Date: Sun, 10 Jul 2016 11:29:11 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME Chapter  34

DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME



Chapter  34



by  Donny Mumford



I'm on my cell phone  talking with Willie, explaining, "I just got home,
like three minutes ago. I was on this horrible work detail all  fuckin' day.

It was a totally unexpected turn of events, and at the  last minute too.

Yeah, and then the fucking detail went on for two hours  past my normal
quitting time. Plus there was this asshole who... " He  soothingly interrupts,
"Whoa, calm down, Dylan. It's no problem.  I'll simply wait for you to get
ready; like on your balcony having a smoke  or something while you shower and
whatever. So it's okay, really." I go, "You  don't understand. I'm dirty from
head to foot, I've got a bee sting  that's looking red and nasty and swollen
on the back of my hand, and  there are scratches on my hands, arms, and legs
and I'm sweating like  a hog. Plus, the geek that drove me home refused to
use his air conditioning  and... oh man, I feel like shit. We need to
reschedule our dinner." He goes, "No,  we don't." I yell, "Yes we do!" Then calmer,
like I'm talking to a child, "The  restaurant reservation is for seven
o'clock and there's no way I can get  cleaned up and make it by then." He says,
"I'll change the reservation to  a later time, and anyway I'm half a minute
from your house.  Listen, you're obviously distraught, but I'll take care of
you." I'm  shaking my head, muttering, "No, listen to what I'm saying, I
don't want anyone  seeing me this, um, dirty..." Willie goes, "Shhhh. You're a
marvelous person,  Dylan, but you need someone to take care of you, and you
deserve to be taken  care of too. I've always known this about you and it's
why I've tried to do  that, but ya know... you've fought it. So just sit tight!
And, I'm approaching your condos now." He ends the call. At the sink I  put
my head back and scream, "Balls!"

After rubbing my face  with my dirty hands, then exhaling a long-held
breath I start  frantically washing my hands in the kitchen sink, then just stop.

Fuck it!  Walking to the front window while drying my still dirty hands on
a paper  towel, I look out and see a Mercedes Benz convertible parking at
the curb below. It's gotta be Willie at the wheel, right? Yep, he gets out
and  looks up, waves his hand at me and gives me his really nice smile. I pull
my head back embarrassed he caught me looking for him. Then, wait a
fucking  second! I can see him out the window, but from down there you can't  see
a damn thing except sun-glare off the front windows of the condos.  Damn, he
must have guessed I'd be looking out the window for him. Then I glance  at
my reflection in the mirror over the sofa, and oh shit. I've got hat-hair
too! I had to wear the company's baseball cap on my sweaty head all day. To  m
ake matters worse my faced is smeared with dirt because a few seconds ago
I rubbed my hands over my face in frustration. And, Jesus Christ! my hands
and  fingernails are as dirty as they've ever been in my life. It's because
that  skinny asshole of a counter guy, the one with a hair across his ass,
insisted we leave immediately after I finished cleaning the equipment. I
never  got to wash-up! And I never got to change out of my sweaty company
t-shirt and  shorts either.

The doorbell chimes as  I gawk at my dirty knees. They're dirty from
kneeling on the ground digging  out the last of the weeds from around the bricks
in the path that lead to  that disgusting green pond. As I'm walking to the
front door I hold  out both arms looking at the cuts, scratches, and streaks
of dirt. The last  thing I feel like doing is going out to dinner tonight,
but that  goddamned Willie never takes 'no' for an answer. And he had to come
early on top  of everything else!
I yank open the door  and there he is looking sparkling-clean, the cleanest
most  put-together guy in the world compared to me. He shines with
cleanliness,  and he's handsome too, especially with that smile of his. And he has a
new  haircut. Naturally it's the latest fad haircut with basically no hair
on  the sides and back, but longish light brown hair on top. It's wind-blown
now from driving with the top down. Yeah, but it still looks cool  on him.

Willie walks inside as I back up so I don't get any dirt on  him. He's
grinning, saying, "Holy shit! You weren't exaggerating!" I say, "We  need to
reschedule dinner like I said on the phone." He chuckles, "Nah, we don't  need
to reschedule anything. I already told you I'll change tonight's
reservation. Are your lips clean at least?" I'm like, "What? My lips?" He  says, "Lean
your cute dirty face forward. C'mon, lean forward." With a  confused
expression on my face I do that, and he leans his head forward and  kisses me on
the lips.

I'm stepping back again  with Willie laughing, then saying, "You're the
cutest Pigpen in the world."  I'm like, "Pigpen?" and he says, "You know, the
'Peanuts' comic strip? You don't  read the comics in the Globe?" I shake my
head, then return to my  current favorite topic, "We need to reschedule this
dinner date.  How about next Monday? Mondays are good for me."  I'm thinking
'Oh man,  he smelled good when we kissed'. Willie ignores my latest plea to
reschedule  tonight's dinner, sticking with his comic strip stream of
consciousness, "You  don't even need to subscribe to the Globe. The Peanut comic
strips are  online now. You can download an app." I'm like, "Forget the
comic strip,  Willie," and he goes, "No, listen. Today Linus says, 'I feel
depressed'  and in the next box he says, 'The world reeks of despair'. Then in
the  third box he's carrying a bowl of cereal, saying, 'Even my cold cereal
doth  taste like wormwood.' In the last box, Lucy says, 'How depressed can you
get?'"  I look at him like he's out of his mind, and he goes, "You know,
you're  depressed about being dirty from a day of manual labor, so that strip
kinda  relates coincidentally..." and his voice fades out as, frowning now, I
mumble, "You say that's a comic strip? Um, is that supposed to be funny?"

Willie waves his hand  at me, "Oh, it's full of deep psychological insight;
it's little kids saying  things like, 'the world reeks of despair', um, but
never mind that now." I  weakly, say, "Willie, we can't..." but he walks right
past me, asking, "Is it  okay if I get a beer from your refrigerator?"

He assumes we have  beer, which we do, but we never did until two days ago.

I say, "Yes, get a beer,  but we've gotta reschedule this date." He waves
his hand at me again, "Don't be  silly, Dylan, we're passed that now," and he
pops the tab on the beer can and  swallows some Coors beer. I go, "Please,
Willie," but he holds up his index  finger, like: wait a second. Taking his
smart phone out of his pocket he  hits a button and a second later, says,
"Hi, this William Worthington, I  have a seven o'clock dinner reservation
tonight that I need to change  to, let's say, nine o'clock."  I'm rolling my
eyes, slowly shaking my head, as Willie listens, then politely  says, "There's
no way to change the reservation, huh? I understand completely.  May I speak
to Mr. Scallabrinie, please," then he holds the phone to his chest,
muttering to me, with a smirk, "She got huffy when I asked to speak to the
owner."  I'm again wiping my face with my dirty hands, as Willie says,  "William
Worthington, yes sir. Um, yes he's my uncle, and I was  hoping, um..." Willie
winks at me, and says to the guy, "Oh that's so nice of you.  Yes, I'll tell
him you said hello."

Putting the phone  back in his pocket, he goes, "You remember my uncle,
right? He owns the  restaurant in Boston that we visited that time. Well, he
also owns a  wholesale liquor distribution business with my other uncle.

