Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2016 12:26:31 -0400 From: MGTBILL@aol.com Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME Chapter 30 DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME Chapter 30 by Donny Mumford Terry and Charlie are on the back seat of the Ford Fiesta parked at the bus stop, maybe sleeping. After all it is four o'clock in the morning. I'm on the bus-stop's bench partly laying on the hairy chest of Boone, barely aware of reality, and actually fiddling around with his curly red chest hairs. A part of my brain is telling me I've re-learned something for the third or fourth time in recent years, and it's this: it's not a good idea to mix too much of a banned substance with too many beer and shots of bourbon. That combination has me high as a kite and drunk as a skunk and in an overall confused state of mind. Pure and simply put, I've been making one bad decision after another since Charlie and I left the farewell dinner. Embarrassingly I've let peer pressure lead me into another hapless situation. And that's not an excuse; it's a fact and I take full responsibility for letting it happen. To make matters worse Boone's got two fingers past the waistband of my shorts absently rubbing my dick, and there's a real possibility he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Meanwhile a submissive cloud continues hovering over what's left of my brain. I try unsuccessfully thinking of a time in the past when I've experienced a submissive trance like this one. If there's been another one it'd probably had been with Ryan. Tonight's submissive trance is especially weird because most of Boone's dominate behavior is an anomaly. He's normally submissive to his boyfriend, Teddy. Here's another thing I'm noticing: my mind's definitely not functioning normally at all or I'd be totally freaked-out by Boone's hairy body. In my present condition, however, I'm pretending everything feels pretty good. That's bullshit though because there's a little pulsing beacon of reality in my brain that's telling me I'm disgusted with my behavior tonight. Sure, it began innocently enough with a couple of beers but when the bourbon made an appearance I should have simply said, 'No thanks!' and meant it. I didn't want to be a wuss though which led to me getting drunk enough that the idea of smoking three or four joints seemed like the logical next step towards oblivion. Then, in this drug induced state I thought it'd be cool to have sub/dom buddy-sex with this hairy bear, and that he should take the lead and be dominant about it. And he's been enjoying playing his mild version of that role ever since. That flickering light in my brain is telling me that if I were sober I'd have less than zero interest in Boone, sex-wise anyway. And while I'm aware it's shallow of me, I nonetheless care greatly about a guy's appearance, and Boone's appearance isn't up to par by a significant margin. When thinking about how wide that 'margin' is, the Grand Canyon comes to mind. He's an okay guy I guess, but he's six inches shorter than me and twice as wide. His squarish with kind of thick face that's not attractive and neither is all the unruly dark red hair on his head, or the twenty thousand dark freckles all over his face, hands, and arms. He has a full beard that he hasn't shaved in a couple of days so it's wiry and scratchy, and not sexy. Then there's his hairy body; red curly hair all over him including his back and shoulders so, like I said, not my usual cup of tea at all! Boone interrupts my foggy musings, murmuring in his pleasant voice, "I'm feeling great, Dylan. Never expected in a million years I'd get the chance to appreciate another guy's body as hot and sexy as yours." I nod to myself because that's an example of Boone being nicely self deprecating. He's basically a humble kind of guy and we'd get along okay I guess; the way I get along with other sexually undesirable guys at college. That's under different and more sober circumstances obviously. Unfortunately, these are surreal circumstances and... wait! What the fuck is this? I just realized Boone's got my shorts unbuttoned and the fly's wide open with my 'boys' hanging out on display. His thumb is now involved in the stroking of my dick and it's making me squirm against him, complaining, "No, not here." He mutters, "It'll be okay," as he strokes, strokes, strokes my hard cock. Oh fuck, he's steadily moving the foreskin back and forth on my steel-rod of a boner and naturally that feels good. Un oh! I think I just past the climax tipping point. There's no stopping now and I can't help making quiet moans, "Oooh, oooh, ooh, ooh." My head lulls around on his chest as Boone whispers, "Shhh, Dylan." I can't stop though and moan a little louder, "Mmmm, oooh, fuck." My