickie and Pete's  bar. It's on the corner across the
street from our place. Smirking at each other  we cross the street to the bar.

There's a bouncer sitting on a stool next to the  door checking the ID of
two tawdry-dressed girls. The bouncer has big  muscles and long hair. I'm
guessing he's in his early twenties although  he looks older. He thanks the
girls and they go in. When the  girls open the door the sound from inside is
very  loud.

The bouncer glances at us and chuckles, then in a high pitched  voice,
says, "Let me see what ya got, guys." Chubby hands his drivers license  and
college picture-ID, asking, "What's the name of  the band tonight?" We can even
hear the band playing through the  closed door. The bouncer's friendly
enough handing back Chubby's ID,  saying in that high pitched voice that doesn't
go with his macho body, "It's  a local band, 'Moon Children', they're pretty
good." He motions with  his hand for me to give him my ID. After
scrutinizing it front and  back, he goes, "Fuck, that's cool! Both of you have just
turned twenty-one.  You sure as shit don't look it, but I remember my first
couple of night  after turning twenty-one. Fuck, don't do what I did." And
that's it. We don't  care what he did when he was twenty-one, so we don't ask.

Chub and I walk  inside to bedlam. The floor is packed with young guys and
girls dancing; some  dancers are cool and some just moving seemingly without
purpose, and to a  different beat than the one the drummer's putting out.

The song being screamed  by the lead singer and loudly played by the four
piece band is not a song I'm  familiar with.

There are some obviously very drunk young adults in this crowd.  Looking at
me, Chubby holds up one finger while nodding towards the  bar. I follow him
assuming he means one drink and we're outta here. Using his  smile and
friendly demeanor Chubby somehow makes standing room at the bar for  both of us
when there was no such space before. The bartender's busy so  it's like five
minutes before he gets to us. He's leaning towards us so we  can hear him,
'What'll it be, boys?" Chubby says, "Two Coors drafts and two  shots of Old
Granddad." Chubby turns to me and shouts in my ear, "I know you  hate shots,
but it's sort of mandatory that a shot be part of our first legal  drink
together in a bar." The bartender puts the beers and shots  in front of us on
little napkins, Chubby pushes a twenty dollar bill  towards the guy,
shouting, "Thanks, keep it," meaning the change. I half  expect the bartender to
yell, 'Keep it? You owe me another two dollars,  asshole!' or something like
that. Instead the bartender just nods his head,  meaning 'thanks', and we
lift the shot glasses as Chubby says, "To us, of  course," and I take the whole
shot and swallow it in one gulp. Hideous!!!  Yes, it's hideous, but it's
one big hideous gulp instead of three or  four sips of hideousness. It's like
running and diving into the ocean instead of  taking little steps and
suffering the temperature change over and  over. We both gulp down some draft
beer, then Chubby asks, "Can you handle  another shot?" I shake my head no, and
he says, "Okay then, one was just  right."

We can't carry on a conversation without shouting so we don't try.

Instead, leaning with our backs against the bar we gawk at the scene in front of
us while finishing our beers. It's apparently mandatory that you be at  least
slightly drunk in order to convince yourself this is a good time. Lot's  of
front-end loading is required because this club is simply too  crowded and
too loud. When we walk outside relief flows over me escaping from  the
sensory overload inside. We walk the last block to the boardwalk and go  up the
ramp with me saying, "Maybe we're not cool enough to appreciate that  bar
scene." Chubby goes, "Oh, I don't know, they seemed to be having a  good time
and it looked like a fairly normal college-age crowd. Remember the  beach
parties in Fort Lauderdale?" Yeah, now that I think about it, they  were very
similar.