They've provided all the liquor for Dino's  Restaurant, and most bars and
restaurants in this town, like forever, so of  course they both know Dino
Scallabrinie. So, he was nice enough to set  us up with a nine o'clock reservation in
the VIP section," and he laughs,  muttering, "A VIP section for Framingham
restaurants. That's a good  one." I mutter, "What?" and after swallowing
some more beer, Willie's like,  "Yeah, but first I need to work some magic and
turn you from  Pigpen back into the cutest guy in America. In other words,
I'm gonna  take care of you." Carrying his beer, he takes hold of my arm
walking us down  the short hallway, saying, "Your bedroom's still down this tiny
hallway, right?"  I go, "Yeah, of course it's still here," and he says,
"After the  horrible day you've just had you deserve some pampering." In my
bedroom he goes, 'Get undressed while I fill the bath tub. I'm going to bath
you  like you're my boy, which in many ways you are, except you don't realize
it. Not  yet anyhow."

Oh man, I  simply don't have the energy to compete with Willie; he has way
more  energy than almost  anyone I know. A long hot bath sounds pretty good
though. Willie wants to baby  me... fine!  And Willie certainly knows how to
put on a soothing  confident manner that agrees with me, and somehow makes me
want to do  what he says. And, it's mostly good things he wants me to do;
well,  with good intentions at least. That time he thought I needed money he
arranged for me to be in an erotic gay video. That wasn't one of his  best
ideas, but he's had some good ideas too. I undress and walk into the
bathroom as Willie's testing the bathtub's water temperature. He looks up,
murmuring, "Oooh, brother! Ha, seeing that perfect body of yours brings a  million
delicious memories to mind, but best friends don't have sex  together, do
they? Instead, they do favors for each other like I'm doing for you  right
now." I don't think Willie has any idea what being a best friend even  means.

He's never had one as far as I know, and that makes me feel sad for him.  He
means well, but because he's never had a role model, someone with  a
positive image for him to to emulate while growing up,  he's forced to improvises
behavior hoping it's appropriate. His parents  shipped him off to private
schools from first grade right through prep school,  so basically he's been on
his own like forever.

Willie looks up, and  asks, "Do you have bubble bath?" At first I chuckle,
then realize he's serious  so I shake my head, "Un uh," and he says, "I have
awesome bubble bath at  home. Bought it at Fureos' Men Shop on Newbury
Street in Boston for thirty-four  dollars. It's made specifically for a man's
needs. Maybe I should give  you the bath in my bathroom. Whaddaya think?" I
immediately step into the  half-full tub of water and sit down facing the
facet that's still  pouring out hot water. Willie mutters, "Okay, no bubble
bath. Is the water  too hot?" Then he picks up the bar of soap from the soap
dish. Frowning he  asks, "You use bar soap? You do have bath gel too, right?" I
nod,  saying, "In the shower stall. The last time I had a bath was like
months ago,  but I did use that bar of soap. I got it last Christmas in my
stocking." He  says, "You're kidding, right? Someone gave you a bar of soap for
Christmas?" I  snort out one of Charlie's laughs, "Yep, it was one of about
thirty things in my  stocking. My mom insists on filling up Christmas
stockings for my brother  and me. You know, with inexpensive stuff like a box of
Gummy Bears, a comb,  fingernail clippers, or a bar of soap. Gag gifts
mostly, but useful  and it's fun seeing what's in the stocking." He looks at me
for a second,  then murmurs, "That's sweet of your mom. I never had a
Christmas stocking.  Actually I thought Christmas stockings were only in stories of
old time  Christmases."

Not wanting to pursue  that pathetic line of discourse, I slide down in the
hot water unit it's  touching my chin; now my dirty knees stick up out of
the water. Willie  mumbles wistfully, "Gee, your knees are dirty too. Oh
well..." and he takes  his shirt off, then his slacks. Folding them neatly, he
lays them on the closed  toilet lid. Wearing only boxer shorts now, he goes,
"I'll shampoo your hair  first." I slide down further until my dirty head is
under water, then sitting  back up with water dripping off it, I do it
again. By now Willie's got the  shampoo and bath gel from the shower stall. He
pours shampoo on my head,  saying, "I'd normally have music playing in the
background during a bath. I  mean if we were in my bathroom." His fingers rub
into my scalp for a minute,  then he excitedly says, "Hey, Dylan, remember
the first time you spent  the night at my house and I played about ten
versions of different artists  singing Leonard Cohen's song, 'Hallelujah'?" I go,
"Yeah, I do remember  that. We were in your huge bed with black sheets.

Those songs made chills  run up and down my spine. It's an emotional type song,
'Hallelujah, and  only artists with big voices can do it justice." Rubbing
his fingers  through my hair, he goes, "Yeah, you're right about that; it
creates atmosphere! Music can create a sense that something special  is
happening. Of course, when I'm with you I don't need music to know  something
special is happening, but why not add the music if it's  convenient, ya know?"

I'm feeling dreamy now in this hot bath water with  Willie massaging my
head. I murmur, "You do have a nice bedroom and bath,  Willie." Ha ha, that's
maybe the biggest understatements I've ever made.  His bathtub's big enough
for three and it's got a Jacuzzi feature. His  shower stall is as big as this
bathroom, and his whole bathroom is bigger than  my bedroom. Yeah, nice
set-up alright. Heh heh.

Willie's fingers feel  good rubbing my scalp and I wish he'd do it longer.

Then he reads my mind,  saying, "Dunk your head under water a few times, and
I'll start over  and do it a second time." That's what we do and when
finished the second  shampoo, he mutters, "When I'm done bathing you you'll need
to completely rinse off under the shower." I let Willie totally take  over
my body as he holds my wrist scrubbing one hand, then the other,  getting
them pink and clean, then the same for my finger nails. I hate  dirty
fingernails! He washes my entire body, doing it without paying  any more attention
to my privates than he does my back. Then, like  with the shampoo, he washes
my body a second time and it's awesome  because I like being touched. Being
babied like this would  probably make most guys extremely uncomfortable. I'm
the opposite though; I  feel completely relaxed in Willie's hands, maybe
more so than anyone else's, and  I mean even Chubby's or Robby's hands. That's
because Willie's done things  like this for me at other times during our
long relationship.  Wait, Robby has too, so I'd feel equally comfortable in
his hands. Anyway,  Willie's and my relationship is the longest one of my
life. No, I mean the  second longest after Chubby's and mine. Willie's and I
have had  an on-again, off-again relationship since I was a junior in high
school,  while Chubby and me have been tight for twenty-one consecutive years
and  nobody comes close to that, except my mom obviously, but that's a
different kind  of relationship.

I lose track of the  time, but it has to be at least a half hour that I've
been in this bathtub.  Willie keeps adding hot water and there's
perspiration on both our foreheads.  Mine from the very hot water and his from the
effort of bathing me. All  this time being washed, rubbed, and babied has been
done mostly  in silence with the only subtle sounds being that of water
splashing. Willie bathing me requires a tremendous amount of physical  contact,
and with an attractive guy like him it's surprising it's not arousing  me
sexually. It doesn't though, not until Willie's almost done the second
bathing. That's when my cock finally starts getting hard. I'm feeling  infinitely
better than when I first got home; it's actually amazing how  dreamily good
I feel right now. The second time Willie's washing my legs, I'm  staring at
the side of his face and feeling a special connection to him,  and that's
when my cock starts getting really hard. He looks so  serious leaning over the
bathtub squishing soap with his fingers between my  toes: that's when my
cock becomes a full-blown boner sticking straight  up in the water, the tip of
it barely out of the water. Oh man, that boner  feels really good making me
quietly gasp, but I resist the urge  to touch that throbbing organ.