hips do some humping on their own, but I'm not quite there yet. I'm starting to struggle now, my climax is on me hot and heavy and getting ready to blow. All it needs is just a little extra stimulation but he won't pick-up the speed of his stroking. He counters my struggling by tightening the arm he's got around me keeping me snug against him. In his drug induced 'high' he says, "After you climax I'm ready to have you suck my cock again." What'd he say? Jesus, he's stroking my boner at an awkward angle, the swollen head pointing to the left. I gasp, then cover my mouth as a squeal sneaks out, my hips hump with cum shooting out sideways streaking down my left leg, then two more shots as I take gasping breaths. He keeps stoking my cock, murmuring, "This is called milking your nuts." My hips hump twice more with the normal sizzling sensations spiking all around my groin. Whoa! Well, as far as orgasm go this was not a big one, but it still felt awfully good! A thin steak of cum glistens milky white on my calf. Taking another deep breath, enjoying the sparkling climax sensations still buzzing around my groin before it all quickly fades away. My eyes are half closed as I sigh and my body goes limp again. In a monotone, Boone asks, "How was that? Good climax?" The side of my face is on his chest again so I need to rub the back of my hand against my nose pushing tickling chest hairs away. My climax is only a memory now as I mumble, "I'm so fucked-up." Boone's not listening as he goes, "Ha, I got some of your spunk on my fingers," then he wipes his fingers on his shorts. I'm so tired and spent I give only minimal resistance to Boone adjusting my position. He's strong and easily moves my body until I'm mostly laying on my side, my feet off the end of the bench and my head in his lap. As he's rustling around getting his shorts unbuttoned, he quietly says, "I know my cock's been up your ass without a condom, but dom's rules, right, Dylan?" and he runs his fingers through my hair for the thousandth time. What the fuck is his fascination with my hair?! It looks like shit, uneven and still short, although it is finally growing out from Ryan's last bizarre specialty haircut. I take another deep frustrated breath, actually trying to shake myself out of my submissive trance for once. That's a first, but without any noticeable success unfortunately. Boone puts his hand under the side of my chin pulling my face around so I'm looking up at him "Dom's rules, right Dylan?" Instead of receding, my submissive sense spikes at the tone of Boone's voice, so I murmur, "Yeah, sure, Boone," surprising myself I remembered his name. And what was he referring to anyway? Pushing my face back down on his lap, he gets his floppy cock out through his fly and rubs my nose with the damp head. Then he rubs it across my lips and as a reflex response I open my mouth to suck it in. Same strong crotch odor, but that's okay 'cause I've convinced myself it's a very manly smell, and not offensive at all. I'm licking the limp shaft and sucking on the head for two minutes or so before it gets kind of hard. Getting into it now in spite of myself, I get up my knees next to him and start bobbing up and down on his semi-hard cock with him squirming on the seat quietly grunting, "Aaah, aaah, aaah." A minute of bobbing, then I adjust my position to begin taking his very fat cock in my throat. Each time I go down on it my nose buries in dark-red stiff pubic hairs. When I pull his boner from my throat to breath, I taste precum. Breathing in noisy gasps, Boone pulls me up and off the bench, turning me around facing away from him. My fly is still wide open so he easily pulls my shorts down and gets a hand on each of my hips to lifts me onto his lap. Facing away from him in a daze, my left butt cheek's sitting on his boner, flattening it against his hairy thigh. I can't believe we're doing this right out in the open. The street's right in front of us with houses on the other side of the street. He says, "Lift up." My feet obviously are on the sidewalk so it's simple enough to lift my ass off his lap although it didn't occur to me to do so until he mentioned it. Getting up off his lap, Boone positions his boner at my asshole, gets an arm around my belly and pulls me back a little bit, then down on his boner. It goes all the way up my ass and I see blinding white lights flashing as I scream. Boone puts his hand over my mouth, whispering, "Sorry! Sorry, Dylan, but keep it down." I'm sitting perfectly still, afraid to move while whimpering with rectum pain slowly subsiding. He whispers, "Any better now?" Oh fuck, his fat cock up my ass is not only feeling better, it's quickly feeling really good. My ass is like a memory foam mattress and adjusted to Boone's boner remembering it from