Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2016 21:14:10 -0400
From: MGTBILL@aol.com
Subject: DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME    CHAPTER 37 FINAL

DYLAN'S VACATION BACK HOME



CHAPTER 37



by  Donny Mumford



After work  on Friday I'm driving Chubby and myself home, both of us
looking  forward to our dates tonight. Chubby's quietly reading stuff on his
iPhone, then he goes, "Oh fuck! Listen to this factoid, bro." I go, "Stocking up
 on new factoids, huh Chub?" He nods, "Yeah, sort of, I need a couple  of
new ones to get MJ ranting and raving at her sister's birthday  party
tonight." I ask, "Where do you get your factoids?" and he  goes, "Oh, different
places. Last month, for example, I downloaded  this app called Astrophysicist's
 Mind-blowing Facts. Listen to this one: NASA launched  the Voyager I
satellite in 1977, and it's still working. Presently it's 11.7  billion miles
from earth traveling at 38,000 miles an hour on its way to our closest  star
system, Alpha Centauri. Here's the really mind-blowing part  though: it will
finally arrive at the very outskirts of the Alpha Centauri  star system in
40,000 years." I go, "Whaaat?" He shrugs, "That's  a scientific fact, bro. The
closest star to our sun is 4.3 light years  away." I'm like, "Jeezus, it'll
take 40,000 years to get there?" He goes,  "Yep," and I mumble, "Well,
please don't tell me any more shit  like that, Chub, it hurts my brain."

We stop for a  take-out pizza and an order of hot wings for dinner, then
eat while  drinking a beer in Chubby's kitchen as he reads out-loud more
mind-numbing  facts about the unimaginable vastness of space. Fascinating facts,
although it  all sounds more like science fiction than fact. Chubby easily
memorizes a few of the more unbelievable of these factoids and  he'll regal
fellow party-goers with them tonight. I can  picture MJ calling 'bullshit'
on each factoid, then Chubby Googling to  prove he's correct with her still
insisting it's all bullshit. She has a  problem admitting she's wrong about
anything. My prediction: they'll  end up in a shouting match in which MJ will
tell Chubby to go fuck himself and  then she'll stalk out of the party.

Then, before the  night's over  they'll end up doing the nasty in the backseat
of our Jeep. Note  to myself: vacuum and  Lysol the hell out of the backseat
Saturday morning!

Chubby tells me,  "Almost all of my dates with Mary Jo result in a fight of
some kind,  but it's easy making-up with her, and then she's really hot in
the  sack." I go, "Eww," and he grins, "She's my slam piece, bro."  I ask,
"What's a slam piece?" He goes, "Um, a girl I'd never marry in  a million
years but I'd fuck into the Andromeda  galaxy." He glances at me, "Do ya know
what I mean?" I mumble, "Yeah, I think I  get it. It's like gay buddy-sex.

Recreational sex without any  real commitment beyond having good sex
together." He goes, "Hey, I like the  way you put that. It doesn't make me seem like
I'm just 'playing' MJ to get  in her pants. Yeah, her and me are buddies who
do sex together for  mutual pleasure." Huh, I'm not sure I like the idea of
my buddy-sex being  compared to Chubby screwing Mary Jo.

After eating, I go  down to my place with hard-to-believe space factoids
bouncing off my  brain. First thing I've got to do is to get ready for my date
with Robby.  Tonight he has his normal Friday after-work meeting, then
he'll get cleaned-up  and eat dinner with his parents, after which he'll pick me
up at  eight o'clock. That's the plan anyway. I take my time showering and
getting  dressed, but I'm still ready almost an hour before I expect Robby.

Sitting at my desk I check my cellphone for text messages and find some;
none of  them unexpected except there's no text from Ryan. He normally texts
me every day, but this time I'll text him first. My text  is a simple,
'Wassup, Ryan? Do you have your dorm roommate  confirmed for next week?" A couple
of simple questions to maybe get  a dialogue started, but I get no reply so
he's apparently  otherwise occupied. Ya know, it's weird to think that
every single  person on the planet, all 7.3 billion of us, is doing something
this very  second. I wonder what, um, say President Obama is doing right  now?

Maybe he's taking a dump.

I read Willie's  text in which he tells me he's been thinking about our
conversation the other  night and he's found that cute prick, Andy's, phone
number. I text him  back, 'Burn it!'  And then hey, here's a text from
Dodger's boyfriend, Vinnie, asking about a haircut. That's a first; no it's a
second. He asked for a haircut once before when Dodger insisted Vinnie call  me.

Huh, I guess he's following through after the last haircut I gave  him when
Dodger was on leave. Yeah, but the problem with that is he'll want  to fuck
me afterwards... duh, because that's what Dodger does after  a haircut.

Vinnie's like that. I'll ignore his text for now because  I'm not 'feeling' us
two doing 'it'. If he texts me again I'll deal with it  then.

Reading a few more text messages consisting mostly of goofy and nonsensical
comments; still, it make me feel good to be remembered. I answer most of
them with one-liner replies that I hope are funny. After that I check
myself out in the mirror looking closely at the pathetic beginnings of my
mustache. It consists of almost invisible pale blond hairs with a few on my
chin too. Huh, that's at least some progress.

Restless  and anxious for Robby to get here, I open a can of beer and have
a smoke on  the balcony thinking deep thoughts about last night's awesome
date with  Robby. Wouldn't it be perfect if we replicate last night's sexual
activities again tonight?! It was special last night, but then some nights
just go like that. Damn though, I definitely have a serious case of  the
'hots' for my boyfriend. Taking my wallet from my back pocket, I  pull out the
picture of Robby I carry with me and my dick stiffens up looking at  his
cutely, handsome face. I don't think I've ever been as devoted to  Robby,
almost lovesick, as I've been since returning from Georgia. He's  pretty much the
same wonderful boyfriend he was before I left for that  Georgia trip, but
it's like I'm appreciating him more now... and it's  like I need him. What's
that poem from ninth grade English  class? It goes: 'Only where love and
need is one, and the work is play for  mortal stakes... then something,
something, something' else that I  forget. Huh, I still don't get exactly what that
poem means, but I get the part  about 'love and need is one'.