We're  still stuffed from the great dinner we had so aren't tempted by the
many  food offerings available on the boardwalk. As we walk toward 40th
street we  pass shops selling fudge that's being made before our eyes and  the
same for Salt Water Taffy. There's funnel cakes and cotton candy  and a
hundred other eatable items in between those two gross treats; none of  them
tempting us  at the moment. Speaking of 'front-end loading' we had two beers on
the deck  before dinner, one cocktail at the restaurant and a glass of wine
each. Add to  that the shot and a beer we just had at Chickie and Pete's bar
and we should be  smashed, but we're not. The alcoholic beverages we've
imbibed over a three  to four hours period and mostly we were eating something
right  along with the drinking. That being said, we're not sober. Just the
right amount  of 'high' from the alcohol drug to put us in a fun-loving mood.

As a matter  of fact, now that the shot and beer have kicked in, that bar
scene appears more  attractive. Maybe tomorrow night we'll give it another
try. Some guys get mean  when they drink... we're the opposite.

We finally spot Dodger, Vinnie, and Norman on 35th  street. They're sitting
on a bench at the beach side of the boardwalk with  their feet up on the
railing looking at the ocean and smoking cigarettes.  Dodger's wearing an Army
baseball-style cap that I tip off his head from behind,  saying, "No
smoking on the boardwalk, son!" He turns around and sees it's me.  Grinning and
putting his hat back on, he says, "No shit, you're the  six-hundredth person
to tell us that tonight." I smile, mumbling, "And  yet you're still smoking,"

he flicks his cigarette butt over the railing as he  stands, telling Chubby
and me, "We drank that whole bottle of bourbon with  diet Cokes. Ya know
why? It's because you guys didn't get us the  case of beer we asked for, and
the machine was out of regular Cokes." He's not  slurring his words too badly
so I guess he isn't that drunk. Chubby says,  "You should have reminded us
about the case of beer. You kids need to take  the initiative if you insist
on your underage drinking." Dodger goes,  "Yeah, I hear ya, old timer." Then
Dodger asks, "Hey, have  you guys already been on the 40th street pier?"

Chubby shakes his  head, "Nah, we we're on our way to meet you three
numb-nuts." I pull  Vinnie's stubby ponytail, asking, "How ya doing, Vinnie?" He
says, "I feel good.  How 'bout you?" I go, "Yeah, I'm good too." Then Dodger
goes, "Whoa! I just  remembered," and he sings the first line of The Beatles
birthday song, "They say it's your birthday." Then, "Happy  Birthday Jeff!"

Vinnie asks, "Is it your twenty-first?" and  Chubby goes, "That's the rumor,
Vinnie. You guys ready to hit some of the  thrill rides on the pier?" Dodger
snaps a finger on top of Norman's head,  saying, "Wake up Norman, we're
gonna go on a few rides." Vinnie helps  by nudging Norman's shoulder, and
Norman grumpily asks, "Now what the  fuck is it that you want?" Vinnie frowns and
seriously asks, "You ever think of  the metaphysical aspects of that
question?" Norman goes, "What?" He gets up  scratching his head and the five of us
begin walking down toward the  pier.

We're walking with the flow of the crowd for a couple  of minutes, then
Norman says, "Sorry I yelled at you, Vinnie. I'm feeling  that bourbon; it gave
me heartburn." Vinnie goes, "No problem. Um, ya gonna be  okay for the
rides?" Norman says, "Yah, it's not so bad." Dodgers like, "We need  to dilute
the fuckin' booze in our blood streams. Let's buy large fountain  Cokes at
that shop across the boards." Norman looks over, mumbling, "Yep,  y'betch
yah." Chubby and I sit on a bench watching the three guys making their  way
across the boardwalk, bucking traffic. Chubby goes, "Dammit, we should be
spending this night bar-hopping, Dylan." I don't say anything because Vinnie
comes back and sits next to me, mumbling, "I don't even want a soda."  Chubby
says, "You toads are fucked-up tonight, ya know that? I bet you didn't  eat
anything while drinking the fifth of bourbon." Vinnie says, "We had a  bag of
pretzels, but it wasn't a fifth of bourbon. It was a 750ml." I go,  'What's
the difference?" He says, "Approximately two and a half ounces." Chubby
leans forwards, asking, "What's a fifth then?" Vinnie looks at Chubby like
Chubby's pulling his chain. Realizing he's not, he says, like everybody in the
 world should know this, "A 'fifth' refers to a fifth of a gallon, but
today the fifth bottles of liquor have mostly have been replaced by  the 750ml
size bottles. Ya know, when most of the world switched to the  metric
system." Chubby goes, "I knew that."