earlier tonight. Being filled-up like this is an awesome sensation, one I can't describe. I lay back against his chest sighing at the vibrating coming from seven inches of my rectum. Feels like thousands of tiny electrical circuits were turned on all at once. My shoulders shudder on their own. Because he's six inches shorter than me, and I'm sitting on his thick thighs, his face is against my back with the top of his forehead bumping the bottom of my head. That's a bit disconcerting at first, but nevertheless I'm letting myself go with the flow for about the tenth time tonight and I experience another couple of involuntary shoulder shudders as I concentrate on how good this feels. I hear myself doing unexpected quiet moans, "Ooooh, mmm," as Boone murmurs, "Oh, thank God you're okay. I thought I ripped something inside you." His hairy arms have been hugging me around the waist, but now he begins lifting and lowering me with a hand under each of my armpits. I'm riding his huge boner with my eyes closed and my brain blocking all messages except sexual pleasure ones, but that persistent warning beacon blinks steadily in a small part of my brain telling me... you're acting the fool. After two minutes of lifting my dead weight Boone's sweating bullets in this warm night, and he finally grunts out, "Would you help me a little here, Dylan? Jesus!" I mumble, "Oh, um, yeah," and take over using my legs to ride his wooden pole as I stare at my cock, watching as it gets harder and harder. I know I won't climax again this soon, but it sure feels good. About the four-minute mark, Boone gasp, "Aaaah," grabbing hold of me and in a desperate reckless manner begins humping his hips up off the bench slamming against my buttocks. Maybe fifteen seconds later I feel the wetness of his load shooting inside me. Another desperate hump from him and cum begins squeezing out around his boner wetting both of us; my buttocks and his thighs. He lays back breathing hard, then puts both his arms around me pulling me tight against him and I feel his hot moist breath between my shoulder blades. Taking a few deep breaths, myself, I'm feeling fine for a few seconds; then, startled, I recognize my situation. My shorts are around my ankles, my hands around my limp cock, and I'm sitting on Boone's lap with his cock still up my ass, both of us in plain view on the bus-stop bench. A person could easily be up this early jogging, or a car could drive by, or worse a cop! Struggling, I get up pulling off his cock with Boone groaning, "Aaaah, aaah!" Frantically looking around, I pull up my shorts and zip up. Boone's cum immediately soaking through the back of my shorts. Yeah well, what the fuck ya gonna do? I sit on the bench spreading the wet cum spot further as Boone's putting his big package away and then pulling me over next to him like I'm his binky blanket. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he says, "Good job," and pats my head. That pat on my head pisses me off! After all I'm not a fuckin' dog! Yeah, but the spike of anger finally gets my submissiveness to begin retreating and I'm sensing it dissolving back to wherever it came from. As my head clears a little I start thinking about a way to put an end to this bizarre situation. At the same time though Boone's straining to adjust me back the way he likes me: sort of laying against his chest with his arm over my back. Most of my submissive trance has drifted into thin air, so why aren't I freaked-out by his hairy body. That can mean only one thing: there's significant lingering effects of the drugs. Being stoned and drunk isn't any way to go through life, and it isn't something you recover from in a couple of hours either. On the plus side I think I'm sexually satisfied. That's sick, as I shake my head. Along with the lingering effects of the drugs, I'm insanely tired and can't resist just laying here. The next thing I know I'm waking up. No idea how long I've been sleeping, but it's definitely not as dark out as it was when I dozed off. I'm not sober by a long shot, but closer to sober then I've been for the last five or six hours. Oh fuck, there's a hair in my mouth! Sitting up I've got my fingers in there trying to get hold of the hair, frowning and staring at Boone's hairy chest. UGH! I pull a curly red hair out and gawk at it. The fucking thing is almost two inches long! Dropping the hair, I notice my mouth taste like the bottom of a bird cage and I've got a major throbbing headache. It all comes back to me in a flash. Boone, Terry, Charlie, and me. What a cluster fuck tonight has been! And there's Boone sleeping silently on the bus-stop bench. Maybe a bus will come by and he'll get on it in his daze. Making a face, I can not believe I was laying on him with his hairy arm around me half the