Willie sits up  straight, taking a breath, saying, "Okay, I'm satisfied
that you're as  clean as a new born babe, Dylan. After you rinse off in the
shower I'll put  something on those scratches and..." Then he sees my boner and
stops to glance  over at me without commenting or changing his facial
expression. I shrug, and he nods his head a few times, then wraps a hand  around
my boner, mumbling, "Look, all the dirt from your body is floating  on top of
the water. You'll need to first use a little bath gel in the  shower, then
rinse off really well." He squeezes my boner, mutters, "Damn,"  and starts
stroking my hard cock without saying anything else. He strokes  it while
looking into my eyes with his pleasant expressionless face. I  stare back at him
mesmerized as sensations grow and grow with buzzing and  sizzling all
around, and up and down my cock. His hand feels so good on my hard  boner I
finally arch my back away from the curved end of the tub, moaning  quietly.

"Ahhh, oooh," The steady stroke, stroke, stroking continues and I'm  like, "Aaah,
ummm,  umm, umm, umm." Then he murmurs softly, "I've been  doing this to
myself a lot lately. This is the longest I've gone between  boyfriends; it's
been almost six months now. My girlfriend, well, she was  never all that
satisfying." His fist tightens and the stroking is faster as I  squirm, my eyes
closed now as I'm struggling, causing water to splash over  the edge of the
tub, "Oooh, mmm," then with a mini squeal my hip hump in  the water with cum
gushing from my boner going straight up, then splashing back  down on the
water's surface as another shorter stream shoots  up. Grunting some more, my
face feeling hot, I go on my side, facing  Willie. He strokes my boner
sideways under water as my stomach muscles clench,  then forces out another spurt
of cum. I go limp now, gasping a little and  sitting up again.

Willie lets go of my  now softening penis as I sigh, staring at the cum
floating on top  of the dirty water. Oh, that felt so good! Willie stands,
mumbling, "That was random. Now you need to hop in the shower, Dylan, and I'll
drain the tub." Yeah, but my eyelids are half closed as I continue savoring
the fleeting afterglow of my orgasm. Willie grins nodding his head,
mumbling, 'When you're ready, that is," and he goes over and turns the  water on
in the shower, then hold his hand under the spray until the  temperature is
just right. He comes back and holds his hands down to me. Taking  hold of
his hands he helps me stand, giving me a little head nod like I did  really
good. Oh man, I'm such a sucker for this  kind of stuff. Getting out of the
tub, splashing water on the floor  again, Willie mumbles, "Don't worry about
it." Walking the six steps  to the shower stall on my own, with Willie right
behind me carrying the  bath gel and, maybe there in case I fall, ha ha.

Taking the bath gel, I get  in the shower stall, murmuring, 'Thank you,
Willie," and then lean  back out, put my wet clean hand on his cheek, and kiss him
on the  lips. The door closes and I stand under the hot flowing water
feeling  better and better. As I'm spreading bath gel on myself I can see  Willie
through the glass door. He's using a towel, moving it around the  floor with
his foot, wiping up the water I sloshed there. Turning around  under the
spray to rinse off the bath gel, then back around again, I see  him cleaning
out the tub now. Huh, I wish I had a butler, or whatever a  guy's title would
be who'd do all this bathing for me on a regular basis. Ha ha,  pipe dream!
Turning off the shower  and stepping out of the stall, Willie's there with
a bath towel. He's drying  first my head and hair, then my neck and working
down across my shoulders.  I just stand here feeling a funny buzzing
sensations in my belly.  Willie lifts my arms one at a time, drying them, and
continues drying down  my body. I still feel a tingle from my orgasm, compliments
of Willie's fist. He  has long fingers, long everything actually, including
his dick, although I can't  see it at the moment because of his boxer
shorts. The question is: do I want to  see it? He finishes drying my body; then,
holding me in place with a  hand on my shoulder, his other hand takes a
hairbrush off the shelf, "Stand  still, Dylan," and he brushes my hair trying to
get the front hairs to stay  brushed to the side.

As he brushes my hair,  he mumbles, "I gotta say, you have the most
beautiful blond hair I  think I've ever seen, and it has some wave in the longer
front hairs." Well  if that's true, it's something that developed as I got
older, like during  the last three or four years because it didn't used to have
a wave. Of  course, this is the first time it's been long enough to notice
a wave in all  those years. Willie's a little frustrated my bangs aren't
cooperating." He says,  "Maybe a little mousse will help, but in any case you
need  to have a barber trim around the ears and neck line at least. You look
shaggy, and I've never seen you look shaggy before." I'm silently ignoring
most everything he says because being taken care of like this has me in a
pleasant little submissive trance that I don't want to lose. It's the  way
Willie just goes ahead and does what he wants that gets me feeling docile
like this. He goes, "Don't you agree?" He's referring to his haircut comment,
I  suppose. Well, now I have to respond with a mumbled, "If you say so. Um,
Rob can do that for me."" and he goes, "I wouldn't even think of cutting
your  hair myself, but I don't like the thought of someone like  Dickers
butchering it either."

Putting the brush down,  he says, "You know what I'm going to do: I'll
arrange an appointment for  you with my hair stylist in Boston. When you get
home from  work tomorrow I'll take you there myself at, um, say six  o'clock."

Oh fuck, there goes my docile trance. I say, "No thanks, Willie. Not
tomorrow, but I'll get it taking care of soon." He pulls at the hair that's  grown
a little bit over my right ear, saying, "Yeah, I hear you, but I'll
probably come over tomorrow and take you to the salon anyway. You aren't too  good
at making decisions, and you tend to procrastinate." With that he slides
his hand across my forehead, still trying to get my bangs over to the side.

Giving up on that, he goes, "Okay, you're very clean and looking as  cute as
ever now. While you were finishing your shower I took the liberty  of
picking out a few things for you to wear." Patting my shoulder, like I've  been a
good boy, he goes, "C'mon in your little bedroom. I've laid some  things
out on that tiny bed of yours. See what you think." I'm  grinning to myself,
having a good time even without my juicy trance. Only Willie  could pull this
off so well.

We walk into my bedroom  with me still naked, not that that's a problem for
me because I like being  naked. Ha, I see immediately that Willie's chosen
clothes for me to wear  that he'd bought for me over the years, not that he
remembers doing  that now. He thinks I bought these clothes myself. There's
a button down  the front, long sleeve shirt made of a cool material, and
skinny shorts  that I actually wear quite often. They have a pleated front with
the  legs reaching just below my knees. He bought me, among other things,
these  two pieces of clothing for our trip to Key West, spending stupid money
for  both. He doesn't have a clue though, or he'd have said something. He
picks up  the shirt, and holding it out to me, he mumbles, "Ya know, I'd
definitely buy something like this for myself." I'm putting the shirt on  as he
says, "You've got some really nice stuff in your closet, and  then a lot of
the other shirts and shorts that look like,  what I'd imagine, they sell at
places like Kohl's. Maybe your mom bought  them for you, so I'm not dissing
them, just saying..."