Dodger and Norman come back with large paper cups of soda, slurping  the
drink through straws. We get up and resume walking toward 40th street as I
ask, "Dodger, have you hooked-up with any of your high school stoner  friends
since you've been back?" He goes, "Yeah, I saw Tom late Monday  night and we
smoked a lot of weed, didn't we Normie?" He nods, "Yep," and I ask,  "How
was it," and Norman goes, "Not so bad." At the 40th street pier we're  in
line to buy tokens, none of us choosing to put out $40 for a wrist band since
it's almost eleven o'clock already. Two young adult males in Islamic garb
are getting on the roller coaster. They're wearing the white cotton,
loose-fitting, long-sleeved, ankle length sort of, um, dress I  guess. Dodger sees
them, and says, "Heh heh, there's lots of  politically incorrect humor
making the rounds at our Army base, not that I  approve of it. Still, here's one
of the jokes making the rounds. It's about  Abdulla. He's trying to contact
the soul of his cousin, Naved, who exploded  himself as a suicide bomber.

Seems that dumb-fuck  Naved was interested in the legend about the 72 virgins.

Abdulla  successfully connects with the soul so Naved, asking, 'How's the
social  life there, bro?' Naved brags, 'Amazing, bro! I can pick out just
about any female I want and fuck her brains out. They mostly don't object.

Both males and females roam around as naked as the day they were born.  Nobody
bothers me and I do it around the clock, dude.' Abdulla goes, "Holy shit,
bro. Is that how all of heaven is?" Naved goes, "Oh no, bro, not heaven. I
am reborn as a street dog in Kabul, bro!' and the unexpected punch line gets
us  all laughing. Dodger's laughs too, adding, "A lot of Abdulla jokes
floating around the Army base by prejudicial bastards taking cheap shots at the
 terrorist." Fuckin' Dodger, expect the unexpected.

As usual Chubby gets involved with the three girls in  front of us in line
as we're waiting our turn to feel the G force of the  SkyScraper roller
coaster. Vinnie's trying to explain G force to Norman, as  Dodger's telling me,
"You've always been my idol, Dylan, as you very  well know." I roll my eyes
muttering, "Uh huh," and he says, "Yeah, and  seeing you now, standing right
next to me after all these long months... oh  my God, my little dick's
wickedly excited in my Army-issue boxer shorts. We  need to find a little
private space for a proper reunion." I nod my head, "Uh  huh," and he chuckles,
"No, I'm serious, dude. Don't give me that 'uh huh'  shit." I go, "Forget
about me, you've got your hero-worshipping boyfriend,  Vinnie, with you and his
butt is itching for you to scratch it." He goes,  "Oh man! Vinnie and I have
been like tom cats in heat for five days now. I love  that kid, but I'm
talking about you and me now. You, my mentor in all things." I  go, "Uh huh,"

and he laughs, muttering, "What's with that 'uh huh'  shit?"

When it's our turn for the roller coaster Chubby gets on the  ride with one
of the girls, Vinnie pushes me out of the way so he can get on  with
Dodger, and I get to ride with Norman. It's not as much fun as it  could be
because Norman's yelling every ten seconds, "Oh fuck, I think I'm going  to throw
up." Jesus! A nerve wracking two minutes for me, and the couple  behind us
too I assume. It's one awesome thrill ride though but when we get off
Norman's as white as a sheet. Dodger's like, "What the fuck, Normie?" Norman
says, "It's the Coke, I think. I drank too much Coke." Yeah, the Coke, not the
third of a bottle of bourbon. Vinnie and Norman decide they need something
to  eat while Chubby says he's going on the SkyScraper ride with the girls
again.  Seizing the opportunity Dodger takes my arm and nods at a sign with an
 arrow pointing down. The sign reads: 'Restrooms'. "C'mon down with me,
Dylan. I need to take a wicked piss." I go, "Didn't the Army teach you how  to
take a piss by yourself?" He laughs, "Keep me company, c'mon." I hesitate
and  Dodger nags, "I'm scared there may be a pervert waiting in the
restroom." I  go, "So? Then there'll be two perverts in the restroom." He squeezes
the back of  my neck laughing. I think to myself: sure, why not go with him.