night. Standing and shaking my aching head, pissed-off that I allowed myself to be submissively enthralled by this square hairy bear. I immediately begin the process of submerging the memory. Damn, one of my worst nights ever! It's still fairly dark, so what time is it? Checking my watch, I see it's ten after five in the morning. Balls! That means I only got about an hour and a half of sleep... at the most. I'm still mostly drunk of course, but the pot's worn off and so has any trace of submissiveness. Making a face and shaking my head again, still finding it hard to believe the way this last night in Wildwood turned out! Of course it's that fucking pot! Walking down the slope to the beach, I take a long piss in the alcove while feeling at the wetness on the back of my pants, and then remembering that insane last lap sex we had. Another memory to wipe from my mind. Back up to the street, I get my shirt off the ground near the bench and put it on, then look in the car and see Charlie sleeping on the back seat. He's naked and mostly laying on top of Teddy using him as a skinny mattress. Tapping on the glass with my ring, then again it gets Charlie's eyes opening. He looks startled, or maybe scared. He sees me, then smells the back of his hand, frowning. He's probably trying to remember what happened last night. I motion with my hand for him to get up. He slowly sits up, then slides off Teddy, who opens his eyes. Fuck!! Teddy mumbles something, then closes his eyes again and appears to go back to sleep. Naked Charlie opens the door and steps out carrying his shorts and t-shirt. Putting a finger to my lips as in, "Shhh', but Charlie whispers, "My underpants are under him," pointing at Teddy. I whisper, "Fuck a whole bunch of underpants, we're leaving." He nods and steps into his shorts as I pull on his arm to get him moving down the incline to the beach. As soon as he pulls his t-shirt over his head we begin running in the direction of the boardwalk. Jogging silently, I'm feeling like shit. There's an entire marching band in my head with loud drums pounding constantly, then the symbols clang. We run until Charlie gets a stitch in his side. Walking now, he kneads his side, describing how he feels in much the same words I used, "I feel like shit. No, I feel worse than shit." He wants to know what time it is and when I tell him, he asks, "What time is sun rise?" I shrug, "Around six o'clock, I guess." We walk for ten minutes, Charlie jabbering incessantly the whole time with me paying almost no attention to him, until finally we see the beginning of the boardwalk in the distance. Charlie finishes his latest sentence with, "And my ass is hurting again too." Glancing over at him, I ask, "How many times did he fuck you?" Charlie shrugs, "Twice, I think. I was way the fuck out of it on a marijuana high though, so it might have been three times." I go, "Whatever," and he exclaims, "That pot was laced with cocaine, ya know." I'm like, "No, I didn't know that, but I know it put me in la-la land. I was really fucked-up." He's wiping his mouth, mumbling, "I think I blew him too. My mouth taste like a toilet." We walk a way, then he asks, "How many times did that big oaf fuck you?" I go, "Two times last night, and then some time ago I had a lap fuck right on that bench in plain view. And I sucked his cock at least twice. Big thing, that cock of his!" Charlie mutters, "Jesus," and I ask, "Did you see that fat hunk of penis between his hairy legs?" He nods, "Yeah, and all that gruesome red hair on his body. I'm glad Teddy choose me." Huh, yeah, that's right... Terry was the dominant one between those two, so he picked first and chose Charlie. I must be losing my fast ball. In Georgia, Jeff chose Ryan over me too. This is getting serious. I better hold onto Robby or I'll end up with someone like Bean or Sonny, or God forbid, Ray... if I got desperate enough. Hard to imagine that though. Well, Charlie is younger and more naive, so maybe that interested Teddy, but why would Jeff chose Ryan over me? That I don't get except, oh yeah, Jeff likes the bad-ass confident, bossy guys. Well, I feel a little better about things considering that. Still, both Teddy and Jeff are dumb asses. We plop our asses on the beach and gawk at the ocean anticipating dawn approaching any minute now. Charlie looks over at me, and says, "It's our last night here and I wanted to spend it only with you. Now my ass is too sore to feel your awesome pecker up there like I wanted." All I can do is shrug. Thirty seconds later, he mutters, "What a fucked-up day I had! This afternoon I was raped and beaten with a belt, then fucked with a dildo, and then I'm not even sure how many times I was fucked by Teddy, someone I knew for only about a half hour." I go, "We had all those beers, a