Looking at him and  smiling to myself, I pull on a pair of boxer shorts.

Willie retrieves his  clothes from the bathroom and gets dressed, saying, "I
found some Bactine  maximum strength antiseptic spray for those cuts and
scratches, so you'll need  to take the shirt off again. The Bactine was in your
medicine cabinet, and  Benadryl too." I nod my head, unaware I had either of
those medicines. When I've  got my shorts on and my shirt off again, he
sits me on my desk chair and  applies the Bactine to the scratches on my arms
and legs, then holds my hand,  looking closely at the bee sting, muttering,
"The fucking stinger's  still in there... that's not good. No wonder it's
swelling and dark red." I look  closely myself, but can't see it. Looking at
me, he asks, "Do you have  tweezers?" I go, "No, but Mom does," and I get them
from her bathroom. Holding  my hand with his left hand, he looks closely at
my bee sting, his face down  close to my hand. I run my fingers through the
longish hair on top of his head.  Light brown wavy hair that feel like
strands of silk, not that I've ever  felt strands of silk. Wish my hair was long
like his.

Willie looks up at me,  grinning, then looks down again and carefully holds
the tweezers between  steady fingers and pulls out the bee's stinger,
exclaiming, "Okay, that's  good! I got it the first try." He puts some Bactine on
the bee sting and  passes me the Benadryl, saying, "Take one of these just
in case. You're not  allergic to bee stings are you?" I shake my head
wishing there was more he  needed to take care of for me. Then I see Willie's also
laid out the  sandals he bought for me in Boston a year ago, so I step into
them as he's  using the comb off my desk to fix his hair, saying, "I don't
know why I  bother with my hair, it'll just get blown all to hell again with
the  top down."

We walk to the kitchen  where I swallow the Benadryl capsule with some
orange juice, drinking it  right out of the quart bottle. Willie says, "You're
in one of your  quiet moods I see. You haven't said two words in the last
forty minutes." I nod,  and he laughs, yelling, "Say something!" Chuckling as
my latest little  trance slips away, I say, "Thank you for taking care of me.

I was  quietly enjoying a little dreamy trance if you must know." He goes,
"Yeah,  well I could give you a big dreamy trance if I chose to, but I won't
'cause we're not boyfriends; we're best friends. You're the first one I've
ever had, by the way, and I like the idea of it quite a bit." I say, "Well
you can backdate me as your best friend to a couple of years ago if you
want."  He goes, "Yippee, I had a best friend and didn't even know it. Such a
relief...  in hindsight anyway. Ha ha." Patting my shoulder, he adds,
"Except you were my  boyfriend back then so I don't know if you could have been
both." I  give him a hug, "You're one of a kind, Willie." He hugs back,
murmuring,  "Thanks... I think."

Stepping apart, I  glance at my wristwatch and see it's five minutes of
eight, so I ask,  "You want another beer? We've got like forty minutes before
we need to leave for  the restaurant." He points to the first beer he opened,
saying, "I've  still got most of that one to drink," and I'm like, "That's
warm by now,"  and get us two cold cans of Coors from the refrigerator and
we go out on  the deck. Nice night, although it's already dark. I say, "A
month ago the  sun would still be shining at this time of night." He nods his
head, asking,  "You ready for your junior year?" and we talk about some  of
our college experiences thus far. He's still going to Columbia  University in
upper Manhattan, New York, and living in a dormitory, which  surprises me.

I ask, "Why don't you get an apartment?" and he surprises me  again,
"Because I like living on campus. I like being around everyone, and  feeling like
one of the guys, ya know?" That makes me feel bad for him  again. He shrugs,
"Anyway the dorm is where I met my last two boyfriends,  although I don't
know if Ronald was actually a boyfriend; more like a sex buddy  for six or
seven weeks."

That reminds me again  of how lucky Robby and I are for being loving
boyfriends a few years now. Not  many gay guys have regular boyfriends at our age.

Charlie's the latest young gay  guy to remind me of that, and now Willie.

I've met some guys, like Boone  and Teddy just recently who, while still in
the closet, call themselves  boyfriends and I guess they are, although
they're an unattractive  and odd couple. I'm still embarrassed thinking back on
the night with  Boone. Anyway, I haven't run into too many gay guys with
boyfriends. Some with  sex buddies, but not boyfriends.

Something noteworthy is  happening that I'm just beginning to notice:
Willie's been talking  differently then he used to. Most of the braggadocio is
gone and he seems more  grounded and comfortable with himself. He's still a
bit of a snob of course, but  this new Willie is a mighty big turnaround from
the  days that sicko made him his pet sex-toy on a leash. I'm proud to say
I helped him recover from that Wildwood disaster, so it's not a  one-way
street where Willie just buys me stuff.  I've helped him, not monetarily, but
with life-changing things like that the  boy-toy thing, and then in Key West
when he was seriously depressed  and may have tried suicide, and other times
to a lesser degree. I think I've been good for  him. I'm not on an ego trip
with this, but when Willie was calling me his  boyfriend it did wonders for
his self-image which, like Ryan, at times needs a little  help. Those two
have things in common, although they're way different, but it's  weird that
I'd run into two such unique, and at times contradictory  individuals like
Willie, and then much later, Ryan. And, in the  same way I was kinda missing
Willie, I'm now missing Ryan and looking  forward to seeing him in two weeks
back at college.

Done talking about our  colleges, I ask, "Where'd you learn about Benadryl
for bee stings and what  to do for cuts and scratches? You know, first aid
stuff like that." He  grins, "At summer camp. I went to summer camp every
summer after private  school right up until my seventeenth birthday. A damn
expensive summer camp it  was too, not some living-in-tents summer camp. They
had first aid courses  and swimming lessons and stuff like that, but mostly
it was a tennis camp,  and then basketball practice after dinner. That's
where I learned to play tennis  and basketball so well. They had professional
players from both sports in  charge of the programs." I go, "Huh," and he
says, "As you know, not that I  think it's a big deal or anything, but I was
captain of my prep school's  tennis team for three years. That's until I got
thrown off the team  temporarily for that little incident with our vicious
buddy, Andy." I go, "Oh  man, there's a name from the past. Sneaky little
bitch, Andy." Willie goes,  "Yeah, but he was almost as cute as you. Well, not
almost, but he was a  cutie. Vicious little bastard, for sure, but cute."

We're still reminiscing  as we're going down the outside steps to Willie's
car. It's  a steel gray Mercedes Benz convertible. For something to say
about it, I  ask, "What model is this?" Willie gets in the driver's seat,
saying, "It's  an E-class Cabriolet with the collision-prevention-assist feature.

This car  breaks for you automatically if you're about to run into something
or  someone that you haven't notice yourself, like when you're driving  and
texting or something like that. That's all I know about this car  though.

I'm no more of a gear-head than you." I walk around and get in,  mumbling,
"It's a beautiful car. How long have you had it?" He shrugs, "A  few months.