And I really admire  Robby too. He always appears to have everything under
control, and not only at  work but in every other way as well. He's been
attending those  financial meeting with real business men who are two or three
times his  age; sometimes he even wears a suit and tie. I couldn't do that
shit. Plus,  I've come to realize of late what years of boy-watching have
been telling  me like forever: to wit, there are simply very few guys nearly as
good  looking as Robby. And he's so fucking sexy too, especially with his
skimpy curly  soft beard. Well, it's hardly a beard, but he's certainly got
more  facial hair than me. The point being, Robby's very special and I'm
very,  very lucky he's my boyfriend... I will not fuck that  up!

Putting his picture  back in my wallet I start wondering if I'm getting a
little carried away  here. On second thought though, everything I've been
thinking about Robby  is true. And oh yeah, he has that nice little touch of
bossiness about him  now too. Well he's had it since, I don't know, maybe
since the last  semester at Merrimack. It's carried over nicely to the present
and by now  it apparently has solidified until it's second nature to him, and
not just  with me either. He carries himself confidently with the guys on
his crew, plus  with the other two supervisors, and Chubby too. I see Chubby
treating  Robby as his boss, being deferential and showing him respect. Heh
heh, I  sound like the president of Robby's fan club. I  seriously better a
grip on myself though or I'll have a raging  boner when I answer the door,
'Oh, hi there Rob, look at the boner  I got from just thinking about you!'
Yeah, that wouldn't be too cool! I'd come  off looking like a dork if  I start
treating him like he's a rock star or something.

Done my cigarette, I  pour the unwanted remaining half can of beer on the
dirt around the  balcony shrub, then go in to brush my teeth and gargle
again. The doorbell  chimes and I get this weird kind of nervous feeling in my
balls. It's kinda  like just before Ryan's about to give me one of his
specialty haircuts and my  fetish begins to glow red hot. Yeah, but why in the hell
should that apply  to Robby? Walking quickly to the front door, then
opening it, Robby comes  in smiling, saying,  "Sorry I'm a couple minutes late,
Babe." I grin stupidly as he closes  the door, then asks me, "What do you
think about this Polo  golf shirt I'm wearing? Is it too pink?" He looks so
fucking cool and  sexy hot I could cream in my jockey shorts! I mumble, "Um,
it's not  exactly pink, Rob, and it goes perfectly with those light tan cargo
shorts you're wearing. You look, ah, awesome, Rob," then I awkwardly give
him a hug around the neck with a nice wet kiss on his lips. Awkward because
I kinda jumped at him, so he moved back a little not expecting the abrupt
hug. Robby goes, "Whoa, thanks, Dylan, but ya caught me off guard there a
little bit," then he smacks his lips grinning, and  saying, "Cinnamon
mouthwash, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I just started using  a red mouthwash." Then I
babble a little, "It's like, I mean, I like  mint better, but I tried this
because it was on sale. And ya  know, mouthwash cost more, ounce for ounce, than
most wines. I'll  probably use this bottle up before going back to the minty
flavored,  um, mouthwash." He laughs, muttering, "TMI about mouthwash,
babe," then,  "What do you want to do tonight?"

I rub his shoulder,  shrugging and saying, "You're my man, Rob. I'll do
whatever you say."  He goes, "Gee, really? Well, heh heh, I was gonna do this
tomorrow  after we sign for the apartment, but if you don't mind we'll hit
the mall  now. I need to shop for a few things to take to college and I'd
appreciate  your advice." I mumble,  "Okay, um, the mall huh? Don't you think we
should mess around in my  bedroom first?" He goes, "Oh, how about we do
that later, Dylan. Do you  mind?" Putting a hand on each of his shoulders and
looking him in the eyes, I  go, "Whatever you say, Rob, but messing around in
my bedroom before  shopping wouldn't take that long and I could use a
little loving from you right  about, um, now." He grins, "Well, you are awfully
cute and sexy to say  that. Plus I suppose taking care of my spouse-to-be's
sexual itch should take  a priority over shopping." I go, "And..." He runs his
fingers through my  hairs grinning, then says, "And, like I said, we'll do
it later." I make a  face, asking, "Are you sure we shouldn't do it now?" He
closes his fist on  hairs at the front of my head and gives a yank, then
uses the fistful of  hair to pull my face to his. Our lips meet and I passively
enjoy being kissed  sexily by Robby. The fact that my hair in front is
finally long enough for him  to get a fistful of is pretty damn cool too if you
ask me.

He's kissing me with  his tongue in my mouth while now pushing my head
backwards with the  fistful of my hair and it kinda hurts, but it's a sexily
dominant way to  kiss, and that's for goddamn sure. My hands hold onto his
waist as I  begin kissing back and of course my cock begins getting hard. We
haven't moved since he came in. We're still only three feet from the front
door  as we kiss. His lips slide to my cheek, we both take a gasping breath,
then  Robby gives a last tug on my hair pulling my head forward  sharply, then
he lets go of it, and says, "Pull down my shorts."  Looking him in the
eyes, breathing in little fast burst, I unsnap his  shorts and pull the zipper
down, then pull his shorts down along with his  underwear. Robby steps out of
them. That rough hair-pulling kiss has the  beginning of a sweet submissive
trance forming in my mind. Going down on my  knees, I pick up his semi-firm
cock and suck it into my mouth sighing. Sucking  Robby's cock has been one
of my very favorite things to do for a couple of  years now. It takes less
then a minute to suck his stubby penis  into a hard fat boner, then I lap at
his nuts while his wet hard cock  slides across my face leaving a streak of
precum in it's path. Lifting his nuts, I lick  near his asshole which is as
sparkling clean as it usually is. I smell the  lingering scent of bath gel
from his recent shower, but that'll wear off in  time and I'll be able to
smell his personal scent, which I much  prefer.