pint of bourbon, and cocaine-lased joints. A very poor foundation for making good choices. Anyway, it was you who got us started. You said to Teddy, "Yeah, a beer sounds great!'" He goes, "Yeah, a beer... not five fucking beers, then passing the bourbon around, after which we shared six joints. I think it was six: three for you and the red bear, and three for me and slim man with the long cock." I mumble, "It seemed like more pot than that." He sighs, then says, "At least I gained a lot of sexual experience this week. Counting Teddy fucking me, that's three different guys who've done it with me. Using their dicks I mean, not Martin's dildo. I feel like a pro now." I shake my head slowly, mumbling, "How can you talk so much, Charlie? Doesn't your head ache like a mother fucker?" He says, "No, I'm still drunk... I think." Then he leans against me and I put my arms around him. My cheek's against the side of his head as I'm thinking: 'This is more like it'! I mean, instead of some hairy red bear. Charlie smells good even though I detect a little bit of extra seashore smell on him. He sighs again, then murmurs, "I feel I wasted my last night here, Dylan. How'd we get so involved with them?" Swaying us a little, I murmur, "Like you said, it's the booze then the pot, Charlie, what else?" He says, "I feel a little stupid. Do you?" I nod, "Yes! Very, very stupid, and I should know better. I'm disappointed in myself, really disappointed! I'm going to learn from this though, and I hope you do too." He shrugs, and as I hold him in my arms I'm thinking again how much of an improvement Charlie is over Boone. That thought makes me grin and kiss the side of Charlie's head. He promptly falls asleep. I can tell because he stopped talking... ha ha. No, I mean because of his steady breathing. After a while though it becomes uncomfortable sitting like this, so I quietly say, "Charlie... Charlie," and he mutters, "What?" "You fell asleep. C'mon," and I pull him up. He follows me until we're next to the end of the boardwalk, where I point across the street, saying, "Well, there's our street. Two blocks up and we can sneak into our beds without anyone being the wiser." Charlie says, "Ah, c'mon, watch the sunrise with me, Dylan. We lasted this long. Please." Oh fuck it! We walk back down the beach toward the ocean and climb up on the lifeguard stand, trying to keep our eyes open. Charlie says, "Hug me again, Dylan, I'm getting cold." I put both arms around him, and he lays limply against me, his forehead on my shoulder. Jeez, again I think. 'How the hell could I have been laying all over that hairy bastard, Boone, and for hours?' I shudder thinking about it, and Charlie mumbles, "Are you feeling the chill too." I rub his head smiling to myself and remember the haircut I gave Charlie; two haircuts actually. That was fun. Then I try recreating how the fuck I got so submissive with Boone, but can't remember enough of the night to make sense of it. I had it analyzed earlier, but forget what my conclusions were. That's probably a good thing actually. It obviously was the cocaine-laced cannabis that had a lot to do with it, and consequently I'm thinking that my submissive trance doesn't even count. It wasn't Boone who made me feel submissive... I was stoned! It was the pot, not him. Yeah, rationalizing can be so comforting. I mean, the thought that hairy bear could make me submissive is humiliating. Naturally Charlie falls asleep in my arms again, and my head drops a couple of times too, but I make myself stay awake, afraid we'll fall off this lifeguard stand. Then way out over the ocean I see a light. Is it a boat's search-light, or sunrise? Oh yeah, it's the very top of a shimmering gold disk that's slowly, ever so slowly, lifting up from the horizon. I wake Charlie, "It's sunrise, Charlie!" He shakes his head, gawking out over the ocean at the sun. I drop my arms from around him, and he immediately picks them up putting then around himself again, saying to me, "See, isn't it worth it?" That's a humongous, NO!, but I murmur, "Yeah, it's a pretty special sight alright." It takes some time before it's a sphere changing from reddish-gold to bright yellow, lighting and warming our world. And a mere 93 million miles away. We watch in silence with Charlie snuggling against me. He'd be a great little brother, all clingy and full of hero worship. Ha ha! I ruffle his hair, saying, "Let's get a couple hours sleep." We climb down off the lifeguard stand with Charlie saying, "I'll probably sleep all the way home." I mutter, "Well, I need to drive. Halfway at least." We walk off the beach and I go, "Ta-da!" pointing at our sandals that are still under the bench. We put them on and begin walking the final two blocks. Charlie goes, "Seriously, Dylan. Can I visit