Got it for my birthday from Gramps. Dad and Mom were away at the  time." I'd
like to asks how he's getting along with his parents now, but the  last I
heard they were doing fine so I think I'll leave it at  that."

Turning the motor over,  Willie glances at me, saying, "Being with you
again, Dylan, um, it's really  nice." I smile, "Right back at you, Willie, and
thanks again for taking care of  me. If you hadn't insisted, I'd probably
have spent the  night pissed-off and moping around the house feeling sorry for
myself." He  beams at the compliment. It's so easy to make him happy. I just
wish more people  would do it. I almost always get the feeling he's lonely
and I don't understand  why he should be. He knows lots of people; a lot
more than I know. Like, I  remember when, years ago, he'd take me to those
block parties in Cambridge.  Everyone knew him, and a lot of them were gay, but
it felt to me like they  were all in competition with each other. No one was
especially a friend of  Willie's. He basically has led a lonely life of
many acquaintances  over the years, but with none he actually could call a
friend. Except me,  that is.

As it turns out I  need to give him directions to Dino's although we were
there together once  before. After parking a block away, we get out of the
car and I'm wondering if  Willie, like Robby two nights ago, will hold my hand
as we walk. I'm not sure if  I hope he does or hope he doesn't. He doesn't,
which surprises me, but I think  it's for the best. We walk slowly sharing
a Marlboro Light and talking  about what we feel like having for dinner
tonight. Inside the restaurant  a lady at the desk, before we can say anything,
goes, "Sorry,  gentlemen, we're totally booked for tonight. An insurance
agency reserved the  restaurant from eight-thirty till closing. It's some sort
of retirement  party. I'm very sorry, but I hope you'll try us again."

Willie smiles  his really good smile, saying, "Would you check again if there's a
table,  please. Nine o'clock, William Worthington," and hearing the name,
her face  lights up, "Oh, yes. I've been told to expect you, Mr. Worthington.

It's been so hectic tonight, please forgive me. If you'll follow me," and
she  picks up two menus. Willie beams at me.

We follow her to the  far right hand side of the restaurant, near the bar.

It's like a  small private section with two tables, one set-up for two,
separated from  the main dining area by  a four-foot divider  wall with live
plants of some kind growing from long planters on top of the  wall. It
separates these two tables from the retirement party that's  boisterously taking
place in the dining room. The other table in this private  section is few feet
to our left, occupied by three serious  looking men who are finishing their
meal. The bar begins four feet to the  right of us, and it's crowded with
men wearing suits and ties, although  most of them have loosened their ties by
now. Willie and I gawk at the  mostly overweight men for a second, hearing
words like aggregate limits,  something about capitalization, and ceded
reinsurance leverage. I look  at Willie, nodding my head at the bar, and feign
seriousness, saying, "How  about if you make a cellphone call to Mr.

Scallabrinie and have these insurance  people removed from the bar area. They're
annoying me." He laughs out loud, the  hardest I've ever seen him laugh, and it
gets some glances from a  couple of the insurance men. I chuckle at
Willie's laughter. He's wiping his  mouth with the clothe napkin, still snickering
and muttering, "Oh boy, that  would be the balls."

Two minutes later Tony  comes over and says to me, with mock astonishment,
"The VIP section? Way to  go," then he does a double take looking at Willie,
probably  remembering I was with Robby Saturday night. He raises his
eyebrows at me,  smirking, "Dylan Newman back so soon." Aww, he finally remembers
my  name. Well, I got a big yuck from Willie, so I'll try it with Tony.

Tapping his forearm,  I seriously say, "Tony, would you please ask those
gentlemen  at the bar to leave? They're annoying me." Tony and Willie both laugh
this time. It must be the outrageousness of that request, so I add, "No
joking  around, I'm serious," and they laugh some more. Taking a deep breath,
Tony leans  down, saying to us, "I needed a good laugh. It's been an awkward
evening so  far. Six different people asked me if I felt I had enough life
insurance,  and that's just in the last twenty minutes." Tony looks sexy with
his black  hair and swarthy complexion. Both go well with super white teeth
giving him a  killer smile. He points at me, saying, "I know you're
twenty-one, but what about  you," and he points at Willie, who goes, "Yeah, I'm
twenty-one too." Tony  chuckles as he's looking around, then asks, "What do you
guys want to  drink?" We order Old Fashions because that's not an all
whiskey cocktail, unlike a Manhattan or martini which are all  liquor.

Tony stands at the end  of the bar and one of the bartenders comes right
down to him as Willie says, "Ya  know, when we agreed upon this restaurant
yesterday, I asked my uncle about it,  completely forgetting I was here with
you before. Nice place, I mean for  Framingham." I go, "Oops, a little bit of
snobbery snuck out there,  Willie." He makes a face, grinning and saying,
"I'll need to watch that,  won't I?" The drinks come and we toast to
friendship. The serious men in  this so-called VIP section drop money on the table
without  waiting for a bill, and then make their way out. They never even
glance at  us. We watch them go, then Willie says, "I think I've seen that fat
guy in my uncle's restaurant a couple of times." I turn to look at the guy,
but he's already outside. "Do you think he's some kind  of gangster?" He
shrugs, then says, "Maybe," then adds, "It's nice having  this divider here
separating us from the riffraff on the other side." I  mutter, "Snob," and he
says, "Heh heh. I said that just so you could  call me a snob again." Then
we talk about some of the snobby restaurants and  places we've been together,
admitting ritzy snobby places definitely have  some admirable qualities.

Tony returns with our  Old Fashions, and takes our dinner order, plus we
order a second Old  Fashion. Willie orders escargots for an appetizer and
linguine with clam  sauce for his entree. Ugh! I go for less exotic menu items:
a shrimp  cocktail appetizer and veal marsala as my main course. Then I
order a  bottle of the Chianti Classico Robby and I had a glass of Saturday
night,  telling Willie he'll like it. When Tony leaves, Willie says, "You're a
wine connoisseur now too, huh?" I mutter, "Yeah, and I've got wavy  blond
hair now too." We're still working on our second Old Fashions when  our
appetizers arrive, then Tony's back opening our bottle of wine asking  if we'd
like it slightly chilled. We do, and he puts it in a bucket that  has its own
little stand next to our table. As we eat we're joking around  about what we
think a 'best friends' responsibilities should be. Then we  rehash the
strange relationship we had with our little sex-buddy, Andy, and all  the
trouble he ended up causing both of us. Of course this was like three  years ago
and neither of us has any idea what's happened to Andy since  then.

Feeling the two  cocktails, I go easy on the wine and we leave a quarter of
the wine in  the bottle when we have coffees: me a regular coffee, and
Willie an  espresso, which comes in a thick tiny cup. He offers me a taste, but
no thank  you. When the bill comes we argue about it, but I know Willie's
going to  insist so I relent, then worry if he'll leave enough tip. It's the
first  time in all the years Willie's been paying for our dinners that I've
ever  given a thought as to how much tip he leaves. I feel an obligation to
Tony  though because he's been so good to me and the other underage  guys
this past year or so. When the check comes back with Willie's American  Express
card, I mumble, "What's a good tip, Willie? I've heard it's  appropriate to
leave anywhere from twenty to twenty-five percent of the  bill." He goes,
"Yeah, that's what most suckers leave for a tip, but for  the drinks a ten
percent tip should be enough. I mean the  waiter merely drops the drinks off
while the bartender did all the  work making them. Then there's the sales
tax. You don't tip on the amount  of the sales tax." I don't like the sound of
this, so I say, "At least let  me leave the tip." He goes, "Don't be silly.