Dodger  hasn't lost any of his sexiness as far as  I'm concerned.

We walk down the steps, but don't go in the restroom. Dodger opens  the
other door, mumbling, "What do we have here?" The sign on the door says:
'Authorized Personnel ONLY'. As he's feeling on the inside wall on either  side
of the door looking for the light switch, he mumbles, "You'd think they'd
lock this door, huh?" He finds the light switch and a 40 watt  overhead light
comes on. I say, "Maybe they thought people would  take the sign at face
value." Taking my wrist he pulls me inside,  saying, "Close the door." Looking
around I see it's a storage area for  lifeguard equipment. A couple stacks
of those round life  preservers, folded tarps, and a lot of oars for the
rowboats. Oh, and a  couple of medium sized first aid kits. I look back at
Dodger and he's  already got his pants down to his knees, whispering, "You still
make me  crazily horny, Dylan." He stokes his four inch dick, dropping his
pleading eyes to it, saying, "Would you?" I shrug, then bend at the waist,
the way Timmy sucks cock, and take Dodger's dick in my fingers, then suck
it into my mouth. Dodger's scent immediately swarms over my brain. It's a
variation of Robby's scent; both are very sexily attractive. Dodger's been
known to have occasional sickly sweet, albeit sexy, BO. Tonight though  he
smells very clean with a kind of boyish scent I instinctively inhale. It  wakes
up my penis.

Like Robby's cock, Dodger's is stubby and fat with a big  helmet head. When
I take the whole hard shaft in my mouth the  head pokes at my gag reflex
area near the top of my throat. Robby's cock is  a half inch longer than
Dodger's and reaches past the gag area. Other than that  they have identical
cocks. As I lick and suck Dodger's he rubs my head like  he always does, and
makes quiet sounds of arousal. He's always been a bit  sex-crazed, not unlike
his brother and moi. The Dickers brothers  are big fans of anal sex,
primarily as 'tops'. I can remember  'topping' Dodger only one time, or maybe it was
two times; no more than that  though. I suck a nice boner on him and as
soon as I straighten up he's  pulling my shorts down, mumbling, "Thanks, Dylan,
that felt really good. Nobody  can do that as good as you." I mumble, "Uh
huh," and he goes, "Oh, nice! You're  still shaving your pubes. That looks
sexy," and he strokes my cock a few times,  then uses it as a leash pulling me
over a few steps, saying, "Bend over  here and hold on to that pile of life
preservers, okay?" I let a tiny  feeling of submissiveness sneak into my
mind because it's sexier that way and  Dodger has always had that touch of
dominance with his sex, although he  wouldn't call it that.

Bending over I feel good and my groin's buzzing  with anticipation of good
buddy-sex with someone I like a lot. Dodger  murmurs, "Yeah, keep your ass
up just like that. That's my boy," and he gives my  butt cheek a hard slap,
"SMACK!" I yelp as he puts the head of his cock at  my asshole, quietly
saying, "I feel stupidly excited about doing this with  you again. Forgive me,
but I'll probably have a quick climax." He humps the fat  head in, and I gasp.