Robby squats down a  little, bending his knees so I can lick over his
asshole, his scrotum full of  nuts lying on my forehead. That causes Robby to
gasp and steady  himself putting his hands on my shoulders. More rimming has
him shuddering and doing a breathy exhale before stepping back, very
aroused, "Get your shorts off." Standing, it takes me a couple of  seconds to get
bare-ass naked; my shorts, underwear, and shirt are in  a pile on the floor
next to me. Robby pulls his pink Polo golf shirt over  his head and our naked
bodies come together hugging face to face,  then we do a sexy open mouth
kiss spreading our mixed saliva all around our  mouths. I imagine in my head
Robby's skimpy mustache scraping against my  upper lip, but in reality it's
too soft yet to actually feel it.

As always, I got a  tight, hard boner from sucking his cock and licking his
asshole, so  our hard cocks duel now as we sway, kissing and rubbing our
hands over  each other's body. Raging hormones, among other factors, create
intense  sexual desire so it's not long before Robby turns me around and
sticks the  wet head of his extremely tight cock against my asshole. He puts his
arms around  my waist and pulls me steadily back unto his boner. I moan
quietly as a  spurt of precum plops from my cock. His hard organ goes up, up, up
my ass  as my head lies back  on his shoulder and I'm limp in his strong
arms as his crotch humps  hard against by buttocks, his cock fully up my ass
now. It hurts and feels  fantastic simultaneously. Robby rubs his nose on my
cheek murmuring, "Mmmm, you  smell so good, Dylan," and he squeezes his arms
around me tightly while arching  his back lifting me up on my toes, then
humping his  crotch against my ass hard. His fat cock's pressing against my
prostate making me shudder and moan, "Oooh, oooh." Bending back a little
further  Robby lifts me off the floor completely now and I drift off into  a
tasty submissive trance feeling totally dominated by Robby.

A few more humps  against my ass and his boner expand a little inside me.

The lips of my anus  are stretched around the fat root of his boner creating
sexy vibrations of  pleasure that spread all over me. He straightens-up
setting me back on  my feet, then gets an arm around the front of my neck
pulling my chin  back and up and, with me completely under his control, he starts
fucking my ass with those, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds in my ears as I float
in a  cloud of submissive sexual pleasure. Our bodies meld together as  the
side of Robby's chin slides against the side of my jaw with every  hump of
his hips driving his now harder, fatter boner back and forth  in my
super-sensitized rectum. Oh the sexual pleasure of it all! I moan his name  hoping
this will go on for a long time, but it doesn't.

My heavy-lidded  eyes see my boner sticking straight out from my shaved
groin  pulsating with pleasure as my climax comes roaring on me and I shudder
and gasp,  then Robby cries out, his body stiff against my back and with a
whinny-sounded  groan Robby fills me up with his cum and my insides get sloppy
and  slippery. He's humping against my buttocks shooting a second load of
his  creamy cum inside me when I squeal and struggle in his grasp, choking as
I  try swallowing with his arm tightly against my throat. My hips
spastically  hump again with cum streaking out this time and all the stars in the
vastness of space appear behind my eyes and for a second or two I'm in  an
otherworldly state of mind, then again! This time it's a supernova of  sexual
sensations spiking as another streak of cum travels up and out of my rock
hard boner, a boner so hard it doesn't even quivering as cum  streaks out of
it, and then two more little streaks and I'm shaking and  moaning while
soaring for an instant to the mountain top of  sexual ecstasy.

It's quickly over  though, and the reality of life comes flooding back into
my brain as I  go limp again, marveling at the powerful effects of orgasm.

Such a mighty force,  but sadly it's only last for a few fleeting seconds.

The back of my  head lulls on Robby's shoulder now as he's kissing and
licking my ear. My  hand comes up so I can rub his cheek and sort of hold his face
against the side  of my head. We're both taking deep breaths as I try
keeping the sensation of  climax fresh in my mind, but like always it all drifts
away leaving me  wanting more, but contented too. Taking a deep breath, I
gasp, "Oh Rob!  Man that was wonderful. It always seems new and exciting with
you." He  nods his head, murmuring, "I love you so much, Dylan," and we
slowly let go each other. I feel kind of dizzy when I step away from Robby,
and then more realty hits as his cum begins drooling out of my  ass. It's a
return to reality alright when Robby grins, saying, "I think I  hurt my
fucking back lifting you like that." Pulling on my dick a couple of  times, I
mumble, "Then maybe you should do some exercises or something, Rob,  'cause I
loved the way you did that. I got all submissive to you, and it  was really
fuckin' sexy-hot."

Robby nods toward my  bathroom and we walk to it with him saying, "I
haven't heard you mention  that submissive stuff for quite a while." I go, "Oh?

Guess I don't need to  mention it since you're doing the dominant part so
well." He laughs, "Only in  your head, Dylan, only in your mind. But that's
okay. If you think we're  doing that, that's good enough for me. That you're
happy is all I care about."  Looking behind me, I'm wiping my ass with a damp
washcloth, muttering, "You're  doing a hell of a job of making me happy, so
don't change anything." He takes  the washcloth from me and wipes the back of
my legs and up my ass crack,  muttering, "Yes, boss," and I go, "You're the
boss, Rob. Jeez!" He  laughs again, then says, "Oh, fer sure. Let's see
now: I say we're going to  the Mall and you say we're messing around first.