I got it."   Balls!
I catch Tony's eye on  the way out subtly motioning at Willie, trying to
infer I have nothing  to do with that tiny tip. Not that Tony has any idea
what I'm trying to convey;  he grins and does a little wave of his hand.

Outside Willie says,  "I assume you know me well enough by now to realize I  was
explained tipping as my father sees it. It's the rich  person's cheap way of
tipping. Rich people are often the worst tippers;  they simply can't make
themselves give any of their money away even  though they have more of it then
they can spend, and often did nothing to earn  the money in the first
place. Not me though, I always leave at least  twenty-five percent of the total.

What do I care about an extra thirty dollars  or so when it means more to
the hard working waiter or waitress." That's a relief, but then that's the
Willie I thought I knew, and I'm glad he's who I thought he was. I say, "You
mean server, don't you? Calling a person your 'waiter' is  so demeaning,"

and he laughs, muttering, "Bull crap," giving my  shoulders a hug.

We smoke a cigarette  while slowly walking the two blocks to the car, then
lean against the  car finishing our smokes with Willie asking, "Dylan, have
you ever been so horny  you could hardly catch your breath, but you told
yourself you weren't going  to initiate sex even though you're with someone
you've had great sex with  in the past?  Has that ever happened to you?" Ha ha,
I can't imagine what  he's leading up to. I act clueless though, saying, "I
try never to initiate sex  with someone for the first time." He goes,
"Really? How interesting, but  what about with someone you've had sex with, um,
say a hundred times, but  you promised yourself, as well as that person, you
wouldn't suggest  sex because you didn't want to get your hopes up that
something more would develop  and then get disappointed again?" I flick my
cigarette butt off  the convertible's side rearview mirror, asking, "Is that a
question?" He laughs leaning against me, "Would you think me not a man of  my
word if I suggested tonight we have a simple buddy-sex fuck?" I go,  "You
sure are full of questions tonight, aren't you William." He says,  "I gave
you a bath... don't forget that."

We joke around about it  until I say, "Okay, William, you've actually never
been a man of your  word in the first place, so you're not screwing-up
anything new  there. I'll do some buddy sex with you, but only if I can be the
bottom." He goes, "Well, forget about it then." We chuckle at that, then
Willie hugs me, murmuring, "You're awesome, Dylan. I'll always love you better
than anybody." I can't say 'right back at you' to that, so I mutter,
"You're pretty special yourself, William." He lets go of me, chuckling and
saying, "Stop calling me, William. It makes me think I'm back in prep  school."

Driving back to my place I thank Willie for dinner again, and he says,  "We
should have monthly dinners like this one, like a tradition  or something
like that. You know, to keep in touch. I mean as best friends  and all we're
sort of obligated, don'cha think?" I go, "Most definitely," but  I know that
won't happen. Not on some regular basis anyway. He's going  to college in
New York and he'll have another boyfriend soon enough, but getting  together a
couple of times a year isn't out of the question. By now Willie and I  have
developed the kind of relationship/friendship that if we don't see each
other for months, when we do see each other it's the same as if we saw one
another a week ago. Especially now that he's apparently settled into  a
consistent personality. In years gone by he'd act differently every time  I saw
him. I never knew what to expect.

I tell Willie to park  in back of my place, which he does, and we go in
through the basement door  with Willie telling me, "We can't do any romancing
with our buddy sex. No  making-out as foreplay, or cuddling afterwards,
although I  wish we could." I go, "You're exactly right. We'll be doing some hot
buddy-sex just because we feel like it, and because we can. Save the
romance for  someone you're romantically involved with." I flick on the  overhead
lights that are mounted in the drop-ceiling, but Willie says,  "Whoa, baby,
too bright." The lights are on a dimmer switch which I turn down,  telling
Willie, "There's no terms of endearment either, not with buddy sex.  So can
the 'baby' references." Willie grins, muttering, "Got'cha, no terms  of
endearment. You're right." I go, "On the other hand, vulgar comments and  insults
are perfectly acceptable." He chuckles, "Lots of rules, and by  the way I
got the 'buddy sex' terminology from you. Side-sex with a buddy,  right?" I
go, "Yes, recreational buddy sex. It's self-explanatory and  helpful having
names for various sex acts as a short cut, ya know, in case one  of the
participants is in a hurry." He goes, "Most definitely,"  and I add, "Not a lot
of  explaining necessary once everyone's learned the language. Buddy sex is
designed  to get your rocks off, and then, 'Thanks, dude. That was hot, see
ya around  town, maybe.' Like that."

Willie takes his shirt  off, mumbling, "This room's perfect for
recreational side-sex with a  buddy," and we both chuckle at yet another of our
nonsensical  comments. I'm taking my shirt off, with Willie asking, "No chance
somebody's going to walk in on us, right?" Dropping my shorts, I go, 'There's
always a chance, but in this case it's close to zero." Willie's got his
boxer  shorts off and now we're both as naked as we can get except for my
wristwatch, cross necklace, rings on my fingers, and my leather bracelet,  which
is actually the last present Willie's given me. Glancing at his penis  I'm
wondering if it's grown a tad. I go, "Obviously you're measuring your  dick
on a regularly basis, so what's the latest reading?" He laughs, "I  don't
measure my dick, it is what it is." I nod, "And what is that exactly?" He
laughs again, "Well, it's eight and a quarter inches flaccid like now, and a
little over eight and a half when boned up, maybe more than that when that big
boy's  really tight. I'm usually too aroused to measure it then." I go, "So
you do  measure your penis?" He goes, "No! That would be sick; I'm merely
going by  measurements taken when I was twelve." We both laugh as I go, "Uh
huh."

Both naked, we come  together but only to embrace; this isn't a make-out
moment. The couple of  quick kisses we've done so far this night were
appropriate for two close  gay friends. Not lingering kisses, but rather friendship
kisses. Our foreplay for buddy-sex consists of bodies squirming  together
with our arm around one another, all four hands hungry for the  feel of
another young man's skin, rubbing over muscle  definition verifying how our bodie
s are different from those of the  opposite sex. The feel of Willie's
athletic body with his mostly  hairless, silky smooth young skin has always been a
turn on for me, but  then any youngish slim and tight male body excites me.

Willie's is  just more familiar than most.

The sides of our  smooth faces slide together; his face smooth because he
shaved before  leaving the house and mine because I've yet to need a real
shave. Our  olfactory senses, while minuscule compared to many in the  animal
kingdom, none the less can pick-up our individual  scents and those
pheromones just happened to be  mutually arousing, thereby adding to the sexual
attraction  we have for one another. In a very short time our hips, almost
involuntarily,  do gentle humping thus stimulating our sex organs and further
enhancing sexual arousal until we gasp almost simultaneously. Our brains  have
countless memories of our past mutual intimacies and we  subconsciously slip
into our earlier established sexual roles when  together; mine a submissive
one to Willie's dominant one. I feel a  comfortable foggy veil of
submissiveness slide over my mind making me  shudder slightly at the pleasure of it
and nestle my face against  Willie's neck and shoulder as he gently rubs up
the back of my head, his fingers  in my hair, whispering, "Ummm, this is so
nice. You're my boy, huh Dylan?"  My body melds into his as I await signals
of what he wants to do  next.