Dodger rubs his hands up and down my back, then  squeezes my shoulders
before another hump of his hips drives his fat boner in  another two inches or
so. More squeezing on my shoulders makes them shudder  as I let out a breathy
exhale. So far it's mostly the big hurt I'm feeling.  A last hump and
Dodger's all the way in, leaning flat against my butt  cheeks. Then, laying his
chest on my back, his lips brushing my ear, he  says, "This feels as
awesomely wonderful as I remembered it. Don't tell  Vinnie though, okay? He wants us
to do it as a three-way, but I could  't wait to feel my dick inside you."

I grunt, "Uh huh," and he chuckles,  repeating my, 'Uh huh."

The hurt is fading quickly and now the million nerve endings  around my
stretched anus, plus the pressure of his fat hard cock  on my prostate gland
has those two areas singing their sexy song  together, making me go, "Ooooh,
mmm, mmm, feels good now."  Dodger murmurs,  "Heh heh, nice, huh?" and he
lifts his chest off my back and stands straight  humping against by buttocks a
few times giving me chills that skitter  down my spine. He smacks the side
of my ass, then starts moving his  hips, his boner steadily sliding tightly
back and forth in my rectum.  Glancing back I see him with his hands on his
hips rhythmically fucking my ass; this closet-like room filled  with the
unmistakable rhythmic sounds of two guys involved in some  hard anal sex,
"Slap, slap, slap, slap," sounds of a good hard ass-fucking, just  like Dodger
said he'd be doing earlier today on the beach. My dick was  fairly firm from
sucking Dodger's cock, but now seminal fluids roll in and turn  my cock into
a granite boner that's steadily pulling away from my belly  until it's
sticking straight out and so hard it doesn't move even with Dodger  slamming
against my ass, "Slap, slap, slap." I'm deeply aroused with a  nice trance-like
veil floating down on me as I quietly  moan, "Mmm, mmm, mmm."

Oh my God, this feels good! Dodger's fat boner really has my rectum  spread
wide open now and he's not the least bit shy about fucking  it fast and
hard. His grunt of arousal accompanying every hard  thrust up my ass somehow
adds to the sexiness for me, as does his scent that  taking over my olfactory
glands. As sensations increase and then multiply,  Dodger gets a firm hold
on both my hips pulling me back into his  thrusting, and the constant
pounding of his cock up my ass, "Slap, slap, slap,  slap," tells me I'm being
fucked by a confident and dominant, and in  this case, cute young guy. He showed
early consideration by humping his  cock up my ass in stages, letting my
rectum adjust between each thrust, but  after that Dodger's in-charge and he's
going to fuck my ass hard until he climaxes, and that's just the way it
should be. That's how my brain chooses  to& perceive it anyway, and thereby
allowing me play the role of the  submissive sex partner being dominated by
Dodger. It gives me these gooey sexual  pleasure sensations to go with the
vibrations of pleasure coming from a super  sensitive prostate button and my
extremely stretched and equally  sensitive anus. My nuts are rolling around
becoming overloaded with  cum; spunk that needs to be ejected up and out my
rock-hard cock, probably  sooner then I'd prefer.

I'm getting squirmier bas my orgasm builds and that hard fat cock
continues going up and back in my ass with more force, the second and now  with each
thrust Dodger slaps against the side of my ass. He  knows how to fuck and
he's doing it perfectly as I moan, my eyes squeezed  shut and my body's
tingling all over. And always there's that  sexy sounds steadily ringing in my
ears, "Slap, slap, slap," until  Dodger goes, "Aaah, ooh, fuuuck!" and he's
pressing against me humping against  my ass cheeks shooting his load of spunk
off the walls of my bowels. That  sets me off and I squeal too loudly while
humping forward, seeing stars explode  in my mind as cum storms out of my
throbbing boner splashing against the  life preservers, then again as I
shudder all over. Gasping I grab  myself to stroke out drools of cum. Another
shudder and, "Oooh that was  good." That was really good. "Mmmm, oooh," I moan
as Dodger pulls his cock out  of my ass along with a breathy exhale. We do
the normal deep breathing that  follows climaxing, which is the most extreme
bodily reaction possible.  Nothing else packs so much bodily response into
just a second or two.  Whoa, my shoulders do their shudder as the last
flickers of orgasm sizzle  away.