Which of those two things did  we do?" I go, "What you wanted us to do
obviously. If you didn't want to mess  around with some sex, we would have gone to
the mall." Another snort of a laugh  from him, then he says in the form of a
question, "And now we are going to the  mall?" In a fake, extra-serious
manner, I say, "If that's what you tell me, then  that's what I'm gonna do!"

He grabs a hand  towel to dry my ass and the back of my legs, saying, "Damn
right we're going to  the mall, and you know what we're doing afterwards?"

As we walk back to my  bedroom, I shake my head, "What are we going to do
after the mall?" He  says, "We're going to a gay dance club in Boston." I'm
like,  sarcastically, "Oh boy," because he can't dance. As we're getting
dressed,  I suggest, "We should practice dancing together here before dancing in,
um,  public. Don'cha think?" He says, "Practice dancing? No, we're going to
the mall  now." I'm like, "If you say so, Rob, but doesn't it make more
sense, since we're  here already, to practice before we go to the mall." Taking
a page out of my  book, he fakes a serious expression, asking, "So we're
not  going to the mall now?  Is that what you're telling me?" I go, "Not if
you want to practice dancing  together first." He laughs and hugs me, "If I
want to practice  first, uh huh." I go, "You mean now?" and he laughs again,
then says, "I know I  dance like shit, Dylan. I was actually thinking about
taking some lessons  if I knew of a place that taught today's dances." We go
down to the  finished basement and I dial up 'Jealous' by Nick Jonas because
it's got an easy  beat. I start by doing one dance move, then have Robby do
 it.

At first both of  us feel goofy as we do the next dance move, then repeat
it adding  another step, and do it over and over, but after a few minutes
we're  getting into it. The thing is, Robby's an excellent athlete,  very
coordinated, but he doesn't move well to a dance beat. I try some  Avicii tunes
and after twenty minutes of concentrating on a limited  number of variable
movements of his arms, feet, hips, and head, we see some  progress. Finally we
settle on basic body parts moving in  a repeatable dance routine, kind of
boring, but much improved over his  previous random, sometimes uncoordinated
jerky movements. Basically he needs to  feel the beat, with a bit of an
attitude, one arm moving with the beat, same for  bobbing his head and bending
his legs slightly while getting the hips  involved. Not big movements, just
moving with the beat. He's not doing it  as smoothly as I'd like, but it
looks okay.

It  certainly doesn't come naturally to Robby, but whaddaya gonna do?

Willie  had an easy time teaching me, but with Robby I settle on the fact  he at
least knows a few moves and he's doing better. We'll give it a  try later
tonight, but first the mall. We're both sweating from all that, um,  dancing,
so we're in the little half bath washing our faces. Robby goes,  "Thanks,
Dylan, I feel much better about dancing to a fast beat. Slow dancing is
simple, and I like slow dancing with you. I always felt geeky  fast dancing." I
go, "You've never looked geeky in your life, Rob." He  goes, "Thanks, but I
feel better after practicing with you." I'm like,  "Dancing's fun, but I'm
not some kind of fanatic about it like some guys,  and of course all girls
love to dance."

Outside, going down  the steps to his pickup, I go, "Aside from the
dancing, are you at all nervous  about going to a gay club?" He goes, "Yeah, I am,
but I want to see what it's  like. Don't you?" I nod, "Yeah, sure," but of
course I've already been in four  or five gay clubs with Willie and then the
one in Georgia. None of them had  a WOW factor as far as I'm concerned, but
then a lot of those gay guys are  mainly interested in picking up someone to
have sex with. Also,  there's gay elements I don't feel comfortable with,
like the biker and  leather crowds, or older gay men. They intimidate me.

What I'd really like  is a gay bar with only guys in their twenties who are
more like a frat party  crowd, only they'd all be gay. That's what I'd be very
comfortable  with, but then I've no experience to speak of in any other kind
 of environment other than frat parties and the like. And I'm not dissing
anyone... to each their own. For all I know a frat party crowd would bore the
shit  out of most guys in a gay bar.

At the mall, the  parking lot's pretty full, which isn't a surprise for a
Friday night.  Robby doesn't like shopping for clothes so, after parking, we
just check out  Macy's men's wear, avoiding the Polo department this time of
year because  everything is overpriced there. I've found some good Polo
items on sale, but at  this 'going-back-to-school' time of the year nothing's
on sale in the Polo  section except summer stuff. Robby's interested in some
every-day  casual stuff to wear to class this winter. He buys two pairs of
Lee's  skinny jeans, a hoody sweatshirt, and two long sleeved pullovers.

Total cost is  $149.00, and ya can't do much better than that. Every single item
was  on sale, but then that's the beauty of Macy's... everything except Polo
is almost  always on sale. I'm carrying one of the shopping bags and Robby's
got the  other one as we head back to the car, with me saying, "That was
painless, Rob,"  and he goes, "Yeah, it was, but I'm having second thoughts
about the gay  club in Boston." I shrug, "We should do it so we can say we
did. We're  twenty-one now so let's see what we've been missing."

Robby was online  checking out the gay bar scene earlier today and he
decided on the  twin bars called Machine Nightclub and Ramrod. The second one is
a leather  cruise bar, which we're not interested in. Machine is primarily a
 dance nightclub although they do have a pool table and electronic  games
floor too. We drive down route 9 east, connect with the Mass  Pike and drive
directly into Boston with the Boyalston Street address of  the Machine
nightclub in Robby's GPS. As it turns out the nightclub isn't  far from Fenway
Park so there's parking aplenty to accommodate fans when  there's a Red Sox
game. We park a block away and walk back to the nightclub  smoking a cigarette
feeling a little bit out of our element, but we've come  this far so we're
committed.