you?" I say, "Lets text about that. I can't think straight right now because my head's pounding like a fucking drum, boom, boom, boom." Then I mutter, "That fucking pot and that fucking bourbon..." He says, "Yeah, tonight would have been a hundred times better if we didn't run into those guys." I mutter, "I hear ya." The town is beginning to slowly come alive. A few cars on the street now and I hear voices from a couple of decks. What kind of nut gets up at six-thirty when they're on vacation? At the front of Charlie's condo, we stop and shrug at each other. He says, "I'm going to miss you, Dylan. Give me a kiss goodbye and then I'm going right in so you don't see me cry again." I kiss him on the lips and we do a tight hug, then he turns around and scampers inside the front entrance and up the steps. Huh, he did have wet eyes. I really like that kid. Walking across the alley I go up the outdoor steps to the deck and let myself in. It's totally quiet except for me chugalugging cold Snapple along with four Advil. Then I tip toe to my bedroom and, without even brushing my teeth, slip off my cum stained shorts and my sandy t-shirt and slip into bed glancing over at Chubby, who looks very young when he's sleeping. Such a pretty boy, um, young man... and that's the last thought I remember having until Chubby's shaking my shoulder, "Dylan, help me load all this crap in the cars. I told the moms we'd do it while they're having breakfast with the guys." Turning over and pulling the covers over my head, I mumble, "I'm sick, and I have a headache." Chubby pats the impression my head makes under the covers and leaves me be. When I next wake-up Chubby's patting my shoulder again. Looking through slits in my eyelids I see he's holding a glass of OJ and three Advil towards me. "Here, bro, take this Advil and orange juice. I packed everything and we're ready to go." He did everything?! That brings tears to my eyes, which I wipe away with the sheet, muttering, "Fucking bright lights," blaming that for my tears. After taking the Advil, I say, "Thanks, Chub, but you didn't need to pack-up by yourself. I just need another fifteen minutes sleep." He smiles, "It's two and a half hours later, bro, not fifteen minutes." I go, "Oh man, I drank too much last night." He says, "Yeah, I've done that once or twice myself. The moms left ten minutes ago, so c'mon, let's begin the drive back to reality." I get out of bed, saying, "Can I take a quick shower first?" He smiles, "Yeah, I left a towel and your toiletry kit in the bathroom." I hug him, mumbling, "I love you." Grinning, he begins stripping the bed. Huh, the moms left ten minutes ago so we'll pass them in about an hour, probably on the Garden State Parkway. During the shower I think of Chubby and how sweet he was to have my back like this, but I still feel terrible for letting him down and not helping with the nasty job of loading everything for home. I'd do the same for him of course, and I can't wait for the chance to do just that. After vigorously brushing my teeth, I hop under the shower and shampoo Boone's fingers out of my hair, then scrub myself pink. Drying myself I wipe the steam off the mirror and check for my mustache development and I'll be Goddamned, there's light blond noticeable growth. Can't feel it with the pad of my finger, but I can see it. Huh, then I notice some fuzz under my sideburns. It's about time, not that I'd ever wear a mustache or long sideburns. It's just good to know, even though late to the party, at least it's finally arriving. I wouldn't mind rocking a short scruffy looking sparse beard growth. Short and sparse being the key words there. Ha! Coming out of the bathroom and going through the dresser drawers I discover Chubby's packed all my clothes. I glance at the floor and see my sandals, but he even packed by dirty shorts and t-shirt from last night. Wait a minute, I know Chubby, and he wouldn't leave me without something to wear. I check the closet and on the shelf are Donald Duck jockey shorts, like we wore as four years old, and a clean sleeveless t-shirt, plus baggy cargo shorts, both Chubby's. I walk naked to the glass French doors to the deck carrying the Donald Duck imprinted jockey underwear. Chubby's smoking a cigarette and, opening the door, I hold up the jockey shorts, saying, "Bro, what the fuck?" He laughs, "They'll fit you. I got that on the boardwalk when on a little shopping spree with Ellie earlier this week. I knew you'd like them." I step into them and can't help but laugh. They're tight, but made of a stretchy material and they'll have to do even though my cock's obscenely expanding Donald's neck. Dressed and carrying the towel and my toiletry kit I check the refrigerator, but it's totally cleaned out. Chubby comes in, and with a hand on my