Dodger's grinning and shaking his head, then exclaims, "What the  fuck is
it with your ass, bro? Jesus, I don't climax that hard in anyone's ass  but
yours. Holy shit!" I go, "Awesome having sex with you again, brother-in-law
to be." He goes, "Don't get me started on that, but wow, this was  a really
good five minutes," and he chuckles, "That was extraordinary,  don't ya
think?" Then, "Here, Dylan, I brought one of those little packs of  Kleenex with
me." Reaching to his pants that are around his ankles by now he  pulls out
of his back pocket a individual pack of Kleenex, takes one  sheet to wipe
his dick and hands the rest to me. I'm like, "So you  brought this little pack
of Kleenex with you tonight; um what, thinking you  might sneeze, is that
it?" I'm wiping his cum off my ass as he laughs, "Yeah, I  thought I might
sneeze, or get to fuck your primo ass. Or maybe  both."

Putting a few Kleenex in my underwear, I pull up my pants and we do  a hug,
with Dodger sounding serious for once, "Thanks Dylan! That was  even better
than I remembered." Walking out of the little storage room we  glance
around, but there's no one pointing at us, no beach patrol guys standing  there
to arrest us, no nothing. Dodger grins, "Hot shit, we didn't get caught."  As
we go up the steps, I ask, "How's your haircut fetish working out for you?"

 He goes, "I notice it ten times stronger when you cut my hair than when my
 gruff E-6 boss cuts it. I couldn't go on leave without him giving me the
haircut first though, although I wish I could have left it for you to do.

Didn't  we have some hot times during my haircuts?" I nod, "Yeah, for sure.

Does that  E-6 guy insist all the guys in his unit get their haircuts from
him?"  Dodger goes, "Ya know, now that you mention it, I'll bet he has a
haircut fetish. He does insist everyone get their hair cut by  him."

On the boardwalk again I see Chubby getting on the roller  coaster ride
with a different girl. I tell Dodger, "Well, if your boss does  have a haircut
fetish, he's got a sweet set up with you young guys not having a  choice. By
the way, I caught that fucking fetish from you. I hope you  know that." He
goes, "Bullshit! You don't catch a fetish like you catch a  cold."  Norman
and Vinnie join us. They're both eating hotdog's,  neither of them realizing
we'd left the boardwalk. They tell Dodger, "You should  get one of these
wieners, Dodger. These dogs are good and they're only  four bucks each." Dodger
laughs, "The fucking nerve charging four dollars for a  hotdog." As they
kibitz about the cost of hotdog's, I'm thinking about earlier  this summer and
the rush of my haircut fetish when Ryan was cutting my  hair. I haven't had
a haircut since, and don't intend on getting one until, like  Christmas
maybe. I want a stubby ponytail like Vinnie's. Go from one extreme to  another,
that's me.

When Chubby's roller coaster ride with the girls is over, he  rejoins us,
muttering to me, "I think all three of those girls are headed for  the
nunnery. I just wasted two rides with them." I go, "None of the three  were as,
um, up for anything like Ellie?" He goes, "Not even close, bro.  Two strikes
and I'm out." Norman's finished his hotdog and is  now slurping the last of
his soda, and that sound makes my blood run cold.  The sound of slurping when
there's no liquid left except a tiny bit  of ice melt. Annoying! Dodger's
talking seriously with Norman,  "Have you got any ideas about our missing
medic slush fund?" Norman shrugs,  "Not really, Dodger, maybe it's an
accounting error. Nobody's checked that, have  they?" I'm listening to their Army
talk trying to figure out what it is  exactly they're talking about. Dodger
goes, "With that cash floating  around, I'm suspicious it might have something
to do with Smithy  philately with that broad from nursing, what's her name?"