It's nine-thirty  now and the club doesn't even open until ten. When we get
there  there's already a line consisting of groups of male friends, most
likely gay.  There are a few guy and girl couples too, who could be straight.

Robby  tells me the reviews for the club indicates we'll find people  who
frequent the Machine nightclub come in all shapes, sizes,  and genders with a
variety of sexual orientations. They come  to enjoy the vibrant dance party
atmosphere. So all types,  but it's primarily known as a gay club and I'd
guess of the  fifty-plus people in line most of them are gay guys, ages from
early  twenties to maybe mid-thirties.

It's a  rather raucous line of people we're standing with. In front of us
are three gay friends in their mid-twenties who've obviously  done some
front loading before getting in line. They're a bit intoxicated, laughing and
giggling at every stupid thing any of them says. In fact most of the  people
in line appear half drunk, or maybe more than half. Robby and I exchange
'looks', but say nothing although we're both wishing we had a few drinks in
us.  Four older guys get in line behind us laughing about someone named,
Marcus, who  has the longest cock any of the guys had ever seen. I light another
cigarette  inching forward, a little closer to Robby. After a couple of
minutes the  guys behind us stop laughing about Marcus' cock and start talking,
too  loudly, about a disturbing trend at the Machine Nightclub; they feel
it's  becoming overrun by twinks. They're obviously saying this for Robby's
and  my benefit because we look young for our age. We studiously ignore their
taunts  until one of the guys taps me on the shoulder. I glance back seeing
a big  African American dude. The hair down the middle of his head has been
dyed  copper color. He asks, "Is this your first time at the club?" I nod,
and he  says, "Well then, I've got the first dance with you." Like that makes
any  fucking sense.

He has a pronounced  lisp, as well as being big and intimidating. The three
guys he's with are white  guys who look older. They're passing a joint
around as they watch us with  smirks on their faces. The black dude asks me,
"What's your name, twinky?" I  mumble, "Everyone calls me Cupcake." Robby
laughs out loud, then turns around  saying to the black guy, "You do not have the
first, second, or third dance  with Cupcake, 'cause I do." The black guy
puts his hands up in the air and  says in a soprano voice, "Don't hurt me!"

His friends laugh and then  the one with a ring through his nostril, says,
"Why don'cha leave the boys  alone, Jaquann?" He's passed the joint and he
takes a pull off it, then  says, "I'm looking out for Cupcake tonight, that's
all I know. He's under my  motherfuckin' protection." Other than that, nobody
pays any attention to  us. Everyone I see in line is with at least one
friend and in most cases  more then one, and except for that little exchange
with Jaquann there isn't much interaction outside of the individual  little
groups. That's fine with Robby and me.

The line starts  moving at ten o'clock. By then there's more people behind
us in line  than in front of us. At the door two bouncers are checking ID
and collecting a  ten dollar cover charge. Our bouncer is a good looking
musclebound preppy-looking guy who says, "Thank you," when we each give him  ten
dollars, then he mumbles, "Enjoy, but no drugs, guys." We go in and follow
the sign with an arrow pointing downstairs. Going through the door at the
bottom  of the steps there's an immediate assault on our senses. Heavy  bass
thumping, colored lights moving through the room, fifty  bodies already
gyrating to the DJ's remixed and house music. We walk  further inside as more
people come in behind us. Looking around I see three bars  and a DJ up above
us in an open booth. In addition there are four platforms with  poles where
go-go boys dressed in bright colored boxer briefs and florescent  body paint
dance sexily. Three of them look to be in their late twenties and  not
especially interesting to me, but one of them is probably too  young to be in a
nightclub. He's slim with a pretty face and shoulder  length shiny
light-blond hair that he constantly needs to flick his  head back to keep it off his
face as he humps the pole. I stare at him for a few  seconds until Robby
takes my arm and we head for one of the bars.

Robby shouts above  the noise, "You're the designated driver tonight,
Dylan. I'm going to need  to get drunk if you expect me to dance." He orders
bottles of Coors and a shot  of Jack Daniels for himself. Flashing down the
bourbon, he says to me, "You  stick with beer tonight so you can drive us home?"

I go, "Gee, no shots for me?"  He chuckles, "I know you hate shots," and I
go, "Yep, I do. I'm more than fine  sticking with beer." Within a half hour
there's at least a hundred and  fifty guys and maybe thirty to forty girls
in here with the majority  of them dancing. Most of the girls appear to be
lesbians, but not all of  them. The decibel level seemingly increases with
each new  dance number the DJ blasts from a half dozen speakers. Around the
perimeter of  the dance floor are leatherette booths with cocktail tables in
front. We  share a booth with two other couple. One gay couple who aren't very
 attractive, and the other is a gay guy with his best friend; a straight
girl with a big nose. They're telling us about other gay clubs around
Boston, mostly in the Back Bay. In their opinion Machine is the best  nightclub
for dancing and the attached Ramrod club is cool too, but only for  spectating
the leather crowd, who are constantly cruising each other trying  to make
contact.

By eleven  o'clock, Robby, who can't drink booze for shit, is on his third
shot  and beer. He's loudly telling the gay couple and the gay guy with the
straight big-nosed girl about his career as a star pitcher  for Framingham
High. Robby needs to shout to be heard. It's almost comical  because I can
tell the guy and girl are waiting for an opportunity to get  up and dance.