The feel of him makes  my cock throbs and get firmer, thus further
increasing desire as reality's  receding so the sexuality of the moment can flourish
and grow until I'm  very aroused, tightly rubbing my hands up and down his
back, grabbing  handfuls of his tight butt cheeks grinding my sex against
his. Willie puts a  hand on each of my shoulder pressing down and I slowly
drop to my knees and rub  my face against his hard cock and hardening balls.

The pheromones are  strong here and I lick around his cock to taste as well as
smell his  personal scent. His fingers gently ruffle the hairs on my head
as he coos  soothing sounds of approval, which resonate in my submissive
frame of mind,  encouraging me to try harder to please him. Yes, it's approval I
crave from  my dominant sex partners so I suck on his cock with my cock
getting to  a hardness and tightness that it's sticking up against my belly
with wetness on the head. A quiet moan of arousal passes from my  throat
slipping past the head of his cock as I suck on it and fist the  shaft slowly.

"Mmmm," I push more of  the hard shaft into my mouth licking and sucking on
it hungrily. Willie's hip  begin a  slow rhythmic humping as he rubs my
shoulders, murmuring, "Good job,  boy. Take it all in," and he leans forward
sliding his boner on my tongue until  the head hits the back of my mouth, and
pushing against the gag reflex area  of my throat. I make a gagging sound
for a second, but a little hump of his hips  along with a simultaneous pull of
his hands behind my head and  his long leaking boner forces it way down my
throat. He keeps pulling my  head to him until my nose is squished against
his belly surrounded by  pubic hairs, his hard cock fully impaling my throat.

Willie moans, "Aaaah,  ummmm, oooh," and pulls my face tighter against his
belly. I'm dreamily  floating in sexual submissiveness until my brain
demands oxygen and my body  begins struggling. He humps against my face one more
time to show me who's  boss, then reluctantly withdraws his long hard boner,
and when the head's on my  tongue air streams into my lungs for a few
seconds before I swallow a big drool  of Willie's precum and cough a couple of
times just before his boner begins  moving across my tongue and down my throat
again. Willie moans,  then murmurs, "That's my good boy, take it all. Work
your throat  muscles."

The urge to stroke  my throbbing boner is huge but I know that my most
intense  orgasms are the ones fucked out of me, not the ones caused my me.

That's not a  conscious thought so much as it's hard wired into my brain from
experience. I wait for my dominant sex partner to do what he will. After a
third trip down my throat, I'm about as dominated as I'm likely to get, so
Willie pulls his cock out of my throat and mouth completely. His pinkish shiny
wet boner is very hard, almost sticking straight out from his body, only
hanging slightly due to the length of it. Willie rubs my head, telling me
sternly, "You missed some precum, boy." I lean in and lick  at the head of
his cock savoring my submissive role and trying not to whimper at  the sexual
arousal I'm sensing.

Ultimately  the brain is the largest sex organ in a man's body in that  it
controls his biological urges. Much of the euphoric  sexual experience is
controlled or emanates in the limbic lode  of the brain that's developed over
millions of  years. It's among the oldest areas of the brain too, so maybe
from there I get this strong desire to rim Willie's asshole and  thereby
furthering this submissive sense I'm enjoying. Willie's  of another mind
however. He gets a hold behind my neck pulling me forward onto  my hands; I was
already on my knees. On my hands and knees Willie smacks my ass  and the sound
of his hand slapping against my butt cheek rings out  making the loudest
sound we've heard in the last ten minutes, "SMACK!"  as Willie says, "I know
you like it rough, boy," and, "SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK!" with me grunting and
moving my ass. Then, with a hand on each of my  hips he pulls my ass up  and
holds it there. His boner is so hard he doesn't need his fingers to  guide it
to my asshole. It's so tight he guides it by moving his hips.  The drooling
head of his cock snuggles in against the lips of my anus, then he  humps it
right in past my sphincter muscle and immediately my  asshole's lips hug
around the neck of his cock and I go, "Ooooh," with my  shoulders doing a
little shudder and my back arching. Nothing can feel this  good, but I tighten
the muscles in my buttocks anyway hoping to  further enhance the sexual
pleasure coming from inside me.

We're both enormously  aroused and after Willie makes a gasping breathy
exhale he  humps his hips harder this time driving his boner three or four
inches up  my ass. I groan at the pain/pleasure sensations that alternate before
settling  on pleasure. My head goes back as the sizzling in my  rectum
sends chills and goose bumps all over me. It's a buzzing  sensation like little
electric shocks all around my pelvic area making my  shoulders shudder
again. Willie's hands rub up and down my back, then a big hump  of his hips and
all eight-plus inches of hard cock fills my ass. I shake and  hold my breath
hardly believing the sexual pleasure pouring from my rectum to  my brain,
and then out to nerve ending all over my body. Pleasure  that can't be matched
by anything except a hard cock up inside my rectum.  Willie's feet shuffle
a little as he moves closer, then he cups my shoulders and  the basement
fills with sounds of males fucking, "Slap, slap, slap, slap."  Sensations too
numerous to count explode, taking me to the highest peaks of  erotic
pleasure.

All I can do is marvel  that so simple and primitive an act as this can
bring me  such unimaginable pleasure. My already rock hard cock manages to
tighten further as the, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of Willie's body  smacking
against my butt cheeks takes me even higher and my boner pulls  away from my
belly to stick straight down in its hardest possible position, quivering
now in its tightness with the pee slit  gaping open and my body shaking at the
prospect of the climax that coming  on me like a runaway locomotive.

Nothing compares to climax and as  our orgasm roars up on both of us the, "Slap,
slap, slap," sounds are  joined by our chorus of sexual pleasure-moans that
we can no more control  than the inevitability of impending climax. Then,
it's on me hot and heavy for  real and the anticipation makes me shake like a
leaf in the wind,  helpless to stop the shaking until my body gets stiff and
the shaking  stops, my back arches and it's almost scary as I shudder, gasp,
then squeal with  my hips humping on their own as cum is streaking from my
nuts  up through my hard boner and out the quivering pee shit to splatter on
the  floor. Brilliant fireworks going off in my head with pleasure swarming
over me  from my cock, groin, and rectum spreading out to my hair and toes,
then another  thrust of my hips as another streak of cum leaves through my
electrified cock  and I hear from far off a desperate breathy moan from
Willie as he  humps against my buttocks shooting three loads of his sperm-laden
jism  up into my bowels. Another gasp and hard hump against me, then Willie
lays on my back gasping before he backs up pulling his softening cock from
my ass.