Vinnie, who I  didn't think was even listening, frowns, then mumbles, "Um,
you must mean  philandering. Philately is stamp collecting." Dodger rubs his
index finger  across his philtrum, and goes, "Yeah? Well maybe I meant
stamp  collecting. Smithy and that nurse and their stamp collecting has
something to do  with the missing cash," then he laughs. Norman says, "What the fuck
ya  talking about stamp collecting for?" Dodger's laughing again, musses
Norman  hair, muttering, "I got words mixed up, Normie. See, I'm not
perfect."

We go on two more rides, both with Norman yelling, "I think I'm  going to
throw up." That'd be kind of a funny childish bit to do on  purpose,
unnerving the strangers on the ride near you, but Norman's  serious about almost
throwing up so it's unnerving for me. The pier begins  shutting down around
midnight and we're done with the amusement rides anyway.  The plan is: Chubby
and I buy the guys a couple of six packs of beer, which  they'll drink in
their room while we do a little bar hopping. Walking down the  boardwalk to
20th street, where Dodger's pickup is parked, we see an old couple  walking the
boards dressed like they're going to a wedding. Not the bride and  groom,
but grandparents of one of them. The man's wearing a seersucker suit  with a
white shirt and an elaborate pink bow tie. I roll my eyes at Chubby,  but we
wouldn't say anything to hurt the old couple's feelings. Vinnie wouldn't
either, but he giggles, whispering, "Dylan, doesn't that bow tie remind you
of  some exotic lepidopteran?" I go, "Yeah, it does at that," not having a
clue what  a lepidopteran is. Norman asks, "What that?" and Vinnie goes, "Ya
know, an  insect or butterfly." Dodger says, "Talk fucking English, Vinnie,
fer  chistsakes!"

Finally the five of us are crammed in the pickup and Dodger drives  to a
package store that amazedly is still open. Chubby mumbles, "Let me handle
this, Dylan," and he goes inside. We watch through the window as Chubby takes
two six-packs of Bud out of a glass fronted cooler. At  the counter he hands
his ID to the woman. She has eyeglasses hanging  on a lanyard around her
neck that she lifts to her eyes and squints reading  Chubby's driver's
license. She says something and Chubby passes her his college  picture ID. The
woman looks at that as I say, disgustedly, "This blows. We're  twenty-one and
nobody believes us." Chubby comes out with the six packs, putting  them in the
bed of the pickup. He gets in, muttering, "Pain in the  ass."

We get dropped off at our condo and agree to meet the guys at  the same
place on the beach tomorrow  morning.

I'm like, "Chub, it's not right that we need to go through all this
bullshit getting served, and he says, "We don't want to go through this  ID
bullshit the next five years every time we want to buy a beer,  so here's what
we'll do. We gotta put up with it here, but back home we'll  pick out a bar we
like off campus at Merrimack, and become familiar with the  bartender,
tipping him and chatting him up a little so he'll remember us. That  way we won't
need to go through all this ID shit every time  we want beer." I say,
"Yeah, and same for at home." With that settled  I feel better about things. We
decide to hit Chickie and Pete's bar again  because there's a chance the
bouncer will remember us. He doesn't, but he passes  us through again without
any problems. It's just as crowded and loud inside  as it was the first time
we were in here, and no more fun than the first  time either. We're less
drunk now then earlier, but we're not quitters so  we persevere, determined to
celebrate our  twenty-first birthdays.