When Robby takes a break to chug some beer they excuse themselves  and exit
the booth leaving the unattractive gay couple to hear more about  Robby's high
school. I've never heard Robby brag about himself before. The  gay couple
finally excuse themselves to get fresh drinks. Robby  watches them go, then
leans over and says, "I can't believe I just said all  that shit. Did I sound
like an asshole?" I shake my head, "Noooo! They were  interested. Didn't
the girl say her cousin went to Framingham High?" He  shrugs, looking
confused, so I put my arm across his shoulders and give him a  hug. He shakes his
head chuckling and mumbling, "'I'm such a  jackass."

We've been  frequenting the same bars all night and leaving the bartender,
Henry,  some fat tips. When it's my turn to make my way through the crowds
to the bar,  Henry sees me and says, "Two Coors and a shot of Jack, right?"

I tell  the guy, "Just the beers, Henry, my boyfriend is drunk enough." When
I'm  back with the two cans of beer Robby doesn't even notice I omitted the
shot  of bourbon. Burping, he shouts in my ear, "I need to take a piss." I
get  up, telling the straight couple who just returned, looking hot a sweaty
from  dancing, "We're gonna hit the head, then do some dancing, so would
you save  our seats?" The gay guy, who has his hair in pigtails nods his head
and  shouts something I can't hear. Nodding at Robby, I shout at pigtails,
"Um,  this is the first time he's ever drank liquor, so excuse his glory days
stories,  although they're true." Pigtail waves, yelling, "No problem.

You're an  adorable couple." I mutter, "Oh, thanks. You too," and I head into
the  crowd.

Robby follows  me, saying in my ear, "Fuck that glory-days bullshit. I was
just  making conversation." I nod, ignoring that and mumble, "I gotta take a
 wicked piss too. There's a sign for the lavatory in back of Henry's bar."

Making our way there and going inside we discover it's just as loud  and
crowded inside as outside, plus it's a unisex bathroom.  That's  not something
we've run into very often. Girls coming out of the stalls are  fixing their
make-up at a sinks right next to guys at a urinal  with their dicks in his
hands pissing. Apparently it's no problem. Some of  the gay guys are even
talking to the girls as they piss. Awkward doesn't  cover it for me, but I've
got no choice. When a urinal is available I hop right  to it. The guy next
to me blatantly looks over at my dick,  then mumbles, "Nice looking cock."

Without looking at him, I shout,  "Thanks." Done my piss I can't find Robby.

Then I hear someone throwing up  in a stall and figure it's gotta be him, so
I work my way to the stall past guys  making-out, and past one couple that
really needs to get a room. I find it  is indeed Robby who's throwing up.

He's wiping his mouth with toilet paper,  then looks up and mumbles, "I can't
drink for shit," which makes me snort out a  laugh. We wait for an available s
ink, then Robby rinses out his mouth  and washes his face.

Outside the bathroom,  I go, "Did you get the impression some of those guys
spend most of the night in  there?" He goes, "I didn't notice, but I'm
feeling better  after throwing up. I could really go for a bottle of water
though." They  sell bottles of water for five bucks, so we're back at Henry's bar
for water. He  gives it to us and waves off my offered five dollar bill.

It's always good to  tip bartenders because they'll serve you ahead of other
non-tippers, and once in  a while they'll give you a 'round' on the house.

We've been here for an hour and a half by now, but have yet to dance which is
 part of the reason we came. The other part is so Robby could see what a
gay  nightclub is all about. I already knew, and this one is pretty much like
the  others I've been in, although this place is maybe even tamer than the
others.

Standing against the  wall watching the dancers, Robby sips on his bottle
of water as I  nurse yet another beer. Finally I say, "We gotta dance some
time and this tune's  got an easy beat, so..." He shrugs, "Okay, let's try
it." It takes a minute for  Robby to get into it, but then he's okay,
especially in a crowd where everyone  helps him keep the beat; it gets kind of
contagious and Robby seems to be  enjoying himself. We dance to three long club
music sets of pretty  much a repeated heavy beat. Club music is only good for
dancing.  Actually this club could do with some new music because every cut
they play  sounds like all the others. Not that most of these people give a
shit  because they're mostly drunk. It's hot and steamy but still kind of
fun too, you know, jostling against strangers. After the third dance  though
we're sweating and ready to take a break.

Standing against the  wall again I'm observing all the making-out and
groping going on,  and all of it's being  done by either gay or lesbian couples.

No straight couples feel the need to  do it, but then they can do it
anywhere. Part of the reason for gay clubs is so  gay and lesbians can feel
comfortable being themselves here. I'm  contemplating another beer when Robby says,
"Let's get outta here, Dylan. It's  so fucking loud, and too fucking
crowded!" He's right too. It's midnight  and this place is packed. We go out the
closest exit where there's a sign  warning, "NO RE-ENTRY W/O PAYING ANOTHER
COVER CHARGE" Nice of them to mention  that. Outside it feels awesomely
refreshing and we take  in big lungfuls of cooler air. There was a smoking
section inside, but we vetoed going in that room when we saw the  thick cloud of
smoke floating around everyone.

We both light a  cigarette while gawking at the line of people still
waiting to get inside.  Huh, the bouncers are walking down the line picking out
people they'll let  in. Jesus, that must piss-off the people in front of them
in line. Walking to  the pickup, I ask, "How ya feeling, Rob?" He goes,
"Much better now, thanks."  I'm like, "Well, after tonight I don't feel we're
missing much by not  going to gay nightclubs, do you?" He shrugs while
exhaling a long tunnel of  smoke, then says, "Not really, but I'm glad we came. Now
I know." I nod, "Yeah,  now we know."