shoulder, says, "I cleaned it out, bro. We'll stop at McDonalds for breakfast sandwiches and coffee." And with Chubby driving and buying, that's what we do using the drive-thru window. He eats his sandwich while driving, telling me, "I got you decaf coffee so you can sleep during my shift driving. Wiping the grease off my lips, I lean over and kiss Chubby's cheek, "Thanks for taking care of me, Chub." He grins at me, "It's my pleasure, Dylan. I'd do anything for you." I murmur, "Me too, Chub," and wipe my eyes with my forearm. Chubby says, "Put the trash in this bag, Dylan, and then get some sleep." I do that and Chubby throws the bag in the back seat along with the other fast food trash. I slouch down and use the folded towel from my shower as a pillow, laying against the side window. Squirming around to get comfortable, I think fond loving thoughts of my brother and fall soundly asleep feeling very lucky he's mine. When I open my eyes we're going through the EZ-PASS exit for the RT-30 off the Mass Pike, twenty minutes from home. Sitting up and stretching, I ask, "Is it my turn to drive yet?" Chubby laughs, "Sleeping beauty, how ya feeling after another five and a half hours sleep?" I go, "Amazingly recovered considering everything. I don't wanna get all maudlin on ya, Chubby, but thank you for getting me eight hours of sleep. I think I might live, but it was fifty/fifty when I first woke up in Wildwood." He asks, "What time did you get in this morning?" and I tell him about Charlie wanting to see sun rise as opposed to taking the chance of nightmares about the sicko, Lee. Then everything else except the sex, meaning the beer, bourbon, cocaine-laced joints and the guys from Philly. I didn't say if they were gay or not, just that they were college students on a road trip without a room. As Chubby turns the Jeep onto RT-9, he asks, "Did you finally see the sun come up?" I nod, "Yep, and then right to bed for about an hour sleep before you woke me the first time. Then, since you're a prince of a brother, you let me sleep another two hours in bed and over five hours in the car. But, dude, that pot kicked my ass!" At our Framingham condos I insist on unloading everything myself, but Chubby just grins and shakes his head. Working together it takes us far less time to unload everything, and even get a laundry load of wash going, then it took us last Saturday packing the cars. There's a lot less stuff coming back. With cold cans of Coke, Chubby and I share a cigarette on the balcony. I ask, "When did you pass the moms?" He shakes his head, "I really don't know. Probably near the end of the Garden State but I was in the passing lane all the way and you know the moms were not. I passed them without knowing it." He tells me his farewell to Ellie did not go smoothly because she wanted a promise from Chub he'd make an overnight trip to Delaware. Ya know, dinner and a motel room, and yada, yada, yada. I ask, "Why not tell her you'd visit and leave it at that?" Chubby goes, "Ordinarily I would have, but Ellie's too, um, I don't know, sweet I guess. She'd be hurt if I said I would and then never followed through with it. I lie to my girlfriends all the fucking time, but I couldn't with her." It makes me think of Charlie wanting to visit. How could that work though with Robby and me boyfriends and all. Buddy side-sex must be discrete at the very least. Speaking of Robby, we have an eight o'clock dinner date tonight at 'our' restaurant, and it'll be my first time there as a twenty-one-year-old. Robby will be legal age too in less than two weeks. All I know is, God bless Chubby for letting me get my sleep or I'd be a basket case on the date with Robby. Quarter to seven the mom's station wagon pulls into the alley below our condo's balcony. Chubby and I go down to meet them and thank them again for a great week in Wildwood. Hugs all around, then we unload everything and the Moms get ready to go out to dinner with Bud and Rider. Tris excitedly says, "Our vacation isn't over yet! We have tomorrow off too." They also have another ten work days' worth of vacation, but probably will just stay around here for that, usually over the holidays. They've worked at the same restaurant so long and have bonded with so many of the repeat customers their boss agreed to fifteen paid holidays a year. Of course the pay is minimum wage; they make their money from tips like all waiters and waitresses. Oops! I mean 'servers', not waiters and waitresses. During my birthday dinner we had a discussion about politically correct titles for people who previously had been called something else, like forever. For example, a stewardess is now a flight attendant, and a bartender is a mixologist. We mocked a whole list of them, but I rarely hear the old titles used anyway. Well, I