Chubby does his magic and this time he manages to get us two stools  at the
bar. We order Coors drafts again and I acquiesce and have  another shot of
bourbon. I toast Chubby, "To your twenty-first birthday, and a  hundred more
birthdays to follow." Down go the shots and I guzzle down half  the draft
beer, then belch embarrassingly. Chubby just took a sip of beer  after his
shot, then he yell in my ears, "It's after midnight so technically  yesterday
was my birthday, but good toast anyway." We listen to the band,  checking
out the crowd with different objectives. I see some okay looking guys,  but
nothing cute enough to make me give up this stool. Apparently my bro has  come
up with the same conclusion regarding the other gender. Another beer, me
without the shot of bourbon and Chubby with one. The band takes a break and
surprisingly I miss it. They pipe in music during the break, but at a  lower
volume so talking is manageable. We drink our beers talking about how  cool
it is to do this legally. It's like we've joined an exclusive club that we
were previously ineligible for membership. Chubby goes, "It's actually not
exclusive at all when you think about it. Of the 320 million people in the
USA  over seventy percent are twenty-one or older. The exclusive club is the
 under twenty-one club." I go, "Shit, I knew it! Now we're in the vast
majority."  He mumbles, "Yes, but we're members of the best part of the vast
majority.  The just turned twenty-one club." I'm like, "Hmmm, you're right bro;
we are in  the best part."

It's cool sitting at a bar with Chubby, both of us drinking  draft beers.

When we want another one we just wave our hand at the empty glasses  and,
Ron, our bartender, accommodates us. Of course we need to pay $4.00 for  each
ten ounce draft, but few things are perfect in this life. Around one-thirty
Chubby's finally found a girl he wants to dance with. "Save my seat, Dylan,"

and  he goes over to ask an overly-served, big buxom girl with big hair to
dance. It's a girl that he earlier told me was a possibility except for the
 tattoo on her neck. Five draft beers and two shots later  and it's, 'Fuck
the tattoo' and the girl now makes the grade. I've got  a full glass of beer
in front of me as I'm thinking how a cigarette would  make this experience
almost perfect, and then a guy sits in Chubby's seat. I  glance at him; an
average looking guy about my size, around twenty-five  years old. He has a
sexy sparse kinda curly, short  light-brown beard, and as he rubs the back of
a finger up his cheek, he  asks, "Do you hang out at the 20th street beach?

I think I saw you and your  long-haired friend swimming there." This guy has
light brown hair in a  short, nondescript style and pretty bright brown
eyes. I stare at him without  saying anything, so he goes, "I'm Lee Reins, by
the way," and he holds his fist  out. I bump fist, mumbling, "Dylan Newman,
but, um, that's my brother's stool  you're sitting in." He nods his head,
mumbling, "I assumed it was  somebody's stool." Not knowing what else to do, I
do two fake coughs, then sip  on my beer.

He's looking at me with a bemused expression on his face, then he  goes,
"No offense, but your brother's not sitting in this seat now, is  he?" I puff
my cheeks out blowing out some air, like, Duh! Then shrug,  saying, "To
answer your question, the 20th street beach is right down from  our condo and
that's where we hang-out, yeah." He asks, "Just you and your  brother? Is he
the long blond-hair guy you were swimming with?" I shake my head,  "No,
that's a friend," and Lee nods at my beer, saying, "Do you mind," and he  picks
up my glass and drinks half of it. It startled me, so I guess I have a
strange expression on my face. Lee pats my back, grinning, as he slides off  the
stool, saying, "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow on the beach," and he  quickly
gets lost in the crowd. As I'm trying to figure out what I think  about the
guy, Chubby comes back, saying, "One dance! That's all she wanted to  do,
just the one dance. Said her name was Sandra, but wouldn't give a last  name.

Phony name, Sandra, plus that tattoo up close is ugly." I laugh, then say,
"Take rejection a little hard, do we bro?" He chuckles, muttering, "That
slut doesn't know how to dance either." I laugh out loud thinking about
Chubby's so-called dancing, telling him, "She was probably blown away by your
dance moves. Couldn't keep up."

We stay until the two o'clock closing having two more shots. Chubby  dances
with one other girl but mostly we sit at the bar feeling all grown-up
talking about our lives and damn glad to be living in them too. It's only a
block to our condo and we've achieved our goal of getting drunk on Chubby's
birthday even though we did it the day after his birthday, technically
speaking.  We do an aggregated hug and a sloppy kiss before bed, telling each other
 how much we love one another. We're affectionate with each other sober,
and even  more so when under the influence. Most people are. Life is  good!



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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