At the pickup Robby  says, "I'm okay to drive, Dylan." I think he is too,
but I go, "You sure?"  and he unlocks the car, saying, "Hurling up my guts
and then the bottle of  water helped a lot." He drives okay and when we're
back in Framingham  we stop at a Dunkin' Donuts for decaf coffees and drink the
coffees  outside leaning against the pickup discussing our gay nightclub
experience. Robby goes, "I never realized how many unattractive gay guys
there are." I say, "There's usually something kinda cute about every guy when
they're young, but I have to agree I didn't see many good looking guys
tonight. But then, looks aren't everything." He nods, and pats my  cheek
grinning and mumbling, "That's true, but I don't need to worry  about that because
I've got you, so I'm always going to have a cute  face  to look at." I go,
"Oh, you mean when you look in the mirror." He laughs, "Yeah,  that's exactly
what I meant, you nut."

We're probably a  little too pleased with ourselves as boyfriends; I know
I'm more than pleased  having Robby as my boyfriend. A thought drifts in my
head as I look at Robby,  it's a thought that's never far from my mind: I'm
wondering if he'd be  interested in a pickup truck fuck like our days of old,
so I say, "Are you  ready, as the future head of our household, to take
care of your future spouse's  itch again?" Stepping on his cigarette butt, he
goes, "I'm always ready for  that. Ya wanna do it in the pickup?" I mumble,
"You read my mind again,"  and flick my cigarette butt almost hitting a man
and woman with the  lit butt as they're going in Dunkin' Donuts. Robby
chuckles at  that and we get in the truck with me suggesting, "The reservoir?" and
 Robby mutters, "You got it, Babe."

When we get to the  reservoir we see four other vehicles scattered around
the  area with occupants who probably have approximately the same  idea we
have. Robby parks as far left, and as far away from another  car as possible,
then we get in the back seat and rustle  around undressing each other. He
sits on the seat naked with his legs  spread, grinning and saying  "Being head
of the household certainly  has some perks." I'm on my knees on the floor
facing him, holding  his flaccid penis. Pulling back the foreskin and looking
closely at  the fat pink head, I mutter, "I'm always willing to do my part,
Robby." Then I  use my thumb, index, and middle fingers to stroke his fat
organ a few  times. Robby murmurs, "That feels good," and I suck his cock
into my  mouth and run my tongue all around the head. Robby squirms on the seat
making a  hissing sound exhaling through his teeth. Taking some of the
shaft inside  my mouth, then all of it and the head pokes past my gag reflex
area. Robby lifts  his ass off the seat making that hissing sound again.

My nose is in his  pubic hairs for ten seconds before I back my head off a
little and his  cock's head comes out of my throat and now I can smell his
clean  personal scent; no more bath gel scent. Bobbing my head on his  ever
hardening cock I slip into a sort of trance sucking and  licking his sex
organ until it's hard as granite. Robby's groaning and moaning  and moving on
the seat while running his fingers through my hair. My cock is  sticking
straight up, tight against my belly and almost as hard as Robby's.  Oooh, it
feels so good! I like sucking Robby's cock so much... my main man's  fat awesome
cock tastes and feels good in my mouth and throat. Saliva's  running down my
chin but I can't stop deep throating him; then, feeling  like I'm going to
climax, Robby's orgasm shoots out of his balls and down my  throat with him
gasping and pulling my hair. More of his cum gushes down my  throat and when
I back off another streak of creamy cum coats my  tongue.  Swallowing it, I
sit back as he breaths deeply, then  says, "That felt awesome!  Holy shit,
that was good!" Taking hold of his semi-hard prick in  my fingers, I put just
the cream-covered head back in my mouth  and tongue it until Robby pushes
my head away, groaning, "It's too  sensitive, babe."

Getting up on the  seat next to him I snuggle against his side, saying,
"I'd do that any  time you want, Rob. You just say the word and as a tiny
indication of how  much I love you and look up to you, I'll suck you off." He
puts his arm across  my shoulders, murmuring, "I believe you, Dylan, I really
do. I'd be lying  though if I told you that like a mere six months ago. I
mean, you  loved me then but not in the committed way you do now, and I can't
begin to tell  you how much that means to me. And I've come to realize you're
serious about  looking up to me too, and because of that I feel a lot of
responsibility to  do right by you." I ask, "Do you love me?" and he laughs,
then says, "That's  been established and set in stone a couple of years ago."

Kissing the side of  his cheek, I murmur, "I know that, but I like hearing
it." He nods, squeezing my  shoulders, "Ya know, I was prepared to go as
long as I had to, and do whatever  it took to get you to love me the way you do
now. Frankly, I'm not at  all sure what was the turning point, but I've
been feeling true love from  you for a while now, and you show it to me in  the
most special ways." We nestle together, almost smug about our love  affair.

Robby breaks our  contended silence, quietly saying, "We were kidding
around about this  earlier, but just so you know: I am fully committed to your
vision of me being  the head of our household, as you put it, and I'm willing
to make the decisions  in our lives that are bound to come up. Your part
will be to support  me in those decisions even if you aren't crazy about them
at times." I  mumble, "I know that, Rob. I'm already doing that, and we're
not even married."  When he talks seriously like that I get this delicious
feeling, almost a  submissive trance. Oh man, I can't describe it but it's
awesome and makes my  dick tighten up. We're in the mood to cuddle and quietly
reminisce  about some of our hundreds of experiences together. Time floats by
 for an hour or so, neither of us wanting the night to end. Somehow we
slip into another sweet lover's make-out that goes on and on with  our hands
rubbing over each other's body. Finally our arousal is too  great to resist
and Robby fucks me again, slowly this time.  I'm on my stomach with him on my
back mostly, the sides of our faces  together. A slow luscious fuck and my
eventual climax is fantastic leaves  me shivering with pleasure. After Robby
moans and shoots his  latest load up my ass we get on our sides to hug and
make-out some more.  It's after two o'clock before we finally get dressed.

We're the last car  here by the time the pickup bumps over the dirt road
getting back on the  blacktop.