Laying my head on my  forearms I'm absorbing the indescribable pleasure of
climax while  slowly pushing my legs out behind me until I'm prone on the
floor with  Willie's ejaculation drooling from my wide open asshole. I love
the sense of a  wide open asshole with cooler air pouring into my 98.6 degree
rectum. Willie's leaning against the  washing machine doing his deep
breathing as I feel the last of my orgasmic  sensations fading away leaving me with
a fairly contented feeling  and me quietly sighing. Willie comes away from
the washing  machine to straddle me, a foot on each side of my chest. He
reaches down and  gets a hand under my armpits and pulls me up on my knees,
then up on my  feet. He's grinning, asking, "That was really good, don'cha
think?" I nod my  head, smiling, then mumble, "Pretty good, yeah." He rubs my
shoulders, saying,  "You motivate me. We climaxed awfully fast though. In the
old days I'd take you  to bed now and do you slow and sexy the second time,
and even a third  time." I snort a laugh, muttering, "And the fourth, if you
felt like  it."

He says, "C'mon,  let's go in that little  bathroom over there and I'll
clean some of my cum off your ass." We walk inside  the bathroom as he says,
"Remember when I'd make you go to sleep with my dick up  your ass?" I go,
"Yep, and I'd walk bowlegged half the next day," and he  goes, "Yep, but you'd
be ready to do it all over again that night." Well  actually I didn't have
much choice 'cause he was so dominate during those couple of days in Key
West. Then it was like, bang! I didn't want to play the submissive part anymore.

Fortunately, Willie got food poisoning so we never had a confrontation
about it. Willie, like me I guess, chooses to remember the parts of  our
adventures together that he likes best. I'm not going to  burst his bubble
though, what would be the point of  that?

This was good  buddy sex tonight. I got to experience a semi-hot submissive
sense, but then  Willie's always fucked me really good anyhow. I've fucked
him two or  three times as a 'top' and, while it was hot, it wasn't nearly
as hot  for either of us as when Willie runs the show.

We get cleaned up,  although some of the big load he shot up my ass will
still be  drooling out as I sleep, then it'll be dried and crusty in the
morning, but  a shower will take care of that. Walking out of the bathroom,
Willie says, "Ya  know, the truth is I'd really like to go for seconds tonight,
Dylan. Drag  it out by going slower and enjoy it without that desperate need
for orgasm  that I felt the first go round. Whaddaya say?" I'm like, "Nah,
no  thanks, Willie. It was good, but once is enough. I'm satisfied because,
like I  said, you fuck really good."

See, if he didn't ask,  but just took hold of my limp cock and led me over
to the chaise lounge, for  instance, and got me on it rubbing me and being
bossy he probably would  have ended up fucking me again. We're not in that
kind of relationship  anymore though, so once is all it takes to relieve any
horniness I was  feeling. Once is never enough with Robby though; there's no
discussion, we're doing it at least one more time. Neither of us would have
it  any other way. In between we'd be fondling each other and making-out,
getting  each other all hot and bothered all over again.

As we get dressed,  Willie says, "Ya know, and this is the honest to God's
truth, I was determined  to keep my word and just enjoy your company during
dinner, then maybe a sweet  kiss goodbye until next time. Silly me though; I
fooled myself into  thinking I could spend a couple of hours with you
without my libido running  wild. It ran wild of course and I lusted after you
because  you're irresistible to me. And, um, you know I'm in love with you
still,  right?" I go, "Willie! Stop it, please." He pulls his shorts on,
mumbling, "I know, I know, I'm just saying..." Putting on my shorts, I tell him,
"It's flattering, but you're not really in love with me. You're in love  with
the concept of being in love. And, then you're a sex maniac too of  course,
but that's beside the point." We both laugh and  he says, "Well, thank you,
Dr. Freud. You've cleared that up for  me."

Dressed now, we go  upstairs and get a second beer to go with a cigarette
on the balcony. It's  eleven thirty and I should get to bed, but it would be
too abrupt to shoo him  out the door. With most casual sex buddies I could
say it's been great, and I'll  see you later. Not with someone I've had a
history with like  Willie though. Willie and Ryan are the only side-sex
partners I consider  special. Only those two; all the others are the slam-bam,
thank-you-man, and we  go our separate ways. Casual sex is wonderful, but
there's close to a zero  commitment beyond the good sex. It means more to me than
that with  Ryan and Willie though, and then there's sex with Robby which is
way  above anyone else... way, way above 'cause it's romantic love with  him.

Willie's big on his  idea we have these monthly dinners, which means
monthly diners  and sex of course. I don't argue because, as I told myself
earlier, monthly will be closer to semi-annual, and that's closer to  the reality
of it. Willie says, "Ya know, maybe every two  weeks would be better. I
mean, we're really good together. Whaddaya think?" I  shrug, "I think that's an
extremely unlikely scenario, geographically  speaking. You're in New York
and I'm here in Mass." He goes, "Yeah, there's  that." We finish our beers
with Willie asking if he was rough enough during our  sex, and did I get to
feel submissive enough. Should he spank me more,  and others shit like that.

I'm sure he's serious about wanting  to pleasure me the best he can, but I
happen to know he gets off big time  dominating my ass, so he's actually
asking if it's okay if he gets rougher, and  at the same time he's fishing for
compliments like almost all 'tops' do. I tell  him he needs to decide how
rough he'll be, but that I'll let him know if  he's getting carried away. He
mutters, "After all the times we've been  together, I'm well aware of that
fact, Dylan."

I finally mention  I've got to get up early for work, adding, "Getting up
early for work is  something you've never yet experienced, Willie." He
laughs, saying, "Hey, I was  born into riches. It's not my fault." Walking him
down through the basement  and out to his car, I ask, "How come your father's
got all those riches  you mentioned, but his brothers, your uncles, are
working stiffs?" He goes,  "My uncles are hardly working stiffs. After Granddad
set up monstrous trust  funds for each of his three sons, and smaller ones
for us grand kids,  he turned over the control of the families' remaining
stocks and  bonds portfolio to the oldest son, who's my father. Both my  uncles
receive the same yearly amount from those trust funds as  my father, and
have similar houses to our's, but they've chosen to  reinvest their inheritance
in business ventures. My father's business is  supposedly increasing the
value of the family's primary portfolio so it serves  generations to come."

I'd like to ask what generation initially accumulated all  this wealth, but
I'll save that for another time. I'm very tired and need to get  to sleep. We
do a quick kiss goodbye at his car and I watch him drive off  with a wave,
then lock up the garage entrance and do the things I need to  do before
getting in bed.

Before sleep wins out I  think about how sexual desire can be a beautiful
and powerful thing when  love is involved, and how it's still pretty powerful
when love isn't involved.  Surely there are different levels of guys'
libido; basically the energy put into  a guy's sex drive. Testosterone levels are
a factor too, as well as unknown  internal psychological factors that for
some create a condition  called: hyper sexuality. It's almost as though  the
unprecedented build-up of chemicals leading to  puberty continues after
puberty keeping some guys at that same  'highest' level of sexual desire many
years past puberty. Or maybe I'm all  wrong, but there's gotta be something
behind the profound intensity of sexual  desire that I feel at times. Sexual
desire at times that cause me to  unconsciously do things I regret. There's
passion, and  then sometimes there's pure lust to deal with. Huh, I may
spend a tiny bit too much time thinking about and actually doing sex, but what
else could I think about or do that I might like better? Hmmm, tennis? And
then sleep overtakes my consciousness.



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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