usually call a waiter, waiter, not a 'server'. It's like Boone calling a condom a 'rubber'. I know they used to be called that by our parent's generation, or maybe the one before that, but we never say 'rubber'. Done the unloading, we put the washed clothes in the dryer and reload the washing machine, then take showers. Chubby's hooking up with John Beverly and some college guys they're friends with from Merrimack. Merrimack is becoming a prominent topic of late and will be so for the last two weeks before starting our junior year. We've all registered on line as of a month ago. Our college loans have been extended and basically we're on top of all that shit. Everything seems easier when doing it for a third time. Freshman year was the worst, last year better and this year we even ordered our books online. No sweat! In the shower, my second one today, I'm thinking almost exclusively about Robby. My fling with Charlie is giving me a tiny guilt complex and the same for the two occasions Dodger and I revisited old times together. Charlie's almost like my little brother though, and Dodger and I were strictly doing buddy-sex without even a hint that it was anything else, because it wasn't. Nothing even approaching the stratosphere that Robby's and my lover's sex reaches. Buddy sex is basically grounded in the sex act only. It's like, hey, thanks, dude, that was hot, how about those Pats, huh! Like that. Lover's sex doesn't even recognize there's such a thing as football. With lovers sex it's all about caressing and words of love and commitments agreed upon. There's sweet kisses and terms of endearment and plans, always plans for a future together. That's just a few of the things that are different between buddy sex and lover's sex... a difference the way a mole hill and a mountain are different. After the shower I put more thought into getting ready for a date with Robby, much more thought than I bother with when getting ready for anyone else. I want to be as good as I can be for him. So, to that end I try combing my hair for the first time in over three years. It's grown out now for almost six weeks and it's between an inch and an inch and three-quarters long all over my head. Using the hair gel, I use for some guys I give haircuts to, I can comb the bangs over with a short part, but just in the front half of my head. Ryan cut the hairs at the top, back of my head using bare clipper so those hairs are still sticking straight up and will need to be longer before re-training them to lay over. The result is a funny looking, fucked-up hairdo. Balls! Trying something else, I comb the slightly longer hair at the front of my head down and forward, then flip the bangs up. Not bad except the hairs around my ears are touching the tops of my ears and look sloppy. Oh fuck it! I'm in a transitionally period with my hair. I figure in a year I can probably have a stubby ponytail like Robby had at the beginning of sophomore year. I'll look a bit shaggy until then I guess. I should probably ask Robby what he thinks. I've got my coolest casual clothes on and the understated jewelry I like best, and almost everything I have on was given to me by Willie. It's the end of August and still very much summer weather so it's a short sleeve button down the front shirt and cargo shorts with sandals. My good sandals, also bought for me by Willie. It's ten of eight and I'm ready for Robby with some nervous anticipation and a strange buzzing in my groin. We communicated every day I was in Wildwood so there'll be no awkward surprises, it's just that we've been separated for eight days now. Mom comes out of her bedroom smelling good and looking good too. She's going up to Tris' place to wait for the guys. I already told her what I was doing tonight so we kiss and wish each other a good time. Now I'm in here alone, and even though I didn't think of it before, it'll be a more relaxed, demonstrative reunion without Mom here. I'm looking out the front window watching for his pickup to park at the curb below. I would have told him to park around back except that might block in either Rider's or Bud's car when they're picking up the moms. At the last minute I decide to shave the almost invisible hairs on my upper lip and sideburns. I end up shaving my cheeks and chin too and putting on some subtly scented after shave. Then I fuck around with my hair some more and leave it just swept over at the bangs. There are light blond steaks from the sun. Damn, I'm looking good except for my freakin' hair! Then the doorbell chimes. 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 ============================================ Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous free story site. Thank you very much. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html