At  my house,  parked behind the condo, Robby and I hug and kiss until I
moan,  "Please," and pull down my shorts. Robby pulls his semi-hard cock past
his  zipper and I sit on it facing him. I need to help get his cock up my
ass,  pushing it with my fingers because it's not a boner yet. When it's up my
 ass I lay against him with my arms around the back of his neck, the side
of our  faces together waiting until I feel his cock get harder and harder
and  fatter and fatter, then I ride it whimpering with pleasure. Robby's
grunting a little so I imagine his cock's getting sore by now, but I can't stop
and keep it up until I do a muffled squeal with my mouth against  the side
of his neck as I climax. I don't think Robby climaxed before  he lifts me
off his cock. Breathing deeply, I seriously ask, "Do you  want me to suck your
cock to get you off, Rob?" He snorts a laugh,  muttering, "No, that's okay,
I'm good." I don't want to leave him, but he  finally quietly says he's
gotta get to bed. After a thirty second kiss  goodnight, I get out and watch
him drive away.

In bed I worry I was  way too clingy tonight, and maybe I initiated too
much sex even for Robby.  The last two nights have been perfect from my point
of view, but perhaps a  little over the top for him. There have been nights
when Ryan would fuck me  four or five times, but maybe I need to dial it back
some before Robby  starts having second thoughts about living a life with
an oversexed person, no  matter how cute he thinks I am. That's food for
thought. Better yet, I'm  going to come right out and ask him if he thinks I'm
oversexed, and if he does,  does he mind that I am?

Saturday morning,  yawning frequently, Robby picks me up and drives us to
North Andover.  We get our apartment situation finalized without much hassle.

Robby  sent the first and last month's rent back in June, so we knew we had
an  apartment. It's just a matter of choosing from the apartments still
available.  We get lucky again this year and get a newly renovated one-bedroom
apartment  with brand new furniture. It's was only completed three days ago
and we're the  first ones to see it. We signed for it immediately. There's a
faint  fresh paint smell and new carpet smell n the bright apartment that's
 nice. Next Saturday we'll bring our own pillows and linens for the double
bed, plus lots of other personal stuff. Very happy with the apartment,
we're congratulating each other we go on campus to look around. The campus
looks awesome, especially the two new dormitories. While walking the  grounds I
reconsidered asking Robby if he thinks I'm oversexed. He'll tell me  when
and if he thinks I am. After all he's the head of the  fucking household.

The last week of  summer vacations flies by uneventfully. I work on Robby's
crew all week with  only a half day on Friday because in the afternoon
there's a company  cookout thanking and saying goodbye to the summer
part-timers. Mr. Dickers  is good about things like that. Little touches that make us
feel appreciated, and the bonus  checks the cherry on top. During the week
Robby and I got together only Monday  and Thursday nights, and neither date
came close to matching last Friday and  Saturday nights, but any date with
Robby is always special.

Robby was busy  with work Tuesday night so I hung out with Chubby and the
other guys  on our crew shooting pool and drinking pitchers of draft at a
dive bar Chubby somehow knew about. It was fun. Then Wednesday after work I
politely turned down Bean's request for a haircut even though he came right
out  and said. "Um, I'd really like fucking you like we did last fall. Maybe
we  can start that up again just between you and me, and nobody else.

Whaddaya  say?" I hesitated for a moment remembering his long thin cock and how
good  it felt up my ass, but then a picture of Robby flew by my brain and I
begged off. Bean sounded disappointed, saying, "Maybe another time, huh? Like
 last year." I told him, "I don't know, Bean. Um, the haircut for sure
though." I  had mixed emotions afterwards. On the one hand I was proud of
myself for turning down another opportunity for some friendly, harmless  buddy
sex, while at the same time admitting to myself I really wanted to do  it with
him. He fucks differently than anyone I know. It's a weird thrill  somewhat
along the lines of getting fucked by Timmy's two inch cock with  the fat
hard head right on my prostate a hundred percent of the  time.

Thinking  about that for a while I almost call Bean back, then think  about
Robby and I stay in Wednesday night washing and  ironing the clothes I'm
taking to college. It's no big deal for most guys,  but me going two days
without sex of some kind; oral, topping or  bottoming, isn't pleasant no matter
how awesome Robby fucked me two days  earlier. Friday night after the
cookout Chubby and I spent an hour and a  half cleaning the Jeep. We filled up a
trash bag with fast food  wrappers, pizza boxes, empty coffee cups, soda
cups, and general trash from  the back seat. How he can have sex in the back
seat with all the trash back  there is a mystery to me. We vacuumed every inch
of the Jeep, then used a  car cleaner on the seats, dashboards, doors, and
every fuckin' place  we can reach.

Satisfied the Jeep  shined inside and out, we took showers and ate dinner
together at The  Cheesecake Factory, a restaurant at the Natick Mall. While
eating  we compare our finances deciding how much we could both contribute to
 a newer car, eventually deciding maybe we'd trade in the Jeep after  next
summer... and then again, maybe we won't. Because of the money we made this
summer neither of us needs to work a part time job at college, but if  an
opportunity came up I'd probably take it.

Back at the condos we  begin packing electronics and things of that nature
in our sparkling clean Jeep,  getting a head start on Saturday morning.

We'll finish packing tomorrow  morning, then wait for our moms to get up so we
can say our goodbyes  again, and then we'll finally be off to Merrimack.

Robby won't be in North  Andover until Sunday, so I'm going with Chubby
tomorrow.  I'm anxious to get started and, as a surprise for Robby, I want to  have
our refrigerator stocked. Here we go...

The end.

Beginning in  about two weeks, please look for, DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT
COLLEGE.

Donny Mumford:
_thinat20@yahoo.com_ (mailto:thinat20@yahoo.com)
OR...       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 usually around 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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